We were I and Me

We were not always We, but instead many I’s.  I am from Asheville and I am going to Spain. I am from South, North, East, West, and Central Florida and I am going to Spain. I am from The Quad Cities, Waterloo, Iowa City, and New Jersey and I am going to Spain. I am from Sorority, Fraternity, Friend Group, Church, Synagogue, Team, Lineage, This Job, That Job, and I am going to Spain.  I am from America and I am going to Spain. I am big and I am going to Spain. That’s what I said.

           

In the airport I said, “Hi Me, I am I”, and Me responded and said, “Hi I, I am Me”, and I wondered who Me is—and what Me’s parents are like, where Me is from, what music makes Me think, who Me’s friends are, what Me likes to eat, where Me finds solace, if Me feels lonely also, whether Me will be close to I, how Me’s face will change from meaning its structure to meaning who Me is, and I longed for Me to like I.  I hoped that Me and I would dance and sing together, and that maybe I would make jokes that made Me laugh, and that maybe Me would do the same for I. I wondered the same. And if I would tell Me things that few others new, and I wondered if Me would love I after I told Me the things I was ashamed of. Me wondered if I would hold Me’s secret’s and cares closely, and Me wondered if Me would tell I anything at all.  Both Me and I thought of each other, but each stayed themselves. Me thought about Me’s mom, and how she was probably making Me’s favorite meal. I thought about I’s dad, and how he was probably playing golf at I’s favorite course. Me remembered his dog, how he barked, how only shit on cement, and how Me loved him. I guessed that I’s friends were playing Halo or throwing the football or having a party. Me missed Me’s best friend and I missed I’s other. Me and I each wondered if they’d be forgotten, missed, remembered, and by whom. But despite the thoughts of known and familiar, Me and I were hopeful. Me and I drove and flew and rode separately, but both in a hope for adventure, and in an expectation of change, and in the knowledge that big was scary, small desirable, and the transformation illusive.

           

In the first days Me and I were apart, and La Plaza de Virgen, with its dark-tiled floor and ode to The River, a distant walk.  The Riverbed was a gutter, The City of Arts and Sciences--a spaceship, Spaniards—little people from a movie, The Staff--Faculty, Roommates--strangers, Lavin--a weird word, Café con Leche--lacking coffee, food portions--tiny, The Central Market—smelly, The Train Station—hectic, dinners—anxious, alcohol---a relief, and comfort—as lost as familiarity.  Me and I, outside of the things which they left at home, were no longer sure who they were. Me and I did, said, and thought things that were not characteristic—or they were, and Me and I realized that Me and I were different than Me and I had imagined ourselves to be. Maybe Me and I regretted the differences, maybe Me and I loved them, maybe they weren’t changes but instead admissions, and maybe Me and I were changing as Me and I thought of changing.

Me walked down Calle Caballeros, away from La Virgen and towards The Other Torres, passing tall buildings painted yellow, brown, faded pink, and crème. Me thought that the streets were narrow and the cars small. I ran down the riverbed, under a stone bridge groaning of the past, and then a white one shouting of the future. I ran in the walking path, and then the biking path, and then in mud, and then, finally in the running path. I thought that Spanish people’s running pants were underwear, and that Spaniards will kiss anywhere. In restaurants and bars Me heard whiny music and I chewed on the same bit of fishy gum for an hour. I wondered if the music was a joke and Me wondered if he would starve in Spain. I said something to me about the music, and Me laughed. Me said something about the food, still chewing, and still miserable. I laughed. Me and I played European Futbol. Me and I sucked at it. Me partied late at Bolseria, La Klocka, and Las Animas because Me found security there. I stayed in and watched movies and read because I found security there. Me thought I was on to something, and I thought Me was too.

Then Me and I travelled. Me went to Paris and saw Notre Dame, The Tower, and Versailles. I went to Portugal and walked through the gardens of Centra and by the graffiti of Lisbon.  Me drank red wine from baby bottles, I took close pictures of flowers, and Me and I realized that they loved where they were, but that home was in the shadow of the Serranos. I missed Me, Me missed I, and both looked forward to eating with one another below Negrtio’s chalk-board sign.  Me read the short powerful prose of For Whom the Bell Tolls, because I suggested it, and I took shots of caramel whiskey at New Orleans, because Me suggested it. Me cooked for I, and I cleaned for me, and in the ambiguous mix of emotion and experience Me and I and Valencia became We.

We walked inside the white soft walls of the Hamman, dirtied our feet in the irrigated fields, grazed our chests against bulls, and We saw the sunrise. We went to Lavin and sat in comfortable silence together, we raided Pon de Queso, we realized that The Staff was not Faculty, but We. We played soccer and capture the flag in the riverbed, and the riverbed was a playground, not a gutter. We shared pots and pans and We lost every one of the small colorful cups that came with the apartment. We replaced them with permanently borrowed glasses. We shared packs of cigarettes, bought each other drinks, and studied together--but partied together more. We yelled out song lyrics, We danced, and We kissed the people that other members of We had already kissed. We lay on one another’s beds in great heaps and joked about the night before. We lay on one another’s bed’s in great heaps and joked about the night to come. We untagged compromising photos of ourselves making drunk faces and we quietly looked at pictures of ourselves in front of historic structures. We learned the names of each other’s parents and siblings and friends. We realized that Virgen is close, the streets intimate, Arts and Sciences magnificent, and the running pants—still too tight. We talked about our passions and our hatreds and we travelled again. We saw the Vatican, Mediterranean, Eastern Europe, Morocco, UK, and Spain.

Fallas came and went and we learned about renewal, pacing ourselves, and paella. We danced in a big white tent with Spaniards who called us friends, We grew numb to the sound of popping fireworks, We walked alongside parades, We hated and love bullfights, We watched our faces, which now meant more than their structure, hold the fireworks’ poses, and knew life here, and forgot life there. We went to the symphony of Valencia and loved it, but We already knew that a collaborative noise of many different sounds, creates the most beautiful production. We learned that Lavin is where Andrea works, that Ali is the guy who sells “cerveza fria” on the streets, and that Ignacio’s preferential gin is Seagram’s. We know that Maria’s comforting smile means more than language can express, Catti keeps people dancing, Juan Carlos speaks no English except for “shhhh!”, Desk David cares, Dolo has a boyfriend, (dammit), DJ presses the button to the glass door, Hemma’s not as tough as she seems, Alicia’s an aficionado, the cleaning ladies laugh at EVERYTHING, the internet and printer are terrible, the toilet paper downstairs is free, always party in apartment 3 because they’ll be meeting with Ignacio anyway, the tiles in front of the Study Center are in fact a road, and Coop has never been wrong about anything except for once thinking that he might be wrong.    

We saw the end in sight and we imagined hugging those who are away, but we blocked thoughts of losing those who are here. We said: “Living in Valencia has been the craziest roller-coaster of our lives. We’ve made undoubtedly some of the most lasting friendships with some of the craziest, yet most exciting people We have ever had a chance to know. This town has transformed our idea of studying, traveling and learning a language, into the experience that people call "studying abroad”. Whether the others who are not here were unable to afford the price, unable to step out of the box, or unwilling to accept uncertainty, We feel sorry that they are not able to know what we do. Tallahassee, Orlando, Miami and Iowa City will be there when we return, just as we have left them, however our lives will not be the same.”

We knew that we would miss “the nights that ended with morning, meals fed more by stories than food”, and the silence of a train car looking outside, but thinking of the inside. We knew that We’d miss the “mullets, rat tails, Mohawks, and faux-hawks. We’d miss scanning the sidewalks for poop, and the smears of the unlucky. We’d miss fifteen minute class breaks that were thirty minute class breaks. We’d miss learning. We’d miss dryer-room drama, the chime of the elevator and ring of the door. We’d miss movie nights, family dinner nights, and trips on Fridays. We knew that we’d miss the echo from the staircase, the clicking of heels and the padding of bare-feet. We knew we would miss.”  

But We also remembered that someone said: “The rhythm of our hearts will change as we scatter and return to the familiar or find new faces to entertain. Fortunately for us, ours will always beat with Spanish undertones. We have that. Together. So walk in love the way you did here, no matter where you go, my lovely.”

We had, “Candle lit nights, full of energized conversation with a ukulele harmonizing to the beat of our hearts. Nights standing on the balcony, throwing cigarette butts down below to see who can make them into the iron gutter. Talk of first impressions, first conversations, first mistakes, and how so much has changed in the three short months that We have known each other. ‘Guys, we only have two months left…’ ‘Only one month left, ya’ll…’ Any utterance of this sort is always rebutted with ‘Shut up, I don’t want to think about it.’

“We never want to leave; for fear that We may lose what We have found. It’s impossible to imagine Our lives anywhere but here. We have become a source of life to ourselves. Gone are the days of sleep, routine, solitude, rigorous schoolwork, monotony and insignificant priorities. We’re finally living and We don’t want it to end. We are rich; beauty has found Us and wrapped Us in its cloak. It has come to Us in the form of people; people We would have never met before, and now can’t imagine living without. It has come to Us in the form of places. Places that were once only a passing thought or a figment of Our imagination, but our now places of home.”

“We came into Our lives, and just as the places we’ve gone, We’ll remember. Here has become Our home, and We our family. It seems like I’s and Me’s want We, but just as they find It, We says ‘goodbye’”.

We said this and learned this and spoke this and more. We each have stories of cathedrals, fields, moments, and people. We are different than We were---How could We not be? The life that comes from 3, the class from 4, the sass from 5, the art from 6, the selflessness from 7, and the diversity from Top Shelf—who would Me I and We be without each of those? The details and senses of Valencia are in the people who’ve joined Us in growing intimate with Her. We all know the Smell, emitted from people, food, and streets. The Sound, breathed of nature, man, and machine. The Touch, lent by sea breeze, stone, and iron. The Sight, reflected off of ancient, new, and Us. And We know Valencia; with legs of orange trees, a belly of paella, and eyes like fireworks.