Wait until the music's over

32. Sirens and fish tanks (Pt.1)

Waking up this morning turned out less traumatic than expected, although I basically opened up my eyes at the break of day. When I went to bed last night I thought that falling asleep would have taken me forever and the vortex of my thoughts would have kept me awake for a long while, forcing me to recap the absurd sequence of the latest events occured. Instead, it seems like the burden of all my emotions pushed me down and deprived me of my whole strength, since I closed my eyes and was out the very moment I rested my troubled head onto my pillow. And I kept my eyes well shut until ten to seven this morning, then I opened them up all of a sudden after a single long stretch of sleep, something that hasn't happened for a long time, and instantly got up from bed feeling all lively and energetic, something that... actually never happened. After that, after having breakfast with the first snacks I found in the kitchen, I decided to do the only thing that could prevent me from overthinking what happened the night before, that is follow my personal ritual for the last day of the year: take a morning walk in town, Boise until last year, now Seattle, looking for nice things to do, for the last time, in the year that's about to end. In the end, I have to limit my ritual to a mini tour of Westlake. I stop by a couple of record stores and buy Ritual de lo habitual (talking about rituals...) by Jane's Addiction and Against the grain by Bad Religion, my last albums of the year; I walk along Lake Union's shore enjoying the last good view of the year and up to Pike Place Market, where I see the last performance by Artis with his spoons and buy the last pound of the best oranges of the year; I eat one, probably the last one of 1990, sitting on a bench in Westlake Park, while I'm witnessing the last fight among kids and wondering if I should go to the monorail station for one last tour downtown. It's almost noon, almost lunch time, the last lunch of the year, and I'm loaded down with oranges and records, I'm not in the mood for going too far, also because I'll have to do it anyway later to go to Roxy's, for the last work day of the year. I finally opt for going back home.

And by the way, Eddie's shirt must be dry by now.

As I slowly walk up the stairs of my condo, the thought about the shirt brings back yesterday's memories: the show, the embarrassment, Eddie saving me, Jerry, Dave. When I get back into my apartment and see Meg in her pj's, with her head stuck into the fridge, I'm almost tempted to ask her some sort of confirmation of what happened, ask her if everything I remember did actually happen, because I still barely believe it. I just say hi.

"Do you have any idea where the cheese crackers are?" she asks with no hi.

"I don't know, but I seriously doubt you'll find them in the fridge"

"They're gone"

"That happens when you eat them" I shrug before putting the bag with oranges on the kitchen table.

"I saw them yesterday and they were still there, untouched!"

"You must be confused"

"And the peanut butter jar is almost empty, yesterday it was half full, I'm sure"

"I'm sure too, you surely saw it half full... before throwing yourself on it"

"Pfff shut up! And you've got nothing to do with this, right?"

"Me? Why me?" I ask as I walk away into my room to put away my records.

"Why? Well, let me think... maybe because you're the only other person living here?"

"Warning: sarcasm alert!" I shout from my room.

"Angie..."

"I feel I have to remind you I'm not the only other person eating here, there are at least two more people sneaking into our apartment from time to time with the most dumb excuses to steal our food" I explain as I get back into the kitchen bringing Eddie's shirt, ready to be ironed.