by Lee Kerr
My eyelids crank open again and I look around to find what I clearly missed just a moment ago. And there he is, sitting in a chair opposite the bed, his legs folded and a magazine in his hand.
‘How did you get here?’ I ask, needing to know how he found me, when he found me and where he found me. Was it him? Did he catch me at my lowest?
He stands up and comes closer to me. ‘The more important question is how did you get here? That’s the question I’ve been dying to ask, as you can imagine.’
I don’t say anything but close my eyes and pretend he isn’t there, begging the blackness to descend upon me quickly. I know he is still talking but I don’t hear anything specific as I feel the pressure building on my weary eyelids. I want no more questions, no more demands, and so I slip away, quietly and without any more drama.
Just as I had wanted.
*****
I didn’t want to come back, so why do I keep waking up? This wasn’t what I wanted but I don’t know what I can do to fix it, to make the endless hum go away. I feel cold, and there is this constant droning noise in my ears; it’s like I’m in some sort of chiller. I immediately wonder if I am finally dead. I’m not lying down so perhaps I’m hanging up like meat in a cold room?
I want to sleep but I’m too uncomfortable and so I open my eyes. I need to know how I can fix this; how can I leave this place and drift away into that world of forgetfulness.
I soon see that he’s here again, sitting next to me, still reading a magazine. We’re on a plane and are both sitting still. He doesn’t look at me; I don’t think he realises I am awake. His trimmed beard is as neat as it always is; his shirt crisp and tight. He carries his age well: a man in his mid-thirties, with the lifestyle of someone in their mid-forties, yet graced with the look of mid-twenties. All of these masks he wears fit him so well and I think it is handy to have someone like that around.
He moves a hand to turn the page and I quickly shut my eyes, worried that he will look over. I’m not ready to meet him, not ready to talk or to answer. I want to know nothing and share nothing and so I wait for the drift, the pull away from here. I soon feel the heaviness of my eyelids as they find their favourite resting position. I don’t know why I’m floating away so often, but it must be because of whatever medication I’m taking – this cocktail of chemicals that keep me away from reality as much as possible. Whatever the reason, in this moment, I am always happiest.
If only I had the whole bottle. I know for sure I wouldn’t plan on coming back.
*****
I can open my eyes whenever I want to. By keeping them closed I’m just pretending – pretending that I’m asleep when I’m actually awake, just thinking and wondering. I have so much to think about but so little that I want to discuss with my tortured mind. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep quiet for; I know he won’t buy it forever, and besides I’ve run out of things to distract my scattered brain with. The truth is I am not sure how much longer I can be alone. It drove me insane before and it’s doing the same now.
I feel the light again, the sun crashing against my skin and forcing a reaction in my eyes. I see a slight tinge of colour where there was only blackness before. I know that I need to eat; I can’t think when I last had proper food, or when I last craved it so much. It somehow feels good to feel hungry: I need sustenance and my body needs me as much as I need it. If I don’t eat, don’t feed it, then we both die. Our co-existence depends on it – our mutual deal for life, as long as we both accept it.
He must need me too, must feel pure agony at my continued failure to offer him any answers. He needs to know that I’m here, he deserves that much. He actually deserves a lot more, but I need to start somewhere. I decide that I’ll take just a few more minutes. It feels good to be in control for once, to know that I can open my eyes whenever I want. Actually, this entire morning feels so very special: just to know that light is coming from the window and to be able to picture my surroundings – the desk, the sofas, the bathroom, the other bed.
The hotel I could never afford and the best friend I have never deserved.
I hear him now, somewhere in the room, as I try to keep a mental picture of where we are. I imagine him moving around, talking to himself out loud, directed at the both of us. I hear the curtains moving on the rail, the balcony doors opening and the summer breeze drifting into the room. The cool air tickles my skin and I realise that it’s a positive sensation. I’m appreciating something simple for what it is and how nice it can be – it’s been such a long time since I have acknowledged things like this. Despite the cool breeze I actually feel warm, warmer than I have felt since before it all happened.
‘You can’t still be asleep,’ Mike says, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He knows me too well, and has had the time to watch me whilst I continue to be absent from this place he has brought me to. ‘If you’re still asleep then I apologise profusely for what I’m about to do,’ he says, as he rips off my bed covers.
I open my eyes as I feel the quilt leaving me. I hear it scrunching up on the carpet and then look to see that one corner of it is still clinging onto the side of the bed. I feel a slight chill from outside and wonder if I have any clothes on. It’s enough to make me look down at my flat body, thankful to see that pants and a T-shirt are covering my withering skin and bones.
‘You managed to dress yourself last night. It was a significant improvement on the last few days,’ he says, as he shakes his head. ‘Oh and good morning for what must be the tenth time. I do hope you’re going to stay with me this time, otherwise there is a chance that you’ll miss out on your dream city.’
‘We’re really in Florence?’ I ask. I can only partially remember the last two days, and I am not truly able to believe that we actually got here.
‘Yes, we are really in Florence,’ he says, gesturing towards the balcony. ‘The city, in all its eternal glory, patiently awaits you.’
I sit up in my bed, looking out towards the balcony. I can see the blue sky, the scattering of clouds, so few and only fluffy with no threat of bad weather. I can hear the birds singing in the nearby tree, such a contrast with the traffic and hustle of this small city.
He sits down on a chair, staring over at me. ‘We have already been here for 12 hours and have seen nothing. I know it was night time and you needed sleep, but that’s no excuse, because whether in the day or at night, this city is a marvel, as you well know.’
I nod, agreeing completely, and feeling very happy to be here. When I was feeling that I could cope with nothing more, this was the place that came into my mind – the one place I knew I would miss. I look between him and the city below us and its constant air of possibility. ‘I can’t believe we’re here.’
‘And I can’t believe you’re actually smiling,’ he says.
I stop for a moment before I agree with him, knowing it has been a long while. I look around the room and realise just how lucky I am. I notice extra detail in every corner, from the oversized television to the minibar with a cabinet all to itself. ‘Thank you,’ I say, knowing it’s all I can offer him right now.
He nods but doesn’t seem to care. ‘So, are you thanking me for getting us on a flight when the prices have tripled since only last week, for checking us into a five-star hotel, or for getting you out of hospital and out of the country after you took a jar of drugs strong enough to kill a herd of elephants?’
I look at him, his face serious, my experience telling me that I’m in deep trouble and our long friendship telling me that he won’t let this drop. ‘Probably all of the above,’ I say, wincing at the thought of everything I have put him through, despite my so very different intentions.
He smiles. ‘Yes, they are all quite interesting topics for discussion, which I will happily discuss over breakfast. But when I’m done telling you about what fun we have had, and when we’re done seeing all the sights, at some point you have some explaining to do. Feel free to take your time but by the end of this holiday I will need to
know everything.’
I look down, hoping this holiday won’t ever end, that perhaps they will shut all the airports and we will never have to leave here. If that happens then Mike will get no argument from me; just a plea for us to stay in this hotel permanently. His credit card would have a lot of stretching to do but I know it's a better alternative to returning home. I laugh to myself – I haven’t thought that far ahead in years.
‘Get showered and dressed,’ he says, throwing clothes onto my bed. I don’t have anything to say, don’t know what the point would be in checking what other clothes I have. He obviously packed them all and I have little interest in making sure than anything matches. ‘It’s time for breakfast on the sun terrace and then we have a day to see all our favourites.’
‘Only one day?’ I ask, slightly disappointed, although it does feel nice to feel something about anything, even if it is disappointment.
He’s already shaking his head. ‘Oh, we’re here all week and I tried to book ahead but the concierge insisted that there is no reason to book anything. Tourist visitor rates are down 75%, so the queues will be virtually non-existent. Only the bravest will be here. It should be interesting but the good news is that we will be able to see all of our favourites, each and every day for a whole week.’ He throws a towel at me and his head motions me to the bathroom. ‘As usual on our little trips all of my stuff is on the right, yours on the left.’
I get up and think of all the problems, of all he has told me and all the things that are happening that I know about. Most of all I think of a Florence without queues; just another reason to believe this place really is heaven in the midst of hell.
*****
‘You were right about the queues. It’s like the start of the season – totally unlike any other August day I can ever remember here.’
He nods and brushes his hair back, scraping a hand through the long strands until they are resting on his forehead, just where he wants them. ‘The queues are always shit but now they’re not here I somehow miss them. It’s strange but I also miss the crowds, the way there is always someone in the background of every photo, no matter how many you take.’
I laugh, knowing just how many times that has happened. We’re both pros at the travel thing, the Italy thing and the Florence trick of perfect photos – get here very early and then spend the afternoon sleeping by the pool. ‘I don’t miss the tourists but I do miss having a VIP pass and walking along the long line, knowing that we will be in and out before they even get to the front of the queue.’
He laughs and edges closer to me, leaning into my ear. ‘Everyone has a job in this place. The concierge gets his tip, the doormen do a little more and get something extra back, and basically everyone is happy. If there are no masses of tourists then none of these people have a purpose, and so they will disappear.’
‘You think that everyone’s roles are changing?’ I ask.
We both look around the half-empty square, taking it all in. I think we both imagine that it’s really a cold day in January and not the supposed peak of the season. I try to pretend the sun isn’t really beating down on all these cobblestones and the lack of thousands of footsteps isn't really an issue. ‘They’re not just changing. I think they’re falling apart. You forget that you’ve missed a lot of news lately. All I’ll say is I’m glad we live in England.’
I take my turn to listen to him as I watch and observe. I still see the touts outside the restaurants, the street sellers still trying to flog all manner of cheap plastic and overprinted art. I see determination in the eyes of everyone around us: they want to continue, to act as if nothing threatens our existence. The class system seems to have remained place so far: the workers do the work, the street sellers do the selling and the tourists do the buying. No roles have changed and no one has challenged the expectations society has silently placed upon each of us, but I do see the issue. As I look around I see very few families and a lot more older people than usual. Maybe they have less to lose; maybe those of us who are here are on a pilgrimage rather than a holiday; all of us together, and all of us happy to see our end in a place like this.
I start to think that this is where I should have done it. I would have been surrounded by all that I love – centuries of astonishing creations to admire, all in one place. But then I look at Mike and I instantly know that it wouldn’t have been fair. Even if he wasn’t with me at the time he would have been the one to come over to identify my body, taking it back to England and burying it next to my parents – his last and loneliest job being to rest me in a place where I would never find peace.
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t be here,’ I say, my deepest thoughts somehow being vocalised before I have a chance to understand them myself.
‘Oh, not that again,’ he says, pulling me forward towards a very short queue. ‘You’re really worried, aren’t you?’
‘It’s like you say, the news reports are getting worse. Something has happened in parts of Asia and most of Africa, which that means it isn’t far from the rest of Europe. If it comes by land then it might take some time, but what about travelling by sea? Italy is an easy landing spot, such an easy country to invade.’
He laughs – typical Mike, not worried about anything. How many people would have had the bravery to take a friend out of hospital and onto a plane after what I did? It’s a wonder they let me go but priorities seem to have shifted in the last few weeks. When the needs of the masses change, the wants of an individual are difficult to process, and I think that bespoke care might just end up as a thing of the past. The reality is that Mike probably did them a favour by taking me out of the hospital, thus freeing up a desperately needed bed.
He catches me thinking and stares back at me, ignoring our surroundings, oblivious to the few people around us. ‘We're here now, in Florence, your favourite place on earth, so you need to get with it. This will be a good break. We will not be killed by some virus and we will not be eaten by zombies, or whatever they reckon is lurking out there. You will find a way to move on from whatever happened, which will include telling me what actually did happen, so that I can help you to rebuild your life. Then we can both cheer the fuck up.’
I take a deep breath and nod. This could be the right place for me, a chance to be renewed. After all, around every corner is a church, a statue – a picture from the past just waiting to be found. How can something from the depths of time, frozen for so long, give so much so freely? How could it not stir up powerful emotions? ‘this is the right place, I’m sure of it – just maybe not the right time.’
‘Perhaps we need a disaster looming in the distance every summer, if it means that the Galleria dell'Accademia is emptied!’ Mike says, pulling me into the large reception area. He dances through the ticket hall, then passes far more notes than are necessary through the small plastic hole to the solitary figure sitting behind the booth. ‘We won’t need the audio guide, we’re professionals!’ he shouts, as he drags me towards the main hall.
He’s right about the audio guide: it’s been a long time since either of us found any use for it. I can recite the background to every individual piece of art and tell every magnificent story from memory, without the need of a book or any other kind of assistance. But this trip is different – in more ways than I can count. This time, Mike pulls us left when I want to go right. I always start with the works of Giambologna and snake my way around the many Florentine paintings, all of them a teasing prelude to the main event. I don’t want to see him until I have settled in, reminded myself where I am and truly savoured the moment. Mike is different this time; he’s in some sort of hurry, dragging me towards him before I am ready, before I have had time to properly prepare myself. I sigh and pull back, telling him we should go right first, but he doesn’t listen. He keeps dragging me, laughing as we cross the threshold. ‘It’s good to be different, to spice things up, just a little!’
I am still shaking my head, my mind saying no, when he suddenly stops. I collide with him, my brain
confused by a simple change in the routine that has held true for a decade. I’m busy telling him off, telling him that this isn’t what I wanted, not how it should be done, but he only looks forward.
‘Ah, David, there you are, and how I have missed you,’ he says.
I turn to face forward, allowing my gaze to rest upon what he has found. We both nod as we look at the simple beauty, amply detailed in only marble, no more than twenty paces ahead of us. I stare over at him and find it so easy to believe that he is staring back at only me. All of my frustrations disappear and my despair scurries into some dark corner, knowing that it cannot defeat me in this place.
‘He is as beautiful as he always is,’ Mike says, not looking away from the grey god standing before us.
I’m distracted for a moment by counting the number of people present: there are around 50 people in the room, far fewer than I’m used to seeing here. We once got into an exclusive after-hours exhibit and even then there were more people than I can see now. Any other time we have been in here I have had to fight my way around, but not today. With just a little patience I will get a great picture, one that will join the many others, but perhaps this time it will be the best I have ever taken. I look at Mike next to me and David before me and I feel the energy to go on, but also regret for what I did. I’m almost glad it didn’t work and as I watch Mike walk away I wonder if maybe I should have confided in him, if he could have somehow helped. It all happened so quickly and I’ll never understand how I could have spent so long being frustrated at all those unanswered questions. I never turned to my best friend; instead, I chose the comfort of online forums, of people who felt the same, who would only tell me what I wanted to hear and that I wasn’t alone, which, deep down, I knew to be true.
I walk forward and linger for a while. Mike does the same. We separate, neither of us feeling any need to share this small experience, since we are sharing all of Florence together. I eventually sit down behind David, opposite his ass, where many go but few stay for long. The essence of his being is based on eternal intimacy, and while I admit that this isn’t the most glamorous part of him, I think it’s just as revealing as the rest.