When I took off on the last flight to vice, I felt inside what one feels before a sudden free fall: the seatbelt cinched over an empty stomach, the scalp wet, the skin bristling, alert to death. The crew went through the safety instructions once more and I paid no attention; I have known where the emergency exits are for years and have never used a single one. All I retained, as always, was the one rule I follow to the letter: put on your own mask first before assisting others.
In the end, the decision to board was mine; I bought the ticket myself, weeks in advance and at a non-refundable fare, as one buys who knows repentance will not come in time. A guilt ran through me the exact size of a carry-on, light enough to take aboard without paying extra, awkward enough that I could not leave it forgotten in the overhead bin; I was headed toward a space of evil, to look for evil, full of desire for evil, with a longing for goodness I had not declared at customs.
Midway through the flight, the misshapen anguish was taking hold of my misshapen soul with the same ease with which the passenger in front reclined his seat onto my knees; my breathing was handing its depth over to anxiety, and the drinks cart had stopped for turbulence three rows from my seat, at the exact distance at which everything one desires too much comes to a stop.
On arrival, I was welcomed by a faun, with cheers and songs that kept sleep at bay, merry like all those who always forget last night and determined to draw me into his glorious amnesiac reality; and I, so as not to say no, shared a hug with him, a hug like the ones people give each other when they see one another every day but miss each other all the same.
He was my only company during the stay in the garden of mystery, and he helped me not believe myself alone or forgotten, though we both always knew it was all a temporary and sonorous distraction, a gift of the kind one unwraps with enthusiasm and leaves behind in the hotel room.
We spent those days of lethargy together, harvesting a finite friendship of mutual benefit: he, at my side, felt beautiful; I, at his side, felt accompanied; we were a dyslexic duo taking the written exam to survive a self-imposed isolation.
It all ended as always. I flew back in the seat closest to the emergency exit, choosing legroom over recline, with a low-cost ticket and a delay of a few hours, ranting out of exhaustion and revealing that, once again, it would have been better to have stayed home…