March 24, 2013 by allsho
It’s 2AM and my phone has just buzzed me awake, filling the room in white-blue LED light. I have a message. It’s a photo. No words, no explanation. Just a photo. This one.
It takes me a while to understand where I am, what I am doing there, who is sending this message and why.
It’s my friend Arnau. Ex-boyfriend, more precisely. We’ve spent our Sunday morning together. Actually, I came to Barcelona one day in advance so I could have a whole day to see my friends living here.
Morning at the beach with him and his friends, lunch with Annelies, Wolfi and Klaus, the Jerry Joint; afternoon with Sabine and Pilar, boy I should come back for good, girls don’t age down here (three years in London and I look like my aunt); dinner with the Imaginarium people.
And now Arnau again? Sending me a picture of the Font Màgica of Montjuïc? So what does that mean? That we could meet there now?
I’ve always thought Arnau could be interested in a reminder of what our golden times were, five years ago. And I probably wouldn’t mind either.
But tomorrow is Monday and I’ve come here for work. If he thinks I would get out of bed now, get dressed, call for a taxi from Sarrià to Plaça de Espanya at half-past two in the night like a horny teenager, and then let myself be abducted to some place beyond Llobregat where he lives now, well I’ve wasted my morning and he’s wasted the last five years, I can tell you.
I’ll just take a picture of my pillow, add a goodnight kiss and reply right away. Sorry Arnau.