#foreign city

[elizabethanism]

In a foreign city the essential and trivial merge in an impenetrable blur, a stone facade and a human face...

A Book Of Memories, Péter Nádas.

[rosebudmendes]

La vie Est Belle (Shawn AU)

Part 2

Description: She has to take care of her ill father. He has to provide for his younger sister. Just when they think their lives couldn’t get busier, fate intervenes. 

Warnings: alcoholic tendencies, anxiety, anger management issues, terminal illness

Word count: 2,483

Reblog & send me your thoughts! I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

———

A loud crash startled you out of deep sleep. The room was mostly dark. There was the smallest amount of sunlight beaming in through the curtains. Following the shattering of glass was a loud groan and anger filled stomps, the clock on the wall reading 5:30 am. It was far too early for your dad to be out of bed. You wrestled with the thought of going to investigate but stopped at the fear of running into a highly intoxicated version of your mother.

You tried to stay clear from her path if it was clear she had been drinking. This meant that you hardly were around her. She always seemed to have a drink in her hand or a migraine that made her irritated at the slightest sound. It used to bother you. In the past, you couldn’t control your anger and your mom was the perfect outlet for irrational yelling. Even hearing her pour herself a drink would send you into a fit of passionate hate. It took a few years of counseling for you to have a grasp on those furious thoughts.

As much as you tried to ignore the sounds coming from the kitchen, you were now wide awake. You still knew it was better off to let time take its course and let her find her way to the bed herself. To fill the time you pulled out your phone. You weren’t expecting to have any messages as you aren’t very close with any of your friends back home. Actually, for the last 6 months, you had kind of been a loner. There was too much pressure on you to take care of your father and be there for your friends. Eventually, everyone stopped inviting you out. Even when you did go out it was rare that you felt alive and appreciated.

This morning, though, you had a message from Shawn. You tried to ignore the tingly feeling the notification gave you, but it was too difficult. Your cheeks rushed with blood and your toes curled slightly.

“I enjoyed talking with you, (y/n). Thanks for returning my wallet xx”

You wanted to reply in a heartbeat, but you stopped when you heard another loud bang come from the kitchen. This time you couldn’t help but rush out to see what was the matter. You opened the bedroom door and what you saw left you in a feeling of despair and shame. It wasn’t your mother at all. She was still passed out on the couch with a drink still in her hand. That meant it had to be your father, and that meant there was something wrong. You scanned the room frantically. He wasn’t in the living room and there was a wet substance on the kitchen tile. Not worrying about the mess, you ran to the bathroom. The door was locked but you could see the light shining brightly through the crack.

“Pops? Are you alright?” It felt like a redundant question; he was probably throwing up. You have learned that as a grown man, he wants to feel in control. He hated when people treated him like a sick puppy. Few people knew what to ask him and when to stand their ground and do what was best for him.

That’s what it all came down to; his health. It didn’t matter what the time was, what day of the week it was, or even what country he was in. This illness was deadly and it had no sense of boundaries, it was relentless. You didn’t bother waiting for an answer, you ran to your phone and instantly called for an emergency vehicle. This may have just been a reaction to the changes in the altitude from traveling, but you didn’t want to take any chances. You were your father's everything, he was all you had. Your mom was probably going to drink herself to death, and your relationship’s all fizzled out. Without your father, you’d be on your own.

Quickly and swiftly, you wiped away the tears that appeared and you started packing bags. The last time your father was admitted to the emergency room, you guys ended up staying for a week without a way back home for clothes. You threw in clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, and an envelope that included all the insurance information and a credit card that had never been used and was the last possible resource.

Just then an aggressive knock on your door alarmed you and woke your mother up. You let the kind doctors in while also updating your mother on what was happening. She only nodded and frantically brushed her hair, shoving a piece of gum in her mouth and putting eye drops in her eyes. You just scoffed and walked away from her.

Now was not the time to worry about appearances. Until now you weren’t aware of what clothes you had on. Pajamas, appropriate enough to wear in public on occasion but obviously sleepwear. You didn’t mind though. You knew about zero people in the city and didn’t feel the need to make a proper first impression.

The emergency vehicle was parked right outside of the resort lobby, the overstimulating lights and sirens making you feel uncomfortable. Although the severity of the illness, there had been only one other time an ambulance was needed for your father.

It was before you were the main caregiver and you had just walked home from school. No one informed you that your dad was even home from work, let alone not feeling well. You remember what it felt like to hear those sirens, watch him be pushed out of the house on a stretcher and not know if he was going to come back. That same feeling was with you now, and you felt as small and helpless as you did back then.

You couldn’t focus on the pain and grief now. He was still alive, he was still breathing. You needed to move forward and prepare yourself for what was next. The hospital was a place of sadness and sorrow. You hated it with all your heart. The only happy memories that anyone ever experiences at a hospital is a birth, and the rest was all too depressing.

The smell of latex and hand sanitizer stung your nose, mixed with the sound of small sniffles and light whispers from one family member to another. It was all so miserable. You knew it was going to be a long day.

You and your mom waited in the waiting room for what felt like days but was only an hour. The doctors finally came out and said some medical stuff that basically meant your father was getting worse. Your mother broke down into hysterical tears, and you remained calm and thanked the doctor.

You hadn’t checked your phone at all and didn’t realize Shawn had texted you again. Even though you were in a state of high emotions, you somehow felt a quick sense of calmness seeing his text.

He sent a picture of him and his younger sister, baking something in the kitchen. The photo was followed with “Sheila wanted to thank you with some homemade bread. Anywhere we can deliver this heavenly loaf? xx”

You smiled internally at the thought of them baking something for you. There was something about his presence that made you feel like life was worth living. Even a simple text message from him, a small token of appreciation for your existence. It almost made you believe that life is beautiful.

You finally replied to both messages from him. “I had a great time at the Diner, too. You can hand deliver any packages to your royal highness at this address…” You tried to come off cheerful as flirtatious as you could. There was no need for him to know what was going on, or that you would be spending the day in a hospital with your terminally ill father. You tried to ignore the idea of his existence so you could focus on the stability and health of your father.

You were allowed to see him after he had been fully examined and the insurance was processed. He looked pale and grey. He was wearing one of those stereotypical hospital gowns and IV cords as unwanted accessories. The tears pricked at your eyes, but you did whatever you could to push them back. You had to be strong for him, you couldn’t let him know to see him like this hurt you. He desperately wanted to be the strong and sufficient father figure that every man aspires to be, but now that he physically couldn't you had to pretend you didn’t need any fatherly help. Even if you did, you never let it show.

“Hey Sweets, how do I look?” He joked. No matter the situation, he always made a humorous comment.

“I think you’ve looked better, Pops.” You sat at the chair close by his bed, and you grabbed his hand that was resting on his side.

“Oh, come on now I think I look pretty darn fabulous” He was resilient, nonetheless.

“Pops, you should know-“

“I’m not getting better am I?” His voice cracked, and he squeezed your hand gently. You nodded, and let the tears fall. His eyes were filled with tears as well.

Neither one of you acknowledged the hurt that found its way between your bodies. You both felt it, knew its presence had never truly gone away. It was stronger now. The hurt was more powerful every day your father lived. The longer this illness was dragged out for, the stronger the pain, the harsher the hurt.

It was going to take a miracle for your family to remain. It would take more than a miracle to keep yourself sane. You brought your lips to his hand and pressed your cheek against him. He was still warm, that was a sign of hope.

You ended up falling asleep next to your father. When you woke up you realized it was almost dark already. You didn’t know if you were so exhausted from jet lag, or from the tiring events of the day. Either way, you needed energy. You went to the coffee station in the hospital cafeteria and sat down at a comfortable lounge chair. On your way over you grabbed a sandwich and a water. Might as well try and eat something, even though you weren’t that hungry.

You were minding your own business when a doctor approached you. “(Y/n)?” He asked, continuing when you nodded. “I regret to inform you that we have strict guests policies in this part of the hospital…” You didn’t have any idea where he was going with this statement. “Unfortunately, only parents and spouses are legally allowed to stay overnight.” He was swaying side to side with his hand glued in his long white jacket. You were confused, tired, and now angry. You didn’t want to lash out at him, you were really trying not to say anything.

“Ok, thank you.” Your response was short and choppy on purpose. He asked if there was anything he could do for you, and you ignored him. You slammed the coffee and food onto the counter table and stormed away.

Sometimes the anger you felt was stronger than any meditation guide and breathing technique. You wanted to scream. You felt like you needed to scream. You ran out of the hospital and sprinted to the resort. As angry as you were that you couldn’t spend the night next to your father, you were relieved that you would be able to sleep in your own bed.

When you arrived outside the resort you felt calmer. Not completely calm, but enough to have a civil conversation with the doorman in passing. You were standing outside the elevator when you felt someone’s presence behind you, Shawn.

“Oh, hi.” You pushed the loose strands of hair behind your ear and fidgeted with the ends of your stained t-shirt. You were not expecting to be seeing him at all today.

“I was just delivering a thank you gift, flowers, and banana bread.” He nervously chuckled. You nodded and awkwardly stood near, waiting for him to say something else.

“Gosh, (y/n) did you get any sleep last night? You don’t look so good.”

“Wow, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” You would rather make a joke out of his comment than tell him the truth. You could tell by his expression he was not on the same page. “My father, he is in the hospital.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know the surprised look in his eyes. Everyone was stunned when they first hear about his illness, over time you just know better than to watch them process such information.

“(Y/n), I had no idea. I-“ He hardly finished his sentence before setting down the small gifts, and pulling you into a tight hug. One arm was wrapped around your waist, the other was holding your head to his chest. He was so much taller than you, so much stronger than you. Instead of fighting against his act of affection you leaned into it. You wrapped your arms around his muscular waist and inhaled. He smelt of vanilla and cologne again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t like to talk about it.” You mumbled, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks.

“Hey, no need to apologize. You just need to get some rest.” His voice was deep and soft. He somehow managed to show that he was not judging you in the way he spoke and held you. Without letting you go he pressed the elevator button again, and the doors immediately opened.

He was about to pull away, about to leave you alone. Something about the idea of him leaving you made you feel unsettled. You squeezed him harder, hoping he would get the hint.

“You could stay if you want.”

“Is that what you want?” He was swaying gently now, the warmth between you becoming thick and excessive.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Shawn kissed the top of your head and you practically fell, becoming weak in the knees. He swiftly turned you around and laced his fingers between yours. This feeling was incredible. More intense than anyone you had ever touched before. It was almost as if you had met in a past life and were being reconnected. The universe has a funny way of making things happen, and for once you were able to understand the beauty in all of this pain.

Taglist: [thanks to @stockholmshawn for helping edit this, go give her a follow!] @lou-and-me @yellowitsmendes

[promptsfromtheaether]

Prompt #81

He died that day in a foreign city in a strange land. Then, he woke up the next in a different city in a different world with his brother leaning over him, praying for him to wake up.

[nixylo-blog]

Maybe the fascination of travel, of seeing new places, discovering foreign cities or tasting a different kind of sea is actually caused by the chance to escape from ourselves. (Photo by: Brandon Woelfel)

[stories-from-peter]

Lost In A Foreign Country

I was fortunate to be in Montreal when Expo 67 was in full swing. I hung around the fair with a small group of long-time friends. My family had been close to their family long before we had been born. I used to play with Keith and Kenny before we started going to school. We did all the usual teenage boy stuff, trying to meet girls from as many countries as possible, guessing their place of origin as a conversation starter. Mostly the girls were happy to find boys who spoke fluent English since few of the girls knew any French at all. We got very good at recognizing clothes and hair styles from many cities. Any girls passing by would hear us yell out “New York!”, “Boston!”, or “Los Angeles!” and wanted to talk to us. They were always happy to discover we were local and could show them all the interesting places that never appear on the tourist brochures.  

One day we ran into a boy who seemed to be quite distressed and who was completely lost. He had become separated from his parents and could not find his way back to their hotel. In a city that was overwhelmingly French speaking he had little luck getting any help. He immediately approached us when he heard us speaking English. He was named Gary, he was 16 and lived in Florida. At that time he had been lost for more than a day so he was becoming desperate.

Gary said the hotel they were in was called ‘Mason House’ or something like that. The name raised an alarm since the French word for house is ‘maison’ so we thought he might be confused by the way hotels and other buildings are named. Typically the name will be in both English and French. For example, if your hotel is called ‘Flower’ it will be designated as ‘Maison Flower House’ on any signs or maps. Gary told us they had been at the Bonaventure Hotel for a few days before moving to the ‘Mason House’. He met a girl at the Bonaventure so off we went to find her in case his parents had tried to contact her.

We found the girl but she had not heard from Gary’s parents. We gave her a contact address and phone number in case she heard from the parents. We started looking at maps of Montreal to see if there was anything that Gary recognized or some name that we might think could be misinterpreted as ‘Mason House’. It wasn’t a regular hotel since Gary’s parents wanted some place a bit more homey than an impersonal chain hotel. Montreal is a big city, the second largest French-speaking city after Paris, so searching maps was taking a long time. We had been wandering back and forth to pavilions that Gary and his parents had visited but we didn’t see his parents anywhere. In the evening we headed back to my friend’s house.

We were now into Gary’s third day of being lost and we had already contacted any authorities that might be interested. Most of the city’s law enforcement or other agencies were already well past their peak work capacity. They had nobody to spare to look for Gary’s parents.

As we were relaxing after supper we got a phone call from the girl Gary met at the Bonaventure. She had heard from Gary’s parents and told her where they were staying. It was a small hotel on Masson Street. When we checked the map, sure enough, it was marked as ‘Maison Masson House’. After breakfast on day 4 of Gary’s separation we took him to find his parents.

[exhausted-grimm]

There’s a Rocktoberfest Virtual Run I want to join, but I have no idea where I’m going to actually go for a run . . . I am not from around here. I am legit just in the city for college

[nikkor35world]

[666-alex]

*thumbs up*