When we finally finished work the next day, it was time to leave. The five of us headed toward Istiklal Street. We got off the bus at the underground stops. I wondered how much a place could change — this was no longer the Taksim I knew; it reminded me more of the underground market in Sirkeci.
Right away, I remembered why we came out tonight: to have fun. Neither the gray concrete square nor the nostalgic tram running on old tracks could spoil my mood.
We were guided to the entrance of the tavern where we planned to spend the evening. At first, I felt out of place, but gradually, the conversations of these men began to draw me in. It wasn't really their fault. They had grown up with the education and environment they were given, and this was as much as they could improve themselves.
In a way, these men were a big reason behind my plans to leave the country. I was afraid I'd get trapped in endless, tight circles like theirs — buy a house, work overtime to pay it off, struggle with car loans, tighten belts for the kids. I wanted to escape all that, to avoid being trapped in the same daily routine.
While these thoughts mixed with the warmth of the appetizers in front of me, everyone except me was standing up and down on the table, making a base for their drinks. By the way, I have nothing to do with alcohol. When they first heard this, most thought it was for religious reasons. But as they got to know me, they understood I wasn't religious, and they accepted it.
Honestly, I just couldn't drink. I tried everything, but no matter what I drank, it all came right back up as soon as it touched my mouth. This didn't change even on my farewell night. Even the smell of anise from the opened bottle was enough to make me turn away.
To satisfy my hunger after the whole day, I attacked the appetizers and washed them down with a spicy pickled turnip. I was over twenty now — I wasn't at a tavern to order a coke or soda like some kid who came to a cafeteria with his mom.
My coworkers had already knocked back their first glasses with excitement and were loudly clinking their second rounds. What was so joyful about it? Were they that tired of me?
Of course, that wasn't true. I understood everything. These were people wearing blinders — no matter how much I wanted to tell them the truth, after a while, they just wouldn't accept it. So I gave up trying to make them see it.
Looking at their state, it was as if they were stealing a little pleasure from somewhere beyond their miserable lives — from a wide blue sky full of peace and happiness. I had no choice but to follow along. After all, when the belly dancer came to our table, I joined in with a smile.
Now I understood the mood of those men who spent money freely. No matter how poor I was, I found myself caught by the woman who knocked me out with her hip movements. The man of the night was me; I was the one dancing the most, with this beauty tossing her waist-length hair in my face.
Time flowed like water, and we had fun as if it was the last day on earth.
"Gentlemen, we're closing now!"
We were riding such a wave of happiness that we only noticed the waiter's awkward warning when he said this. It felt like we had already played and said goodnight ourselves.
At these words, suddenly they surrounded me, and before I knew it, there was a glass of raki pressed to my lips.
"Come on, boy, down it in one shot!"
Muharrem Abi, my older friend, stopped at the last moment and started teasing me again, but this was the moment I got burned. Muharrem's persistence was legendary. Once he got his mind set, there was no escaping him.
"Big brother, please don't. You know I can't drink!"
I tried to avoid it, but it was like rowing against the current — my efforts didn't stop the stubborn older man.
"Drink this. What's one glass of raki?"
I saw myself burning. I blacked out and finished the glass in one gulp. There was applause on the way out. The place was shaking with excitement. You'd think I'd done something amazing.
I nervously held onto the outer door handle, which had been given a nostalgic touch with four small windows.
The night was over. The winds that brought the morning carried a chill that shook my heart as they hit my face. I had to sneeze hard for hours afterward because of the sudden breeze clashing with my heated body — heated by alcohol, excitement, and the heat itself.
"Bless you!"
"Bless you!"
My coworkers, all dizzy from drinking, shouted in unison. It was strange how that little sneeze polished their joy. These usually serious men were now as cheerful as kids who had just finished playing and were heading to the store for soda.
"Thanks, everyone!"
This phrase was a classic for us — no matter who said it first, everyone repeated it so it wouldn't be awkward. But maybe it was the first time in my life that I said it so genuinely.
I worked hard, saved money for my dream, completed my visa application, and my language school was all ready. Tomorrow, I was flying far away like a bird.
My last night ended as I looked at the warm faces of the people I sometimes fought with, sometimes watched quietly, and sometimes worked shoulder to shoulder for two years. Even if I died right then, I wouldn't regret it after that hour.
"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!"
"Is it time for morning prayer already?"
One of the guys asked in surprise. How could someone lose track of time when he had a chance to enjoy himself in his dull life?
At the end of the call to prayer, a terrifying trumpet sound echoed, like the signal horns in castles warning of approaching enemy forces.
Then I was startled by a sudden noise to my right. When I looked, I saw Muharrem Abi kneeling on the ground, praying with open hands.
"O Allah, forgive me, forgive my sins. You are great and powerful!"
He was praying so quickly and breathing so heavily that my mind almost got drunk again — but this time, it was from the intensity of his faith, not the alcohol.
The whole team was doing the same, following his movements. They had suddenly started praying, as if overcome by fear.
I was about to push this strange thought from my mind when the new sunlight hit my head. Slowly, I understood what was happening.
Everyone has a good side in this life. Some connect with numbers, some with words. My gift was directions. From birth, I stood out because I could tell directions like a walking compass.
I witnessed the end of the joyful night and the fast-moving morning, watching the sunrise from the west.
After that, I don't remember much. When I opened my eyes, I was somewhere else, surrounded by people of all races and nationalities. The ground was dry and cracked, and the sun was stabbing its hot rays almost directly above me like a sword.
Everything I told myself couldn't happen, had happened. I think the apocalypse had arrived, and all these people were gathered, waiting for their judgment day.