a short story
Saturday, November 19, 2005
The cobblestones glistened at first, from an earlier shower that we had missed. The air was fresh in that way that only comes around after heavy rainfall. Perhaps it was the cleanliness of the air, or the possibility of thunder, but there was definite electricity in the air. A buzz, a sense of things to come. Walking on the streets, we saw everyone had somewhere to be. Wrapped up like freshly roasted chestnuts, scurrying on the slippery slopes of the city. Faces hidden beneath scarves and hats, eyes glancing momentarily at everyone that passes, before resuming their neutral position, staring down at the stones at their feet. Cars rushed by us, busy as the city, until we reached the street where no cars pass. This street, surrounded by a bustling city full of the sounds of insatiable movement, was the calm centre that we were seeking. Here, nobody rushed anywhere. Here, everyone was right where they wanted to be. The soundtrack of the night changed with every other step. Although we were still walking, our pace had changed. We had reached where we wanted to be, and now, instead of travelling, we were exploring. It is a rare sight when a man standing in the street is exactly where he wants to be, yet here we saw not one, but dozens of people, at peace in the zen centre of the world. Troubles washed away like stray raindrops down the hill back to the city. The high walls of brick and window surrounded us, yet we felt freer than we had in a long while. The walls were not to keep us in, but to keep the rest of the world out, the world of pain, suffering and anguish. Without warning, rain began to fall again, as if God himself had decided that he needed the streets clear in order to perform his miracles. The cobblestones that glistened only moments earlier began to sparkle, sparks flying every which way as the heavenly fairy dust fell. There were people in every doorway, under every awning, staring out and up at the countless drops that fell from the darkness. All was silent except for the constant sound of a waterfall. Slowly, the rain lessened and the magical grip that held everyone was slowly lifted. Slowly, with tentaive steps, people began to venture back into the street. Slowly, we walked away from our doorway and the moment that had passed.
My lisbon friends often tell me what a lazy cascais person I am, that I never go out to their neck of the woods. To be honest, they're pretty much completely right. I went out last night to Bairro Alto because it was a special occasion: Hugh is leaving tomorrow. I have to say, I had a great time. My main reason for not going there much before was that I don't know anyone there. What I enjoy about Cascais that I know at least one person in every place. It's cozy, or gezellik. Last night was impressive though. We spent most of the night in the same place, and I have to say they played some great music. At the peak, there were 9 of us around that one table, drinking and smoking and talking. We talked to everyone at once and one at a time. It was the most evolutionary conversation I've had in a great time. When everyone left us, Hugh pretended he was thirsty so as to have an excuse to go into one of the many gay bars in the area. My word, they are an aggressive bunch, but he and I managed to get out of there in the end, but not before both of us had received assorted criticisms on our style. It was like a portable Queer Eye episode. It was great fun.
I'm glad to say that the last conversation I ever had with Hugh was a really nice one. I'm going to miss the guy. All the sad soppy goodbye stuff has already been written, and he'll read it, so I'm not going to repeat it here. Lets just say he made the IB better.
Bon Voyage.
you're that much closer to knowing me.
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