22h Reggio Emilia

K. M. Issue: Section:

 

My head is pressed against the off white security grill looking out into the little corner piazza.  The metal feels reassuring against my forehead, and the breeze cools my skin.  

The room was almost too warm when I arrived in the afternoon, a streak of sunlight marking the time across the floor, until it was gone completely and a secretive airiness took its place.

I have pushed the wooden chair over to the window, and now, sitting in it, my legs tremble from the sensation of stillness.  There is an oblong blue bruise rapidly appearing on my left hand and a knot in my shoulder blade twitches in time with the wristwatch on the table.

My eyes burn when I close them and my throat burns from too many cigarettes and too many late nights.  The silence of the empty room and the faint hum of people talking, packing, getting ready to go, is comforting.  I should stand and join them but I need another minute, to calm my mind, to find my feet. A shaky feeling that I may fall if I stand sends electricity into my fingertips and toes.  My breathing feels choppy, my lips dry and my tongue swollen.

A pinch of anguish hits my stomach at the realization: I will take a plane
back to feeling normal in the morning; then a faint smile at the thought:


until next time.

 

 

 

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