9
It was two in the afternoon when Rose came to wake me.
She was but a shadowy silhouette, backlit by the draped balcony.
My head was pounding, there was a thumping in my eardrums each time she called my name.
I set a pillow over my face, which she promptly snatched away.
I winced at the thought of the papery sheet separating her gaze from my nudity, but it couldn’t be helped.
I’d hardly managed to crawl back into bed earlier after rushing to the toilet and hurling.
Somehow I’d still managed to piss myself despite laying in the bathroom half an hour.
There was a vague memory of peeling damp clothes away, then dumping them in the shower and turning it on.
“What are you doing?!” she asked, with that distinctively British indignance, something I tended to notice after spending so much time with Americans.
“Rallying,” I croaked, hiding my face in the crook of my arm.
“My ass, you are!” she slammed the pillow onto my stomach, eliciting an—oof. “We’re half an hour late already! Get up, Rafe! Nowww!”
“Five more minutes, Mum—”
“Grrr!” The pillow landed again, this time slamming onto the arm covering my face.
“Fine, fine! I’m up!” I launched unsteadily from the bed, only bothering to cover my groin with the dragging sheet.
“Yuck! Ugh!”
I told her I'd meet her downstairs in twenty and hurried to the shower.
I soon discovered my jeans, shirt, and underwear in a sodden heap where I'd left them.
I wrung them out as best I could and sent them away to be laundered.
Then all I could manage was standing under the freezing spray until my fingers grew numb and my brain kicked into drive.
***
The sky-train whipped around the city, spoiling us with scenic views of the rural and urban quarters—whisking us from market to market for shopping.
At the first market, we moved through the stifling humidity, lost in the din of the milling crowd.
It was a wildly sensory experience. The heat of the stoves, the clangorous sounds, the pungent odors and jarring sights.
Live snakes and shrieking monkeys. Strange and exotic dishes I couldn’t imagine anyone eating in earnest. A cart arrayed with hideous, fanged fish and deep-fried tarantulas.
Another cook barking their wares—beckoning us forth to try testicles, frog, and tripe.
Prawns, crab, and squid everywhere one turned.
Kids running amuck. Motorbikes skirting about.
Hunched women shoving fruit into my bags and demanding I pay.
I fished them out and promptly told them to piss off.
Sal violently elbowed more than one determined scammer, as the three of us stuck out like sore thumbs. Easy targets.
When we arrived at the largest market of all, Chatuchak, I looked on in a sweltering delirium.
Staggering forth, sweating through my tee.
I sipped on an iced tea like it was the Elixir of Life.
Rose took my hand when the crowd thickened and we threatened to be separated in the mad heave.
Sal occasionally dropped a reassuring hand onto my shoulder, reminding me he was nearby, as I’d taken to glancing back every few seconds to ensure we hadn’t lost him.
The deeper we ventured into the market, the winding alleys shrank and the human traffic slowed.
I was so exhausted and hungover, the smells became such that I wasn’t sure I could make it the next few feet without hurling.
Soon Rose, munching on a plate of mango sticky rice, spotted an opening that led away from the food and over to carts that hawked knockoff luxe fashion.
She caressed a fake red Birkin and marveled at the quality in its craftmanship.
“Have a look at that! The leather’s real, I swear!”
“As good as the real thing,” Sal chimed in.
“How exactly would you know?” I quipped. “You’ve got a better chance of meeting the Pope than getting your hands on a real Birkin, my friend.”
“So you say,” he muttered.
“I’ve never even seen one myself.”
“Ok, Hollywood.”
“This one’s good, but it’s not as special, is it?” Rose determined. “The value of the real bag comes from its exclusivity, right? That’s kind of the whole point.”
“Bingo.”
“Gosh, it’s pretty. But I could never carry a bag that huge. I’d stuff it so full of junk, it’d exhaust me to carry it around all day. I’d have it chock-full of snacks and books.”
“Alright, pack rat.” I laughed, shoving her head aside.
“Speaking of books, we’re on to the book stalls soon, gentlemen! Gird your loins. I can be a bit competitive.”
First, she settled on purchasing a bikini and a few crocheted crop tops.
I picked up a new wallet, graphic tees, and a pair of flip flops.
Then we walked around the book stalls for over an hour, and I threatened to throttle her if she didn’t decide on one already.
When the heat seemed to thicken and the air became more difficult to breathe, we cut our losses and forewent the famous floating markets, opting for some quieter sightseeing, preferably someplace with air conditioning.
Despite my cap and glasses, I was mobbed at the mall.
Sal had insisted on going because he heard he could purchase a fake Rolex at one particular vendor from YouTube.
Mission accomplished, the knockoff timepiece stuffed securely beneath his arm, I was soon spotted by a group of giggly Thai girls as we exited the illicit store.
I feared that if I was photographed, the world would assume I had money woes and all my pieces were fakes.
The lengthy ponytail with my signature plait was a pain to hide, making me one of the most recognizable men in the world.
As the crowds thickened and became increasingly unruly, we made a break for it, barely escaping in a tuk-tuk driven by a frail, white-haired man who had no idea why we were being chased.
Eventually he deposited us at a local park where we chilled near a fountain, grateful the humidity was beginning to recede.
We ate foreign snacks and recounted the crazies we’d seen on our adventure, before Rose decided she wanted to see the Grand Palace.
"And get mobbed again?" I grumbled.
"No one'll care about you there. They'll all be in awe of the old architecture! Trust me, these people are cultured."
"I want curry noodles," Sal mentioned, popping his shoes off and flexing his toes. “My wife’s got me addicted to those.”
"I just want food. Any food!" I growled, having worked up an appetite in the draining heat.
"Ok, how about we take some of this stuff back to the hotel, regroup, then we'll all head out for food? We’ll make a night of it, and keep things mellow and relaxing."
"Sounds good to me. Besides, I think I need a bandage. One of those girls clawed my freaking neck. It’s starting to burn."
“Ouch. Better hope she wasn’t diseased,” Rose said, poking at the wound until I winced.
On the taxi ride home, she laid her head on my shoulder and picked at my braided bracelet.
Eventually she stole it altogether, like she did most little oddities I collected during my travels.
She could usually sense when something was off with me, like a freaky, misplaced twin telepathy, but was likely waiting until we were alone to address it.
Still, even the small affectionate gestures she offered were enough to assuage me.
I rested my cheek atop her head and shut my eyes. Suddenly the world felt alright again.
Once we got back to the hotel, I ran into Nathan in the lobby and we chatted about what we got up to last night.
He'd stayed up and done a little writing and had an early morning workout. That made me feel like shit because I’d drank all night and slept all morning.
After making plans with him for later, I made a trip back to my room and took a long nap. When I woke, I read a text from Rome.
Rome: "Hey."
"Hey," I replied.
Rome: "Where are you?"
"I'm here. The hotel."
Rome: "Can I see you?"
I considered it, but Rose knocked and it was the perfect excuse to tell him no.
"Actually, mate, I'm headed out again. Maybe later?"
He sent a thumbs up emoji, clearly annoyed.
A few days later, on our last night in Thailand, all the boys and I gathered with the crew and had drinks.
I left the club after a toast and headed back to Smalls for a third time.
Joe wasn't there, which was great because I wasn't sure I could face him after letting my walls down the way I had.
The next morning, we flew to Seoul and news dropped that Rome had been photographed with a girl in Bangkok.
"Did you sleep with her?"—was the first thing I texted when we landed. We hadn't spoken a word since the last fraught text exchange, so my message must've come as a surprise.
Rome: "You know I didn't."
"I don't know anything."
Rome: "Don't start."
I left him hanging a few minutes before heading straight to his room unannounced. After beating on his door without relenting, his cousin Alan answered and looked freaked out.
"Rafe, all good, bruv?"
"Yeah, where is he?"
"Right here…" Rome said, appearing behind Alan, chin raised in a quiet challenge. "Give us a minute, bro," he said.
Alan nodded and looked me up and down before starting down the hall to his own room. Rome stepped back as I entered uninvited. Right away I smelled weed and a burning cigarette.
"You're not supposed to smoke in here. They'll charge the room."
"You work for the hotel or somethin’?" he quipped, butting the cigarette and sitting on the edge of the bed; hands in his pockets. "You pissed at me or somethin?"
"What'd you do last night?"
"Nothin' Rafe. Just, like, had a few drinks, mate. Y'know...with Alan and Alex and the bois."
I squatted before him. When we locked eyes, he nearly smiled, that is, until he registered how serious I was.
"It was a long one, yeah?" he muttered.
"Maybe for you…"
He took ahold of my face. "How are you?”
“M’alright.”
“Well…I’m good too, y’know?”
“Wonderful.”