The life of the last Don Juan

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Summary

This memoir follows a real story. A man who grew up in poverty, violence, and horror. Full of sarcastic moments and the strong desire to fulfill life. One of the most devastating beginnings, horroric plot and unexpected endings. The last Don Juan is a biography about Juan, going through life, revealing us how he went from hating his step father and attempting suicide to- years later escaping a Schizophrenic Hospital on new years just to attend a singles party in Toronto.

Genre:
Other / Thriller
Author:
JDlawyer
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
1
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
18+

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Once a child, always a child!

There was a day.

As a child.

I … felt intuition, for the first time.

We were all following the teacher instruction, I was four and a half years old.

Everybody started jumping as the song played along, everyone was moving, but for me there was an itching force that was holding me back, I could not move. I felt the song, the rhythm, the amazing happy mood, however, there was this sense of urgency that bound all my senses. I didn’t know what it was until there was this uncontrollable thought that burst out in my mind … “What if?” I looked back, hoping it was someone else, hoping it wasn’t me -yet ... there, to my surprise, was a mirror behind me. I merged in the deaden as I stared at myself, perhaps too long.

“Hey, why aren’t you jumping?” I didn’t notice her voice, just my face in the mirror that was trying to reveal something beyond words.

She came over, grab my hand and took me to the group of kids.

The day went by, I was trying to play in the sandbox, but I could smell urine in every scope of it, even if it wasn’t wet. My senses were heightened, which resulted in my eyes getting stiff and inevitably I started to cry, not intentionally.

I tried to calm myself by exploring other areas outside of the box, however, the adults kept preventing me from getting out of it.

My stress and irritability were taken the better out of me. I searched for an isolated area or a close area were the smell wouldn’t get to me.

At this point, the best I ended up doing was to hide behind a post, immobile, doing nothing, just listening to the laughs of children playing.

This irritated me and brought me grief, I started to cry once again. That went on for a while.

Lunch time was up for a take, everyone was allow out of the sandbox and praise for it, I was witnessing something that brought me a new feeling, the same people that prevented me from going out, now were praising others for doing so.

Surprisingly, a lot can change by those who have a concept of time, and what about those who don’t?

Nettles to say, my first trauma was born. I understood, at such age, the boundaries of those inferiors.

If that trauma hadn’t been born, if I had tried to go out when the time and circumstance were at favor, I … would likely not be the same today. A small change as this one can mean where a person takes the entire course of their lives, the principals they’ll follow and the mindset they’ll have, perhaps ... even their destiny.

I stood on my ground, somehow these people now were encouraging me to get out of the playground. I held myself tight to the post, not letting go, I didn’t want to take a look at them, I had already dimmed them my enemies.

To put it simple, I gave them a hard time, but eventually I went inside, and sat down on the floor with my lunch, which was inside of this amazing cute train design compact box.

Once I opened it, I saw this delicious yogurt that at the time was very rare, with a flavor of strawberry, and some mild cookies of salt. I was waving my feet left and right as I crack those cookies.

My mom always made me wear this small weird shiny black shoes, usually she’ll make me wear them for church, but they sound like dancing heels when you walk, and very uncomfortably tight.

Normally in kinder garden they all take the shoes off before going inside, but since for me it was an unfamiliar place, I never really bother to take them off since I didn’t consider it a home.

With my great stubbornness, I always cried whenever one of the teachers tried to take them off, even with my solid persistence, they still did it anyways, hoping my tears would eventually stop throughout the day. However, what they didn’t know was that, in fact, every time they did so, my mistrust in them grew stronger.

There were days such as this, that during lunch time, I’ll secretly go to the door and put my shoes on, patiently waiting for that thought that always came, with the strong urge to move. That one thought.

I finished my yogurt, and my cookies, since nobody ever fed me in that enclose kinder garden I knew the only way to get more food was to go back home. However, the door was always lock heavily.

‘The window?’

There it was! the thought I was waiting for.

An immense will power surge through my veins, suspense and intrigue feelings boarded along, tagging me in the gut pulse by pulse as I went looking for a window.

Destination spotted, there were not chairs nearby, so I somehow took momentum and jump ‘Who taught me momentum?’ it was not just instinct, something was calling out to me, out there, lost in the infinite, perhaps.

I manage to grab the window, the dammed shoes were too slippery, and too rounded to grab, and the silhouettes were too plain.

Never mind that, my fingers were too tender and my muscles were undeveloped. I was hanging, I knew a good momentum like this one was hard to pull off without going unnoticed.

With a lot of distress I manage my way up, unfortunately, the window was quiet complex, and trying to make it move made enough sound for me to get spotted.

I was so afraid when I got caught I thought of breaking the window with my fist, I held onto the window while the teachers were pulling my legs, it took two women and one man to get me away from that window, and when they did, oh boy did I cry my lungs out.

The funny thing is, from that day on ... things within me changed quite a bit. For the following five months I ran away from my house countless times. There were times my mom was very strict with me, in which she only allow me to go to the store to buy things she needed like a cup of sugar. This rare occurrence of letting me out happened maybe once every two months. That however, didn’t help much, it only fed my curiosity even more.

Since my mom was tired of being in high alert all the time, she decided to travel with me and handed me over to my Dad, who at the time, was fresh out of the military.

Living my life alone with Dad was not a big deal, but my curiosity was, in essence, something that always came back to bite me day and night. I respected my Mom and my Dad a lot, and because of that, I held the urge.

However, those times when my Dad didn’t come home during the day nor the night made me question myself, ‘Where are they going every day in such a hurry? Are they looking for that? by which I search.’ I thought while sitting in the couch looking through the window.

If I bothered to watch TV at night I would feel like there was something missing. That is why, every night ... I sat by the couch, and gently moved the curtain away, looking from the side, observing the outside late at night, counting the light stops and naming every car I saw.

There was a time when I felt hungry, it was late at night and I knew my father wasn’t coming back. I think in those days he was working as a night guard.

There was always food my Dad prepare for me ahead of time. The only problem was, in some occasions he never told me where it was located, and the fool didn’t put it in the fridge, counter, nor the table, and we were not moderately stable enough to own a microwave.

He was so dammed proud of being in the military, I wondered what that hype was all about. I was four years old, expecting my life to change at any moment.

It was at that particular reflecting time that I couldn’t take it anymore. My urge to be liberate from my Dad became an obsession, I started to run away from his house and wonder into the city, searching for answers, searching for myself. Many times, he found me in railways, or alleys, lost in the dark areas of the city.

He’ll look at me very upset and take me by the hand, he was probably thinking ‘What in the freaking world is up with this kid?’ Not matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t feel fulfillment staying in close doors.


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