“But I don’t love you just because you’re popular,” I say, gently, pulling him by his rolled up sleeves, “I love you because you’re you, and because very little that you do is even remotely original. Oh, I can’t stand the fact that you dress as if you were going to a banquet, in the most flamboyant clothes imaginable, and that you never bat your eyelashes at any woman, but you are never, and have never been, anything but you.” I say, “You are probably one of the most un-romantic guys I’ve ever met. And that’s why I love you, because you don’t understand it, why I could never fall in love with you.”
“I could, one day,” he chuckles, “I could be different. I don’t have a choice. There are two ways to break the cycle. If you live long enough for your DNA to mutate to the point where you can no longer reproduce, or if you happen to be born with a serious chromosomal abnormality, one that will cause you to not have children.” I frown, and wait for him to explain.
“All I know is that I can’t die, and I can’t reproduce.” He says, “As I said, I was born with a chromosomal abnormality. I now know that my name is Sevrin and that I will probably outlive all of my siblings. In my time, I will have become a legend. Every holy day will have a story woven out of the fact that not a Sevrin has ever dared to seek fame. Not a Sevrin had not walked away, or fallen, even if no other person had witnessed the event. All the stories you’re listening to right now are a product of the imagination of whoever first told the story.”
“I’ve always known who I was. I’m the last,” He continues, “The last Sevrin. I think I must be the last man to know his own name. There’s a feeling, there’s a connection that I get when I push my hands into a woman’s hair as she looks up at me, and looks at me with my name written in her eyes. And I can’t explain it. But I think I may be hooked on it, or at least just my own name.”
“I always wanted to be the only one.” He said, “I hate to be compared to the other Venattis. I remember that day, when I met you. There was a crowd of kids gathered around something. I remember, because your hair was in your face. You were reading something under an abandoned awning. That’s when I saw you. And I saw myself reflected in your eyes. You were looking right at me, and your eyes were my own. My name was written in your eyes.”
“I had never seen myself reflected in anyone’s eyes before. I remembered the name. I rushed home and I dug through the family tree. I’ve never said it out loud, but it was such a simple name. When I found it, it was only a matter of time until I knew the name of my parents.”
I take a step back. I didn’t quite know what to say. Everything that he’s saying has to be the most unbelievable story I’ve ever heard, but there was a part of me that believed him. I could see that he believed himself.
“Why now? Why are you telling me this?” I ask, “I’m not even remotely important to you.