i was sent to madrid to retrieve my cousin topher, who had arrived in the city six months prior to teach english. mind you, topher was not some aspirant twenty-something with nothing to lose. he was, in fact, a thirty-six year old man with over 120K in variable-interest rate student loan debt, which he had dumped on his parents as co-signers in order to live in spain making $11,000 a year. this was all readily predictable to anyone watching from the outside. topher started life with disadvantages not of his making. he had a hard time concentrating for long periods of time which led to difficulties deferring gratification, and these two qualities ping-ponged throughout the course of his young life. topher graduated high school with a 2.5, and then spent ten years at a private evangelical lutheran college in northwest minnesota earning a bachelor's degree while playing division iii baseball. he then spent the next ten years in a prolonged state of unemployment, taking on short-term work when he had to, usually at the insinst of his parents, who grew tired of supporting him. this they did willingly for a few years, but by the time he entered his late 30s, patience had grown thin and tensions were high between topher and his parents. their constant disappointment became a family theme, until one day topher decided he'd had enough. he announced that his aunt on his father's side had given him three thousand dollars to get certified as an ESL instructor, and that he was moving to madrid in the fall of that year. calls home to his parents became less frequent over the next six months, and the six-figure debt he'd left behind went unpaid. i was living in chicago at the time, and my aunt called me one afternoon. i was the only person in the family with a passport, she said, and would i go to madrid to see if i could bring him back?

topher and i had always been close. i was an only child raised by a single mother, and i spent a good amount of time growing up in my aunt's household with topher and his sister caroline. topher and i were only two years apart, and so grew up practically brothers. i had been a characteristic overacheiver growing up. i graduated private schools with a 3.9 and attended fancy private art schools on the east coast before pursuing a master's in literature. i now work as an events manager for an R1 research university. in many respects, i hate my job and my life and dream of quitting everyday. but to my family back home, strong midwestern stock the lot of them, i have doing exactly what i'm supposed to be doing: making money and surviving.

i let topher know i was coming and flew to madrid on a thursday. i arrived in the early morning hours and tried calling him, but he did not pick up. knowing topher, he would probably sleep until at least ten, so i wandered the rose gardens of retiro park until he called me back. we decided to meet in a little bistro near his apartment in Lavapiés. i took a table out front and ordered two soda waters and an espresso. topher was twenty-minutes late, though when he showed, he came up from behind and wrapped his huge arms around me. he was taller than i and still solid from his days playing ball. i laughed, and was amazed at how genuinely good it was to see him. he sat and ordered us an egg dish i didn't know. you'll love it, he said. was he eating regularly? i asked. did he have any money? what kind of place was he staying in? does he live there alone? who does he know here in madrid? is he picking up the language at all? topher waved away each of my questions. as usual, he strove to impress, to dissemble. he spoke casually of the places he’s visited, of the people he’d met. he exuded confidence and contentment but this was an act i had seen before.

i wasted no time in cutting through the pretense. you know your mother and father sent me here to bring you back. they say you haven't been paying your student loans. your mother had to withdraw the balance from her retirement savings, you know that right? it took a quarter of her entire life-savings.

i don't know what i'm supposed to do about that. i don't make enough to pay it off. simple as that. and if they've the money to do so, then they should. besides, spain is my home now. in america, everyone is so obsessed with money, with working working themselves to death. you know that. especially where we come from. your mother will work herself to death, if she could. she will never retired. they work so much they've no inner lives, no personalities, no hobbies or interests. i don’t want to be that kind of person. i want to live and enjoy my life.

i sat back in my chair and tried to get a read on him. this was a front. the server brought him his egg dish. the proportions were european, to say the least, and i could tell topher's heart sank a little. he was an american living in europe. nothing here would be large enough for him, there were all these newfound constraints on his consumption, the appliances were crappy and the living arrangements uncomfortable. topher could withstand a could deal, but not being uncomfortable.

and your family would support your decision to remain, i said, if you could afford to pay your way. but you can't. you didn’t even bother to tell them you’d stopped paying your debts. she had to hear it over the phone from your loan servicer.

and i’m sorry for that, but the loans have been discharged now and now everyone can move on. it’s really for the best, for everybody really. is it really so much better to be like you? always pleasing mother. was keeping mother happy so important you were willing to be miserable your whole life, working stupid jobs for stupid people?

i thought it odd: he had to come to spain only to discover the virtues of american selfishness. i marveled. topher had convinced himself he could be happy enough without the love and respect of his family. that life wasn't about the community we found ourselves in or the environment we were brought up in. there was no sense of duty, obligation, responsibility. life was instead about eating fresh seafood tapas by the sea and working 25 hours a week.

and yes, when i heard it aloud in my head, the moment it crystalized into words, once i saw the sentiments play out like music through the streets around san cayetano church, i knew exactly what he meant. a freedom, perfect in its selfishness, is alluring, almost geometric in its simplicity. somehow, it was a foundational freedom. so why couldn’t it have been me? why hadn't i the backbone perhaps to take take take? to liberate myself from the guilt and the fear of abandonment. perhaps it was the effect of being an only child: of being utterly dependent on someone, on needing to appease them at all costs. but sipping on my americano, i knew. if i had been supported like topher, if i had refused to acquiesce to some stupid system, then i could have taken that runway and made something of myself. i could’ve finished that novel, mounted that first production. instead i now ride two different bikes in two different directions, and the me i wish i had become gets further and further from the me i am.

i had come apparently as an emissary of the establishment: but you’ve bitten the hand that feeds yofu, don't you see? i said. and then turned around and made a virtue of it. a mark of bravery, a sign of how far you’re willing to go to do what you want. you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re some kind of hero here.  

and in a way, he was. i couldn’t shake the feeling. i came as the archangel michael to conquer topher's satanic anarchy. but as with the milton, i was of two minds on the devil.

so what, topher asked, you came all this way to tell me i'm a shitty person? that you don't like me? i thought you came to see the city, to see what my life was like in this beautiful city. but you're now as provincial and bouregois as them. that was the cost of all your filial piety, coz. the closer you remained to them, did what they want, did what was expected of you, the more they liked you, the more like them you became. you used to be interesting, you know. you used to have surprising things to say. when did you become so boring?

i don't know what came over me: at least i'm not a selfish, manbaby. you know what your problem is, topher? you can't take feedback, you never allow anything in, anything strange or uncomfortable. so there's never anything new there in your head. you're only every recycling your own bullshit, over and over and over again like the filter system in a public pool. and the more you do that, the more a habit you make those small ideas of yours, the deeper in your head they become. until they're barnacles on the brain, and the only way to get rid of them is to peel them off layer by layer. but that's a painful process, coz, and one you're getting a little too old for.

oh, whatever, you're such a snob. you really do think you're better than everyone. you're not better than anyone. you let mother's approval determine your moral quality, but you've no mind of your own. that's why you bombed in new york. that's why you came home with your tale tucked between your legs and had to work at the restaurant for a decade. because you couldn't hack it. you had no idea who you were without mommy standing over your shoulder telling you good job, quin, good job. and the moment you had to decide for yourself, you realized you couldn't decide at all. you were voiceless. and that's why you're the sad, overworked, middle-aged not-so-secret stoner i see before me. that's why you're going to get on a plane back to the states this week. so think of me, when you're sitting at your office chair, think of me laying there on the beaches of valencia. 

we had crossed a line we'd never crossed before. topher got up and walked out, leaving me with the check, which i paid quietly. topher invariably returned to his small studio apartment, where he would sit and watch english netflix, friendless and a stranger in a strange land. i returned to my hotel room where i waited two days for his call. i never heard from him.

on monday, i was back at work.