Monday, June 8, 2015

Amsterdam Eighty-Two: So It Goes



There was no one around when I woke up. From where I was lying on the bed, splayed out and unable to move, I could see a tall, narrow window rising toward the ceiling. The light coming through seemed pre-dawn, jaundiced from a low-hung blanket of clouds catching the dulled orange light of the city. My body ached. My head throbbed. Water, more than anything I wanted water.

I didn’t dare move. It would have been a grave mistake. I was possessed of some madness, remnants of the previous night--or possibly several nights. I couldn’t tell how long I had been in this bed nor what had last happened before I had passed out and slept. There were no memories to access, nothing accessible; my thirst was too distracting. Even though I couldn’t remember specifics or time frames, I felt untethered by unending wildness. That was good, perhaps, possibly just what was needed. How much more was needed, though? What would I take away from these adventures? I was separating from the past, falling into the present, but what of the future?

I shook it off. It wasn’t wise to think of the future, not in such states. Perhaps never. That was what had gotten me in trouble in the first place, lamenting the past and fearing the future. Past and future, though, provided orientation. How could I anchor myself without them? How could I use them to position myself without the present disappearing, as had happened in my bleakest depressions? If I was to think of the past and future there had to be a more beneficial process. Maybe I was ready for that. Events such as those with Auriana, Ellie, Sterre, and the throngs of unknown faces in places I had never been provided windows for reflection.

I forced myself into a sitting position. My head, dear fuck, my head throbbed. I hadn’t drank any alcohol, not that I could remember. Cocaine, LSD, what else? I didn’t know. I crept toward the edge of the bed and stood up. I looked around the floor and saw nothing that looked like clothing. I had a flashing memory of a pink robe and bunny slippers, but I didn’t see them anywhere. The room looked familiar to me. That seemed odd, because the room of hidden sex, as I thought of it, had been completely dark. Could I have blacked out for a day, two days, a week? I wasn't hungover; exhausted and dehydrated mixed with an odd, vaguely anxious feeling of “what-the-fuck-happened?

I pulled a pink sheet off the bed and wrapped myself in it. Pinks and reds seemed to be following me everywhere. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but my mind was trying like crazy to find a meaning. Why? Reassurance? Shit, thoughts layered on thoughts. A maze.

Enough. Water. I stood up and walked to the stairs. As I descended, I saw the couches and then the paintings on the wall. Auriana’s apartment. How the fuck? The living room, bathed in the sounds of Sigur Ros’ Svefn-g-englr, seemed impossibly present. I looked into the dining room and saw Auriana and Ellie drinking from glasses filled with blood-red liquids and fruits. Sangria. They looked over at me, smiling. Auri said, “Hey, you’re awake.” Debatable. Ellie poured me a glass and handed it to me. The first touch of liquid red to my lips filled me with sugar. I drank it all and sucked a slice of blood orange into my mouth.

Ellie took my glass and refilled it. When she handed it to me, I put it down and hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re here right now.” I looked at Auri and said, “Both of you.” Auri fixed me a plate of an avocado salad. I disembarked from Ellie’s arms then drank and ate voraciously. By the time I had returned to some semblance of humanity, we were in the living room, sitting on a couch together, our legs intertwined, our bodies enmeshed. We smoked from a hash pipe now and then, talking about nothing that mattered as if it meant something. It was the best feeling in the world.

Eventually, I asked where Sterre was. Auri looked at Ellie then at me and said, “She left this afternoon. She had to catch a train to Berlin, remember?” No, I didn’t. “Wait a minute, she just got back from Berlin.” Auri responded, “Michael, she moved to Berlin today. She was just back to take care of a few things, say her goodbyes.” What?! “Nobody said anything to me? We were at the party and then ... I don’t remember what happened.” Ellie said, “You didn’t talk about it with her? You came back this morning and went upstairs together to sleep.” I didn’t remember any of it. I had no memory of sleeping with her. Underneath the shock, I could feel my heart aching. “Shit, I never even had a chance to fully comprehend that she was here. What happened between being at the party and waking up today? I don't even know what time it is. She left in the afternoon? Isn’t it morning now?” Ellie put her hands on my cheeks. “Baby, it’s seven o’clock.“ I asked, “AM?” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s Sunday night.” Fuck, a whole day passed without my knowing.

“You don’t remember coming back here?” I turned to Auriana and said, “No. I have a vague remembrance of walking downstairs from the ...” I didn’t know how to finish. “I went upstairs with you, Auri, but at some point everything just ... I can’t access it. It’s all a jumble, sensual chaos.” Auri smiled. “I don’t know what happened to you once we were up there.” I looked into her eyes, “Wasn’t I with you?” She nodded her head. "You were, but I lost touch with you and then, well ...” She trailed off.

It was nearing eleven and I was getting tired. “I think I’m going to cruise.” Auri said, “You don't have to go. You can sleep here.” I was tempted, but I declined. “I need to rest tonight.”  Eliene laughed, “What, you can't rest here?” It was so easy to be honest with them. “I'm getting horny just thinking about staying here.” I heard laughter instereo, Ellie high-pitched and girlish to the right and Auri a deeper belly laugh on my left. I sat up and looked out the window. It didn’t appear to be raining, but I could see from the trees it was windy. I was sure it was cold as well. I looked at Ellie, her eyes sparkling an invitation. Fuck, it was difficult to leave their apartment. I felt like I was in a different world when I was with them. They were so different from anyone else I knew. But, as I thought about it, that was true of nearly everyone I had gotten to know in Amsterdam. It took my breath away.

I really wanted to sleep in my own bed, though, to wake up in my apartment the next morning. I needed to settle down, to give my head a rest. I felt my chest tightening, though, as I thought of leaving. I didn’t want to leave; I was confused. It felt like I might be leaving them forever and that thought hurt more than I was ready to feel. An image of Sterre became clear in my mind, she in her rainbow stockings, but otherwise dressed all in black and red. I saw her nose, her lips, those hazel eyes blinking between strands of orange and strawberry-blonde hair. Oh, it hurt. Leaving them would be like leaving her even though she was already gone. I took a breath and wiped the tears away from my eyes. “I can’t believe Sterre is gone.” Auri hugged me and said, “I think you should stay tonight.” I shook my head. “Promise me that if I leave we'll get together again before I return to the States.” She said yes. I breathed easier and got up off the couch.

Auri got up with me and showed me to my backpack so I could change. When I was dressed, Auri gave me a couple bumps from her vile, a happier energy to make cycling home more pleasant. She hugged me and told me to call soon. Ellie gave me a hug, too, then I put on my coat, hat, and scarf. As I slipped on my backpack, I said to Auri and Ellie, “I love you.” Then I was out the door and down the stairs.

It was worse than I expected outside. The wind was whipping, freezing. If there had been any precipitation it would have been sleet or snow. I unlocked my bike and started down Marco Polostraat with the wind was at my back. I rode fast and hard. The streets were all but empty. The sky was blue-black, the clouds high in the sky. As I pulled out to the northeast and crossed the bridge, the canal spread like watered glass even as the trees lining either side waved violently. The trams crept like caterpillars next to me before I cut harder north.

My memory was packed with vivid details, a mix of visions from reels of films. Faces, bodies, and movements intertwined along an abandoned church edifice made of flesh, a fickle facade built equal parts of dreams and reality, all of it a vessel of mystery. I wandered to the hidden room of belligerent sex magic, a sacred space of enlightened madness. The scent of lawless abandon filled in the air, a jungle of limbs, swampy ebullience, and lush overgrowth oozing the liquidity of chants culled from the forgotten languages. It had been a volcanic environment of unashamed aggression between hungering monsters and moist souls, a bubbling crater of lust erupting between legs and flowing from mouths. Nature dominated; nature won. There was nothing more fundamental than fucking through screams of ecstasy indistinguishable from howls of terror.

No matter how much I tried, though, I couldn’t place myself within the throng. Skirts had been hoisted and elastic bands of panties ripped; there were bellies round, thighs slim, hips curvy, and laughter husky. I couldn't remember a word being uttered, just grunts, moans, bellows, noises I couldn't identify. Masks had been lifted, tossed out windows, shattered on the pavement outside. An identity of squirm and swarm overwhelmed etiquette and decorum. Individuality was lost in the mass and, perhaps for that reason, time was immeasurable. 

When I reached the tranquility of Vondel Park, the memories faded and my thoughts settled. The wind was weaker, buffered by the trees and tall shrubs. I was flying. The blow had fueled my manic memories, but now I felt a relaxed euphoria. By the time I crossed under the Stadhouderskade I had stopped thinking altogether. Observing the lights, the cyclists, and the buildings while feeling the cold and listening to the wind was enjoyable, but the sensations became milder as I turned onto Zieseniskade, then Spiegelgracht, and then Prinsengracht. When I crossed the bridge on Utrechtsestraat and turned toward home on Kerkstraat, I felt numb. I was functioning, but that was about it. My street filled me with no more amazement than if I had been riding by a strip mall. Maybe the coke had worn off or I was just exhausted from the wildness of the past days and nights. 

I parked my bike, locked it, and slogged upstairs with my backpack, dropping it inside the door as I walked inside the apartment. I tossed my hat, gloves, and scarf on the table then let my coat fall to the ground halfway through the living room as I went to the couch along the window. I opened it and smoked a cigarette, staring blankly while smoking, thoughts arising only after I snuffed the butt in the ashtray. Sterre had moved to Berlin. The news registered with a different reality, a finality. Ellie had dosed me before I even knew Sterre was there. I wouldn’t have let Ellie place the tab on my tongue if I had known Sterre was there. Had she thought I knew Sterre was leaving for Berlin? Why didn't Sterre tell me? Questions without answers.

I had the sense that I would never see her again. I didn’t know with certainty, but my insides were churning in a way that made me think that I wouldn’t. I couldn’t remember sleeping with her after we left the party; I didn’t even remember leaving the party. There would be no memories of our last hours together.

I felt robbed, but the feeling lasted only briefly as memories came flooding back. It seemed like I had met her years ago, but it had only been a couple months. I had woken on the street after a night of shrooming, amazed and wide-eyed at being alive in Amsterdam, at first surprised that I hadn’t been mugged, but then remembered I was in the city of love. I had been looking at the buildings lit by the rising sun along the Amstel when I saw her walking over the bridge in mismatched colors. It was as if no one else saw her, as if she was visible only to me. Filled with the lively possibility that anything could happen by simply reaching out my hand or uttering a word, I walked alongside her and peppered her with ridiculousness for block after block until she finally relented and engaged with me. On any other day, I might have let her walk on by me. But that day, I had eyes for the strange. As I thought about that, I realized it was because I was every bit as strange as she was.

I sat back on the couch. I wasn’t awed by having become who I was. I hadn’t been for some time. Everything that had happened, the decisions I had made, the way I had been living, the experiences I’d had, they all fit who I was. I felt that, in Amsterdam, I finally was becoming the person who had been buried underneath the suffocating muck of American adolescence and adulthood. I also felt like I was still wiping the muck off my skin. At least I could see. I was a traveler, a vagabond, just as much as Sterre or anyone else. I had been delusional thinking that I was the identities I had adopted to survive in the United States. Those had been masks I had put on to protect myself, masks that in Amsterdam were unnecessary hindrances.

I leaned forward and loaded a bowl on the coffee table. I didn’t feel sad that Sterre had left. I had so many other friends in Amsterdam and I would meet so many more. People come and go. Making rigid attachments left no room for change. The time I had spent with Sterre had resulted in remarkable changes. Nothing was going to erase those experiences and, I thought, nothing had been lost. I would probably never have any new experiences with her, but as I lit up and inhaled, I thought, “I wonder what will happen tomorrow?”

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