Some memories you carry, some carry you

The past follows me, but completely of its own accord and in its own preferred method. Some of the best parts dwindle and darken in the distance, just as some of the worst prick like thorns still stuck in my side. Sometimes friends come angelic and return to me lost parcels of my accumulated lifewealth. Sometimes a song, scent, or sight brings back not without pain things I would loved to have held onto tighter. Amid the vast aggregation from a thus-far short trip, I can see myself a nucleus (ha!) pushed in directions by what which I have lived. Some bear down from above. But then as many and to be sure more lift up, way up, like waxen wings bearing a load heavy as love.

I got a new set of wings myself, just recently, and I'll let you, o Reader, imagine how high they take me.

December was coming to a close. Right about this time, I and I imagine everyone I know, was feeling the beating of winter. The warmth had long since unmistakably departed, and even our blue sky often abandoned us. Enjoying the scant hours of work, but fearing the skint month to come. And all becoming feverish with the thought of holiday. In the last week, most had already checked out mentally. Office Christmas parties became the issue, and that which most closely affected my life was the final Friday before taking off. Throughout the week some of us talked about family and friends and what was to be done. My flatmate baked her cheesecake, the one that makes me weep like an old man before the light of God, for her boyfriend. I couldn't resist the opportunity to goad him with the news that I knew what lay in store but refused to reveal. Regarding the weekend, another friend who cooks curry like he was born to suggested we all beat back the Saturday hangover with late lunch at his pad after the Christmas blowout. No better way, nothing more sought after.

Friday neared and then came, and we hit dance floors and sidewalks and bartops and street crowds till just before daybreak. My first friend I ever made in Spain showed up from Brasil and called me direct to come get festive. Saturday's plan was perfect. Except that when I walked gingerly with my gift of vermouth up to door number 50 on calle Fernando Poo and rang, the lone tennant in PJ's told me fellas was at the bar. In no way raging but far from happy, I walked into the local and threw my arms wide.
"Where've you been, mate?" Their quaint Brit talk had no charm over me.
"I don't know, I thought we had lunch plans so I was kind of at your fucking house. Crazy, I know. I need to check myself." The peak of my anger surfaced but elicited only hearty laugh. But that was the laugh of love and I let it warm my chilled core as I sidled up to the bar and turned to watch the football. An hour or so later we were cooking and eating and all was merry as sun went down on late December southern Madrid.

With the night settled in, we sat round the table and the question of agenda quickly showed face. Dismay and horror, no one had a clue about this our last Saturday night in 2009. "Simple," said one lad, "at least for to start. We'll pop over to your gaff and meet your flatmate Mark. Up there he's got wine and beer for   drinking, and once we hit sauce we can thus begin thinking." No way better, nothing more sought after.

Up the cold calles and corners of stone, through streets roaring loudly with cars headed home. Gaily we talked and shouted and laughed, hurling guffaws all the way to my gaff. When finally we entered and passed the portero, he looked at me smiling, said "feliz cumple Caballero!" Of course the smile caught me off guard and I immediately thanked him, before my face turned awry. I chalked it to chance and continued my path, looking to my brothers saying something like, "I think he might be a bit weird." Birthday, what say ye?! It's December 19th. My eyes didn't see till 5 more days hence! Madman, and he's the one watching my door. Up the tiny box lift and in front of the door, the thought vanished from my mind as soon as it had entered: why fuss with a key when there's a soul within. Surely he can open and let us all in. But as I said it was gone so fast I only recognized its trace, its footprint, much later. Instead I did key and lead us all in, but everything was black and silent deep sleep. "What the fuck?" I let fly, not even thinking. I wanted some answers, the situation was stinking. So through the pasillo on toward the salon, where I put hand to wall and flicked the light on.

And there in the room, all standing in line, was every single soul I knew in Madrid, each and every one. Shocked I was, I'm not sure how I heard, but when they all yelled "SURPRISE", I stopped dead in my tracks, thinking I'd spoiled someone else's party. I think I fumbled some words to that effect, but then it dawned on me that December 19th night in my flat in Madrid, that everyone in the city I knew, several of whom didn't even know each other, had all stepped out of their December rush fever to come to my side and wish me happy. Words didn't come as my throat blocked up. But I was told some tears did, though for a moment my mind was incapacitated by emotion and unable to function or record. A moment later I regained my bearings, and when my best Spanish friend in the whole of the globe, who'd left long ago and was not sure when we'd meet again, topped it all off and snuck out of a bathroom to surprise me all over, I collapsed under the weight of my own bursting heart, and fell flat on the floor in the middle of the room.**                    

That was just this past year, when I turned 24.
No way better, nothing more sought after.

**(Epilogue: I did get up and the party went on all night. And that cheesecake, it was for me.)