Chapter Text
Just as I had told Raivis we would, Feliks and I began looking for houses in London not very long after that lunch I had with him. It was hard to be successful at it while being an ocean away, but we tried our best.
“I think that we have to go there in person if we want to find a house, Feliks,” I finally said after another failed call to London. Our phone bill was going to be insane that month and we didn’t get anywhere with our search either. The entire experience certainly wasn’t very pleasant.
“You are unfortunately right,” Feliks admitted, sounding defeated. “And then we will have to come back here to pack and get all our affairs in order.”
Moving overseas was apparently much more difficult than we had anticipated. We had piles of paperwork to get through, ones which would require reasons for our move.
“Let’s just apply for the immigrant worker visa,” Feliks suggested. “We’ll find jobs somehow”
“Feliks, we have no higher education.”
“Yeah, but I am pretty good with the guitar!”
This was true and it allowed us to form a new plan. We would temporarily teach people how to play our instruments, at least before we found different jobs. I was content with just teaching people bass guitar until retirement, but Feliks had different plans.
“I applied to university!” he told me randomly one day, making me nearly drop the pan that I was using to fry some eggs for breakfast.
“You what?” I asked him. “For what course?”
“I found a course that involves both history and teacher training,” Feliks said, beaming. He was clearly very proud of this idea, even though it was certainly the first time I had heard about it.
“You want to become a history teacher?” I wasn’t sure what else to say. It was just such a random plan, but Feliks often thought far ahead. How else would he have illegally gotten out of a country if he didn’t have that skill?
“Not, like, at a regular British school,” he said, rolling his eyes. “There are Polish Saturday schools in places with large Polish populations, I want to teach in a place like that”
“Shouldn’t you study history in Poland then?”
“Well, yes, but-“
“Just do that then,” I stated.
“But what about our move to London?” Felix questioned, his eyebrows raised. He was shocked by my offer but not more than I was. I didn’t even know why I had said what I said. I had never considered moving to Poland before.
This was a stupid idea and yet I proposed it anyway. “We’ll live in Poland until you finish your studies. Besides, it’ll be much easier to move to the UK from there because it’s closer.”
I saw tears appear in the corners of his eyes. “You don’t need to thank me,” I said and tried to shrug, but Feliks’s arms were already around me in a tight embrace.
“I will anyway,” he said, hiding his face in my neck.
With that one conversation, our goal changed entirely. We were now looking to emigrate to Poland, which turned out to be an even harder task because no one seemed to be doing it and the resources were scarce. Feliks had it easy because he had dual citizenship, though he had to quickly get a hold of updated Polish documents. In the end, I figured that it actually made the entire process a bit simpler, since I was the only one we needed to handle. Feliks also admitted that he was glad he didn’t need to pay those outrageous fees for his studies now that he wasn’t going to the UK. I rolled my eyes whenever he mentioned it; it’s not like going to university was my idea.
After we had arranged all of the proper documents and scheduled our move, I managed to sit down for a while and reflect on the decision. I looked out at the street in front of our building and wondered what exactly I had gotten into. In the end, I realized that getting out of LA was a good idea in general, no matter where we were moving. I had hoped that Warsaw, being a much smaller city, would give me a relatively calmer and slower life.
We managed to move in June 1992. Sending all of our belongings off on some ship certainly terrified me. We weren’t able to take our instruments onto the plane, so I wondered how Feliks managed to pull that shit off when he had escaped all of those years ago. In the end, we packed them with all of our furniture.
The flat we were supposed to live in was located in the middle of Warsaw in one of the old tenement houses. The building looked rough on the outside, but the apartments were often freshly renovated. Ours was rented by Feliks’s parents, who were so happy to have him back that they offered to pay for the first month of rent. I told Feliks I didn’t like it because I just generally didn’t want to accept charity, but that month was so hectic that I ended up being glad we at least didn’t have to worry about paying rent.
We each had a substantial amount in savings, though before this move we didn't exactly know how much. Feliks had been quite frugal over the last few years, so when it turned out that he had over one hundred thousand dollars in his bank account, I wasn’t surprised. He cashed it all out, much to the displeasure of the bank employee. He had to explain his intentions multiple times to prove he wasn’t involved in some kind of criminal activity.
We arrived in Warsaw on a particularly sunny day, this time on a plane flying straight from Los Angeles. Why we hadn’t taken it when returning from our trip to Vilnius the year prior, we weren’t sure. Getting off the plane was sort of a surreal experience for the both of us.
“This is weird,” Feliks commented after we had reached the luggage collection. “I feel weirdly similar to the day I arrived in LA for the first time. At the time, I just had a suitcase, a bag and a dream.”
I smiled at him because that was exactly what we had at that moment. We both knew that our move here was not going to be easy. I suppose the thing that differentiated us from the average Polish citizen was that we had a considerable amount of American dollars stashed in our suitcases. Traveling with it made me feel like a criminal, even though it was all our money.
After our furniture arrived, we hid the cash in multiple places across our apartment to prevent theft. A few thousand were in a box under our bed, more money was in our sock drawer where we installed a double bottom. We kept a notebook with all of the locations in case we forgot, but it was written in Lithuanian, the language we suspected would be the least likely to be known by a potential thief.
For the first few weeks, I walked around the apartment constantly confused. Nothing was in places that I was used to. Even the light switches were weird. For that reason, I was happy that for the bass guitar lessons, I went over to other people’s houses. I didn’t teach a traditional instrument, but it seemed that interest in learning it wasn’t nonexistent. I was in an especially lucky situation because it didn’t seem like I had any competition on the market. I could charge whatever price I wanted for my lessons. I kept it fair, so more people could afford it. We didn’t need the money too much anyway. In order to get the word out, I asked Feliks’ parents to tell their friends and I walked around Warsaw with some flyers which included my contact information. Many people looked at me weirdly, but eventually, I began getting calls.
My first student was a fifteen year old boy, called Jan. I was contacted by his father, who told me that his son insisted on having lessons with me after seeing my advertisement. “He is a huge fan of classic rock,” I was told. I immediately accepted the job and scheduled the first lesson a week out the call.
“Oh my god,” I said after hanging up, grabbing Feliks’ attention. Our apartment smelled faintly of cinnamon; he was making apple pie.
“What?” he asked and looked away from the oven. He was the type of person who assumed that staring at food while it was cooking would make it ready faster than if it was left alone.
“I got a job,” I declared with a large smile on my face. Feliks immediately mimicked my expression and made his way towards me to give me a tight hug.
“Congratulations, Taurys,” he said and kissed me on the forehead, the smile not leaving his face for even a second. I always liked Feliks’ forehead kisses because he had to get on his toes to make up for the five centimeters difference between us.
A week later, I found myself standing in front of a typical communist apartment building, located somewhere in the district of Mokotów. I kept staring at my shoes as I walked, overthinking my outfit even more than before I had put it on. I think I went through five different sets of clothes before leaving the house, so in the end, Feliks had to choose something for me to wear. He ended up picking a brown shirt with green leaves decorating the cuffs as well as a pair of beige dress pants. I had my bass guitar in a case that I was carrying on my shoulders. I left my amp at home because I decided to just start with the basics that day. I was also told that the boy had his own equipment already, which I thought was pretty bold for someone who was just starting with an instrument.
Since I had arrived early, I dedicated the remaining minutes before the lesson to pacing nervously around the apartment building. What if I was a horrible teacher? What if the student hated me for some other reason? What if my Polish ended up not being good enough? I did speak it with an accent after all.
Finally, I walked up the small flight of stairs in front of the door and called the proper apartment.
“Halo?” someone’s voice played out of the small speaker.
“I’m Taurys Laurinaitis,” I said in Polish. “I’m here for the bass lesson.”
“Oh, right! Come in, Mr Laurinaitis!” the voice said, followed by a sequence of chimes. I pulled the door handle and went inside. The hall was exactly as I had imagined; dirty gray walls with post boxes assembled on the right wall of the corridor. Before the stairs, there was an archway, above which hung a small plaque, stating that the building was built in 1970 and that now it was the inhabitants’ job to take care of it. I looked at the dirty walls again. Seems like they failed, I thought.
The apartment I was supposed to go to was on the second floor, so I decided to take the stairs instead of the elevator. With every step I took, I came up with a different way to greet the student and his parents. I wanted their first impression of me to be perfect.
After reaching the correct door, I rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, someone opened it. It was a woman, probably the same person who had opened the building door for me.
“Good morning, do come in,” she said. “I’m Marta,” she added after I went inside the apartment. It was a fairly normal looking place, though a lot different from the one Feliks and I lived in. There were light brown wood panels lining the walls and tiles on the floor. I hadn’t ever seen tiles in rooms other than the kitchen and bathroom, so this took me aback.
I saw Marta slide a pair of slippers my way, so I took that as a cue to take off my shoes. “Thank you,” I said to her and put the slippers on. I then held out my hand towards her. “I’m Taurys,” I introduced myself as if she hadn’t already known my name. Marta smiled at me.
A boy suddenly emerged from one of the rooms. “So it wasn’t just a coincidence!” he suddenly said. Marta turned to him, her smile fading.
“Jan, where are your manners?” she scolded him and then turned back to me. “Mr Taurys, this is my son, Janek. He’s the one you’re going to teach.”
“Nice to meet you, Janek,” I said and walked towards the boy to shake his hand. He looked like he still hadn’t had his growth spurt and he had blonde hair and rectangular glasses, which reminded me of Eduard. I smiled at the thought as Janek shook my hand. “I’m Taurys. Should we get started?”
The lesson went fairly normally. We sat in Janek’s room, which was decorated with posters of various musicians. He also had a pretty impressive collection of CDs, which he proudly displayed on shelves above his desk. I tried not to analyze his taste too much and just focus on the lesson, but I couldn’t help myself. We went through the basics for nearly an hour, during which I discovered that Janek had pretty good eye to finger coordination.
“Have you practiced by yourself earlier?” I asked him in those last five minutes of our time. He nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes! I’ve always thought that the bass was the coolest instrument to have in a band!” Janek said, his eyes lighting up. “The bassist was always my favorite member of any group I listened to…” he added and then looked at one of his shelves. I finally allowed myself to look as well and that was when I noticed it. A copy of ‘we thought about pain’ was positioned on a little stand in the center of the shelf… and it was signed.
I stood up and asked him if I could take a look. I picked up the CD and noticed our signatures, written in different colors on the plastic. It was Raivis’ idea for each of us to have a different colored pen we’d use to sign stuff for fans. Mine was dark green, Feliks’ was red, Eduard’s was blue whereas Raivis used the basic black. “Black is the most common color in writing,” he explained his choice. “And I don’t really stand out, I suppose.” At that moment I really began regretting never telling him how wrong he was.
I realized where I was a few seconds later. I looked back at Janek and I just knew. He smiled at me, as if to confirm my suspicions.
“I’m sorry I haven’t told you earlier,” he told me, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “It’s been my dream to meet you for, like, forever!”
I smiled back. “That’s very kind.”
Janek went on to start a band of his own. I still go to their shows sometimes, wondering if they will end up just like we did or if they will learn to handle their issues before they blow up in their faces.
I grew to like my new job very much. I loved seeing the happiness on the students’ faces when they managed to grasp a new chord or melody. I taught mostly tweens and teens, so the conversations I had with them were also awesome. Ironically, Janek recognizing me was an exception to the rule. Everyone else seemed to be in love with newer bands or artists. Our era was a moment lost in the past, a drop in the vast ocean of music, never to be discussed again.
These lessons were an unexpected blessing because they allowed me to form a wide network of connections, which helped me deal with any anxiety I had regarding being an immigant. Back in the USA, I had always felt slightly different due to my name, which was like a bright red light, informing people of my foreign origins. Even if I didn’t know anything besides those concrete American streets, I had never felt fully American. I didn’t belong in Poland either, not really, but at least they pronounced my name fairly correctly.
“Mr Laurinaitis,” a mother addressed me as I was packing up my things after the lesson with her son. She was one of the first people who employed me and she seemed persistent in her efforts to speak to me in English, despite clearly struggling with the language. I didn’t comment on her skills, though, because I knew how much courage she had to muster to practice. “Thank you for today.”
I smiled at her. “Thank you as well. See you next week.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but the English words escaped her. I nodded at her to encourage her. “I wanted to ask if you were seeing anyone?” she finally asked in Polish.
I must have made a weird expression because she was very quick to clear up the misunderstanding. She waved her hands around in panic as she spoke. “It’s not for me! I have a friend who loves musicians, you see…”
I chuckled and answered in Polish as well. I didn’t want to stress her out more. “I’m sorry, but my heart is currently occupied.”
She somehow calmed down upon hearing this. “I told her that must be the case! Wow, your wife… or girlfriend must feel very lucky.”
I smiled, deciding that this wasn’t the time to correct her. That time wouldn’t come for many years. “Thank you, but I assure you that I am the lucky one.”
Her words made me wonder about the nature of marriage. She must have assumed I was married at first because of my age, which was only natural. A thirty two year-old man in her world already had a family. Would I want that with Feliks if it was possible? Would I want to marry him if it was legal? Those questions occupied my mind as I stood on the tram on my way to my next and last lesson that day.
“Would you marry me if you could?” I asked Feliks during dinner that evening. He eyed me with a curious expression since I entered the apartment, but didn’t ask any questions.
“Of course,” he answered immediately and put another spoonful of rice into his mouth.
“That’s good,” I said and after a bit of silence, I added: “I’d marry you too.”
Feliks sighed. “Too bad it’s not legal.”
Heavy silence filled the room.
“You know what’s funny,” I said after a moment. “Two years ago I told myself we’d move to London because you wouldn’t dare propose we move to Warsaw. Do you even still want to move to the UK?”
Feliks shrugged. “I’ll go if you want to, but I would like to try living in London. It seems like a cool experience…” he trailed off for a moment. “But I am glad we’re here, at least for a while.”
It would be a very long while, as Feliks’s university studies were supposed to take five very long years. He managed to enroll into Warsaw University’s history course, where he planned to choose the teaching specialization. When he didn’t have classes, he taught guitar. Somehow, I was more popular than he was for a while and I certainly enjoyed it more. Feliks, despite his goal of becoming a teacher, was getting frustrated when his students didn’t understand something. At least he had the ability to hide it in front of them and only let it out at home.
“I mean, he couldn’t play the E chord!” Feliks said, pulling nervously at his hair.
“He’ll learn, Feliksai,” I said absentmindedly. I turned the page of the novel I was reading. Feliks stopped in his tracks.
“Since when do you casually speak in Lithuanian? You even declined my name properly!”
I raised my head and looked up at him. I hadn’t even noticed that I spoke to him in Lithuanian. I shrugged, not really knowing how to explain it. It was weird, but not weird enough for me not to continue reading. I had a long day.
“Did you even realize that the book you’re reading is the Polish translation of ‘Anna Karenina’?” Feliks asked, standing next to the couch with his hands on his hips. I looked up at him again and then looked at the cover of the book. He was right. “You casually became trilingual, Tauri. I’m impressed,” he said in Lithuanian, also paying special attention to declining my name correctly. I laughed and put the book down on the coffee table.
“Come here,” I said, opening my arms for Feliks to come to me for cuddles. He never declined.
In October, Feliks began his studies at Warsaw University. He came home every day with a heavy stack of books in his backpack and a complaint about how the majority of his year is ‘like, half his age’.
“If they were half your age, they’d be sixteen,” I said while cooking our dinner. “I think you start university at nineteen here, no?” I found the entire thing quite humorous to be honest because I could just about imagine Feliks walking around hallways filled with people he considered literal kids.
“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Feliks said, slamming his hands on the table. “It’s even worse because I bumped into one of my guitar students in the bathroom!”
I laughed out loud at that. “That’s probably the worst place you could have run into him!”
“I know!”
Feliks got routinely recognized too. The first time it happened, he was ecstatic and went on to talk about it for the entire day. But every single time after that made him irritated.
“One of the most embarrassing conversations I’ve had recently was with my Polish history professor,” Feliks told me on one Friday afternoon. “He asked me to stay after the lecture and after I asked him what the matter was, he showed me a copy of that magazine that wrote an entire article about my speech at that Warsaw show.”
He was standing in front of the window in our kitchen, leaning his arms over the windowsill. “I can’t believe that’s the last concert we have ever played,” he added after a moment.
“Did he say anything about it?” I asked, stirring vegetables that I had just placed in the frying pan. The sizzling of the oil filled the room.
Feliks sighed. “Yeah, he told me that knowing my past, he’s even more surprised to see me in his lectures,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like going to school after finishing your career is some big thing but that’s what he made it sound like.”
“How did that question make you feel?”
Feliks shrugged. “I’m not even sure.”
Days went on like that. Feliks went to class and I explored Warsaw on my own. I visited museums and walked through the streets of the old town, paying special attention to the people I passed. I even made some friends by frequenting places like the library on Koszykowa Street or the area around the Vistula River.
Once, I stumbled upon a used record store, located near the city center. I walked in and simply walked around for a while, reminiscing about the bands I had admired in my teenage years. Many of their CDs were on the shelves in that record store. I picked one I didn’t own and went to the counter, where I noticed a piece of paper taped to the wall behind it. It stated that they were looking for an employee. I bought my CD and walked out, but that paper lingered in my mind.
A few days later, I returned to the record store.
“Hi,” I addressed the man sitting behind the counter, who I assumed was the owner. He was reading a newspaper, but he put it away as soon as he noticed my presence. The job poster was still on the wall behind him. “Is the job still available?”
The man immediately got up from his chair. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Are you interested?”
I nodded. We spoke for a while after that. The owner’s name was Władek and he was a nice man, maybe about Feliks’ parents’ age, tall and with a brown moustache. While he loved his store, he needed some help with it.
“My grasp of the current audiences is limited,” he told me. “I need someone who will help me update my inventory.”
In the end, I got the job. The salary wasn’t very high, but Feliks and I didn’t particularly need the money. We practically didn’t touch our savings, as we were making more than enough from full-time music teaching, even after Feliks decreased his number of hours when he started school. My new salary was simply a nice addition. Besides, I liked the atmosphere of the shop. It was mostly quiet, the silence broken up by the occasional customer or two or the instrumental records that Władek put on. The walls were lined with shelves that were practically overflowing with CDs and vinyls. Władek told me he got them imported from abroad.
“I had such a good flow of income around the time that band played here about two years ago,” he told me on one of my first days at work. “The one filled with all those immigrants who had somehow made it big. They were called The Balts, I think. Have you heard of them?”
I stopped to look at the CD I was putting on the shelf. It was ‘freedom fights’, the album of ours which still sold consistently after those few years. “Yeah,” I answered. “They were pretty cool.”