Jonathan’s Story: Part 2 of 2

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

Part 2:

Upstairs I found the door to my room still closed, Doug’s open. I knocked on the door frame. “Just picking up my bag,” I said.

Henry, Doug’s roommate, looked up from where he was lying in bed reading The Economist. Four empty beer bottles stood on the desk next to his head and he had another in his hand. “Oh, hey Jonathan, I wondered whose that was.”

“Mine. Doug said I could leave it here while I wait out the love birds.”

“Ahhh, I see.” He sat up, putting his feet on the floor. He was in a pale peach polo shirt and camel-colored cargo shorts. “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure.” I sat down on the edge of Doug’s bed so I could face him.

“What did your folks say when you came out?” Henry’s hair stuck upward in light brown wisps.

“You mean, did they approve?” I squinted at him, confused. Henry wasn’t gay as far as I knew.

“I mean, what did they say? Like, did they say you can be gay as long as you keep your grades up, or what?”

“Henry–”

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Barcelona trip Day Six (St. Pau de Mar, Figueres, Girona)

Swimming in the Mediterranean
Picnic Lunch
Dali Museum in Figueres
Drive to Girona

A couple of observations about Spanish hotels. Every hotel we’ve been in other than the Travelodge which was bare bones has had exactly three closets, two for hanging clothes and one with drawers in it, a desk with flatscreen TV (which we’ve never turned on), and an ass-washing station in the bathroom. It’s remarkable uniformity across several price levels, cities, and types of accommodation. Also, there are no washcloths in this country. I wouldn’t have even noticed this but corwin uses one and he finds it annoying. Fortunately, there is often a small towel provided for the ass-washing station, and he’s been using that.

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Mirrored from blog.ceciliatan.com.