Eli Borrelli

54: The golden gramophone

Eli POV.

On April fourth, I got up at six am and went on a run with Jasper to a nearby park. Jess and Gabriele were still asleep when I left and only got up an hour after I got back.

I wasn't sure, which one I'd choose, Los Angeles or New York. I simply couldn't choose which one was worse. The second I got off the big streets, that were cleaned spotless and lined with expensive stores, the town was filled with homeless people, trash, and druggies. There were still people making their way home from the previous night completely hammered.

When I got to the park, it was once again cleaned to perfection. There wasn't a single leaf out of place and all the benches were specifically built, so no one could ever sleep on them, which I just found ridiculous and mean. If someone really has to sleep on a park bench, don't fucking make them sleep on the ground. That shit's even more freezing.

I guess being homeless in Los Angeles would be nicer, than being homeless in a small town in Finland. It was a lot warmer in April than it would be in Finland the whole year, and I would know. In between my short-time living arrangements, I wasn't a stranger to the alleyway.

Jasper didn't mind the trash or the bad air, he just ran along with me with his tail wagging vigorously.

It was nice having that small breather before the hectic day, that was about to start. I sat down on a bench and just looked around for a while with Jasper breathing loudly by my side. It was still calm before the whole town woke up. I could hear the birds chirping in the trees before they would be lost in the sounds of the waking city. I heard a construction site starting its day somewhere, but I couldn't see it. 

I remembered, where I had been just a bit over six months earlier. I was waking up at five in the morning to go to that godforsaken construction site, much like the one close to me at that moment. I would wake up at four fifteen, and be out the door at four-thirty, ready to take the bus to where I needed to be. I would drink a coffee on the bus, and stuff a sandwich in my face, before getting off and walking the remaining miles.

I would spend the whole day carrying those heavy bags and boards from one place to another, just waiting for the day to end. It might have been the worst job I ever had, and that included the kindergarten I had worked at for a few months. Still, I could spend the whole day in one place and not jump between two or three jobs throughout the day. I did it all without complaining, just to go back to my shitty apartment, and cook a sad meal if I had the energy. Then I'd take out my phone and call Diego, the one thing, that made it all worth it. 

I felt a tear rolling down my face as I went deeper into my memories. I didn't wipe it off, nor did I push my tears back, I let them fall. I remembered the time, when I forgot, why I was doing it. When I came back from work and cut my wrists open just to feel something because I deserved it. At least that's what I thought at the time. I remembered how scared Diego was when I didn't answer him for a week while I was in the hospital. How he cried, when I finally called him after running out of that place, and how I knew, he realized, what had happened. I remembered the guilt, I felt for trying to leave him, and the tears he shed when I tried to tell him, how I was okay.

Soon, the city started waking up. People started walking around, going to work, or walking their dogs. A few stopped for a while and let their dogs meet Jasper. Cars started running around us, and the morning rush was starting, as I finally got up from that bench. 

After getting back to the hotel, I took a long shower for the first time in a while, trying not to wake anyone up. Then I sneaked into the kitchen and started making breakfast for everyone, including the people coming over to help us get ready.