Read My Own Revolution for Free Online

member doesn’t mean he likes the government any better than he did before.” Tati cuts the pork chop off the bone. “He just sees an opportunity to use that government.”
    “Against us?”
    “Let’s hope not.”
    I finish eating and rinse my plate. “More homework,” I say, excusing myself. I go to my room and into the closet, which is my darkroom.
    I shut the door, and the room goes black. I can’t stand having a picture of Bozek with Danika in my camera. Even though the film isn’t completely used and film is sometimes hard to get, I take it out and roll it onto the reel.
    I plunge the reel into the baths and go to work. At the end, I turn on the red light and look at the strip of negatives. Only the last shot is important. It shows Danika and Bozek on the walkway, leaning close with their books almost touching. Even though the negatives aren’t completely dry, I make a print of the shot. Before the paper even dries, I take a pair of scissors and cut Bozek out of the shot. I cut him away from her so that she is separate from him. I hang the image of just her on the inside of the door, then hesitate over Bozek’s image. I could burn it. Or cut it into a million pieces. But I just drop his face — smiling over his red scarf, which is just dark gray now — into the wastebasket.
    Danika lives two floors up in an identical apartment. Years ago we lined up our beds so hers was right on top of mine. At this moment, she may be exactly above me. Is she lying up there daydreaming of Bozek?
    When we were little, Danika and I started the note dropping, and we’ve kept it up all these years. She lowers a note on a string until it dangles where I can see it. She used to tell me how her teddy bear lost its button eye or ask things like what Mami made for dessert. Now she tells me different things. She tells me when she’s had a fight with her friend, asks my advice on how to make up. After I read her note, I always scribble a response. When I yank on the string, she pulls the message to her window.
    Because she lives above, Danika has to be the one to start. Now I wish she’d send a note down. Say something. I’d answer right away. I’d send her a sweet note. I’d apologize. She’d sweetly accept.
    And then I’d send her another message with three simple words.

I wait for Danika as usual on the walkway. But this morning I combed my hair and pressed my shirt. I shined my shoes until I could see my face in them, so distorted I looked ugly and thought: how would she ever love me back? I’m even wearing my stupid red scarf because I think she must like it.
    Danika is late this morning, so I pace the walkway. I see a pink flower with a yellow heart and think I should pick it for her and spill out the words that go with it. But I’m not ready yet. Not now that we are late.
    She comes out the door, letting it bang shut behind her. Her hair falls carelessly over her forehead. She’s carrying her violin case, and I remember that today after school she has her lesson.
    “Let’s go,” I say, but she’s rustling in her bag. She’s off-kilter and distracted.
    I offer to carry her violin case.
    She looks at me funny, since I’ve never offered before. “Why, thank you, Patrik.”
    We walk to school with the lilacs blooming, birds nesting in the trees. We walk over a fallen nest with tiny crushed blue eggs.
    We arrive at the blocky building, the looming trees, our vandalized slogan, so sloppily repaired. The statue of Lenin lifts an arm as if to say,
Here I am, ruler over all of you.
Once he may have been famous for fighting for the downtrodden, but now he’s the one doing the trodding. I mean treading. He’s a giant stomping boot.
    I follow Danika through the big door, and then she is gone. She’s lost to me in the sea of red scarves. She goes so quickly that she forgets her violin.
    I leave the violin in the office. I write a note, then hesitate before signing my name. Should I draw a heart? That would be a girlish