I was sitting down in Caffè del Doge the next day, sipping an excellent cappuccino—the barista had used Doge Nero Arabica beans from the Alta Mogiana region in Brazil, which had dark chocolaty notes that added sweetness to the mainly earthy flavor profile. It was heaven for my splitting headache from last night's reckless behavior (half a dozen shots of Sierra Tequila shoved down my throat, a line of coke shared with a pudgy water taxi driver who was trying to sleep with me, and God knows how many Red Bulls I had), although Zach, who was sitting outside with me in a narrow alley adjacent to the Rialto, seemed completely fine.
"How many shots you had?" l asked my mouth wide open.
"You're a lightweight. As soon as the curtains closed for Angels in America, me and Christian Borle would take shots of Patron Silver backstage like fucking high schoolers. Sometimes we would take it before, you know, to loosen the nerves. After we were caught, the director said we should change the name to Devils in America."
"I would have seen that" l replied absentmindedly.
"Christian told me stories that were even worse. He was doing Thoroughly Modern Millie while he heard from friends that Kieran Culkin swapped a prop joint with a real one."
"No way. What did they do?"
"Nothing. He was 17 and dumb. You should have seen what I was doing at that age. My parents forced me into a Catholic high school; true, cold Pittsburghers who worked at Jones & Laughlin Steel and loved rye whiskey more than their kids. And you can guess they didn't encourage my sexual orientation. So, I sped along Route 28 and sneaked into clubs on the South Side."
I thought about my own high school days, which were already hazy but now even foggier because of the hangover. Solitary afternoons in a strange environment (l didn't even know what a toaster was at Malcolm's house) that l came to love after being numb to so many things in that tiny, grim shack. Childhood, looking back, had that almost airless, claustrophobic quality to it that made it so hard to explain to people who didn't experience it. It felt as if I were drowning in a packed pool, my arms flailing frantically, while frozen statues were looking down at me, their faces blurred as though viewed through a rain-smeared window. The hand of the world pulling me slowly down, gravity wrapping around me and whispering, "It's okay. Why fight?"—like a lover massaging their partner's shoulder after a long day of work.
And then Tess pulled me out into a different planet that seemed louder, more colorful, and more alive. I spent my days reading The Great Gatsby, cheering on Manchester United during games like the 2004 FA Cup Final (I spilled my drink when Ronaldo scored a header), tasting new foods, and, late at night, flipping the remote on the channel Cinemax to masturbate to scenes from Eyes Wide Shut.
A loud tantrum exploded from a child nearby which pulled me out of my thoughts and Zach turned to me after a look at the Rialto Bridge: a single-span stone arch, balustrades line the edges carved with simple patterns that conveyed a sense of timelessness that made it impossible to replicate. He choked on his coffee and hoarsely said, "What are you gonna for a month before the film officially comes out?"
"l'm going to travel. See Europe. l always wanted to do that"
"Sounds like heaven. l would have join you but l'm doing American Horror Story."
"Good for you. Tell me how it is to work with Ryan Murphy when you're finished."
"Hopefully he doesn't waddle like J.C! Man l was taking a shit, opposite the room they were shooting in, and could hear J.C walk and say, 'Perfect. We have a James Dean in our crew.' You were performing your heart out while l kept on clogging the toilet!"
l laughed and the coffee in my mouth spilled onto my shirt. "No wonder. Your performance looked you had to take a shit"
"Eat shit" Zachary called out that drew a glare from the parent of the crying child.
"Want to go back?"
"Sure"
***
The next month was an unforgettable experience that went from the cobbled streets of Munich to the narrow stairs of Sacré-Cœur in Paris. l loitered around small cafes that smelled of damp, wet autumn leaves pressed into stone. l love how wide the sidewalks are; how many bike paths there are separate from the sidewalks. The Ubahn was a great ride, it is so clean and quiet compared to London and New York. l also discovered parts of my self that l even wrote a poem:
Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.
New strangers on other paths await.
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit.
When you travel, you find yourself
Alone in a different way,
More attentive now
To the self you bring along,
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad; and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home
l slept in hostels even though l could afford a nice hotel because l wanted to speak to people about their own experiences. And before l knew it was October 21: the American release of Margin Call.