#182
On the train back north-east, you went to the bathroom and puked, and told me and hoped that no one found out that it plugged the toilet, and no one mentioned it so I guess we, you, were safe, but I felt bad because I had thought you might be pregnant and I didn’t know if we wanted that, but didn’t know what to say so I went to the cafe car and got you fizzy water and a very large americano and you were ok until we pulled into the station.
The days in Rome were a dream. In all senses, a dream, and when we got out, back where we started, I didn’t know what would happen, but I did know that we’d be apart for awhile as things got sorted out, paperwork got filed. While we found jobs and tried to know what to do with ourselves.
You were sick for a few days, and I was mentally sick for a few days, but we made it through. Me, making soup so you could recover, and you, telling me it would all be fine, and that it will be ok.
Earlier that morning in Roma, at Termini, we got there a bit early, dragging suitcases full of dirty clothes that desperately needed washing and you watched the bags while I went in search of something to eat and coffee, which we needed as we were up too late the night before, having eaten a lot and stayed up listening to music, drinking Diet Coke we bought at the only store open at midnight, run by a kind Bangladeshi man who didn’t turn away form his YouTube video as we payed for the 2-liter bottles with brown coins because it was all we had after a week of testing the limits of our bank account. He didn’t care, but I could see that you did, and I felt ashamed, but I didn’t know what else to do because Diet Coke was the secret we shared that cured what ailed us when we overate or our bodies revolted against our dinner.
So we got off the Frecciargento, the silver train, and once home, the next days blurred together in ways that are sad and lonely and desperate. You said, go, we’ll write/call/text and talk and it will be fine, and I said, I can’t, it’s too soon, too fast, so sudden, but I did, and we did, and after time, I returned, and we flew to the new flat, in the new city, and found ourselves again, and made promises we kept, and none the we didn’t. Soon, it was not Rome, it was not Venice, it was London, and our home was south of the river. One of the first nights, you made dinner, soup, easy, simple, cheap, and we both laughed and cried over what had been and worried about what could be, but in the end, it didn’t matter at all because it all fell into place exactly as it should have.
I mentioned the train ride, the dinners, the light in the eternal city, and you just said, let’s go for a walk, the night is warm, and I feel like going out.
