Madrid. Take Me Home.

Darrel opened his eyes and rose to a groggy blur. The hotel room around him wasn't there. The memory of sleep was only starting to fade away to reality. It was 8:30 in the morning and his train wouldn't leave until 6:30 that night. Darrel got up and walked ordinarily to the shower. He left the shower to brush his teeth in the mirror. After staring at his reflection, he went to the bedroom and packed his 2 bags and drum, checked out of the hotel, carried his stuff down the street and stopped at the first open bar he saw.

The bar was small, sitting by a busy road. The facade was dilapidated, and inside was big enough for standing room only. There were 4 tables outside on the sidewalk - 2 chairs to each. After ordering a coffee and croissant, he drank the coffee slowly, staring for minutes at a time at the street and the people walking by. Then he saw himself sitting on the ground, head down with a pen in his hand, engrossed in writing the 5th page in a 300 page blank notebook. Then another image faded in. He was sitting on the ground again. Nothing had changed, but this time he felt more frightened. Next, he saw himself surrounded by hundreds of scattered pages, a messy stubble, and calm. He knew that was it. He knew it was over. His head was down, pen in hand, scribbling words into the notebook. He sat there for the next half hour, listening to the hum of traffic around him.

10 o'clock came and it was time to leave. Darrel walked with his 2 bags and a drum, through Seville's back alleys, courtyards and intersections. Killing an hour at an internet cafe, he checked email and surfed the web. He later walked through the city until he came to Seville's famous cathedral, "La Giralda". Darrel had been in Seville for the past 2 days, La Giralda and its' surrounding streets were the only thing that were remotely interesting. It was more than interesting. La Giralda's long facade only broke to surround a majestic entrance, towering above the entire church. It's renaissance stone work stood inside its handsome moorish fortress. It was beautiful. The fortress had surrendered to time, tourists and Irish bars.

There were a string of bars just off a main road, sitting beside La Giralda. Darrel parked himself inside "The Fox and Firkin's" terrace and ate lunch. It was 1 o'clock and there was a lot of time to kill. He continued walking with his 2 bags down the main strip to a large and beautiful square. Waiting in line for a taxi for an hour and a half was made worse by midday traffic. The train station, Santa Justa was on the other side of town and the cabbie seemed to be taking the long way there.

Inside the train station, there was a lunching restaurant, some vendor stalls and a book and magazine store. Darrel bought 3 newspapers and 2 magazines. It was 3 o'clock and there were 3 and a half hours left to kill. The reading material didn't help. He paced the length of the station lobby for hours, noticing for the first time, the clean modern beauty of the station's architecture.

The "time to arrival" hung on the wall, hypnotizing Darrel. It was almost 6:30. He grabbed his 2 bags, drum, and walked down to the platform to board. As the train pulled into the station, the late afternoon sun washed over it through the station's glass and steel walls. Along the length of the train, the steam billowed up from the wheels. None of the other 10 tracks had trains in them, and the whole station stood there like a cathedral. This train was beautiful. It was taking him away from here.

Darrel ambled towards his seat in the train, taking out 3 things to read before putting his bags away. Being one of the first people on the train, he sat and watched as couples, businessmen, and holidayers filled the car. He held the right side window seat, with an empty set of seats to his opposite left. Just as Darrel noticed this, a tall beautiful dirty blonde took a place in the opposing seat. She was young, still exploring life and the only interesting thing in his entire periphery.

A short while later, an older couple came by with ticket reservations in hand. The pretty blonde woman was forced to vacate the seat for her original ticket reservation. She grabbed her neatly stored bags in the compartment above her, and moved them to the compartment above him. She moved 1 bag at a time, fumbling on the bulkier one. Darrel absently paid attention to her efforts. He wanted to help, but she couldn't use it. They grazed eyes and smiled politely.

Even when a train starts to roll, the waiting doesn't go away. The sunset lit the pages of Darrel's newspaper. It was a kind of silent in between place, with a darkening sky on either side of the train windows. Inside, was the rumble of the air conditioning and hum of the engine.

"Sigh...". Darrel's pretty blonde was slouched over and restless, reading a thesaurus. He tried to hide his snickering.
"How is it?" "Hmmm, well, ahhh...". "You're reading a thesaurus." Darrel let that fact sink in and they both had a good laugh. "I've got some newspapers and magazines to read.", he offered her as he pulled out the International Herald Tribune, New York Times and Newsweek. "Oh gawd thanks" she gasped, relieved, as she took the New York Times. Darrel started, "Yeah, I was bored out of my mind in Seville. I saw everything in the first day. Today, I just walked around, drinking beer and having lunch." "Where are you going?", she asked. "I've got 2 stop overs. Madrid and Hendaye - a town on the border between Spain and France. Then", he let out an air of relief thinking of his final destination, "it's the overnight train to Amsterdam. I love Amsterdam.", and paused. "I spend a night there, then its back home, to Toronto." "Ahh wow" she smiled, then stopped to draw up her next thought. "I'm going to transfer in Madrid to get to Florence. I've had a pretty good time so far. I like Seville." "Really?" he asked surprised. "Yeah. Well, this is really my first time in Europe. I've just finished Uni in Melbourne." "Ahhh." "Yeah, I started off my vacation in England. I was there for a month, to see some family. They're in the south of the country. It's a small town; sooo boring." "What did you take in University?", Darrel asked. She answered.

As the train pulled up to it's resting place, they both looked into space then exhaled. The unread New York Times sat on her lap. "My name's Darrel by the way." "Hi. I'm Amber." "Amber, I'd love to know how the rest of your trip goes. Give me your..." "Oh yeah yeah yeah" she interrupted, darting for a scrap piece of paper. They exchanged information. "OK Darrel, it was really nice talking to you. I've gotta run. But I'll talk to you soon."

Amber was traveling light so she was one of the first ones off the train. After the exiting crowd dissipated, Darrel got up, gathered his luggage then left the train. On the platform, he put his bags and drum on the ground so that he could take out a sweater. There wasn't a lot of time to get to the connecting train across town. He needed to run to catch the metro, so he fumbled with his bags impatiently. As Darrel started brushing against his drum, he didn't notice it wobbling from its standing position. He wasn't fast enough to catch it before it fell and broke. This was a cheap Moroccan Jembe made of clay. There was a small bazaar in Granada that sold them, and he chose it over a nicer wooden Jembe. The 10 euro he was trying to save meant that he lost the entire price of his drum. "SHIT!!!", he gasped , picking up one of the broken pieces.

There was no time to stew about it though. He had to catch the metro, or risk missing his connecting train. Darrel ran past the ticket booths, the turnstiles and corridors to the Atocha metro station. He paid his fare and made his way to the northbound platform. The train was there in front of him, with about 10 meters between him and Amsterdam. He was home free, and made a mad dash for the doors. Darrel ran; ran just fast enough to to feel time slow down. The train door began to close slowly. 'Arggh. Huff. If I leap I can make it!!' He was so close, he could feel the wind of the doors closing in front of him. It was like the gates of the promised land flooding closed. He stepped away from the track as the train began to pull away. 'OK. there's still time...' he thought, as he looked at the clock hanging over the metro platform. He surveyed the length of the platform. The empty tunnel sat beside the northbound side, herded with Madriders. There were a lot of people from the train ride. Darrel's head was craned to the right, wondering who among these people were going to catch the connecting train to Amsterdam. That's when he heard a familiar voice to his left.

"Darrel!! " "Amber. How's it going?" "Awww, we just missed the train and I'm a little worried about the time. I've got to catch my train at Chamartin station." "Oh, where's that?" "That's north of here. on the dark blue line, line number 10. I've got to change lines at Tribunal. I hope I make it.", Darrel responded. Amber was concerned too. "Oh yeah. That IS tight. I've got to get to "Ventas". I've got 2 hours to go, so I'll be OK.... What happened to your drum?" "It happened just as I got off the train. I knocked it over by accident.". "OH NO". "And the head can't be removed. Look..." Darrel showed her the laquered drum head bonded to the shell. But Amber was hopeful. "Well keep it. Maybe you can get the body replaced when you get back to Toronto." Darrel knew he couldn't, but began to calm down the more they chatted. Seven minutes passed before the next metro train arrived. Looking at the metro clock and seeing that he had a half hour left, he entered the subway car with Amber. They began their crawl underneath the streets of Madrid.

Amber got off the metro the stop before Darrel had to change lines. There were 15 minutes left before his train left. 'HOLY SHIT!!!', he thought, standing nervously the entire ride to the station. He arrived at his final destination 5 minutes AFTER his scheduled departure time. He ran out of the train, out of the metro station, and into a narrow concrete hall. That hall connected all of the tracks... but didn't say which trains were on them. "GAWD...". He ran up to one of the tracks. 'It's not here.' It wasn't the one. He began to freak out at this point and sort of circle for 10 seconds until he saw stairs to the main hall. Bounding up the stairs and into the main hallway, he shouted 'Hendaye Hendaye Hendaye' He couldn't find the train bound for Hendaye. Someone pointed out that it was on track 13. WAS on track 13. He'd ran down the main hall, down the stairs to an empty track. "NOOOOO", Darrel screamed, whipping what was left of his drum against the bottom of the opposite track. Back upstairs he questioned a ticket agent and a concerned looking cabbie. He found out that the next train did not leave until the next morning and ultimately, would not arrive in Amsterdam until after his flight back home. There was one last hope as laid out by this cab driver, noticing his descent into chaos. The cab driver offered to drive him to a connecting train station just before Hendaye. It was going to cost 150 euro, but Darrel had no choice. "OK. How do we do this?" "caja bank dere", the cabbie said in broken english, as he pointed to the left end of the main hall. "OK OK OK." He got to the cash machine, the ones that charge 2.50 per transaction. And there was some kind of technical error. 'GAWD, I wanna cryyyy'. "una autro bank" the cabbie said as he pointed to the OTHER end of the main hall. Darrel ran through the hall, into his new nightmare. It was the same dilemma.

At that point, it was over. Defeat seized him. The cabbie looked at Darrel with a sympathetic shrug, and walked away after a while. Darrel sat down on the train benches with a bag of old corn chips, and bathroom-refilled bottled water in hand. 'It's here until morning Darrel. Ahhh boy. Maybe if I'd run AS SOON AS I'd gotten off at Atocha...', He thought to himself, then fell into a snooze. He saw himself sitting on a chair now, hands tied down. There was a soldier standing beside him and a ball of water surrounding his head. He couldn't breath and felt mad with fear. It was the kind of fear you feel when your psyche knows the end is near. With his head immersed in water, the soldier punched his stomach. He avoided gasping on the first punch, but that only prolonged the pain; prolonged the suffocation. The soldier only waited until he couldn't breath any longer. The next punch was in the gut; hard. There was no sound except for jazz. Everything seized and the pain and blackness flooded in.

After sleeping for 20 minutes, Darrel was woken up by a station guard. The guard was talking in Spanish and gesturing to the exits. Whoever was left in the station was beginning to clear out. 'OH WAIT. I should call Iberian Airlines'. He'd gotten the number to the Spanish airline's information desk at the airport. 700 euro from Madrid to Amsterdam and 900 euro for Madrid to Toronto. The 'Oh Gawding' and inner silence were starting to be deafening. A deep darkness had set in. If he caught the train the next day, he'd still miss his flight and have to buy another one. Flying to Amsterdam to catch his flight was going to cost almost as much as flying back to Toronto directly. And now he had to sleep on the streets or find a hotel. He walked into the first hotel outside the airport. There was a guard at the bottom of the escalators. "Usted tiene un ..."; Darrel interrupted him in mid sentence, not caring to try to undestand anymore. "I speak English". "You have res-er-vaye-shion". "No". "Complete". "No space?". "Es complete".

Darrel ended up staying at a hotel 2 minutes further afield and paying 94 euro for the night. He only went to bed after using the hotel's in-house internet service to try and find different flights. His deluded mind needed some existential oxygen. It needed some kind of option of escape. But the search turned up no avenues. He would have to go down to the airport in the morning to get information on different flights. 'Awww, there're all going to be the same though'.

Wake-up call came at 6:00 am. Darrel wanted to be at the station for 6:30, when it opened. He hadn't showered. He had only a singular purpose. 'I've gotta move. What if a train leaves at 7:00'. Nobody said one would, but this was the state of his desperation. He put on a used, cheese-smelling sweater and went to the train station. There were no trains leaving for Amsterdam. Darrel sat down and began to wait. It was 7:30 in the morning. 'Maybe I should check the airport for other flights. I won't get flight information otherwise. The metro fare is only 1 euro and change. I could be back for the the 10 o'clock train. Yeah that's right. I've got to hurry so I can make it back on time'. So off he went to the airport. A lady at the airport information desk gave him the airlines that fly to Madrid and where to find them. The first one he went to, KLM, had a lady that just arrived to her post. She was beginning her day and still had sunshine in her face. "Hi there, what are your flights to Amsterdam". "We have flights at 10 o'clock. 12:30, 4:30 and 6 o'clock.", she responded. "How much are they?". "The cheapest one is one hundred and ninety-four euros. That one leaves at 12:30.". Now, Darrel stopped for a second. It was like the words didn't come out right. They did. But they would change everything. "I'm sorry, how much was that again?". "One hundred and ninety-four euros sir".

Posted by Timothy Washington on 2004.12.26| Original post

#archive #frye #thebox