You arrive
You arrive
Your immediate reaction was to say, ‘I hate it’. But unbeknownst to you, Edith had
already penned the paperwork and within a month you’d moved in. Although larger
than you’d expected, it doesn’t quite exude that homely feeling that you’ve always
instinctively relied upon when electing your next abode. On the contrary Edith adores
the place, Edith would. In fact, there’s been little you’ve both agreed on for a long
time.
You met Edith two years ago while studying French literature in Paris. You
were instantly taken with the petit Parisian, and remained quite inseparable until only
a few months back, when, you noticed the changes happening, the new ideas forming,
the ideas that you identify as cracks in your relationship.
You wound up living in Milan, Italy, part of Edith’s grand plan. In her pursuit
to break into the fashion world, she was quickly hired by the fashion giants Marni
while you found work teaching English, just like you had done in Paris. You despise
it but it pays the bills. For Edith, Milan seems to serve as the perfect steeping stone, a
foot in the right direction, the prudent career move. For you Milan only spells
disaster. You were never keen on the idea to begin with. It all happened so fast.
You’re still trying to deal with your own personal transformation. So much is
diversifying in you. A wave of potent literature from various sources has changed
your perception of reality. Ceasing is your entrepreneurial vision of opulence, fast
cars and fancy suits. You’ve chosen instead to become a writer. You hear the
beckoning of the bohemians. You’ve even come to think of yourself as somewhat
hedonistic. You’re determined to make the scene. The trouble is, you haven’t actually
written anything. You’ve yet to type a single word. Nothing. Instead, you roam the
streets at night seeking inspiration and stay up late drinking and reading poetry. You
recognize the fact that you’ve started hitting the bottle and this has you contemplating
more and more over the direction of which your life is heading.
It seems to be becoming increasingly more difficult to converse with Edith.
You’re not connecting like you used to. Something is off. Something seems different.
It’s as if your journeys are destined to chase two separate paths. She’s taken to
attending an array of fashions shows and events, all over town, sipping on Campari
while making acquaintances with the high-muck-a-mucks of Milan, even catching the
eye of a few fashion moguls. You should be happy for her, but it only seems to sting
you with a vicious sense of jealousy. She never fails to invite you along with her and
you never fail to decline. You can see this upsets her but you won’t play the shadow.
You think she is too obsessed with the fashion world. It’s not that you hate the fashion
world; it’s just that you can’t see any relevance to it. It’s the name calling you’ve
come to resent. To think that she actually had the audacity to start calling you ‘boring’
is incomprehensible. And it was for this very reason that you stubbornly agreed to
attend one of her little nights out, a VIP shindig for Prada. You saw the shock of
wonder in her eyes when you agreed, but you agreed not because you want to. You
want to prove that you are not boring. You are definitely not boring, you think.
