Read My Own Revolution for Free Online Page B

already know.”
    “It’s not about him. Not at all.” I head for the fountain.
    “I’m going to be
late,
” she complains, but follows. She has to because I have the violin.
    I sit down on the edge of the fountain. In the middle, a stone cherub is peeing, his pee splish-splashing from one level to another. “Come here.”
    She sits and smooths her skirt. But she’s a little away from me, not like she would be with Bozek.
    There’s no time to waste. “I love you,” I say.
    She shrugs. “I love you, too.”
    “But not like that. Not how we used to love each other, Danika. Not like before . . .”
    She looks at me then, looks in a way that I can tell she’s forgotten about her violin lesson. She looks at my face and then her eyes move down, over the red scarf at my neck, over my chest, where my heart is trying to break loose. Her eyes settle on my hands, which are sweating buckets. I wipe them on my knees.
    Her bright-blue eyes come back to my face. She wrinkles her forehead, then runs one hand over it. A breeze blows, knocking drops of cherub pee this way and that.
    Suddenly she giggles. She puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my,” she says through her hand.
    My blood zooms like a million cars on a racetrack.
    She takes her hand away from her mouth. She stops giggling. She reaches that hand — trembling — for my shoulder. “This
is
a surprise, Patrik. You’ve always been like a brother to me.”
    “Not anymore. I don’t feel like a brother anymore,” I protest. “I like you in a different way.”
    She drops her hand and looks at it lying limp in her lap.
    “You’re trying to tell me that you like Bozek instead of me? Is that it?” I drive the words hard.
    “Don’t be silly.”
    “What, then?” I kick at a weed sprouting between the paving stones.
    “You and I used to play Gypsies together. Becoming your girlfriend would feel weird.”
    “It’s because of Bozek.”
    “It’s not. It’s just that you’ve always been my friend. And you always will be.”
    Only that.

It’s nighttime and I lean back against the square base of Lenin’s statue. I imagine a nuclear missile coming straight from the U.S. of A. — even with me here — to blast Lenin. The missile would explode in a million red bits, bursting all over like the embers of a campfire. Then Lenin and I would be no more.
    My thoughts revolve back to Danika. Obviously she likes Bozek instead of me. Bozek, the son of a party member. The son of a guy like Dr. Machovik, who sends his colleagues to hard labor. How
could
she?
    Something goes
pop, pop
inside me.
    I look around for Karel and Emil, who promised to meet me here. Where are they? Running a toy train? Listening one more time to the Beatles?
    Karel especially should be coming. Adam Uherco is his distant relative. He should be here for Adam because Adam can’t be.
    At last, I make out Karel sidling along like a sideways-walking crab. “Where’s Emil?” I ask. “I thought he was coming with you.”
    “Don’t know. We said ten sharp right here. . . .”
    “Maybe he’s turned us in.” I laugh, but both of us look around for searchlights, someone hunting us down. There’s nothing. Nobody. Not even a moon.
    “Emil wouldn’t do that,” Karel says.
    “He probably just got cold feet,” I say. “Let’s do it without him. The longer we wait, the more chance there is of getting caught.”
    “I drank three glasses of water,” Karel says.
    “I gulped down a pot of tea.”
    We climb onto the base, right at Lenin’s feet. Karel starts to unzip.
    “Not down here,” I say. “Up there.” I point at the dark statue.
    “Piss on his face?” Karel asks.
    “Why not?” If America refuses to send that missile, my pee is the next best thing.
    Karel links his fingers together, making a step with his hands. He hoists me up the cold, slippery statue. I make my way onto the crooked-back elbow.
    “Now, how do
I
get up?” Karel asks, his voice high.
    “Like this.” Securing my leg in