“Somewhere Else” 2.5

Part 2 - Andreas II

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“Somewhere Else”

The house was almost dark. Outside, the wind carried the smell of salt. Adriana sat on the floor with her back against the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. The radio was on, but turned low.

“Come,” she said, patting the rug twice.

I sat beside her. Her knees folded toward me, the edge of her skirt brushing my leg. Book spines in the back. She opened the Room on Fire case, set it aside, and picked up 12 Memories. She held it a moment.

“Track seven,” she said. “That one.”

The player gave a soft click. The guitar came in slow, a low strum. Not sadness, a contained ache.

“When I lived in Puerto Rico, I dreamed of escaping to New York. Not for the lights or the crowds. Just to be far from everyone who knew my name,” she said, eyes unfocused. “I like to think that if they hadn’t taken me, I would’ve gone on my own.”

“Did you do it?” I asked.

“Not quite.”

The corner of her mouth lifted, then fell.

“I think there are things you don’t escape. You just move them.”

“I’m going to study medicine,” she said after a while. “Not to be a hero. To learn how to close what bleeds. To heal when you can. To soothe when you can’t.”

She set the glass down between us on the floor.

“I need to heal too,” she added. “Lima loves me, but it’s too small. I want long shifts, hallways that don’t know who I am. I want to hear my name in another accent.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said. “We’ll go wherever it takes us. I’ll record. I’ll bring you bad coffee at four in the morning. And we’ll come back when it’s time.”

“Would you really go with me?”

“I would.”

“Then promise me something: If I get lost, you’ll remind me of the way back.”

“Done.”

The voice on the song looped; for a moment, I thought it was talking about us. About what we had been. About what we were not saying now. Adriana rested her head on my shoulder. The wine left a deep red on her lips. Her scent, sweeter than in the afternoon, mingled with salt and old wine.

“We both knew it from the moment we got here... but don’t say it. Not a word,” she whispered. “Gael, if one day I really leave, promise you won’t stop me.”

I wanted to tell her I wouldn’t stop her, but I would look for her. I would stay at the station until I saw her get off the train. I said nothing. Her hand moved toward mine and stopped halfway.

“Kiss me,” she said, without raising her voice.

The kiss was slow, contained, until it wasn’t. Wine, heat, tangled breath. Her fingers closing at the nape of my neck. The world reduced to that touch. Outside, the wind moved the curtain. I don’t remember when I stopped hearing the song.

“We could put on another,” I said.

“No,” she answered. “This time, let it finish.”

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