Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Comedia 2/2

Brandon chimed in, “what! That’s not ok.” The exclamation mark wasn’t really there, his inflections were nearly as subtle as Ameen’s.

Ameen looked at me. A pause ensued. Each of us wanting to say something more about the topic. But the subway stopped and we hopped off.

The night gets blurry. The next place I remember being is somewhere in Southern Madrid. All of my friends were there and we were walking to Comedia. It was closed when we got there. I suppose we ended up someplace else. Or maybe it was just a dream.

Then we were at the bus stop near the Reina Sofia. The orange-yellow light of the street lamps illuminated belligerent drunkards. The air was getting colder. The dampness of the early morning started to cling to our clubbing outfits. Borrachos urinated nearby. Girls in tight short skirts stumbled on the sidewalk, nearly spilling the contents of their purses.

I realized how alone I was for a moment. Stuck in a country without anyone to call my own. I didn’t feel bad about it then. I was happy to be single. Exploring things on my own terms was fun, but having no allegiances to anyone left an undeniable emptiness.

I finally got on a bus, still drunk. I can’t remember who I was with. But I rode the bus for a long time before realizing it was going in the wrong direction. The city passed before my eyes; then the suburbs. An empty river.

I got off the bus. We lucked out and caught the same bus going back to the city. And the empty river. The suburbs. The city passed before me again.

And suddenly I was walking home in the morning gray. It was nearly ten blocks from the train station to my bed. I passed modern gas stations, apartment complexes, schools, fountains, plazas, restaurants. All of it was quiet at that time. The occasional cab drove by. And the birds started singing. The smell of the apartment I greeted me at the door. The heat was always up perfectly. The place was a real home. And I crashed on my bed. Asleep, and comfortable.