Inside a Roman Mind

Due

Due

There was just something about the way that she spoke to him, her voice, maybe what she said or some type of nonspecific thing that just really got under his nerves, far more than usual. They'd been fighting for two months and every day felt like a struggle. He wouldn't be the first to admit, knowing everything he knows, that he most definitely felt as though it had come to this simply because a heartfelt apology seemed at this point too little too late—even if that was all she wanted. She'd done so dozens of times today, and he bowed his head for a brief period as he remembered the sound of her sobbing as he closed the door on her. Her eyes were far more dead than usual and he knew that it was his fault. In a way it was what he wanted; he wanted her to know that she had hurt him, so he wanted to hurt her. He'd looked over the text messages countless times, the ones where she said all she wanted was to be back to normal, back to how things used to be, back to how things could be. It was too late for that, the die had been cast two months ago and in his mind's eye they had been hovering right at the point of no return for far too long. It just took one tiny step to put them over it, and he had managed to delay it for two months but he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out forever. Really, what he wanted was to be out of her life because she had been so painfully damaging to his self-esteem but at the same time, even when it had come to some kind of a finality, he felt intense hesitation when pulling the trigger. He first noticed that he had avoided using terminal language: the end was replaced with I don't know; good bye had been replaced with see you around. Poignantly he thought, sorry had been replaced with hate me, I don't care. She had begged and pleaded and in the end she gave a simple concession which he didn't accept. It felt ignorant to take such a simple fix and it felt like she was no longer trying to address the problems that had arisen in the relationship in the first place, she was simply bargaining so that she didn't have to let go. It felt like a long passage of time had passed between the gentle thud of a door that had finally shut his world out from hers and when he arrived home. When he opened the door his cell rang.
'Hey man what are you doing?'
The question could have multiple responses. 'I dunno.'
'What?'
'I dunno what I'm doing at the moment.'
'Oh man you should come over mine man I've got some great stuff man.'
Hesitation lapsed his response, an unusual occurrence he thought. 'What sort of stuff?'
'Some weed man, it's really fucking off the hook man.'
He thought very consciously for a second with an exciting breath of clarity. 'Sounds good man.'
'Actually wait man I'm like pretty close to yours I'll just drop by man.'
He left the door unlocked and stammered onto his bed in the middle of the living room. He felt alright, like he'd done what he fundamentally knew he needed to do. It was only minutes of this completely braindead phase he was allowed to be absorbed into before there was a knock on the door followed by the sound of gentle creaking as it opened slowly.
'Hey man,' they both managed to exchange simultaneously with a smile.
'What's been going on man?'
'Just broke up with you know who.'
'Oh shit... man that's rough.'
Sam shrugged. It wasn't really that hard in the end, maybe because he had committed to being vague with her. It still felt a bit surreal though, like it hadn't really happened. All his big decisions felt like that in a way though. 'Yeah,' he replied simply as his friend began unpacking his backpack, rifling through old records and finally the tiny little bag. It wasn't green though, it was white.
'The fuck is that?'
'You'll love it man, it's some really fucking top level shit you wouldn't believe, cleanest fucking high ever man.'
'Jesus Christ...' Sam trailed off into his own thoughts. Suddenly his mind was racing and there was adrenaline pumping everywhere. Just looking at the bag was intoxicating in a way but it came at a price, something seemed to be changing in his head, he could feel the blood and the chemicals up there rushing around in a different way.

'She had this really quirky appearance,' he began as he pressed the cigarette to his lips, cupped his hands and lit it. The two were sitting in the shade of an outdoors café close to the Colosseum. The friend had refused the offer for a cigarette Sam had so generously extended. 'Fuck my head is killing me.'
'You should go and get some sleep man.'
'Nah,' Sam immediately retorted. 'If I go back to the hotel I won't sleep, I'll just feel horrible. I have to just get through it.'
His friend nodded in agreement, but really it could have just been to politely progress the conversation forward from the otherwise stagnant topic of a hangover.
'But yeah,' he said. 'Definitely not the best looking girl I've ever been with but, I mean I dunno man there's just something about her, she has a really strangely toothy smile but she has lovely eyes and her body is just fantastic and just, Jesus man, the uh...' Unsure of exactly how to phrase the next clause, he drops his voice. 'The sex man it was fucking phenomenal.' He returned his voice to his regular, considerably more brazen tone that lacked subtlety. 'Well that is from what I remember of course.'
'How did you like, you know, meet her man?'
Good question. His mind was drawing considerable blanks, like pockets of lost memory. He remembered being at the bar, getting a drink, something something something, dancing with her, getting her a drink, going outside for a cigarette, being shocked that she smoked in the first place, making out... ah, she had very persuasive lips. They didn't return to the club apparently. 'I think I must have met her at the bar. That's the only way it could have happened I think...' Once again he found himself lost in his own thoughts, confusing himself on what had been said and what had not been. When he noticed the silence, he tilted his head back down, grounding himself, and resumed eye contact. 'Did you say something?'
'Yeah man I mean I met someone too man and it was weird how we just kind of ended up clicking as people man...'
'What you mean you managed to actually have a fucking conversation with her?'
'Yeah I suppose so man, but yeah I think we must have headed out after you 'cause we got back to the hotel really late but...'
'Damn you mean...?'
They both laughed. 'Yeah,' the friend affirmed. 'There's a first for everything.'
'That's good man!' Sam sounded legitimately enthusiastic in tone.
'I think man it's just surprising because that's not even my intention when I go out to a club you know man.'
'Yeah for sure,' Sam replied.
'I mean I remember like when I first turned twenty one, being in clubs was cool and fun because it was new but like it just got boring man,' he paused, taking a sip from the cool iced chocolate beverage that had just been placed in front of him. 'Going out was so fucking expensive and coming home and you know like not really having fulfilled that stupid fucking arbitrary fucking task that I made myself pursue just kind of put a real like dampener on the mood every new time I'd go out.' It wasn't until now that Sam had noticed the tone shift in the conversation, segueing from banter to legitimate conversation. 'Man it took such a fucking long time to get over that, at some point only when I was like twenty-two or so I thought I'd already outgrown clubbing because it was just so fucking unsatisfying to just go out and not pick up man.'
'And so what you think this has just broken a curse or something?' The two laugh together in a kind of faux snobbery.
'Nah man,' his response was suddenly crisp, as if he was coming into an urgent thought. 'If anything it's just a bonus but really I just go out to get fucking wrecked these days, really see how far my own willpower is willing to throw itself you know man.'
It was gone. 'You know I'm not even sure if that makes sense man,' Sam responds in a kind of uncaring attitude, laughing a perfect blend of genuine bemusement brewed with subtle hints of confusion and, more pressingly, concern. 'But it sounds like I probably should have joined your train as soon as I started man.'
'It helps when you've got money man but you know me.'
'It is true,' he replied robotically. 'I do know you.'
The afternoon turned long as the two continued on their own path of exploration around the beautiful city. At around three, as Sam was lighting another cigarette, he found it within himself to pull his phone out and look at the name that had been placed in the contact list. Zara. It was such a beautiful name to him. There was some kind of liveliness, some kind of beautiful vibrancy about it. Maybe it was just her, some kind of personality attached to the name, that made it more attractive. It was unique, too, at least in his mind. He opened up a new conversation with her on his phone and typed a message, asking what she was doing this evening, if she got home okay, why she left in such a hurry in the morning. Eventually he looked at it and realised she had no incentive to actually respond to these questions, so, somewhat recklessly he pressed the call button. His phone screen filled green as her name popped up in the middle, above a phone icon, and merely a second later he heard the dial tone.
Twelve long rings. Her voice answered gently as he flicked it to loudspeaker.
'Hello?'
'Zara,' he opened with beaming enthusiasm. 'How are you?'
He sensed her smile through her response with polity and grace but he could feel that there was a kind of artificial distance between her and him. As the conversation progressed, he felt as though it was delicately sitting on the fence separating the fluid and the awkward, and he was trying particularly hard to steer it into the comfortable territory. When his mind turned back to the conversation and he took his mouth off of auto-pilot, she spoke. 'Surely I'm interrupting something, what are you up to?'
'Not at all!' he blurted quickly to dispel the asserted disposition she was trying to create. 'I'm just wandering around the city with Michael. You remember Mike? He was at the club last night.'
She laughed. 'I don't think you introduce me to any of your friends.'
Momentary lapse of reason. He didn't, she was right. 'True that. Anyway what are you doing this evening?'
'I, uh...' A stutter, a perfect opportunity to cut her off.
'Come get dinner with me.'
She laughed, possibly concealing the fact that she had nothing left to say but couldn't, or didn't want to, accept—at least not so quickly. 'And your friend, Michael?' Her voice was so delicate, so beautiful.
Sam shot a look to Mike who very enthusiastically shook his head. 'I think he's busy.'
She laughed again. 'That's convenient.'
'So, meet at the hotel at seven?'
She had nothing left to say and his insistence was, if nothing else, persistent. 'Alright,' she finally conceded.
'Great, I'll see you then!' He tried to audibly make clear his enthusiasm before hanging up abruptly.
'What now?'
'What are you up to anyway?'
'Gonna meet that girl I met at the club, she was texting me before...'
'You mean when you were at the hotel?'
'Yeah she left in the morning, before I...' His tone turned from informative to quizzical as he analysed his own words. 'woke up?'

When he got back to thehotel he was feeling energetic, vicious, angry even. The anger wasn't reallydirected at anything in particular, it was more like an explosion of impulseand emotion, aiming for no particular direction other than away from itssource. Something was wrong as he stepped into the room and lit a cigarette,putting it against his mouth firmly and drawing a heavy breath. He transitionedhimself towards the balcony as the front door slammed shut and, as gently as hepossibly could have, he slid the glass door across and open, stepping outsideand exhaling. It seemed that every ten seconds he would be looking at his phoneas his mind rushed from place to place, his eyes darted back and forth, and hisfeet danced, slapping themselves against the ceramic tiling, as loudly as histeeth chattered themselves in his skull.
He turned to face the inside of the room, at the bed, to the little orange bookresting delicately on the blankets. He hadn't even realised he'd been carryingit around with him this whole time—even as he got back and finally properlyremoved it from his grasp, it had been a totally automatic response. This wassuddenly something he was coming to terms with extremely quickly, the fact thathis whole life was a habit rather than a decision. Everything until now hasbeen a knee jerk because it's safer that way. Standing on the balcony, heremoved his shirt, singing the inside of it as it passed over his head,snuffing the lit cigarette in the process. As he dropped it to the ground, arush of adrenaline hit the back of his head and his pupils dilated slightly.His phone rang in his hand and he immediately answered.
'Hey man,' the awkward voice on the other end opened. 'Are you still on withwhatever her name is?'
'Hold on,' Sam ended the call and found Zara's number. He called it, and aftersome very uncomfortable waiting, she answered. Intending to handle the mattervery delicately so as to save as much face as possible, he began hisexplanation.
'I just found out I'm busy tonight can we reschedule?' He blurted out clumsily.
'Uh...' she started, probably unsure of how exactly to respond.
'I'm sorry,' his interruption awkwardly ended her sentence whilst not runninginto actual dialogue of his own. There was a noticeable lapse of time beforeeither began to speak again.
'That's fine,' she said finally. 'We can do something some other time Isuppose...'
'Yeah hopefully, anyway I'll uh,' he accentuated his own hesitationsarcastically, knowing full well what to say but, for some reason, being unableto commit to them without some level of detachment. 'I'll talk to you later ifyou're free.'
'Yeah that sounds good.'
'Alright,' the tone of his voice had dropped significantly by now. 'Later.'
She hung up. This concerned him. Concern was a very legitimate thing to him,because he was always the one that would hang up. Fuck her, it was his idea to cancel plans, how dare shefucking not give him the courtesy of being the one to then end the phone call.Who did she think she was?
This wasn't really something he should need to worry about and so, inmeditation for five long seconds, he forced the idea to the back of his mind.It probably wouldn't stay there but it's nice to at least pretend. He returnedto his previous call.
'Hey man,' Mike opened once more.
'Not anymore,' he obtusely responded so quickly the words seemed to blur.
'Great...'
'What are we doing?'
'We're getting a car man, let's go for a drive.'
'Have you...?'
'No,' Mike insisted. 'I have no licence man, remember?'
That makes sense. Strange though that a twenty something would have nolicence—and he was a twenty something. He was committed to keeping his agevague so as to not alienate vast numbers of readers.
This is introspection. Mike is supposed to be relatable but so far he's onlyever appeared as a sidekick without a real history, like some kind of paperperson, acknowledged as real but when viewed from the side is recognisablymissing a profile. In some condolence, a history resides in memory and israrely required in the present. Mike and Sam had been friends since the startof high school. They'd met at the very start of their Junior Year and had kindof gravitated towards each other, slowly at first but within two years, by thestart of college, their communication was daily. It was kind of strange reallyhow well they got on. Embarrassingly, Sam had often considered that theirfriendship was like some weird homo-platonic version of that ancient Greekphilosophy of the complete person, only instead of some kind of longingromantic disposition between two halves, the relationship was purely filled bythe fact that they got along like a tsunami in a poor Asian country.
Snapping back out of his transcendental monologue, Sam returned hisconcentration to the phone. 'Alright, meet at the lobby?'
'Better man,' Mike slurred. 'Check out early.'
He was stepping back inside his room and opening a bottle of beer when he hungthe phone up. It only took five minutes to collect his things in his suitcase.When he stepped out of the room, he downed the beer in record time and took asecond, unopened one for the road out of his backpack. As he arrived at the elevatorto take him down, he dropped to his knees to tend to the carpet garden, placingthe empty bottle like a ceramic gnome in as tasteful an orientation as he couldpossibly think to. Feng-shui, in a place like this, is important. He was doingthem a favour.