Dream’s mother told me the girlfriend was back when I dropped by last night for a quick drink.
I seldom see Dream except on weekends, as he is in bed by the time I finish work in mid-evening, or out playing computer games.
I had accepted that I would hardly see him, as he does not enjoy hanging around home, where his mother and father drink nightly with their noisy friends and neighbours.
However, I did not expect Dream would be quite so complacent about keeping in touch by phone.
The first couple of times I called, he answered, and filled me in with news about his day.
Dream works as a messenger for a local shipping company but has grand plans to enter importing. He has a marketing certificate, and plans to continue his studies this year.
In the past week or so, I have called and he didn’t answer.
I send text messages, often prompted by snippets of information his mother has given me about her son’s day-to-day goings on, only to get no response.
I tired of his lack of interest, and told him so when I tricked him into answering the phone one day. I called him on a number he does not recognise as mine, and he answered.
‘What do you think you are doing, ignoring my calls?’ I demanded, swearing at him.
‘When you are sick, I worry. When you have problems at work, I worry again. Your mother tells me these things about your life, but when I call, you ignore me.’
Yes, I wanted to know where I stand…was Dream really that keen on having me as a foster dad, as he claimed at New Year?
But really, I wanted to know if I should bother spending time with someone who clearly has bigger plans.
‘You have no right to talk to me like that. You are someone from my home life. When I am at work, I focus on answering work calls,’ he said.
'Many people enter my life. I am not dependent on you, and can pick and choose,' he said confidently.
What an odd thing to say. Thai men like to say they can pick and choose by way of a boast when they are discussing their appeal to the opposite sex.
‘I think basic manners would dictate that you tell me if you are busy, even if it’s just a text message,’ I retorted.
We parted on bad terms, with Dream throwing a few slummy swear words at me for good measure.
I called later to apologise, but Dream was having none of it. 'So I get only one chance...I make one mistake, and that's it?' I asked.
Later that morning, I dropped in to see his mother, Orng, who was selling noodles at her stall in a small market which fronts the slum.
‘You can’t talk to Dream that directly,’ she said. ‘He is hot-tempered, and refuses to listen.’
Dream was sitting with his mother when I called earlier that morning and we had words. He stormed off.
'I know better than to follow him when he's like that. In time, he comes back and we can have a rational discussion about whatever's troubling him,' she said.
‘I am relaxed about your being in his life,’ Orng said frankly. ‘However, he won’t accept any help or gifts from you,’ she added.
When I went to see Orng an hour or so after Dream hung up in my ear, I turned up at her home first, only to find she was not there.
Dream’s cousin, Dear, was asleep with his girlfriend in the coveted upstairs bedroom, and answered the door.
‘Mali!' he said, looking surprised. 'Dream’s mum is selling noodles at her stand,’ he said.
I walked out to the small market on Phra Ram III Road and found Orng with a friend, serving customers. When she was free, I asked if we could talk.
It was the first time Orng and I have discussed my relationship with Dream, but probably comes too late to save our relationship, as I am sick of his casual and rather ruthless attitude.
I squeezed out a tear to show I care about her son. The spell worked. If Orng has doubts about whether her 18 year-old son should be seeing a middle-aged farang man, she managed to conquer them temporarily.
‘I will talk to him for you,’ she offered.
By the time I dropped in late last night, Orng had told Dream about my concerns.
He said he understood my point of view, and accepted my apology.
‘However, he spoke to me impolitely,’ he complained.
Better news, from my point of view, is that Dream’s girlfriend is now back, after mysteriously dropping out of his life three weeks ago.
‘Don’t try to contact me over New Year, as I’m visiting the provinces with friends,’ she told Dream.
When he called, her phone was switched off, which made him suspicious she was seeing someone else.
They have been together six months. When I met Dream, he was missing his girlfriend and wanted someone to fuss over him, and I fitted the bill. In turn, he met my need to care for someone outside home.
In the first couple of weeks, he took my calls, and was even eager to talk. He unloaded about work problems, and spoke about matters of the heart.
By week three, he had reached a hard-nosed turning point. 'My motorcycle is back from repairs after an accident,' he said.
Now he had his wheels back, he could be a fully fledged teen again.
That was also the last time we spoke by phone.
When I turned up last night on my humble bicycle, I found Dream’s mother and half a dozen friends, including Aunty Lek, drinking at the wooden table outside their home.
‘Dream is upstairs,’ Mum said, pointing to the lit window above.
Dream’s mother and her husband P' Noi sleep in one room, and Dream, alternating with his cousin Dear, in the other.
When I last wrote, Dear had commandeered the boys' bedroom, and booted Dream downstairs to sleep in the sitting room.
Dear’s own home is nearby, but he has a stormy relationship with his mother, Orng's elder sister. He prefers to live with Orng, even if sleeping space is at a premium.
Now I realise the bedroom actually serves as a grease-stained love pit, depending on who has a girlfriend with him at the time.
When Dear is in residence with his girlfriend, he gets the bedroom, and Dream sleeps downstairs. When Dream’s girlfriend turns up, they swap – or perhaps Dear goes home to his Mum’s.
No doubt they share the same pillows and duvet. God knows what their girlfriends think.
I looked grimly at the window above. The light was on. I couldn’t hear the sound of two people making love, but I could imagine it.
‘When Dream was in hospital after his motorcycle accident, his girlfriend sat by his bedside for a week,’ his mother volunteered.
I am not sure if she offered this information to assure me he is well looked after when the girlfriend is around, or to let me know I have no hope of competing with such an expert carer.
Dream wears a small steel rod in his wrist as a legacy of that accident. He will need an operation one day to have it removed.
‘She sells goods in town and visits him here at home three times a week,’ Aunty Lek chipped in.
What am I supposed to make of that…that the other four nights with Dream are mine?
No, thanks.
Lek is not a real ‘aunt’ at all, but has known Dream since he was a child.
A cleaner by day and permanent drinking fixture outside their slum home at night, I blame this emotionally manipulative woman more than anyone for suggesting this foolish idea that I should be Dream’s foster dad.
‘In future if you are passing by and I call you over for a drink, we can sit here just the two of us,’ Aunty Lek said, trying to console me.
What, at the loser’s table?
Again, no thanks.
‘I hope you are not ser-ee-ious,’ she said affectedly, borrowing the English. What she meant was, she hoped I was not thinking about my little Dream problem too much.
‘If I am ser-ee-ious about anything, it’s between Dream, his mother and me,’ I snapped.
'Okay, okay,' she said, finally getting the message that her painful meddling wasn’t welcome.
‘I am happy Dream's girlfriend is back,’ I told Orng, thanking her for intervening on my behalf.
Two minutes later, knowing my job there was done, I left.
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