Rome Together
Part Four
Hi there,
This is the fourth part of my novella Rome Together.
To read part three:
I woke at 9. My head was heavy.
Into the breakfast area, empty. I pour myself a bowl of cereal, fucked around with espresso machine, poured orange juice. Every creek of the door I look up, hoping to see Hiroyuki or Nynette. I take a bite of an Apple, it’s soft and mushy and spreads across the roof of my mouth. I swallow quickly. That’ll be my only bite.
These shorts are too tight but they match my bright white shoes. It’s hotter than yesterday. I walk with the water bottle in my hand although it’s almost empty. I go into a supermarket (a small shop to anyone else) and trail through it. I find a bottle of water, 2 litres for €0.30 each. I take two and I’m thankful. The Medici district is truly something else. At once glazed and pristine, trampled and dirty. You can see Da Vinci walking around, inspired as I am. No one is above this kind of beauty. I drink an espresso; tongue fuck the cup in the hope that I might beat my hangover. It doesn’t work, it makes it worse. I keep sipping at my water, wiping away my sweat with pre-rolled toilet paper lining my pockets. It helps. I walk down a set of stairs and a tall man approaches me, an array of bangles and bracelets in his hand.
“Hey man, hey man” I smile. “Take my hand man, c’mon”
He grabs my wrist, tells me about where he’s from.
“You must go, it is beautiful.”
He’s convinced me, I just wish he’d let my arm go. I get that he was only trying to sell me things but I really appreciated the conversation.
Back at the hotel, I see Hiroyuki; back slumped against his hotel room door.
“Is everything ok?”
We sat in a bar and he told me the story. I couldn’t disagree with a word he was saying. It was sad, very sad but we all have our scars. He drank wine, white and in large gulps. It didn’t seem to help; his words just became higher pitched and I had trouble keeping up. Eventually, I realised that he didn’t want to talk to me, he just wanted to scream things out loud. I respected that, listened to his eyes instead. This was a hurt man. This was a man who had been hurt. My mind starts to wander. I’ve been Hiroyuki. I’ve been Nynette. How can things change so rapidly? They hadn’t, I quickly realised. This was just a case of someone stepping up and doing what was needed. They can go and live their lives now. They’re young; they’ll fall in love all over again. They’ll fall in love all over again and laugh at how little they knew. But then again, why am I any authority on the matter?
He hugs me goodbye. I will never see him again.
I lay on my hotel bed. Naked, distracted, irritable. The mosquito circling the light deserves to die. It’s too hot in here, even with the window open. I need to leave, go for a walk. I set a new route, somewhere I’ve never seen before. It leads me to Rome. Real Rome. Poor people, beggars. Tram tracks and €5 lasagne. It’s sad that no one here is smiling. I keep walking.
I’ve fallen in love with Rome, therefore; I must love every single part’ I say to myself. ‘I must love the crying child, the man who stands by the door casually offering cheap anal sex. I must love the out of tune guitar, the hands-held old couple who prop up the bar.
I have respect for it, I appreciate it exists but I do not love it. I do not love how it came to be, how excess and lack of concentration and bad decisions made this happen. It is a part of Rome, I understand; but it should never have been forgotten. I have dinner, served by a lovely young man; the spitting image of his father; the owner. They run a tight ship, food circulated in less time than you can smoke a cigarette. An ashtray with every meal, a glass of wine with every smile. I like it here. They bring me a carafe. Clearly they’ve seen the lonely ‘traveller’ before, probably not this sweaty though.
Back to the hotel, I lay on my bed; the mosquito has gone. A small knock at my door. It’s Nynette. She comes in, sits on the end of my bed and I listen to her speak. She doesn’t understand what she’s done. I don’t think she ever will.
“How could he leave me?” I have an answer. I keep it to myself.
She tells me about what they were going to do in France, where they were going to visit. She tells me about all the wonderful things they were going to do together. She keeps speaking but I’ve stopped listening. I hand her a book, Bazin; maybe she’ll read it. I’ve written my address on the inside cover, she can mail it back to me when she’s done. She smiles a thank you, feigns excitement through tears. I hug her goodbye. I won’t see her again.
Downstairs, outside. Two cigarettes in my hand. I smoke them for the lonely souls. I’ve been a lonely soul for a while now. I’ll smoke these cigarettes for me. I’ll smoke my two cigarettes and I will sleep. I will sleep until whenever I wake up.
Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you enjoyed it, or want to know what happens next, hit subscribe.
Until next time,
RC Stacey