i hate you, i love you // cody ko // noel miller

chapter eight // the overheard

With every step I take, I feel as though a weight is lifted off of my shoulders. My head feels clearer than it has in weeks. Here I am, wandering through an unfamiliar city by myself -- no responsibilities or Cody or anything to distract me from being in the moment. I can't help my face from breaking into a wide smile as I begin to walk faster.

I pause at the end of the block and turn around, gazing back at the tour bus which has already become a speck on the horizon. One hour, I promise myself. Just clear your head and get yourself together and then go back. Maybe they won't even notice you're gone.

I trek down a couple of blocks, turning at random, soaking up the sights and sounds of Warsaw, Poland. Peach colored buildings with golden windows wink down at me, towering over narrow, winding streets full of people. It's a weekend night, and it seems everyone's come out, filling the air with lively chatter and laughter, much of it in languages I don't understand. The moon and stars are bright overhead, providing a touch of natural beauty to a very urban setting, and friendly strangers smile at me as they catch my eye. I'm surprisingly comfortable, happy to be on my own, with no worries. My mind keeps reverting back to thoughts of Cody and our big fight and how it's only a matter of time until something goes horribly wrong again, but I force the thoughts out of my head. Just for one night. I have what's probably going to be the rest of my life to worry about him.

The air is crisp, and after wandering for a while, an inviting bar catches my eye. It's a bit loud and crowded, somewhere Cody would steer me away from, but he isn't here, is he? I let myself in, the bouncer giving me a warm smile and showing me to the bar.

It's somewhat dark, with dim but warm light coming from a few spotlights, most of which are focused on the live band playing on a slightly raised stage in the back. The building is filled with the lively boom of unfamiliar music. I can't understand the words, but the bass is loud and the guitar is energetic and I love it anyway. I'm a little surprised by the sheer amount of people around -- the place is absolutely packed with natives and tourists alike, dancing and drinking and talking animatedly. I'm a little nervous about being out on my own, but twenty minutes later I'm comfortable at the bar, drinking a hard cider and enjoying the music and scenery. I realize that it doesn't matter. We're all just people out on the town for a night, and it's liberating to know that no one cares that I'm one of the many people out by themselves for a bit. Is this what I've been missing out on this whole time? Because I love it.

I signal the (thankfully English-speaking) bartender for another drink. Before I can slide my debit card across the bar to pay for it, someone beats me to it.

An unfamiliar arm drops a wad of cash on the bar. The bartender raises his eyebrows at me, and I shrug, momentarily speechless. He shrugs back and picks up the cash, nodding at the stranger who's now sitting next to me.

I take a deep breath. I certainly wasn't prepared for a situation like this. "Um, thanks."

He turns to me, and by the hazy glow of the spotlights I get a good look at him. He's tall and broad, with dark hair and dorky glasses that don't seem to fit with the rest of his look. He faces me with a wide smile that shows ridiculously white teeth and says something in Polish.

"I'm, uh, so sorry... I don't understand you." I speak slowly, as though that will bridge the obvious language barrier.

"Ah, a tourist." He surprises me with the fluidity and speed of his response, his voice barely affected by a slight Polish accent. "I should've guessed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, unsure whether to laugh or be insulted.

"Oh, I don't know. I think the fact that you're ordering hard cider instead of an apple pie tipped me off."