I thought that I was dreaming when my boyfriend introduced me to them: My mothers and my fathers. They all started talking at the same time: I taught him to ride the bike, he used to eat with me, I taught him not to slurp, I taught him physics, he would calm down in my arms when he cried, he's a good boy, it's a good thing you two met!. I was stunned: I was going to have three mothers-in-law, four fathers-in-law and a husband swelling with pride. Didn't I tell you that I have the best family? They've all adopted me. I had been abandoned in a shopping cart in the store where they worked.
Arthur Ianoși
are watching me from up there. I feel their eyes on the back of my neck, I know I've disappointed them. Every morning, always between 9 and 9:30, I take my walk and halfway through the walk I could swear that I hear my father calling me an idiot. I tuck my chin to my chest and move on; it's the moment I wish I hadn't been born. I sometimes hear my mother too: Hang in there, baby. But your father's right, you're an idiot. Today is Prison Day, and the lawyer is coming. My parents will come down from their towers and will take pictures with the inmates. I'm asking to go to the infirmary.
Răzvan Drăgoi
Maybe we are all workers in a factory that, if we do everything extraordinarily well, produces smiles on small faces. That small face is a sublime form of slavery which, if you have, you cherish every day. That small face has the powers of a demigod. Every coo, frown, scream or smile means something in a language that you talk without ever having learned it, because you remember it. It's the language that you know before you know words, before things gain meaning. Parents can speak the language of heaven.
(Translated by Laura-Monica Doroiman / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.