freedom, freedom, freedom
a boundless freedom
We’re engrossed, and we’re very much in love, aren’t we? Too drunk to eat, too drunk to sleep, too drunk to do anything else besides kiss. It always gets to a point in the evening where it becomes easier than talking. But I want to be surprised. I want to be swept off my feet when it happens. I want to fall.
I want to fall, all in love,
and all at once.
I don’t want to think about it anymore.
I just want to fall.
“So. What did you learn about Rome this time around?” The man at the front of the bar asks me.
It’s a Friday night. The air is sticky. Rome is going through another one of its heatwaves. My hair has become frizzy, and it’s a tragedy because we really perfected the mermaid waves prior to leaving the house.
Facing him, I lean up against that white brick wall, and fold my arms across my chest.
“Honestly? I think I’ve learned that everyone is either trying to fuck you or fuck you over.”
He starts to laugh. “This is…true.”
“If you ever decide to use that line, quote me.”
-
Oh, our solo date nights. There is nothing I love more than the possibilities of a solo date night. Here’s the thing: the sky is really the limit on what could happen. You’re in control of your own fate, your own destiny. You don’t have to worry about a friend bulldozing your dinner conversation, or how you’ll get out of an awkward date.
It’s just you and your martinis. And you and all the boys at the bar.
-
“How’s your boyfriend?” The man at the front of the bar asks me.
“I decided that the summer isn’t for boyfriends.” I’ve seemingly backtracked on my manifestation, and am now backtracking on my excuse as to why we never saw each other again.
“Why didn’t it work out?”
I pause. “I felt like he was trying to put me in a cage.” My imaginary summer boyfriend inevitably would have done this, wouldn’t he?
“Controlling?”
“Just…not something I’d want in a partner. I want to have fun.”
“Ah. Well, you have my number.”
“And you have my address.”
“Not anymore. I deleted our conversation after you told me you didn’t want to see me again.”
I roll my eyes and start to laugh. “First of all, I didn’t say I didn’t want to see you. I said that I couldn’t. There’s a big difference there.”
He smiles. “Well, why would I keep a conversation of a girl telling me that?”
I mean, he does make a good point.
I glance through the doors. And just as predicted, a set of dark brown eyes watch from behind the bar. My back doesn’t stiffen this time. Instead, I raise my eyebrows and stare back. The cage.
“Do you want to know the truth?” The man at the front has my attention again.
He looks confused.
“Do you remember a few months ago? I was smoking a cigarette outside with you, and I had his lighter in my hand.”
“He came outside to ask you for it. I remember.”
“I came in a few days later with my friend. He lost it with me. Out of the blue. In front of everyone. Patrons. Staff. Everyone.”
He’s quiet, raises his eyebrows, and stares at me for a few moments.
“It’s all really starting to make sense now.” He says.
-
“So. When we were talking about the people that we used to love, he was one of them?”
In the middle of January, I sit inside a blue tiled kitchen. There’s two glasses of whiskey on the table, and an ashtray in front of me. It’s 2 AM, and it’s the second time he’s asked me to hang out with him since returning back.
A date at a speakeasy, and now, here we are. And I admitted something out loud to him that I swore I’d never tell anyone.
I go silent.
“I mean, everyone already knew. It was never confirmed, but everyone already knew.”
“I didn’t…” Mean for it to happen?
Understand why the feelings were still there, after all this time?
I decide it’s easier to light my cigarette instead of finishing my sentence.
He raises his eyebrows, crosses his arms, and leans back in his chair.
“I used to be in love with a girl named Emily.” He had told me last week.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I start to laugh.
“Just can’t picture you two together.” He shrugs. “That’s all.”
-
“It was so obvious to everyone, Emily.”
“Are you serious?” I text my friend. “You weren’t even at the bar with me.”
“I know. But there was this…energy. I can’t describe it. Anyways, people are a lot smarter than you think.”
A text from my other friend reads:
“You know what it always felt like to me? It’s like when you forgot you’ve left the window open, and the curtains are moving, and the air is blowing in. Kind of like…something is there. You’re not sure what it is exactly, but something is there.”
-
“Listen, I’m not saying you’re like the other girls who come here, specifically asking for him. You’re not. But you can’t wait for him. You can’t let him stop you from being happy, or from pursuing something that might make you happier.”
“Oh, trust me. He hasn’t really stopped me from doing anything.” And he knows that too, which was part of the problem. That golden cage. But I won’t tell the man at the front of the bar this.
“What time do you finish tonight?”
-
“Can you get him for me?”
Peter Pan looks taken aback, and repeats my question back to me.
I’ve never asked for him at the bar, let alone, have I ever asked Peter Pan to get him for me.
But, after finding out about Peter’s not-so-secret girlfriend, I have no problem reminding him about the other secret he kept.
“Ya. Can you get him? I have to ask him something.”
Peter nods, leaves, and quickly comes around the corner with Past Newsletters.
“Oh! Hey!” A huge smile crosses his face.
My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help but smile too. “Hi!”
Peter Pan stands next to him in silence.
“I need your life advice again.”
-
He’s getting dressed to leave.
“Thanks for entertaining me tonight. You’re always fun to talk to.”
“Well, I don’t yell at you in front of strangers.”
“I’ll text you when I’m back.”
“You’ll probably find some rich older man in Portofino and forget about me. He’ll take you shopping and tell you what restaurant he’s going to take you to for dinner.”
“That life never appealed to me. It always comes at a cost.” I close my eyes and start to drift off.
“I don’t like a lot of people. But I think I might love you.”
I laugh in my dreamy haze, he kisses me on the cheek, and I fall asleep before I hear the door close.
-
The sound of thunder on a Sunday afternoon of last spring wakes us up.
“Sex before the storm.”
I roll my eyes and laugh. “Did you want me to write a poem about this?”
He stands up to grab his shirt off the floor. It’s my favourite scene. The day after the night we first met. The empty wine glasses, the smell of his cigarettes, and the sound of raindrops against the window.
I throw on a pair of old black jeans and a tank top.
“So. What’s next?” The dark brown eyes and the tattooed frame. He buttons up his shirt.
I lean my head against the doorway and smile. “I don’t know.”
“Life on the run.”
“Who’s running?”
He smiles. “Both of us.”
He kisses me and leaves. And for the first time in a long time, I am left leaning up against my bedroom wall, wondering what I was ever running from in the first place.