Ch. 11

Nickel was at the base of our stairs with a big box at his feet. “Finally,” he said as I walked up fresh from my fallout with the Ostrich, still sweaty. “Carry this, would you?” He was up the stairs with the door closed before I could spit out the dry chocolate muffin and debate.

I lugged the burden, rang it on the rail, and nearly tipped back as the contents rattled and clanked with every stair. The box had been changed to nondescript cardboard. “What is it?” I asked.

He clapped his hands on it and the original label reappeared. It was an oven. I set it on the table next to our other oven, dirty from taco night two weeks ago. “Set it up, would you? I crave something. Not sure what though.”

I plugged it in. “It’s set up. Why’d you’d get another oven? We already have one.”

“This one’s clean. And it has a broil setting. We can broil things! What’s broiling?”

“I don’t know. I open a bag and my meal’s ready. Why didn’t you just clean the other? Can we even afford this?”

He was taking pictures of the new oven. “I sold the other on Craig’s list. Equal exchange. They get a new oven, so do we. One that can broil.” He had taken pictures of the old oven the day we bought it too. “We’ll sell this one before it gets minging too. So don’t take forever with the girl.” He sat in his recliner with a bag of crisps, the contents different from the label. He tried one; it was the wrong flavor. He wanted Hot n Spicy, not Au Gratin. The Hot n Spicy were in the cupboard in a Cheddar bag so he changed the Au Gratin to his preferred kind.

“She might’ve told me to cut my Achilles at the edge of a cliff.”

“Going back tomorrow?” He wanted a view of the hubbub outside, troubadours suckering customers with chart music till the crowd was thick then dispersing them with an original, but his recliner was in a corner with no windows and he had converted the others to drywall panes to help him sleep through yesterday’s daylight. He flicked the wall and it flashed and turned into a window. It was dusty. 

“Our landlord will ask questions if you keep renovating. So will anyone outside looking up.”

“No one notices windows. And I can handle questions. I have all the powers of the universe at my disposal.” He slapped his chest and the plaid shirt he’d been wearing all week changed to a polo. His odor, skin flakes, and the stains stuck in the fibers gathered into a gunk that he flicked out the window and into the troubadour’s donations.

“And you use it to be lazy,” I muttered.

“When are you going to see the Austrian again?”

“Why didn’t you just magic the old oven clean?” I asked.

“It’s science. And this one can broil food. Do you broil meat or baked goods?” He tossed me a Coke and got another for himself. He never drank Coke. His was Grouse or Scotch of some sort. Mine was too. I set it down. He only drank alcohol native to the country. We spent a week in Belarus—thankfully a summer week, and he had vodka at every meal. He even tried borsch-vodka, beet-vodka. That had him puking. “Plus the inner workings of an oven are too complicated to just guess at. I don’t want anything igniting my knuckle hair.”

“It was a waste of money,” I said. “It’s time to move on from Scotland.”

That got Nickel out of his chair. “I thought she told you to drop dead.”

“She did.” I went into my room and loaded my backpack. We traveled light but had camped here long enough that I had things—two cashmere jumpers as dusty as the floor, a letter opener shaped like a broadsword, an unwashed mug for cocoa. My pack was already bursting. I’d leave them for the next tenant. Maybe my pocket could fit that letter opener. It was pretty cool. “Just let me stop at the post office and we can head out. How do you feel about Liechtenstein? Everyone should be able to say they’ve been to Liechtenstein. The world would be better if we all said Liechtenstein more.”

He stood just outside the door frame as it was too short and he’d knock his forehead whenever he entered drunk or groggy like when he was brushing his teeth. He blocked my escape. “You don’t even know where she might be.”

I tracked her by the blog and where the views came from. I ignored the first few views assuming crawlers looking for an email address to spam. “The last views were from Liechtenstein. There were five this week. Two from Liechtenstein, two from South Africa, and one from the Ukraine. Are you up for more beet-vodka?”

“Where’s the Austrian? Where’d you send her?” He followed me around the room as I gathered dirty socks and dirtier underwear and the postcards from Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Ayr. I couldn’t find the cord for my external hard drive which was loaded with tens of thousands of crappy cell phone pictures—quite a few repeats to get rid of blur—that I’d share one day. I remembered the cord had fallen behind my bed and at the time I had said I’d get it later. That was three weeks ago. Nickel pulled me out from under the bed so roughly I bumped my noggin, but I had grabbed the cord. “Why are we leaving if you didn’t help her?”

“She doesn’t want help.”

He let me go. He went into the common area and shoved the old oven into the new box. The trays crusty with burnt cheese jangled about and cracked the viewing glass.

“She told me so! She said this is the life she’s been ready for and she had her fun while she was away and she enjoyed it but she’s ready to settle down whenever she has to and she won’t have to worry about anything ever again. She told me this is what she wants.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” he yelled. He hefted the box to our stairway and kicked it down. It slid the first two steps then tumbled and everything spilled. Shards covered the landing. “You’re doing this because they’re the same. Nele is just like her and before you fail to convince her that there’s a better life—again—you want to bail. You’re being weak.”

“She’s nothing like Nele,” I protested. “She’s never had a sexual thought in her life.”

“You spend your whole day hitting refresh on your phone’s email even though you know it’s set to auto-update. And you tell me I waste money but you spend ten times the amount on data just so you can always have internet access, no matter the country, no matter the cost, and you’ve never needed it for anything but Angry Birds. You check the audience stats on that blog and pray for the view to come from a small country because if it’s Russia, we’re fucked and frozen. Aren’t you tired of staring at your email for a message that will never come?”

“I can handle it,” I said.

He stomped down the stairs and kicked the oven before leaving. I watched him tread the streets with a scowl. I was sure he’d knock someone’s cap off if they got too close.

~

Her good-natured teasing was gone the next day. So were our stellar conversations. I couldn’t get her interested in anything I said. My stories didn’t even get lols anymore. It stayed like that for a while. Then things got worse—a lot of talk of how she couldn’t believe this is how her life turned out, a lot of talk like this was it, talk how there was nothing good in her life and everything was just a disappointment. But I could always tell her it was okay. I’d tell her about our future, how our first date would go, how it was a paradox because by the time I could hold her and comfort her, she’d be free of those nasty people’s abuse and she wouldn’t need it, but I’d still hold her at night, every night; I told her how we’d get a dog. She told me to stop living in a fantasy. She had gotten bitter. She was harsh towards me. She’d apologize and I’d tell her it was okay, I could handle it.

I was out of money. Life was expensive. I could live off ten dollars of groceries, but even a cent over and I was asking the cashier to put something back. Few café owners let me just sit in their shops picking at the cheapest food they had, usually half a sandwich. Hostels were for rainy nights, if I could afford it. Usually I couldn’t. I had found a fight club in Munich but I hardly had energy to lift my fists so usually I went home with a concussion and fifty euros. They only let me fight once a week. If I could win, I’d get a hundred euros and could fight again tomorrow but I had nothing left. This one café owner had let me work for her for a week. I had offered to work for tips. Europe doesn’t tip, she told me. I suggested minimum wage. She looked at my passport and said I didn’t have the right visa for it. I wore her down to pay me in internet access and lunch. Then fight night came and I had just enough energy to stay in long enough to get my nose broken, which bruised both my eyes, and I’d get swollen split lips, which were already naturally big—I liked to say they were kissable. But I couldn’t work like that. It scared the customers. And she didn’t need me in back washing dishes either. She didn’t need anyone for the late shift. I begged for all of this. She didn’t believe me that my next fight would go better and I wouldn’t get hit once. I told her I’d stop altogether, a lie, and she let me work another week. Fight night came again and it was worse and she pointed to the door.

: I didn’t see you on yesterday.

Everything alright?

Me: Just got busy.

: ok

The screen stayed that way till my cocoa was cold.

Me: I wish hot chocolate stayed hot. It’s basically the same as chocolate milk when it’s cooled, but I can’t stand it.

: sorry

I should go

I’m not in a chirpy mood like you want

Goodnight

Me: You don’t have to go. Or be chirpy.

: Yes I do

If I’m not it affects you

So I’ll just stay away till I have the energy to talk about nothing like it’s fun

Me: You should let me come get you. That’d perk you up. Where are you?

 : You think it’s just that easy don’t you

Do you know what they’d do to me if they caught us

What they’d do to you

Nothing will directly involve you

Me: But we’re not doing anything. We’re waiting for a chance. What if the only chance we get is the one we make by taking this huge risk?

: You’re American.

They’d stop us at the airport here

I can’t go anywhere without my father present

and he’s not even here.

I can’t go anywhere because my uncle is in charge of me

Me: We could try a train

: That’s not the problem

Me: We’ll leg it. We’ll bribe the border guard. Or beat him up. I’ll let you take him. Get out some frustration.

: Train car feet plane none of it will work!

give up

get used to the idea

Me: please stop telling me that.

I’m trying really hard to stay hopeful

: be hopeful or don’t but it’s going to be like this forever.

maybe you should stop living in a fantasy.

brace yourself for reality

My cocoa was already salted, but a few more drops couldn’t ruin the taste. I wiped my eyes. I sipped my drink. It tasted awful.

: I’m sorry. I know I’m being difficult and this is hard for you too.

Is there anything I can do for you?

It was definitely love because who else could instantly turn suffering around with a gesture? I tried to joke.

Me: Maybe just not beat me over the head with the truth. I’ve already taken a few too many knocks lately.

I felt good enough from her simple gesture that I got in the long line and ordered another cocoa and mixed it with my cooled cup. She still hadn’t said anything.

: ok

I should go then

Me: No, stay. I’ll be bored without you. Or do you need to go?

: I can’t do both

I can’t stay and not tell you how shit this fucking place is

Me: you can tell me. I’d rather you’d stay and tell me.

: no

My mind was full of creaking cogs. She was upset today, but she was upset most days and she still stayed on even if it was just to say hey and then an hour later to apologize for not talking more.

: bye

Me : I’ll talk to you later?

: maybe

maybe if I find one thing to be happy about

but what is that?

what’s there to be happy about in my life?

I’ve got nothing

I wanted to say me. I was a good thing. But I was too scared she’d say I wasn’t enough.

: and now I don’t even have you

now I can’t even talk to you

if you can’t keep me hopeful

at least keep me sane

what about all those promises

Me: You still have me! Always

I’m always here, always yours

Talk to me, cry, vent, rant, do whatever you need

I’m here

: you just asked me not to be honest with you

you want me happy and chirpy and I can’t be that because my life sucks

Me: I just meant I need a few days to recover. It’s been hard here too. And you’ve been really down lately and the whole situation has been getting to me so to stay hopeful, I just wanted a few days where I can renew my spirit.

: do what you have to

don’t try anything too hard for you

Me: I’ll come for you right now

: don’t bother

Me: I just needed a break! I’m so drained lately. Why can’t I have a break?

: take it

just head back to the US and relax

I’ll be here whenever you decide I’m worth it again

Me: I never said you weren’t worth it. You’re worth the world. I’d march right in and get you. I don’t care if it killed me if it meant just another second with you.

: I don’t get a break

but go

relax

complain that your drink is cold

I don’t get to see the sky but let’s give you a break because your fucking drink is cold

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was gaping at the screen and blinking and shaking my head and trying to think but nothing came out. My fingers rested on the F and J keys, feeling the bumps.

: I should go before I screw this up anymore

I couldn’t even type I love you before she signed off.