The room was dark but even with my eyes closed I could sense the piercing sunlight and its unforgiving heat trying to enter through every crack available in the small room.
I lay there in an all too familiar state having just come to, confused and with a deep feeling of dread right in the pit of my stomach. I began my ritual of a rather perverse sort of relaxation technique in reverse. Starting from my toes and working my way up to my still closed eyes. I checked firstly that I could move all body parts and also for any areas of pain on the way.
Today’s exploration revealed pain in my right knee and the palm of my right hand, a fall most likely, I quickly concluded. There was also some pain in both upper arms and my back ached badly, I felt in no hurry to try to move. The source of these aches and pains I left as an open verdict! Opening my eyes was always the worst part as I never quite knew what view might greet me; it was therefore always the last act in this routine. My friend from Australia, Shonna, once asked as I lay on her floor motionless but awake “Are ya checkin ya eyelids for holes?”.
On a good day, I would find no holes and at the ceremonial eye opening, would see somewhere familiar and hopefully find I was where I was meant to be. On a bad day, however, I would be greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling and often an unfamiliar person in close proximity to me and I would have to either, slide out of the bed searching the room through bleary eyes to find both my clothes and the exit, without waking the sleeping stranger. Or, having given the stranger the once over, thought perhaps it worth hanging around to get more acquainted over breakfast.. The worst sight on opening my eyes was to see the open sky above, whilst feeling a concrete bed below me, alfresco style so to speak, wondering, as I contemplated the situation, what the people passing by me on their way to work thought of this sight. Worst of all by far though, was coming to in a police cell or hospital as this meant things had really gotten out of hand and that there would be people to deal with, consequences! In these circumstances I always felt like a shame filled worm with lipstick, wishing I could just slither away as quickly as possible.
During the closed eye part, while completing the body check, the mind would sluggishly try to piece together a).quite what had happened the night before and b).what the hell I was supposed to be doing today. On this occasion it seemed even more sluggish than usual, I gave in and opened my eyes one at a time and looked for clues.
Looking round from my still prone position I quickly realised that I was in fact, in the studio room Royce and I had spent the last two weeks holidaying in. This explained the heat and that noise that had hammered away at me like Woody wood pecker, the Cicada’s. The Greek Island of Zakinthos in June was in the mid 80’s. I looked and saw Royce’s bed was empty and her bags were packed, “Shit!” I said, sitting bolt up right, “Ouch, my bloody knee”, “Ow, my bloody back actually”. I had suddenly remembered we were leaving on the ferry today. The memory of the ferry trip over came rushing back. What a nightmare that had been; leaving the Athens port of Piraeus at 2am arriving at Zante (as the brochure had cutely named it) at 4pm that day. I had roasted on the deck feeling really sick for most of the journey and had crawled off I wishing I was back home and ready for a stiff Metaxa.
I had, however, soon settled into island life, indulging in my three favourite competitive sports; flirting, drinking and sunbathing with a little Greek salad on the side. Royce and I had hired mopeds, didn’t seem to matter that you had not past any sort of driving test in any country, and helmets, well they were optional and played havoc flattening any decent early 80’s perm. With our new-found transport we discovered, among other beauty spots, the wonderful and hidden Turtle bay, with its resident hippy commune. In their unspoilt haven they had built a cafe serving up delicious and, more to the point, cheap veggie fayre, to anyone who discovered this idyll. They also demonstrated nude sunbathing, without any of the British sense of embarrassment.
My thoughts swung back to our departure which was apparently imminent. I quickly hobbled and moaned my way about the small studio room, rather more of a garden shed with French windows and a veranda really, grabbing at clothes and slinging them in my bag, no idea what time it was or when Royce would re-appear. Finally, job done, I collapsed back on the bed and gulped down some luke-warm water which was perched next to some equally warm red wine, which, although I considered briefly I dismissed despite being so, so thirsty. I grabbed a few useful looking pills that were scattered on my make-shift bedside table, they looked like they might do the trick and I them down with the last few drops of water. I let out a sigh of relief. Ok I’m ready.
As I waited for the pills to work and Royce to return, I thought back to the night before. Royce and I had agreed to meet the two Dennises. I smiled as I remembered how surprised we were when Dennis One had told us his name, not very Greek after all, then when Dennis Two appeared, well it was obviously some sort of joke, turns out half the male population of Zante was call Dennis after their patron saint. They had been equally confused by Royce and I as she called me James, “This is a boy’s name,” chorused the Deni. It had taken a while to explain that these were our surnames. There was no way I was even going to tell them of my evil parents who double barrelled their surnames James and Bond and had then cruelly named me Jesse!
We had agreed to go with them, us two on our moped and them sharing theirs. We had hoped to meet up with the rather more dashing Nico later. He had a proper motor bike and a very cool leather jacket and equally cool long dark hair. Our destination was Turtle bay. In the two weeks we had been there we had never dared attempt to descend the rugged rock and sand hills to reach it at night, “Why not?” Royce had said. “It’s our last night and the boys will be with us. It will be fine; in fact it will be more than fine, an adventure.” We had both laugh at the thought of what another Royce/James adventure might entail.
Suddenly a feeling of unease crept over me, flashes of memory like still photos filled my mind, as if someone was throwing them down like cards from a pack, one after another; me holding on tight to Royce as she drove, not down hill but up , the twilight bay, the Hippy Café, its coloured fairy lights, unknown faces, hands passing glasses, music echoing, a memory in my ears like sea in a shell, Nico’s handsome face, Nico laughing, Royce dancing, Dennis One shouting, Dennis Two on their bike, his face looking back with fear. Now it turned into a cinefilm. Dark waves crashed, I lay on a rock hard and cold, my back twinged as it remembered the pain, I saw the hand break the glass on the rock; I felt the weight of a body on mine and the warmth of the blood..Royce pulling me, trying to push the body off me..As I broke free I stumbled to the water to wash the crimson stains off, “James, James” Royce had said in an ever urgent hushed voice “James, It’s time to go”
At that moment the door of our studio opened letting the full blast of the sun in and in the frame of door stood Royce, silent, ashen faced as her fear-filled eyes met mine. I knew, Yes it really was time to go.
I lay there in an all too familiar state having just come to, confused and with a deep feeling of dread right in the pit of my stomach. I began my ritual of a rather perverse sort of relaxation technique in reverse. Starting from my toes and working my way up to my still closed eyes. I checked firstly that I could move all body parts and also for any areas of pain on the way.
Today’s exploration revealed pain in my right knee and the palm of my right hand, a fall most likely, I quickly concluded. There was also some pain in both upper arms and my back ached badly, I felt in no hurry to try to move. The source of these aches and pains I left as an open verdict! Opening my eyes was always the worst part as I never quite knew what view might greet me; it was therefore always the last act in this routine. My friend from Australia, Shonna, once asked as I lay on her floor motionless but awake “Are ya checkin ya eyelids for holes?”.
On a good day, I would find no holes and at the ceremonial eye opening, would see somewhere familiar and hopefully find I was where I was meant to be. On a bad day, however, I would be greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling and often an unfamiliar person in close proximity to me and I would have to either, slide out of the bed searching the room through bleary eyes to find both my clothes and the exit, without waking the sleeping stranger. Or, having given the stranger the once over, thought perhaps it worth hanging around to get more acquainted over breakfast.. The worst sight on opening my eyes was to see the open sky above, whilst feeling a concrete bed below me, alfresco style so to speak, wondering, as I contemplated the situation, what the people passing by me on their way to work thought of this sight. Worst of all by far though, was coming to in a police cell or hospital as this meant things had really gotten out of hand and that there would be people to deal with, consequences! In these circumstances I always felt like a shame filled worm with lipstick, wishing I could just slither away as quickly as possible.
During the closed eye part, while completing the body check, the mind would sluggishly try to piece together a).quite what had happened the night before and b).what the hell I was supposed to be doing today. On this occasion it seemed even more sluggish than usual, I gave in and opened my eyes one at a time and looked for clues.
Looking round from my still prone position I quickly realised that I was in fact, in the studio room Royce and I had spent the last two weeks holidaying in. This explained the heat and that noise that had hammered away at me like Woody wood pecker, the Cicada’s. The Greek Island of Zakinthos in June was in the mid 80’s. I looked and saw Royce’s bed was empty and her bags were packed, “Shit!” I said, sitting bolt up right, “Ouch, my bloody knee”, “Ow, my bloody back actually”. I had suddenly remembered we were leaving on the ferry today. The memory of the ferry trip over came rushing back. What a nightmare that had been; leaving the Athens port of Piraeus at 2am arriving at Zante (as the brochure had cutely named it) at 4pm that day. I had roasted on the deck feeling really sick for most of the journey and had crawled off I wishing I was back home and ready for a stiff Metaxa.
I had, however, soon settled into island life, indulging in my three favourite competitive sports; flirting, drinking and sunbathing with a little Greek salad on the side. Royce and I had hired mopeds, didn’t seem to matter that you had not past any sort of driving test in any country, and helmets, well they were optional and played havoc flattening any decent early 80’s perm. With our new-found transport we discovered, among other beauty spots, the wonderful and hidden Turtle bay, with its resident hippy commune. In their unspoilt haven they had built a cafe serving up delicious and, more to the point, cheap veggie fayre, to anyone who discovered this idyll. They also demonstrated nude sunbathing, without any of the British sense of embarrassment.
My thoughts swung back to our departure which was apparently imminent. I quickly hobbled and moaned my way about the small studio room, rather more of a garden shed with French windows and a veranda really, grabbing at clothes and slinging them in my bag, no idea what time it was or when Royce would re-appear. Finally, job done, I collapsed back on the bed and gulped down some luke-warm water which was perched next to some equally warm red wine, which, although I considered briefly I dismissed despite being so, so thirsty. I grabbed a few useful looking pills that were scattered on my make-shift bedside table, they looked like they might do the trick and I them down with the last few drops of water. I let out a sigh of relief. Ok I’m ready.
As I waited for the pills to work and Royce to return, I thought back to the night before. Royce and I had agreed to meet the two Dennises. I smiled as I remembered how surprised we were when Dennis One had told us his name, not very Greek after all, then when Dennis Two appeared, well it was obviously some sort of joke, turns out half the male population of Zante was call Dennis after their patron saint. They had been equally confused by Royce and I as she called me James, “This is a boy’s name,” chorused the Deni. It had taken a while to explain that these were our surnames. There was no way I was even going to tell them of my evil parents who double barrelled their surnames James and Bond and had then cruelly named me Jesse!
We had agreed to go with them, us two on our moped and them sharing theirs. We had hoped to meet up with the rather more dashing Nico later. He had a proper motor bike and a very cool leather jacket and equally cool long dark hair. Our destination was Turtle bay. In the two weeks we had been there we had never dared attempt to descend the rugged rock and sand hills to reach it at night, “Why not?” Royce had said. “It’s our last night and the boys will be with us. It will be fine; in fact it will be more than fine, an adventure.” We had both laugh at the thought of what another Royce/James adventure might entail.
Suddenly a feeling of unease crept over me, flashes of memory like still photos filled my mind, as if someone was throwing them down like cards from a pack, one after another; me holding on tight to Royce as she drove, not down hill but up , the twilight bay, the Hippy Café, its coloured fairy lights, unknown faces, hands passing glasses, music echoing, a memory in my ears like sea in a shell, Nico’s handsome face, Nico laughing, Royce dancing, Dennis One shouting, Dennis Two on their bike, his face looking back with fear. Now it turned into a cinefilm. Dark waves crashed, I lay on a rock hard and cold, my back twinged as it remembered the pain, I saw the hand break the glass on the rock; I felt the weight of a body on mine and the warmth of the blood..Royce pulling me, trying to push the body off me..As I broke free I stumbled to the water to wash the crimson stains off, “James, James” Royce had said in an ever urgent hushed voice “James, It’s time to go”
At that moment the door of our studio opened letting the full blast of the sun in and in the frame of door stood Royce, silent, ashen faced as her fear-filled eyes met mine. I knew, Yes it really was time to go.
