12.
It was now mid-October of 1972 and things were running their course really smoothly. Nothing extraordinary had happened and I was still based in New York with Harry's group. I think it's evident that time staying there was wonderful for me; otherwise, I would have escaped to another county by now. Something about Harry was keeping me firmly situated. It wasn't like I hadn't had small relationships with other fellows along my way across America; though I emphasise the use of small. It was different with Harry. He almost seemed to suck me in, like one of those machines that you see in the movies. Any friends I made always seemed to think I had commitment issues, I always laughed and told them that I was merely adventurous.
I remember a layer of fog falling over New York one day as I opened the curtains of Harry's bedroom. He groaned, still lying in bed with his eyes firmly closed, and turned around to face the other way, pulling the duvet sheet far up to his chin.
"Oh, how the tables have turned. I'm awake earlier than you for once." I state with a small sense of pride.
"Oh, shush." He chuckled lowly before moving the duvet even further up until it was over his face and mop of curls.
I took this as my queue to leave the bedroom. Maybe I could prepare breakfast for him, since he did it so often for me. The idea made me smile as I grabbed a pan and some pancake mix from the cupboard, after spending a few minutes looking for it. I tried my hardest not to let them burn; I wasn't the best at cooking. My mother always reminded me of that whenever I offered my hand in making the Sunday dinner and had burned the vegetables among other items of food. However, the pancakes seemed to hold a strong guard against the threatening pan as they finally glistened a golden brown. I began to put the pancakes onto the plates just as the bedroom door opened and a sleepy Harry stepped out.
"Just in time."
"What's all this?" He questioned, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing nothing other than navy boxers and didn't seem to hold any intention of changing into something else either.
"I made breakfast." I said with a smile, of which he found with his eyes and returned without thought.
As we sat and ate breakfast together, a chill had found its way through the apartment until it finally ran down both of our spines. Winter was in the road ahead and it seemed so melancholic to think of Summer as a passed memory. Harry immediately moved to grab the dark blanket draped over the back of the sofa for decoration and gestured for me to move closer to him, so I did whilst clutching my plate. He then made sure that the blanket covered both of our shoulders. It immediately caused the top of our bodies to warm, but not so much our bottom halves.
It was 11am when Harry had had enough of the chilly breeze after all and decided that the only thing left to warm us was whiskey. I know what this seems like now, that we were purely lonely alcoholics and drug addicts, but you need to understand that things were different then. Though we could have definitely been lonely alcoholics and drug addicts who only found comfort with each other, I can assure you that almost everyone I had known were also lonely alcoholics and drug addicts or had been at that point in the past. Thinking back to the '70s, it surprises me just how much we had gotten up to without even thinking of the consequences or any bad aftermaths. Although this may seem like I would ever want to change anything about 1972, that simply isn't the case. I make an effort to relive the experience every night when I go to sleep, but it never works; that is the reason why I am writing this as a memoir of some kind. It's my only way to return to the depths of my memories that are now so so unattainable.
By 12pm, Harry and I were wrapped inside each other's arms. His hold was always tight, almost like security at an airport, his arms were secure. We had consumed three quarters of the whiskey bottle, of which was now standing with great posture on the coffee table. I felt the bottle almost mock me as I peered at it from behind Harry, its edges moved around and swirled into little curves before my very eyes. I was drunk. Harry had fallen asleep. This was the only drunk moment I remember that year, mainly because of what followed soon after, but also because I always remember the absurd brownness of the whiskey. It was evidently stronger. But it reminded me of coca cola, a deep dark coca cola. I giggled to myself in a daze before falling asleep too.
A long and loud buzz threatened to wake me from my deep slumber. I felt a body move beside me but I made an effort to keep my eyes closed. What was happening? I still felt dizzy, I couldn't have slept long. Suddenly thinking that the buzz was a somewhat autumnal bee, I swatted my hand to the right of my body into the now-empty space.
"Yeah?" Harry's tired voice said, it was from a distance. I now made this the moment to open my eyes, the ceiling shook from above me and I peered at my hands as though they didn't even belong to my body. "Come on up."
"What time is it?" I question, the four words coming out of my mouth slowly, as Harry returns over to me with bags tight under his eyes.
"Only 2pm." He said with a sigh. I rested my head against the back of the sofa in an effort to retrieve sleep again.
"Who is coming up?" I slurred.
"Angelina."
Almost on queue, I heard forceful bangs against the wooden door to which Harry muttered, "for fucks sake" before opening it in a hurry. My eyes were closed again and my head seemed to sway from side to side.
"I have neighbours, you know, you can't just-- What the hell, Angelina?! What's happened to you?" Harry said before shutting the door and I heard steps approach the living area.
"Harry, I-- I need your help." Angelina's voice came out in stifled sobs.
"Angelina, answer me. What's happened to you?"
"I think I've been raped." She said.
The room fell quiet, only the sound of Harry's heavy breathing being heard. I tried to open my eyes but felt as though I was moments from passing out, something barred them from opening.
"You think? Angelina, you either have or you haven't! Who the hell did this?!"
"Stop shouting at me!" She burst out crying again, the crying soon turning into wails of desperation. " I didn't know who did it! My vision was all blurry, I was at a party and some man just threw me into an empty room! I couldn't stop him, Harry, I couldn't!"
"What were you on, Angelina?"
"The usual stuff." She mumbled with a small gasp of air.
"For god's sake!" Harry hit a wall, " You need to stop the alcohol and drugs, you're so vulnerable. What have I told you! I could see the white powder on your noise from miles away!"
That's a bit rich coming from you, Harry, I thought but I had to keep it to myself.
"Shut the fuck up! Maybe men shouldn't rape women, Harry!" She screamed.
"I know, I know! I get it, I'm sorry." He sighed again with frustration. "Do you at least remember something about him, about his appearance?"
"He-- He was wearing a suit, I remember a tie but that's it, Harry, honestly." She cried.
"Stay here with Winona." He ordered like her father, still pacing about in a panic, his footsteps slapping hard against the flooring. I could imagine his hand running through his hair like it always did when he was stressed or nervous, or even just scared.
"Is she okay?"
"She's just drunk."
"Oh."
"Where did he rape you?"
"It was at some girl's birthday party, I remember them singing Happy Birthday. I was there with Jenny, you know Jenny? I met her a few weeks ago, I think I introduced--"
"Angelina! I don't need some backstory! Just tell me where in New York, for Christ's sake!"
"Oh, I-- I think it was somewhere in Fifth Avenue." I heard Harry sigh.
"Just-- don't move until I get back." He instructed, then I heard the front door slam harshly with his exit.
The sofa dipped beside me, then I heard small helpless cries from Angelina before they became sobs of frustration. I felt a hand at my arms. They were being moved wider, drawing distant from the sides of my body. She then proceeded to lay beside me, like a small bony child, as she pulled them around her like a blanket and I felt the wetness of her swollen cheeks against my forearm. I couldn't control my arms anymore but that didn't matter, I fell into a paralysis of deep sleep as she did too. Now, her breathing became melodies flowing into my ear as I cradled her like my own baby.