The exhibition is temporary, but there are permanent pieces, I walk around but I don’t really know
what I’m looking at. The Italian woman beside me doesn’t really know what she’s looking at either, but we don’t tell each other that. In the middle of the building there’s an entrance to an outdoor courtyard, it has a fountain and small gardens in each corner. We sit on a bench by the fountain, making small talk, listening to the water hit. I ask her was she ever married, she laughed and said no, not yet. We listen to the water again. It rains a lot in Ireland she said, must be difficult, sounds like it could be a sad life sometimes. I never really thought about the rain in Ireland, not until I lived abroad I said, not until I got used to a bit of sun. No, its grand I said, you get used to it, but my voice didn’t really fit my words. Do you? she said, but I wasn’t sure if it was a question. You do I said, you can get used to just about anything I laughed.
That’s true she said, the water relaxes me, as I listen to it hit. Sometimes its OK just to listen, to not talk, to not get agitated with awkward silence. I ask her does she miss home, she thinks about it, sometimes she said. I nod, me too I said, over the sound of the water splashing. Have you ever been married I asked? No she laughed, I was glad she laughed, even though I didn’t know why. She didn’t ask me if I have ever married, maybe she knew I wasn’t the marrying type, maybe she wasn’t interested. I realised I had already asked her earlier if she was married, I think I might have early onset dementia. I look at the people walking, the tourists, the locals, the couples with children figuring out how to pass a sunny Sunday afternoon. I feel like I’m over extending myself, with every word, with every movement, as if every moment she’s slipping further away.
I ask her would she like to take a beer in Retiro, I’m relieved and surprised when she says yes. The day is not too warm, cooling since last week, late September can be a relief in Madrid, the summer furnace of July and August finally abate, and you realise that there’s other seasons in life than a constant wave of oppressive heat. In Retiro the sound of passing rollerbladers makes me speak louder, I realise the base in my voice is a lot louder than most people around here, as some heads begin to turn, most people with big mouths don’t realise it, but as every week that passes here I get quieter and realise it a little more. The majority of people n Madrid seem middle class, It makes me realise how poor of a place I grew up in back home. I don’t tell her that though, I just walk along Retiro with her, taking it in, she’s calm, relaxed, she only really speaks when I speak to her, she speaks with ease, when I speak rushed, panicked in my attempts to express myself, I even use my hands while talking.
She talks about her job, it sounds important, I don’t speak too much about mine, about how English teaching is the only job that will really have me, about how I don’t even prepare my classes half the time, I don’t bother telling her that. I ask her about her job, she works at something important, I nod along as if I know what her job entails, she talks about travelling with her work, about a convention in Las Vegas, then Miami in early November. She sighs as if it is a pending burden, I can only dream of burdens like that, my job doesn’t even pay travel allowance. But I don’t tell her that. She told me she was ill last week, and had a few days off. I ask her did her job pay her when she was sick, yes she said, of course, shrugging as if surprised with my question. I was sick two weeks ago, with a bad flu, my job deducted the four days I was out. I didn’t tell her that though. We walked in silence for a while, it felt good, not to think up lines of conversation to go down, to be happy just walking and taking in the air. We sit and take a beer, they have no Mahou so I agree on San Miguel. The beer is freezing cold, it’s easy to drink too much in Spain, when the beer is cold like that.
I think I have a drink problem, in fact I know I do, I don’t think I’d admit to anyone though, it could effect my drinking. I don’t tell her I have a drink problem. We take two beers, I feel like she’s opening up, she tells me a bit about her ex, about her sister in Sicily, her mother and father, even tells me her sister is now looking after her dog, what type of breed is the dog I ask, She said she didn’t know, a mix she said. I thought it was strange, that she didn’t know. But what do I know about dogs. I order another two beers, I usually don’t drink so fast she says, either do I said, knowing I was lying, unsure why I even said it. As we were coming down to the remnants of our beers I was starting to enjoy the conversation. It’s getting late she said, that she needed to take the metro home, that she had an early start in the morning. I’ll walk you over I said, and I was surprised again, as she doesn’t protest. The walk back is harder this time, I’m tired, relaxed after the beer and not as limber for the trek. I’m comfortable as we walk in silence, I can hear birds, chirping, it seems odd they are so active, this late in the evening, but its still bright, Ireland is different to here I suppose. We stop as we get towards the subway, well she says, this is my station, its been a pleasure meeting you. Its been great meeting you too I said, as I kissed her on both cheeks. She walked away, then down the step of the metro, until I could see no more of her. I wondered would I see her again, I doubted it.
DoubleSpeak 