The ungrateful guest - the dance through someone else's memory

He wakes and can feel the tension in the room immediately. Instinctively he rolls over to feel for her, as he does.  His hand grazes the warm sheets and his eyes struggle to open though a gluey haze. She is on the side of he bed in turquoise underwear,  leaning forward, looking out the window, hands in her dark hair. He puts a hand on her hip and she touches it softly softly. After a moment she stirs, turns around and stares at him hard, heart broken, loving, hurt, angry and lost. Like a tangled stray cat, both loveable and unlovable.

They stay like that for a moment, two foreign species trying to find a space. His eyes are sad and blue, hers wild, twisted and hazel. She folds.

Where is the shower.

That way he points. He reaches for her hand. She touches it and is so close to tears, feels so alone. The one person she wants is right there in the room, in the bed with her wearing no clothes. 

She stands up and puts a Vietnamese dressing gown around her. He feels helpless.

She sees steam on her feet and looks around the quirky carpeted bathroom, obscure bits of beauty in the stained glass windows, the faint fragrance of smoke and soap. She thinks about punching throughout the glass, making something beautiful. She returns to the room and sits on the bed, looking away, drying her hair.

How are you he says. She can hear fear adn anxiety. She doesn't answer. Quick look at her hands… Good thing I didn't smash the window I guess.

They arrived last night.

The journey down started off nicely. You’ll lovey Guy and Helen. He spoke of their history, the journey, and the ups and downs. She didn’t realise the world she was intruding on, long since dissipated, vibrant in the hearts of the remaining 3. 

Fu**********ck she murmurs when she starts to grasp it. By the time she has reached the home he shared and still owns with his erstwhile wife [he points out the curtains] her heart is in a million pieces. Her nonsense is imbibing and drowning out the voices of rationality.

They tour towns along the way. As they drew closer and closer to his village his memories became  more poignant, almost tangible in the space between them. She withdrew.

When they got there he saw that something had affected her.

A No Vacancy sign greeted them and she laughed. It was her type of humor. The wife was warm and kind, looked older than her years but had gentle eyes. The husband had the smile of a wizened warrior of life. They were nice. The two sat down at opposite ends of a room with the Angel and the Visitor in the middle.

“Remember when Linda was seeing that psychic on the fault lines?” said the wife.

“Remember that Glastonbury where we all came back and you passed out here?” said the husband.

“It was so good to see Linda, she’s doing great huh? Now that she’s off that stupid diet!”

It was innocuous and yet unbearable to the Visitor who did not routinely gatecrash on other people's memories. 

This must be how jealousy feels albeit jealousy of a shadow.

It was nothing he did. Art in the attic,, no one's fault. He was almost perfect.

Are you okay? He said.

Fine.

Silence for a long long time.

I didn't know it would be like that he said.

Don't ever do that to me again. She hears her own words and tries to close the windows on her shame.