GREETINGS FROM PRAHA Story 1 | Pt. 4

My Place

“My place” is the living room of Amy’s old apartment, now occupied by Sharon. An Australian red-headed pre-hipster, who writes for a magazine and ends every sentence with “No Worries.” I had liked her straight away.

“There has always been a roommate in the living room until my boyfriend moved in. Treat it as your own,” she said in our introduction this morning. “You can bring boys home if you want.”

I had laughed at the suggestion but now, here we are.

I roll us a joint as Yirka puts on music which I fully hate and is probably too loud. It’s sharp and abrasive. I take a deep breath. Is reality wiggling its way back in? As a distraction, I recite the dozen words of Czech I have mastered.

o Good Morning: do-bee-dee-den
o Goodbye: nas-clad-a-no
o Thank You: day-qui oo
o How much is it: Coe-leeg-toe-stoy
o Yes /No: ano / ney
o A Little: troosh-koe
o Come Here: put-sim
o Hurry Up: putch-kay
o Stop It: neck-ta-hoe

He has fully stopped talking.

In the absence of speech, I squirm under scrutiny and default to my usual routine. Truly no different than his earlier, I am flying off at the mouth about something that will either make me look cool or make me look stupid.

Blah, Blah, Guns and Roses, Blah. I have chosen stupid.

But the second I say the words “Appetite for Destruction” it’s on! He grabs me and pulls me on top of him.

There are candles burning or is there a light on?
He tries to undress me while he remains fully clothed.
What is he doing?

I invoke “Even Steven.”
Odd there is no equivalent in the Czech language.
Is “Even Steven” not a universal concept?

Completely sober and barely high, there are no softeners for this moment.
I just have to take my clothes off.
What is even the metaphor for this?
I’m fat and I don’t want anyone looking at me naked.
I don’t even look at me naked. My body is a mistake that I have not corrected.
Why would that not be assumed?

But my fears do not come for me in Praha and I forget that I should be ashamed.
I just keep going, allowing him to see me.

Put-sim… Putch-kay… Neck-ta-hoe… Put-sim… Putch-kay… neck-ta-ho.
Put-sim… Putch-kay… Neck-ta-hoe.

I am unaware of exactly when she walked in. I know that we were both naked and that despite the event having not begun, we were well into opening ceremonies. On top of him with my back to her, I was laughing.

“You’re too Loud.” Her voice was close.

I can tell she isn’t in her doorway but rather in the room with us.
Fuck me…
How long has she been standing there?
Maybe the neighbors wanna come see me naked too.
If she could hear us, then why come out at all?
Just yell or bang on the wall.
This is weird. On top of embarrassing, this is weird.

Who knows how long that frozen silence sustained but admonishment received, we stop talking.

Put-sim… Putch-kay… Put-sim… Putch-kay! Putch-kay! Putch-kay!

The sex was lightening.
Flashes of light and thunder resolving into shock waves of words.
Dumb ones, fun ones.

We talk about the Barbara Streisand’s HBO special where she reenacts Yentil live onstage. (Amazing).
We talk about Michael Jackson wanting to cast a white kid to play his younger self in the VH1 “Jacksons” movie. (Unconfirmed).

Stuff no one else cares about but we two.
It’s like talking to myself and it’s intoxicating!

And…I hear how it sounds.

But what this is…. Is the first time I abstractly connect the concept of “being in love” to feelings “home.” Here, wherever in the hell this is, experiencing the idea of home existing inside another person. Is that what romantic love is? This Czech white male, a polar opposite to me, who seemingly fully sees me, fully gets me and loves it because he is the same. We talk and climax. Rinse and repeat. We won’t shut the fuck up.

The next morning, I heard him apologize to Sharon in the kitchen.

They knew each other.

Maybe this was Oz.