“It’s the famous suicide bridge, highest in the region. But you are lucky; I’ll drive us over it with my eyes open.” Does she want a response from me? I don’t know. Maybe she hasn’t said anything? I haven’t slept well in the last couple of days. Rolling from one side of the bed to the other, hours passed wasted.
It is night; the motorway is nearly empty. She is driving to the airport, following the endless white line; hopefully she doesn’t take her hands from the steering wheel. Lanzarote is our destination. Her bag is in the trunk, I have mine next to my feet.How did I get next to her? Why is she wearing sunglasses at night while she’s driving?
“Interesting fact, really. Glad you are driving with your eyes open.” A lame response, mumbled more to myself than to her, but what should I say? All I want is to get out of the car. I feel terrible, I am scared. I am sick. Maybe she needs a break? I could say I need to go to the bathroom. I could call a friend from the next service station. Damn it, why did I throw my mobile away today? I can’t remember. I could have text someone; at least then someone would know where I am, rescue me. My head is killing me.
She has been acting weird over the last couple of days, wanting me to stay at her place. “Maybe you are just stressed - maybe we need a break? A holiday somewhere warm would be nice.” That’s all she says to me. Although, might I have suggested it first? Now I am here, driving to an airport at half past two in the morning. Still wearing the same clothes as the day before. They might smell a little bit. I couldn’t care less.
Lanzarote? I can’t even speak Spanish. I am fluent in Italian, Chinese and German, slightly less so in Serbian, Dutch and French. I guess I will pick it up quickly. In the last month I discovered so much new talent within myself. I am confident. I learnt to play the piano in less than a week. I started to paint again. I did some genealogical research and discovered what might be referred to as ‘dark family secrets’. The world lies to my feet. Just like a forbidden, sweet-mellow fruit. Everything is in my head, it was always there. I am a newborn explorer. But yes, I could need a break; lying in the sun, feeling the warmth on my skin, gaining new strength, hanging out at the beach, burying my toes deep into the sand, walking with bare feet in lukewarm Atlantic water. No more phone calls. No more stress. No false-impression-machine-gunfiring endless rounds of bullets, shaped by a blur of everyday experiences, through my mind anymore. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Sleep. No more wandering in dark rooms, following the same boring routes and well worn routines, never having the sense of exhaustion. And never getting tired. I just need a place I can close my eyes, shut out the world, stop the thought machine in my head taking control over me.Torturing me.
We drive mostly in silence; the music builds a wall between us. It is comfortable. I can’t listen to any more of her bullshit, no more crazy talk. Crazy, she is just plain crazy. But she is my closest friend. She is just ill. Just ill, just ill...My little mantra. I look out of the car window and see the reddish, darkened sky. It is getting lighter, a crimson glow; the airport must be nearby. Hope. It’s half past three.
I grab my tote, set one foot down on the asphalt and carefully put the other one next to it. Slowly, I pull myself out of the car, stand up and slam the door behind me. She’s already outside, fingering for her packet of cigarettes. One hand in her pocket, searching for the nicotine hit, the other grasping at the keys, clumsily trying to force them into the trunk’s locker. Seems like she is nervous, maybe a little bit angry...but ill. She is just ill, just ill. I am freezing, looking down at my sandals; my legs are bare, a strange skirt looks flattering around them– I never knew I owned one like this. My jacket pulled in tightly around me, the bag hanging like a dead animal from my shoulders. The light from the hotels and streetlamps hurts my eyes. It burns, a sharp, breath-taking pain. I close my lids for a second. Just a second. God, the drilling behind my forehead.
