Control: I went to Europe once…
And here’s what I remember. I remember the first day, gathering behind someone’s house. I remember all the potential and being afraid that everyone would make friends except for me. The nice old man who was our teacher made certain that everyone would get an A. He was soft because he cared about us, and that was fine by me.
I remember us drinking in the park late at night and wondering why the convenience stores were closed. Everything was closed at night in England in 1999. We drank wine and vodka in the park — I drank in that era — and danced around the park talking about our first times. I remember a bald girl kissing me on the lips — one of my first real kisses. She didn’t mention it again. She was bisexual and made out with the other bald girl a lot, and her boyfriend didn’t mind, even hitting on us. I enjoyed that but didn’t reciprocate.
We went to the Bronte’s home and enjoyed it. We went to a number of churches, and Gilbert quickly became bored of entering them. We went to the art museums in Madrid and London, and Madrid was slightly better, but both had great works of art. By that time things were getting tight and we were getting anxious with each other. There weren’t cell phones in common use yet, so we didn’t have a good way of communicating with home.
I took us in the wrong direction several times. I didn’t realize that my sense of direction was bad until that happened. People began to get frustrated.
I liked a girl there. Her name was Amber. She like Tori Amos and Leonard Cohen and Concrete Blonde just like me. She wanted to dominate me and thought that I would be loyal and a subservient male. We were in her room.
“I’m taking my clothes off,” she said. “You can watch or not, your call. There are boys who make it too personal and hit on me when they shouldn’t, and it bothers me.”
“I won’t watch,” I said, and this is why: because I am an idiot. I apologized and said that I wouldn’t hit on her, and she got really mad. I exchanged emails with her a couple of times, but we faded away after that trip.
The last day of the trip we just played cards at an expensive hotel. Before that we went to Spain on the coast near Ibiza and enjoyed the weather. It was beautiful summer weather and there were topless women at the beaches. We ate paella and were hosted by one of Gilbert’s rich friends who had been staying with Gilbert in America a few years ago. I remember that the family was a great, nice group of people who lived on the top floor of a hotel. I was suitably impressed by them.
In Ibiza we went to the beaches and concerts and lived the party life, watching the sun go down from a famous location to watch said event.
I haven’t gone back since. It’s expensive, and it takes a lot of work to go, and schedules and real life got in the way. I can hardly make a trip to Indiana without four disasters, and so I can’t go to Europe anymore. I have to live it in my dreams.
Thanks, and take care, friends.
