Tread

June 23

Our time in Brussels flies by too fast and Zurich is a sleep deprived blur. The only vivid recollection I have is of the Swiss Alps from my bus window. Breathtaking, larger than life snow-capped mountains with tiny towns beneath them. I feel like dressing in a wide hoop skirt and singing as I run over the hills.

Leo's with me through it all, putting up with my crazy, adding some himself. He rarely looks at his phone, only to see if his daughter or ex-wife called, but he's obsessed with taking pictures. We have a snapshot of almost everything we do, and I'm completely happy and sad about it. I want to remember every second with him, every laugh and touch and new experience. But I also don't want to remember any of it because I'm so high up that the fall back down to reality is going to hurt. A lot.

"I'm going to video chat Em while I have wifi," I tell Leo, pulling out my laptop and plugging it into the buss's outlet.

"Okay." He snatches my sweater from my lap and balls it up into a pillow for the back of his head. "Wake me up when we get there."

The computer rings three times before Em answers, her squeal of delight piercing my ears. "Rai! Where have you been?"

"Em! Wait, literally?"

"Yes, dude. Give me all the details and leave nothing out, not even the color of the freaking sky."

I relay the last three days, omitting Leo threatening some dudes and the wild sex. Her eyes widen when I talk about the waffles, chocolate, and beer. Us foodies have to stick together.

"Has your Scandinavian hottie left?"

"Nope." I tilt the screen and show her a sleeping Leo. "Still here. I have no clue how long it's going to last but I'm enjoying it while I can."

"That's what you gotta do. But damn, my parents would never let me do that."

"Which part? The backpacking or the guy?"

"Both."

We laugh even as I confess, "Mine either. I sort of fudged my program end date."

She laughs again, snorting in a wholly unladylike way. "Only you can pull this shit, Rai."

Preening, I switch the conversation to Em, "So what's up with you? How's the summer job hunt going?"

"I found one."

"You did? Oh my God, congrats, Em! Wait, is it one for your Animal Science or Creative Writing major? Or is it for your psychology minor?"

A wry smile tugs at her lips even as she rolls her eyes. "Animal Science. And don't be too happy for me just yet. The pay is shit—I mean shit shit—but I get to live in the farm house for the summer, and they'll provide all the meals."

"What's the schedule like?"

"Hell on Earth." She sighs and adjusts the laptop across her thighs, ticking her responsibilities off on her fingers. "Have to be up no later than five fucking AM to set up themilking machines for the cows and goats. Breakfast at seven. Feeding the pigs at eight. Helping facilitate tours of the farm, picking fruit and vegetables, or other stuff until three. Riding a few mares around four, wiping them down, cleaning out their hooves—stuff like that until six. Dinner. And God only knows what else."

"Where was lunch in there?"

She throws up her hands. "I don't even know. That's the schedule they sent me, and I think it's ridiculous."

"At least it's a job."

"That's that I keep telling myself."

"How'd you find out about it anyway?"

"My family used to go apple picking there every year until my dad died."

I nod, remembering the first time we met. Second year of college, and we both got into the elite Ann Arbour, Michigan Writers Collective. Two hours into a conversation about finding our elusive muses and the searing pain that is writers' block, she got a call. Her father had a stroke while driving and crashed into a tree. I could still remember the fear on her face, the tears that flowed freely even as her voice remained steady and strong. She told her mom she could drive herself, that she would meet her and her little brother at the hospital. But she couldn't stop shaking. I'd taken over, driven, stayed with her, and been the support she desperately needed. We've been best friends ever since.

I blink, refocusing on Em's words as the memory fades to grey. ". . . mom's really close with the folks who run the farm and she was talking to them about me needing a job. He not so subtle way of wanting me out of the house. It just sort of spiraled out of control. It's over where I used to live."

"Wait, the ranch style house in bumfuck nowhere?"

"Yep. Now I'm going to live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. I think they said the closest mall was like an hour away."

"Good luck with that."

I salute her, and she flips me the bird, laughing, "Dude, I'm going to need it."

***

"This doesn't look right, does it?" I say as Leo and I step off the bus and into a dimly lit parking lot with graffitied walls and loiters galore.

He hikes his backpack higher and stands closer to me, slinging a protective arm around my waist. "It does not. Let me see the map again."

I hand him my cellphone and watch as he looks at the screen. After a minute, he hands it back to me. "Think you have the wrong information."

"No shit."

Instead of standing around like the easy targets we are, we follow the buss crowd to the parking garage and into a train station. Leo manages to get service and plots us in the direction of the Kangaroo hostel. An hour and a half later we arrive, exhausted from an extra half an hour trip spent walking around looking for the hidden place. It's inside of a courtyard filled with tiny Italian cars that we weave around.

The clock shows nine above the photo collaged receptionist's desk. All young, smiling faces of different ethnicities, genders, and age groups all posing around various parts of what I assume is Milan. "Bonjourno," I greet the receptionist when he lifts his head from the computer and smiles solicitously at me. "English?"

Leo snorts and I elbow him in the ribs as the receptionist's smile strains. "A little."

"Great," I saw slowly, pronouncing the words carefully. "I have a reservation. Raiqah Muhammad Hussein."

His fingers fly across the keyboard before his hand dips under the desk and produces a key. "Yes. You will need to pay the remaining balance." I dig for my wallet as the receptionist turns to Leo, "And him?"

"Leo Pananan."

The receptionist pulls up Leo's information while he tells me the cost. I pull out a few bills as the man next to me does the same. Leo asks about a mixed room for two. There aren't any and I'm trapped in an all girl's room with him in a mixed one.

"It's only two nights," I say as he walks me down the hall to my room. Unlike the hostel in Brussels, this place is filled with color, every door painted some sort of neon shade. The floor is carpeted with something coarse and blue, and hand drawn pictures of Milan hang on the wall between doors. "Then Rome."

"Where we're meeting your friend, right?"

"I wouldn't call her a friend," I dither, tossing the brightly painted key between my palms as I stop in front of a door with the same color. "We met in Cork and she was going, so I just decided to plan my trip so we'd meet."

He nods, obviously too tired to say anything else. Before I can anticipate his next move, his large palm wraps around the back of my neck, drawing me close, tilting my head the way he wants. His lips find mine, soft at first, then firm the next. Hungry.

Lemon. I'm near him and I always taste and smell lemon. The man is obsessed with the citrus. Popping lemon-flavored hard candies, taking a wedge of it in his water, squeezing it over his fish.

He draws back, but the flavor lingers on my tongue. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah." I watch him walk down the hall and unlock his own door before I close mine and whisper softly like a lovesick fool, "Goodnight, Leo."