Zahir Never Ceases to Amaze...

*** Change Of Address?!?*** 

 Zahir's mom let the cat out of the bag. She asked if I was looking forward to my move. She could tell by my facial reaction I knew nothing about it. She clammed up tight changing topic. I knew I had to let it go. It turns out she texted Z about her slip.

 Zahir came home apologizing for the surprise of his mother's questions. Being the eternal pessimist, I was thinking he finally had enough of me. I asked when he was sending me home. Then he was panicked, "WHAT DID MY MOTHER SAY?!?" I told him that she said I was moving, and I apologized for being so much trouble.

 He kissed my forehead telling me I was no trouble. He told me it was time to find our forever home. I thought Z owned this apartment, I was wrong on that too, it was a one year rental. He told me the term is up in September.

 He spent a lot of the evening showing me his ideas. I was just becoming comfortable with our cosy two bedroom nest in the North West area. He wants to be closer to the center of town. His folks are moving too and he wants to be close.

 He is also looking at a large villa we could share with his parents out side the city. He took me out for dinner, "American food." That is his code for stopping at Wazzup Dog. Best burger in Amman, behave the owner is armed. Only guy in Amman who will make a Chicago Dog for me. Z got me hooked on them when he took me on a buying trip to the midwest. I will NEVER put ketchup on a dog ever again.

 After dinner we drove by Abdali. I have no doubt the apartments are pretty, but it is a huge construction zone. It is also gonna be WAY too crowded. "Keep your mind open little one."

*** New Church Home Too!***

 He found a church for me. Understand the term church means a gathering of believers. That is what he found for me. Not only has he found me a group of believers, they are even MY denomination.

Syrian refugee camp in Zaatari, Jordan

 Zahir has a friend from college who recently moved here with his family. It was not lost on me they lived in Abdali. In addition to running the gathering, he arranges humanitarian aid for the Christian and Muslim evacuees and refugees. It turns out the Presbyterian Church (USA) has a mission in Amman via the Middle East Council of Churches.

 One of my friends from Miami had a rant about why the neighboring nations aren't helping the Syrians themselves. I love Matt like a brother even though he is a little closed minded and judgemental. The people of Jordan are a giving people, but even the deepest of generosity must have limits. There are no more resources without help from the West. I know this smacks in the face of the lies spoken on the West side of the river, but it is the truth.


 Here is an ugly part of history, after the 1948 war a number of Christians from Palestine were expelled to the East Bank of the Jordan. People around here are used to hearing lies. Thanks to the lies spoken by the Russians (and my fellow Americans) the Syrian crisis is intensifying. Both parties promised NOT to let the violence spread into the south of Syria.

 <Sorry end of rant...>

 *** EpiPen, EpiPen, everywhere an EpiPen...***

He had it custom made.

 
 Zahir is absolutely insane about my protection. The end of the month has become something of a weird ritual. He picks up two fresh EpiPens for my belt case. I told him it was silly, the lifespan is longer. Why waste so much money? (I forgot rule one of dating an Arabic man: When they do something for you, thank them profusely and move on.)

 He showed me. He pulled my "OLD" pens from my belt case and put the new ones in. Then he loaded mine into HIS pouch. One from his pouch went into his desk drawer, the other his nightstand. On and on it went. One is in his desk at the office. Even his mother has one in her purse. Apparently he has been doing this for years. First in the States and now here.

 With a lifespan of twenty months, the "OLD" pens are still good for a year after we retire them. Two of the older ones per month go to the refugee camps. Zahir is not only protecting me, he is protecting the Syrian refugee children. I love my guy.


 - Chase

First Day Back... (Edited)

 Zahir has given me permission to use his name in my blog! He told me all those "Zs" sound silly. At work I use Mr. and his sir name. I confess that does make me hot, though I am not sure why.

 As Zahir and I walked through the office it became clear the nature of our trip back to the States was public knowledge. There were more than a few polite rumors after INTERPOL came to talk to me before the trip. Management felt the need to perform damage control. Many gave me hugs or words of condolence.

 I love the people here. There are no quick hello's or bye's, and very little pretense. Warm deep greetings are the norm. Even phone calls are not jumped into and out of. Jordanians form connections. Coming from a country where relationships are disposable, it is really nice.

 No sooner had I sat at my desk in Zahir's office, the President of the firm came in to express his sympathy. He told me that I was appreciated by the engineering team on the Kiev trip. He went on to say he wanted to pass that on sooner but felt I needed time to grieve the loss of my family.

 I told him the gracious g-d actually returned and revealed my family to me. I told him of my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the rest I met. What I have is closure now. I will never know my father, and I understand the incredible depth of my mother's love for me. Without going into depth, when couples divorce here, the fathers get custody of the children. The fact they praise my mother's courage should tell you how messed up my father was.

I think I could
make it work...

 Mr Boss said I was very wise. Then commended Z for "always finding the best interns." He hugged on me a little too long. I swear I could hear Zahir's teeth grinding, he knows I don't like that much contact.

 Mr. Boss quickly made a Kentucky joke about me being the first American hillbilly in the firm. (I did not know living in Kentucky for the first three months of my life qualifies me to be a hillbilly. Good to know, I guess.) He went on to say, he was expecting me to walk in wearing overalls and a stained t-shirt. AS IF that was an option!

 Z reminded Mr. Boss we had a heavy work load. On his way out he told me my work visa was approved. I am a legal worker, not just a student intern! YAY!!! The money doesn't mean much to me. It is nice to know I am valued. Zahir had helped me set up a checking and savings account a while back in case I had to flee Jordan.

** added after post **

 Mr Boss's snarky comment on clothing brought me back to how Zahir entered my world. The very first thing he bought me was a suit. I was fifteen when Z and I met. I was doing the books for my "new" foster family. We got hit with an IRS audit. Z was sent in to help us prepare.

 I suppose I should explain Mohsen (Moe) and Stacy. They run a ranch that raised cattle for export. They also worked with hard luck foster kids. I was to be with them on a temporary basis, only during the trial. It was my second time with them. When they heard what happened, they asked for me back. Moe & Stacy were there to pick up the pieces.

 Everyone at their ranch had a job. At fifteen I was still scrawny, but I was smart. Everything on the ranch was big and scary. For the record NOTHING about cows is small. Stacy moved heaven and earth to draw me out of my shell again. I helped her around the house and she started having me "help" her with the books. As much as I loved math, she hated it.

 I learned quite a lot of colorful language from Stacy. She was from some place called Chester (Chess-TAH), Massachusetts. You have her to thank for my over use of the word "wicked." I remember her shouting, "Okayy guys we got a-lottah wohk to do. We areh lookin at a wicked pissah of a stahm." When she became angry or excited the Rs vanish and the Hs popped up everywhere. It was not unusual for all of us to look at Moe for translation. Occasionally even he was very confused.

 IRS audits are not fun for most. I like a challenge. Math to me is more than a language, its a world I can hide in. I desperately needed a place to hide. I found that the old accountant was either playing things very safe or was stupid. He missed easy write-offs.

A week before our meeting with the government Z showed up. He was big, scary, and he was NOT impressed with me. In the end, he was impressed with my product. I think that was when he stopped seeing me as just a kid.

 He asked what I planned to wear to the meeting. I showed him my second hand suit. When I tried it on, we discovered I had experienced a growth spurt. About an inch and a half of ankle and wrist were showing. That was when I heard his laugh for the first time. G-d I love his laugh, When he, Moe, and I stopped laughing, Zahir took me shopping for the first time. "If you represent the ranch you represent MY company too."

 He got me two suits. Nothing outrageous, off the rack from a national retailer. They WERE something I had never had before, NEW. He took me out and polished my image. He took me to a stylist, it is amazing how clothing and hair can change your appearance. I looked older when they were done. I felt more confident, I am not sure that was the clothing or how Zahir began looking at me.

 Zahir started becoming a regular feature at the ranch. About a month after the audit he showed up on a bad day. I had just got back from the State Attorney's Office. DCF and the prosecutor were prepping me for trial. Mock trials are almost worse than the real thing. The prosecutor wants you ready for anything the defense will throw at you. "Surprises sink cases."

 It was a hard practice, I was hurting when we got home. I needed alone time. I went to the barn and started bottle feeding a calf that was abandoned by its mom (it happens). From the look on Zahir's face I could tell Moe had "The our boy is broken talk."

 Z was in one of his expensive tailored suits. Still he plopped on the ground next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. He wiped my tears away. "What others do to us, does not define us. It is how we respond and recover that does." He went on to tell me I was a very smart and brave boy.

 I responded by telling him he was sitting in dry cow shit. He realized I was trying to push him away. "That's all right. Sometimes when a friend is in shit, it is best to join them." Zahir took on the roll of big brother, coach, and best friend. He moved his work around to be there for me. When the trial and sentencing came he worked with the prosecutor to mold my appearance again. Clothing and hair were adapted. I looked 'pure,' and far younger when they were done.

 During sentencing, the defense tried to argue that the defendant believed I was willing. The ploy backfired "foster dad" was sentenced to life. The prosecutor was even shocked. Z promises he WILL have me there to petition the parole board against his release if he EVER is eligible.

 Everyone wanted to go out and celebrate. I was totally drained, I just wanted to go to bed. I begged Zahir to take me home. I had a daybed in my room and my own TV. Z watched a football (soccer) match I fell asleep both fully clothed, leaning back on his chest.

 Zahir has been there for all of the major events for the last three plus years. He took me out to get my driver's license. Last year when we came back for my final DCF meeting, he helped me register to vote for the first time, and yes I am registered for selective service.

****

 He knows voting is important to me since I missed out on the local stuff last year. My home of record is still the ranch in the Miami-Dade area. Too much of a pain in the butt to change everything. My love reminded me it is an awesome responsibility and I must keep myself educated on the issues at home to use my voice wisely.

 Zahir is not the only guy at the company who has a boy. Several are house boys, caring for their man's home. Some are little more than pets, Z keeps me away from them. Two of us are interns, I am kept away from him. I think he is British. Some people call him a tea boy. I am the only foreign technical intern.

 My math discipline is one of those that plugs in fairly easily to, structural, and chemical engineering. I like how Z described it to my family. "Bioinformatics and proteomics are sciences with the potential to cure disease and feed the world, or wipe out all life on our planet."

 Another thing I am not sure of is, why he has such a bug up his butt about my birthday? He asked me again at dinner what I wanted. I told him, "Birthdays have almost no meaning to me. Just surprise me." Something tells me I am gonna regret that. A smile crossed his face and he let the matter drop. Wish I had more Arab friends, I wonder if nineteen has any special meaning.

---

Burned again

 Hit the pool with Zahir's dad, while Z took his mom shopping. He lets me ask him just about anything. Z's mom is his second wife. Here a man can have up to four. I asked him why he stopped at two. "A house must have peace to function. More than one woman in a home rarely brings peace." He thought I needed some sun, so I took off my swim shirt. We forgot sun screen, OOPS.

 Z's mom was the first to see the ring of blistered flesh when they got back to the flat. She asked if I hurt (burned) myself. Then when I said no, she accused Z of branding me. We had to explain, I have a burn scar on my chest from my third foster mom. Normally it looks like a crescent moon unless I am dumb. Old burn scars are wicked susceptible to new sun damage (re burning). The result, I am going to see my ugly spot for a few months. I've seen what happened to other foster kids, I am lucky.

 More looks of pity from his folks. Followed by me locking myself in my bedroom. I woke to Zahir treating my wound and kissing my forehead. I apologized for being so stupid. He told me his boy was not stupid, just young, and hurting. He dressed the wound (and me) then went down to dinner.

 Z's mom hugged on me saying she couldn't believe any woman would do such a thing to a child in her care. Then she apologized for hurting me. I said I was not hurt by the truth. Something ugly once touched me, and I survived. REPETITIVE STORY OF MY LIFE.


 - Chase

He Woke Up First.

 I written before I really don't need more than 4 hours sleep. Yesterday was one of those days I woke up early. He doesn't like it when I climb out of bed, so I'm stuck with the choice of:

1. Trying to slowly slide over to grab my tablet from it's charging plate.
2. Laying very still in his arms hoping to drift back to sleep.
3. Attempt a Mission Impossible extrication to get my MacBook from the desk in my room. (bad choice)

  Z is a very light sleeper, I think it's because of his military training. So when I tell you it's a Mission Impossible task, it is. When I cracked my eyes open at five, I saw him staring at me. When I have trouble sleeping, he occasionally sings to me. He does have a good voice. After he sings a verse, he whispers the translation in my ear. We are an odd couple musically. I'm trying to get him hooked on DJs like Marshmello and he's trying to introduce me to songs from Jordanian and Syrian singers. "You must think outside your culture, my little one."

 He chuckles at my recent attempts to speak in his language. There are guttural undertones that I just can't wrap my tongue or throat around. Often times it feels/sounds like I'm trying to gargle or cough up something. I know that is not flattering and I don't mean to offend, but it's what it feels like to me anyway. 
 
 On top of all of that there are specific letters and sounds that only occur in Northern Jordanian Levantine Arabic. Z and my tutor are being very patient, forgiving, but firm.

 There are different ways of saying "please," and "what's your name," depending on if you're talking to a male or a female. So far the one phrase I have down is "I can't speak Arabic well." I feel dumb. Binomial Theorem, no problem. Conjugating a phrase around a specific gender, I panic.

 More changes here. Z's parents have treated me coolly in the past, but are always polite. Suddenly they are showing up every other day and his mom is hugging on me. I am wondering if it is the fact they know I am an orphan, and not just a damaged foster kid, has changed my status, or if they are just warming up to me. I asked Z if  the new attitude was based on pity. I hate people feeling sorry for me. My past is what it is. Z just kissed my forehead and told me they see the real boy now. 
 

 I did have another panic attack after Z went to work yesterday. Another eight legged, venom tailed, creature spawn from hell, got into the apartment. I hate scorpions! When I shrieked, the housekeeper came running (with knife in hand) to find out what was going on. She entered the room finding me jumping up and down on the flattened remains of our visitor. She grabbed my epi-pen and I got her to understand it didn't sting me. She then made a phone call, I assumed to inform Z.

 I was wrong she called Z's parents. They in turn called Z. Z's Mom figured it out where they are coming from. For the record that woman is really scary when she's mad. The building owner hires a company to care for, and swap out the plants in the stairwells and lobby. They have been cautioned to examine them closely in the future. The building owner installed new seals on our door in an attempt to keep anything else out.

 Z ran home from the office to see if I was okay. Then he and his dad started praising me as a mighty hunter. I felt stupid, being so afraid of a six inch bug. He reminded me how a stupid six inch bug put me in the hospital last time. Then he told me next time to leave the room and let someone kill it for me. 
  He kept apologizing and telling me it was his responsibility to keep my home safe. I hate it when he apologizes when this crap happens. He didn't plan for it to happen. It's not like he has a cage of them and he left the door open. He didn't mean for the bug to get in to our nest.

 I know he's trying to care for me, but it is frustrating as hell when he won't understand I can stand up to a six inch bug on my own. Yep, me and my Stefano Ricci's are more than enough to kill any six inch satanic crawler from hell. I've never been so happy to be wearing shoes in my life.

 So far the only contact I've had with any of Mom's family since we got home has been with my grandparents and Aunt Meghan. Aunt Meghan set them up on Skype so we can video chat. It's hard getting used to the concept of having grandparents let alone an aunt. I'm used to borrowing other people's relatives, the concept of having my own people is weird. I'm not sure if that makes sense, but it's so unreal right now. Of the aunts and uncles, I think I like Meghan the most.

 I told them how Z has me trying on the name mom gave me at birth. They told me that was silly. I've gone by another name my whole life. Z told them I don't have a middle name and I should consider using one of them at least.  Of course this comes from a man who has five names in addition to his father's.

 Z was very boastful about my scorpion hunt. Then reminded them of how allergic I am to the creatures. We had a quick group talk and then he left the room so I can have a private chat with my grandparents. As soon as Z closed the door Grandpa replied, "So you killed a bug..." with a smirk.  I love his sense of humor and I see where my frequent use of smart-ass comments comes from. Grandma noticed Mom's Pooh Bear on my nightstand holding mine.
 
----

 While we cuddled this morning Z talked about my approaching nineteenth birthday and what I wanted. I told him he'd given me so much over the last month alone, it felt obscene for me to ask for anything. Besides my little list maker knows my birthday isn't until the end of October. 

 Z is letting me go back to the office tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. I'm also almost caught up on my coursework. My professor was kind enough to give me extensions on a few projects.

  -Chase 

I found this on my playlist from Z. It was tagged, "This is how I feel when you are sad..."

Alone No More

 Z was the first to see something other than a cracked shell. He was the one who showed me I was MORE... He was the first cheerleader on team me.

 I was the weak nerdy guy most ignored. It took him six months of effort just to get me to look in his eyes. I was a hot mess.

 Seriously, pre-Z, my concept of eye contact was focusing on a facial feature NEAR the person I was talking to's eyes. Or fleeting glances followed by a look to the ground.


  I mastered the plastic smile letting no one near, let alone see beneath the veneer. In the beginning, Z would tickle me until I gave him a genuine smile.

 When we got home we had a serious talk. He was sad to see that plastic smile return in Paducah. He saw the brave boy front. I held on to that fake front so hard. Everyone there had thirteen years to deal with and put mom's death. I have only had a bit shy of two weeks.


 Part of me wanted the happy ending, it never let go of that hope. For thirteen years I had that STUPID hope she would return to my life. Z saw me do something for the first time, mourn. He just held me tight as the tears flowed and I shook for hours. ALL of life traumas poured out of me. As the internal scars were exposed, he just held me wiping away my tears.


 I hid the fact I was molested by a foster brother as well from Z. I was terrified he would let me go. That wall fell today too. Now he knows, and doesn't care. He told me he suspected but didn't want to push. He told me I am a like one of the quilts Paducah is famous for (yes they have a museum). "You are made up of many parts. Some were parts of torn rags. but the result is my beautiful boy."

 Got to get to some sleep. I get to do this again with "Shrinky Dink" in the morning.

-Christopher (Z wants me to try it on. Maybe just Chris)

Returned From The Dead

 I have to start paying more attention when Z tells me travel plans. We actually flew to New York City and then on to Nashville. The crime that took mom's life took place in Tennessee. Thirteen years, that is how long I fixated on mom's face. I have dreamt about her every night. Fantasies about her picking me up, telling me she made a mistake. In the photograph taken six months after dumping me in foster care she didn't change.

A hint to those who want to use the little cheek swabs for DNA typing. Think twice before doing it, there is a chance you might learn the unexpected.

 Thanks to the folks at the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, they were able to match my DNA to a missing child report. A child the family had declared dead five years after he went "missing." Yep! How many people on this planet can say that they have returned from the dead. For the record there is a lot of paperwork involved. I found out what my original "birth name" was. I am keeping the name I grew up with. Too much change to deal with all ready.

 I met with a lot of police officers regarding a murder-suicide that occurred six months after I was dumped in foster care down in Florida. Looks like my speculation that mother was hiding was true. She was running from an abusive husband, my father. He caught up with her in a small town in western Tennessee, killed her and then himself. I used to think mom was cruel for abandoning me like she did. Now I see it as the ultimate act of love.
 

 The agents told us that her family had collected her remains, and where she was laid to rest. Z thought it would help me if we went up to Paducah to meet with Mom's people.

It was 11 a.m. when we arrived at the cemetery in Paducah. Z was kind enough to stop at a florist shop and I bought a bouquet of yellow daisies. He said I could buy roses, but I knew better. Daisies were mama's favorite. I remember picking them for her when I was little outside Atlanta.

 The groundskeeper was kind enough to show me to Mama's grave. They still had my marker next to hers. It is a weird feeling looking down at a tombstone with your birth-date on it knowing it was put there for you, even if you don't recognize the name.

 That's when I heard her voice a slow sweet drawl from over my shoulder saying, "That's a very pretty bunch of flowers you got there young man. Someone must be pretty special to you." I continued staring at the stones silently praying that she would go away and I simply told her that it was my mother. She replied, "Isn't that odd, she's my daughter."

 I turned to see an old woman with silver hair holding a bunch of Black-Eyed Susans with some baby's breath wrapped around them. My eyes continued upwards until I saw her pale green eyes, bordered with a dark green outer ring. I introduced myself. She hugged on me for a very long time.

 She told me how she came down to have dinner with her daughter and grandson everyday. She said, "This is a first. Do you know how many conversations I've had with you young man?" She pointed towards the hunk of granite on the ground. She told me she tried to imagine what "Christopher" would be like if "he" grew up. She said I turned out a handsome boy.

 We shared her BLT sandwich as she talked to her daughter. I've told you how much I like and craved bacon, apparently it is a family thing. I gave her some of the high points of foster care and growing up. I chose to keep the icky bits to myself. She didn't need any more guilt, she was caring enough. After feeding the crusts of bread to the birds, we walked back to the cars.

 Z had been chatting amiably with an older gentleman. That older gentleman turned out to be my grandfather. Grandma and I walked out of the cemetery hugging each other. A glassy sheen covered the old man's eyes as Grandma introduced me to him, making sure to use the name I grew up with. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it out, and then hugged me.

 We followed them to their farm house and I met more of mom's family. I have never seen people assemble so quickly. Most of her family never left the Paducah area. Her older brothers run the farm and care for their parents. I had to explain my degree path several times. Most were polite with their disapproval of the relationship Z and I have. They are thankful I am alive, and Z makes friends with everyone. But what can I say; Kentucky is part of the Bible belt, and the family IS Southern Baptist.
 

 Z has been great. Turns out he can pitch a mean horse shoe. It's not a hard game to learn. I don't know how much money it cost for him to fly us here and lodge us. I know it's thousands. I shouldn't feel guilty but I do. He will likely read this, look at me and say I promised to care for you, this is part of it.

 Z shared with Grandma about my raggedy old Pooh Bear. He told her how he tried to get rid of mine on many occasions but my heart was wrapped around it. Grandma laughed then disappeared into her room coming back with my mother's childhood treasure. Mom's Pooh Bear was more than twice the age of mine and it was in better condition. Foster care was harder on mine I surmised. Mom had a thing for Winnie the Pooh, so much so that she named her boy (me) after Pooh's boy.
 

 We stayed at the best suite and all of Paducah, Kentucky. Ok, it's not up to Z's usual standards, but he is being a great sport as always. We came home with a box of photographs and memories. Grandma gave me mom's old bear too. Z has made a couple "zombie boy" jokes since we got home. He knows I am still chewing on my past. I have so much to digest, I see myself spending a lot of time with "Shrinky Dink" for the near future.


Christopher/Nadir/Chase (who am I?)

Crying Again

 We had a surprise waiting for us when we got to the office. Well I did at least, I think Z had a heads up. Got to meet an officer from Interpol. Looks like I am going home. My whole life I thought Florida was my home. It seams Georgia wasn't either. No, I was born in Kentucky, some place called Paducah.

 It turns out something came from that stupid cheek swab Z took. It was the key to a thirteen year old crime that crossed three states. Z's boss told us to take the time we need. He kissed my forehead as I lost my loose grasp I had on my emotions. I could not stop the tears. You shouldn't have to identify someone you loved from an autopsy photograph.

 Z scheduled an emergency session last night with Shrinky Dink. Doc gave Z something to put me to sleep. God I hurt, it feels like someone hollowed me out with a spoon. We are flying to Kentucky in a couple hours. I wouldn't be surprised to see Z leave me there. I hate causing him so much trouble.

Nadir

Well, Pooh! - (Vacay went awaya)

Well, the blood test confirmed, I was in fact drugged. I feel like such an idiot. The asshole was a nerdy Dutch tourist. Apparently they caught him dosing another boy that night. We lost a day and a half to the Greek judicial system. Statements were taken. 

On the upside Z and I spent the rest of the week enjoying the inside of the rental. To be honest my perfect vacation consists of a bedroom, he, and I. Those boundaries were pushed as we christened every room, and most of the furniture.

I didn't get much writing done in Greece. To be honest, it took me about three days to shake off whatever that jackass put in my drink. I should have taken a page from my own club warnings from "Frozen and Chosen - part 1".  Who knew life could imitate art.

A glutton for punishment, I decided to look at my page views... I guess folks in my home nation don't like my writing much. The US has now been beaten out by both the United Kingdom and Poland.

• Nation / Page views
• United Kingdom / 303
• Poland / 46
• United States / 35
• Canada / 11
• France / 11
• Philippines / 8
• Germany / 4
• India / 4
• Ukraine / 2
• Ireland / 1

(Poland, trying to let that one sink in. Canada and France are quickly catching up. Perhaps it's a good thing, I'm an ex-pat now.)

--- Home again... Getting home from the airport was a trip. A huge section of our street collapsed. It looks like a foundation wall on the construction site down the road fell in. I smiled at Z and whispered, "I guess no Popeye's or Papa Johns for us." Like he would ever let me eat fast food again. Amman is getting ready for it's royal visitor from Great Britain. Z and I will likely keep a low profile.  I'm waiting for his boss to tell him to stay home.

I got my new language tutor. I find it odd whenever he is at the apartment for my lessons, we are never alone. Either Z or the housekeeper is floating around the room. Since the incident on Santorini, Z does not let me out of his arm's reach in public.  I feel like an idiot.

I have a good start on three stories. The continuation of Frozen and Chosen, historical fiction set in renaissance France and Turkey, and one set in my home state. The last hits a little too close to home at times, but I just couldn't push it out of my thought so I decided to put it down and text.  I'm not sure when they'll be done. Between my online coursework, Arabic tutoring, time with the Shrinky Dink, and interning with Z,  my day is pretty much spent.

Something interesting is happening, I am actually sleeping more at night. I normally only sleep four hours, tops. Now I'm sleeping six. Z is happy, it is just weird to me. I have always liked the phrase from the movies, "You can sleep when you're dead." Too many people sleep through their life, not enough people live every moment. I know that's a little preachy but it's what I feel.

Nadir

Received an email, some of you folks ask wicked personal questions... One person asked just how flexible I am. Like I said I get weird questions. 

I answered with the simple statement... I do not require a partner for oral sex. I am not drawing any pictures, I'll just leave that to your own imagination.

I Write What I Know... (How depressing is that.)

Being a survivor of foster care, some of my stories tend to reflect a little dark. I know some look at my age and dismiss me. "He's only eighteen what does he know." You'd be surprised at what I've seen and heard. You may find this hard to believe, but I've been luckier than many.

Every night my love kisses the crescent moon burn scar on my chest. It was given me by an angry foster mom with the cigarette lighter from her car, I was seven. It was followed by an emergency re-homing. The more one is re-homed the less likely you are to find long term volunteer families.

Like I said, I've got something to build from when it comes to my stories.  The new story I am working on has a little grit to it. I am a HUGE Victor Hugo fan. His work does inspire me as well. Z thinks I am silly but what's not to like about the romances and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame, Les Miserables, and my fav  his drama Hernani. I read some of Fin de Satan and Dieu to Z, he doesn't like unfinished works. Note to self when I master time travel I will have to go back and tell the great author to finish his work. ;)

 

We found a club of sorts... it isn't my thing so I write. Z is having fun charming the locals and a few of the tourists. He can really move on the floor. I on the other hand have two left feet. His friend introduced me to something that tasted like black licorice. Hated it but had two more, I didn't want to be rude. Gonna have to learn how do to say "no thank you" in Greek.

Chase

Update... Woke up a couple hours a go head throbbing and Z holding me tight. He was worried and angry. Apparently alcohol and I don't mix well. Learned a new word today ouzo. Reports are that three shots turned into six or eight. Z was pissed when his boy staggered out on the dance floor. Until someone told him some tourist tried to sneak out of the club with me, and I was able to slither out of his grasp. Being double jointed and wicked skinny helps.

Z told me when we returned to the villa I was able to slip from his hands, strip naked and head for the pool. He went on to say I almost made it until he "caveman" carried me over his shoulder to the shower then bed. He wouldn't sleep until whatever was in my system purged, he thinks it was more than the ouzo. he looks so tired.

I feel stupid, and am still begging his forgiveness. He told me though I should have said no to the first ouzo, he and his friend should have watched me better. It would have been a beautiful moment, if I hadn't thrown up.  He has been pouring bottle after bottle of water in me. At one point after cleaning up the vomit he remarked he didn't want to know how many brain cells I killed. I replied that I was sure they were only the weak ones. He laughed and I promised him to NEVER drink alcohol again.

Just put him to bed and he went out as soon as his head hit the pillow. God I do love watching him sleep. Don't want to kill the prepaid internet stick in the laptop and I am sleepy too. Last night aside, I love Santorini.

Nadir/Chase

Confessions - What a night...

Told you before I am Presbyterian (PC-USA). In the great march of time, ours is a wicked young sect of the Christian faith. We often speak of how Christ met (and genuinely loved) people where they were, regardless of their acts or situation. Focus on the lost one, not the why of the loss.

Z did something odd last night. He held me, that is it, he just held me. After posting last night I stayed up for a half hour writing on one of the fantasy stories I am developing. I don't sleep well at night, never have. Four hours is the norm, maybe a catnap during the day. Part of me wonders if that is due to the few emergency re-homings that happened in the middle of the night, or if I am just wired this way.

Most folks think I wear colored contacts. In fact, a boy I liked (a lot) dumped me cause he thought I was lying. If he was worried about me lying about that, I consider it to be good riddance at this point, although it broke my heart at the time. My eyes have a thick dark outer ring. Inside that ring is a field of pale green. Z says the color and my reddish brown hair caught his eye.

When I came back to bed and he was awake. He read what I said in almost real time. He pulled me into a tight hug. He swept the hair off my face and explained his picture. He told me he loved my eyes, but he also loved what was behind them. He said he was frightened of what can happen when I realize my potential. Yesterday, when I told him I saw myself at his side, I touched him. He said it was something HE never saw coming. He added that he has had other "boys" but THEY got bored, grew tired of HIM and left. He never imagined one would stay (and people say I have abandonment issues).

He said his picture was the boy he met three years ago. "... you had a fierce courage, but you expected failure, and yet you still kept trying. THAT is what I see as amazing." He reminded me of a night (a few months back) he and his boss were working on a project, but the computer model kept failing. I glanced at the screen and saw the flaw in the equation (MathBoy). They laughed and plugged in the variable I suggested. They stopped laughing when it worked. A week later I became Z's intern.

My skin is a little too thin. The way he sees me is sweet. He pointed out something I missed. We both saw MathBoy with a red cape... We fell asleep holding each other.


Back in a week or so.
Chase

Be careful what you ask for... MathBoy

Z has been chuckling about my "MathBoy" joke since he read it. 

I had what I thought at the time was a cute idea. Using standard clipart on our tablets, have each of us design "MathBoy" as we see him. Once done, we do a three-count and exchange the image via message to each other.

How I see BusinessMan & MathBoy

His version of "MathBoy"

I am trying really hard not to be offended or read too much into this stupid idea of mine. 

His graphic is cute. But am I just a pudgy weird green eyed child in his eyes? I am wicked thin BTW...

He had issue with the gray in his temples. I was seeing us down the road a bit. When I said that he returned to his emails on his tablet. We did have a bit of work to do before we get to turn off for a week. Feeling kinda dumb right now.

Nadir

Surprise!

 I found out what Z's big surprise was...
 Who would remember a conversation they had two years ago? Z that's who. While we were studying for my AP Math final, I mentioned that one of my foster parents offered to take me skydiving, but I got rehomed before we could do it. I said it was a regret that I wasn't able to do it.

  So today "Math Boy" finally got his cape, although there were strings (and a body) attached. It turns out the buddy he introduced me to yesterday owns a jump school, and offered tandem jumps. The only thing that could have made it better was if I was strapped to Z instead. Damn silly safety laws.

 I will warn you of this, when your instructor says, "We will go on three" or "We will go on five." What they mean is; we will go on two, or we will go on four. That means, you do not have time to put your hands on either side of the door. I was once told by a foster father that skydiving was kind of like flying. Bullshit it was falling... but it was really cool falling.

For the record, I think the only way to improve the beauty of Athens...  is seeing it spreading out beneath you in all directions (and rushing up into you) from 14,000 feet, after jumping out of a vintage aircraft. Z grabbed on my hands on the way down I was grinning ear to ear.

 When we hit ground and we had time alone, I asked him if he was going to make good on all of the promises that were forgotten or broken. "No but my boy needs to know dreams can come true."  I told Z, HE was my dream come true. While skydiving is not better than sex it was close second. Let me put it this way, best roller-coaster ever! I was so excited Z is talking about getting me certified like he is.

Chase