Amsterdam Twenty-Six: Friends

Exhaustion. An eye opened looking at a hardwood floor a couple inches away. The horizon of the floor stretched out and revealed dust collecting under the dresser. Breathing, there was that. The floor was cool. I had a thought, a thought that allowed me to be “I” again. Remembering wasn’t good; memories created a frightening context for the present. I was afraid to move. I laid still for a long time, grateful just to be able to breathe. I mustered the courage to place my palm flat on the floor next to my head to try to push myself up. A shooting pain ripped through my chest and I stopped. “Oh, no.” I remained still for a long time then rolled onto my back. I used my abdominal muscles and sat up. My chest felt crushed and it was tough to breathe again. I stood up slowly and shuffled gingerly to the bathroom. I took off my clothes and showered. The cool water helped and the moisture in the air made breathing easier. I felt a little more alive after toweling off.

I dressed with careful movements, deliberately delicate. I took a deep breath when I was done and felt pain in my chest again. “I need to see a doctor.” I was nervous, though, because of the cocaine. I saw the case covered with a white film of powder. There was enough there to scrape into a sizable line, but I wanted nothing to do with it. Instead, I took it to the bathroom and wiped the case clean with a wet hand towel. I slowly put on socks and shoes; the scale of difficulty was in the same range as the Tkachev Salto. I put on my jacket, wincing from having to lift my arms and twist my torso. I took a rest while standing, leaning against a wall.

Rain was coming down hard. Of course it was; nothing would be easy on this day. I grabbed an umbrella and opened it after locking the door. Fuck, it sucked having to hold the umbrella while walking. The air was cold and moist, though, both good things. I walked to Eik en Linde, a painful walk that left me extremely tired by the time I arrived. It was early and only Kasper and his mother were inside, both working behind the bar to ready the cafe for the day. Kasper took one look at me and winced. “You’re white as ghost, Michael. Are you okay?” I didn’t know what to say, but I wanted to tell him I needed a doctor. “I feel pretty shitty. I have pains in my chest, I have no energy, and, frankly, I’m not sure what’s really wrong.” Kasper’s mother was listening and she came over to express her concern. She said, “You should see a doctor. Oh, right, you’re out-of-country. The hospital would be best.” She and Kasper began talking about which hospital was nearest. Kasper’s mother said, “The OLVG. It’s about a mile away.” I looked out the window at the rain and so did Kasper and his mother. It had taken all I could to make it the eighth of a mile to Eik en Linde; there was no way I could walk a mile. I said, “Maybe I should take a taxi.” Kasper’s mother grabbed a phone book and went to make the call.

Kasper looked at me and asked, “What happened?” I sighed. I was embarrassed, but I told him part of the truth. “Well, for starters, I was shrooming.” A smile slowly grew on Kasper’s face. I smiled a little, but I still felt like hell. “I was twirling, really out there, and I fell. Everything was out of whack, I couldn’t tell what was going on at all, but I could hardly breathe and my chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice.” Kasper shook his head, still smiling, but his eyes held plenty of concern. He poured me a glass of orange juice and kept chatting with me, keeping me company.

They were so kind to me, Kasper and his mother. I was glad I had frequented their establishment, but I believed they would have been just as kind had I just walked in for the first time. Dutch kindness is extraordinary. Kasper joked, “Typical American, taking shrooms and getting sick.” I laughed a little. My anxiety was lessening sitting in the warmth of the café and that seemed to make it easier to breathe. Kasper told me a story about taking shrooms when he was younger, “It was the only time I ever shroomed and it was awful. I was maybe 19 or 20, something like that, and I was out with friends. We were all supposed to eat the shrooms and then hang out together. I remember having to climb a fence. Somehow I got separated from the rest of the group and tried to find my way home. It was hell. Maybe I would have tried them again if I had stayed single. You know, responsibilities.” I joked, “You let me know when you finally become responsible.” Kasper laughed and lightly whipped his bar towel at me. During the whole conversation neither Kasper nor his mother made a judgment about me except in a joking way. Nonjudgmentalness, a higher virtue altogether than tolerance.

The taxi arrived and they waved me off. Kasper’s mother said, “Stop back to let us know how you are, okay?” I said I would and thanked them for their hospitality. They both waived their hands as if they had done nothing. I got in the cab and said, “OLVG,” not knowing whether the driver would understand or not. He nodded, turned on the meter, and merged into traffic. The hospital was about a mile drive. I got out, paid, and went to the emergency room. I mentioned to a woman at the front desk that I had pain in my chest and trouble breathing. She asked if I was a citizen or legal resident of The Netherlands. I said no. She turned, grabbed a form, and told me to fill it out. I took a seat, filled out the form, and returned it to her. She said someone would see me soon.

I waited about ten minutes before a nurse came through a swinging door and announced my name. She led me back to a room, took my vitals, and said everything looked normal except for my blood pressure. She said it was high but not significantly. She left and a couple minutes later a doctor came. She asked questions and I explained what had happened, leaving out the part about the cocaine. I was still irrationally nervous about being arrested or getting into legal trouble. She smiled and said, “You have to be careful. This is common, though. We often get tourists who have bad experiences with cannabis and mushrooms because they aren’t used to the potency. Anxiety and panic attacks are typically the worst symptoms, though.” I mentioned twirling and falling so she helped me remove my shirt, checked my upper extremities, my back and chest, had me move about, tested me with her stethoscope, asked if this hurt and I said no, asked if this hurt and I said, “Yes! Ow!” and asked if this hurt and I winced, “Oh my god!” She kept checking me over for a few minutes more.

“Well, it appears you have contusions, severe bruising, on your shoulder blades.” I said, “Huh?” She said, “You must have fallen awkwardly because on one shoulder blade the bruise is high and on the other it is low. There is some lighter bruising, nothing serious, on your upper back and shoulders as well. I checked the back of your head to see if you had any bruising or cuts to rule out a concussion or fracture; there is no sign of damage.” I nodded and she continued, “The bruises on your shoulder blades and your back in general are causing your chest to feel tight, 'crushed' as you said. That’s why it hurts when you twist your torso and lift your arms. It also explains your breathing difficulties, including why deep breaths cause such awful pain. Combined with the anxiety—which likely exacerbated the pain and made it even more difficult to breathe—it’s understandable why you believed you were having a heart attack. You’re lucky there are no broken bones, but to be safe you should see your physician when you return to the United States. My advice for you is to take it easy the next few days.” I nodded. I felt immense relief. The pain was still there, but at least I knew nothing life-threatening was causing it. As the doctor was about to leave, she turned, winked, and said, “While you’re at it, lay off the shrooms for a while, okay?” I nodded sheepishly and thanked the doctor for her kindness. She smiled and said, “Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

I went to the front desk wondering how much the ER visit would cost. I knew they had free or cheap health care in Holland, but I wasn’t a legal resident or citizen. I was a visitor. I was told by the receptionist that I would receive a bill in the mail. I asked her how much it would be and she checked my chart. “Probably about 100 Euros.” Wow, I probably would have had to pay $800 or $900 for a similar ER visit in the United States. Either way, I was just glad to be alive with only bruises on my back.

I had paid attention to the cabbie’s route so I walked back the same way. It was still raining a little so I opened the umbrella. The walk was painful, but less so psychologically. I entered Eik en Linde cold, wet, and tired. The café had filled with regulars and faces I didn’t recognize. Kasper came over and asked how it went. “Bruised shoulder blades.” He sighed and said, “Well, that’s not too bad.” Kasper’s mother walked over to me and placed a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of me. “It’s a cold day and you’ve had a rough go of it.” I thanked Kasper’s mother and ate the soup while thinking, “I am so lucky to have such caring people in my life.” After so many heartaches and heartbreaks, it was refreshing to know people cared about one another … in this case, me. I may not have done much right in life, but I seemed to have a knack for finding exceptional souls and making good friends.

I went home and slept through the afternoon, waking around seven and feeling disoriented. My chest hurt, but not as bad as it had earlier. Weird that my chest hurt more than my back given where the bruising was. I sent emails to my friends to let them know I was okay. I didn’t know what else to do with myself so I took a shower, dressed, and went out. The clouds had gone and the night sky was clear. I walked to the end of the block, the route I typically took to Eik en Linde, but before I got to the bridge I took a good look at the corner café. It was closer than any other café but something about it always kept me from visiting. It was well-lit, too well-lit I had thought in the past. There always seemed to be beautiful people either sitting at the tables or serving those sitting at the tables. It looked too hip to me or maybe too hip for me. I felt that way about the place, anyway. Whether it was true or not, I didn’t know.

The café seemed relatively empty. I thought briefly of going inside, but didn’t feel up to it. Maybe another time. I continued walking past the bridge and café. I hadn’t walked this far down Entrepotdok previously. There was no one on the street but me. It was strange being the only person within view in either direction. I found myself wishing for other pedestrians. I was lonely. All of the excitement with Vanessa had made me feel like I was with someone. But now, with Vanessa out of the country and Eik en Linde primarily a morning hangout for me, I was alone. I felt homesick for the first time since arriving in Amsterdam. I missed my stateside friends and family.

For a moment I missed S. as well. Despite how badly the relationship ended, most of the years we had been together were good. I missed the intimacy we once shared. When we were younger it seemed that life would be a steady unretracting progress endlessly building upon itself with the good times getting better and better. Life hadn't worked out that way, though. In youth, yes, but the good times became less and less frequent. Increasingly, conscious effort was required to create them.

As I walked along the canal down the lane, though, I still felt life was good. I had survived yet another near-catastrophe and was treated with kindness by everyone I asked for help. I breathed deeply, felt the pain in my chest, and noted it wasn't as severe. The lane took a turn and cut away from the canal. The buildings were newer, only two stories. I thought it was strange how Amsterdam had developed, how the urban design through the ages created such a bizarre and wonderful city. Even in these newer areas I liked the ambience. I couldn’t place the feeling I had in relation to the architecture around me; despite seeming cold or sterile in comparison to the old city, the area felt hospitable. Perhaps it was simply the quiet.

There was no one out at all. It was a ghost town until a woman whizzed by on a bike and I heard walkers coming my way. They were young and appeared to be drunk. They waved hello and passed by without incident. I found another side street, turned, found another side street, turned, and found myself back at the canal that ran along Entrepotdok. I found a bench and sat, staring across the canal. On the other side, behind the walls, was the Artis Zoo. I liked that it was there and I didn’t know why. Maybe it kept the neighborhood quieter than it might have been otherwise. I wasn’t sure, but I liked it.

I felt melancholy. It was gentle, but sorrowful. I didn’t have the words and wept without understanding why. I … loved. Not a person or an object, just a heavy, leaden love that had nowhere to go. It felt like a weight. I thought of the lonely and broken-hearted, but only abstractly. I couldn’t connect because I was lonely myself. I could say the lonely were my kindred, but how? The lonely have no kindred; they wouldn’t be lonely if they did.

I put my head in my hands and watched tears fall to the ground. For a long time, tears came and went. They splashed on the pavement, leaving a stain. Not a soul walked near me. I knew where to go if I ever wanted to be alone in Amsterdam again. I didn’t feel like being alone, though. I wanted proximity to people, even if I was sitting alone in a café listening to others talk. Didn’t matter the language as long as the voices were human. I stood up and walked toward my apartment. I knew Eik en Linde would be too crowded; I wanted to be around people, yes, but with space between them and me.

I approached the café I had never visited. The sign outside read “Bloem.” The English translation was “bloom” as in the bloom of a flower. I looked inside as I was passing; it was mostly empty. I shrugged my shoulders and sighed before going inside. I sat at a table near the door. There was a buxom and beautiful young woman sitting at the other end of the café. She had incredibly long, curly, and thick brown hair and wore headphones plugged into a laptop. Behind the bar was a long and lithe proto-Dutch blonde. Her skin was smooth and white, her neck long and thin like a swan. Her eyes were soft blue and she went about her business in a relaxed but knowing manner. A man who appeared to be in his early thirties, at most ten years older than the women in the café, was also working behind the bar. He had short, wavy dark brown hair and the sort of looks that attract women of all ages. He seemed both worldly and boyish. I was in the presence of beauty, elegance, and grace.

The man stepped around the bar and walked over to me. I looked at the menu and quietly ordered a salad and a beer. He nodded his head and turned back to the bar. He said something in Dutch to the young blonde and she began pouring a beer from a tap. He went to the kitchen in the back and shortly thereafter came out with a simple but tasty-looking salad. He grabbed the beer as he made his way and delivered them together.

As I was eating, the woman at the computer laughed. She stopped, laughed, stopped, and laughed again. The man and woman working the bar walked over to her and she let them use the headphones to listen. The man shook his head after listening and then handed the headphones to the blonde. She laughed then gave them back to the brunette. They spoke melodically in Dutch, the most sonorous voices I had heard in Amsterdam, perhaps ever. I studied the three of them, their movements and sounds, their facial expressions. Everything about them was rich and resonant. I didn’t know such people existed. They were effortlessly alive.

Of all the places I could have entered on a night when I needed solace, I walked into a greeting card of warmth and good cheer. The three of them joked with one another, laughed, not a tense muscle in their bodies or a wrinkle of distress on their faces. They exuded relaxed confidence without even a hint of pretentiousness or arrogance. I felt like an anthropologist of the supernatural watching angels coalesce in their natural habitat.

My body, on the other hand, was still in pain. I felt a universe separating them from me. We weren’t the same species. Nevertheless, I felt my mood shifting just by being in their presence. Strange feeling gratitude for strangers simply for being themselves in my presence. That was it, too; they were openly intimate and affectionate. I felt like I was watching a family spending a holiday evening at home. They didn’t seem to mind that a stranger had invited himself inside and plopped down on dad’s favorite chair to quietly chill. It was surreal … wonderfully surreal.

Normally, I would have felt like the oddball of the group, the odd man out, but it wasn’t possible to feel that way in their presence. I couldn’t fathom how that could be. In a way, I wished I had visited the café sooner, but, no, this was the best possible night to first visit Bloem. I don’t think I would have appreciated their presence in the way I was on any other night. I realized, to a certain degree, that being able to see them as they were said something important about me as well. I was seeing them. It was as if I was stranded on a tiny island watching a once in a lifetime sunset, turning to say to someone, “My God, isn’t this the most incredible visage you’ve ever seen?” only to realize I was the only one there, the only one in the world seeing it. They had that effect, making me forget I was alone. I certainly wasn’t lonely any more. It wasn’t possible to feel loneliness with their spirit in the room.

The man came around again and asked if I wanted another beer. I nodded my head yes. He smiled and turned to the woman behind the bar who gracefully filled another glass. The woman with the headphones continued to laugh on and off. The man brought me the beer and took away my plate. I had finished my salad by then. He put the plate in a sink at the end of the bar and began washing it along with other glasses that had been sitting there.

The brunette laughed so hard that I started laughing. In spite of myself, I blurted out, “What is so funny?!” All three of them looked over at me, shocked, possibly because it was discovered I could speak or perhaps because they finally realized someone who wasn’t an angel was present. Instead of shunning me, the brunette took off her headphones and waved me over. “You’re an American?” she sang. I said yes and her smile grew wide. “Oh, here, you must listen to this!” She excitedly mentioned the name of a person I didn’t know and then handed me the headphones. I looked at the video on the computer screen and listened. It was a British ventriloquist and his jokes were funny but, well, also a bit hokey. I laughed in spite of the corniness.

I took off the headphones and handed them back to the brunette. She gazed up at me with her soft, smiling grey-blue eyes as if I were someone she had known since childhood. She was gorgeous, unbelievably so. My mind kept saying, “Are you fucking kidding me? There’s no way she’s fucking real!” As hot as she was from across the room, she was otherworldly up close. Yet … she exuded innocence and playfulness; she was so real, so grounded, so nonchalant about being a goddess, so lackadaisical with her charm that I forgot she was a goddess. Her face glowed as she rattled off information about the ventriloquist and how funny he was before peppering me with questions about America. She asked my name and I told her. She said her name was Nina and she introduced me to her friends, Daniel and Anabel.

Daniel had an air about him that I couldn’t place. A unique presence. I could feel him even when he said nothing. The feeling was … I don’t know. He was unquestionably his own man, but he was also mysterious. Not in a suspicious or threatening way, though. I had the sense that his depth was bottomless even as he gave off the most relaxed vibes. He smiled easily and spoke sing-song Dutch and wonderful English. He went back-and-forth playfully with Nina and Anabel and, soon enough, me. His presence was like a gravity pulling us closer to him, a gravity I certainly did not want to resist. Why? To escape from being swallowed by pleasurable fulfillment?

Anabel, dear lord, was exceedingly graceful and elegant. She hugged and kissed Daniel and Nina repeatedly as we talked, but not the kisses and hugs of a flighty teenager; no, they were the affectionate expressions of a woman filled with a lifetime’s worth of sensuality. Everything about Anabel—as well as Daniel and Nina, for that matter—was substantive. She turned on a dime and appeared lost in thought, at times, but when her blue eyes searched for the gazes of others nothing could be hidden. When she spoke I didn’t care what she said. I just wanted her to continue speaking so I could hear her voice.

The voices of these three? Not of this earth. The voices themselves, yes, but the spirit of their voices sang even when they spoke. I was having an out-of-body experience. On the one hand, I was with the three of them, talking and laughing in the same easygoing manner they were; but on the other, I was observing all of it, finding myself in greater and greater awe of each one of them, dumbfounded that I was with them, and even more shocked that I was managing to converse as if I was one of them. They made it so easy. I wasn’t doing anything special. I wasn’t trying at all. I’m not sure I even could have tried. Something about the three of them together made it impossible for effort to be put forth. Things happened, things got done, but always effortlessly. Everything was downhill for them. I was a creature of air and light, just as they were. Had I always been without realizing it or was it just this way because of their presence? The inquiry was pointless and drifted away as soon as it had come into existence. Questions such as that needn’t be answered. Why ask why everything is wonderful while it’s wonderful? I might miss something wonderful while wondering.

It hit me what it was about the three of them, about each of them: They were extraordinarily aware and their self-assuredness was proportional to their awareness. They appeared as angels, gods, goddesses precisely because of these traits. My awareness was being raised by being with them, but, again, not through any special efforts I made. It just … happened.

I told them I lived just down the street and that I had passed by dozens of times but had never come inside. Daniel, the manager of Bloem, shrugged it off. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what counts” I smiled and slapped him on the back, “This won’t be the last time I’m here. I just found my new evening hangout.” Anabel said, “Well, actually we’re closed.” It was after eleven. I said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I can leave now so you can clean up and go home.” Daniel waved a hand, “Nah, stay. We always stay late with friends.” Friends. How deliciously inclusive. As we talked more, I found out Nina didn’t work there and that she and Anabel were lifelong friends. They grew up in Haarlem and both were studying at the University of Amsterdam. Daniel was American but had lived abroad nearly his whole life, the past ten years in Amsterdam.

As the clock approached 1:00 AM the conversation started winding down. I excused myself. Smiles and hugs. My head spun in a most pleasant way and I whistled as I walked home with air under my feet. The day started with terror, moved to melancholy and loneliness, and ended in the company of angels.