- The second she sat next to me, my mind erased all fear and doubt. I felt as if she was a childhood buddy or some long forgotten memory I had rediscovered. You know those times when our parents gave us dreadful chores like cleaning up the attick? It always took us about five minutes to turn the stubborn reluctance into fun. That enthusiastic need to reconnect every unscrewed mechanism, every damaged toy, every box of puzzles to the respective sequence of our tiny past. And the comforting feeling that followed. Being at home. With her by my side I felt at home.
- Those cookies at the inn really messed with your reason. :)
- I know it wasn't just the atmosphere of the inn. Gentle and shy, somewhat clumsy, she was as human as one can be. I felt absolute comfort in her presence so I quickly turned to my usual methods and tried to steer the conversation ahead. Straight to the point, in a motherly fashion, without an inquisitory tone, without the need to impose but honestly concerned: "I want to know you. Who are you, dear? What's happening in your life? What were you thinking about when the scenery turned unfamiliar? I don't need to know your age, your weight, your shoe-size. I'd rather you reveal what your soul is busy with these days." She lives a few miles north from you, dear brother, in the city where you were born. And she despises it just like you do. Certainly a coincidence, my first thought. She tolerates it for practical reasons and waits for oportunity knock-knocks. In my opinion she would have serious chances of spending her entire life waiting if not for these tricks the almighty relativity plays on her.
- So you've found yourself a new doll. A puppet. Only it's not you that's pulling the strings. All you have to do is find out who's doing it.
- Don't get me wrong. She's not a couch potato, a fatalist, nor the housewife type. She speaks with great passion and self-assertion. It's just that contemplation seems to be her main game while action is triggered only by borderline circumstances. As all of us, when faced with the question "who are you?", she paused her breath, stared in thin air, let go of a slight frown, then smiled. No words within reach. Sighing, humming, searching for that elusive starting point at an arms length. There it was - under the edging of the quilt:
No matter how special and weird I usually present myself to be, I think I am an absolutely ordinary girl. Hyper-emotional with a cynical protective mask, pretty without being noticeable, ugly without being frightning. Non-standard. Shy and polite, if not threatened. Alone without being lonely. Busy without being stressed. I spent my childhood and early youth devoted to my parents' word of advice and my last 3 years demolishing most of my ancestors' expectations. I did find a certain sense of freedom and relief in bending the unwritten rules. I'm not sure it made me any happier. But I have no reason to complain whatsoever. I don't see my life in any other manner...
I found a deep pleasure in listening to the monologue flowing out of her whispers. Her tone was honest yet somewhat amusing. She spoke of herself with a comforting peace, unaffected, slightly self-ironic at times. She moved easily from one subject to another and everytime she switched themes I found myself fancying her as a life-time friend. With most people I don't have the necessary patience to listen to phrase after phrase of autobiographical recollection. And maybe if I would have met her in other circumstances I would have treated her with a request to cut her story short, too. But not this time. Not covered by that quilt. Not amidst that scenery. I ended up asking her, when I could steal a minute to speak, to stick around for as long as she could, to try to take control and perhaps join me in a trip to Mexico. I honestly didn't feel like going home to my man. We needed the break anyway. So I called Ted and told him I had met a very old friend and she couldn't leave San Diego. He was surprinsingly "ok" with it. I think that if I would have returned he would have found a reason to get out for awhile himself. See? Do you still envy my picture-perfect relationship?
- There's no such thing. But I know yours is pretty close. Don't tell me the girl actually stuck around ?!
- She did. I don't know how she managed to control her presence. I don't know if she was missed back at home. Who knows, maybe time was somehow altered and those 12 days she spent by my side were compressed in a good 7 hour sleep on her side of the earth. Maybe she got lost between space dimensions. I certainly hope she's fine, alive, in a place she belongs to, resting her straggly hair on that particular shoulder she yearned for.
- What exactly did you girls do?
- Well, I couldn't tell you exactly... I was so excited the first morning when I woke up with her in my arms that I sort of lost touch with reality, plans, my usual self-absortion. Of course she was no longer there when I returned from the bathroom. But I did not panic. I told myself that I must have a connection with her by now. I figured out that all I had to do was to maintain a certain state of delirium, to stay caught between sleep and wakefulness. That's how the bridge between our worlds was built. So I just let myself get carried away, aimlessly throughout those 12 days and Mrs. Potter's hospitability. I made friends with her and her three hounds. She taught me remedies against insomnia. She was so kind, very sympathetic towards us - stressed people with high-paying jobs in the metropolis. So I was basically high on herbs for almost two weeks, hanging out with my girl.
- What was her name anyway?
- I have no idea. I think she had told me once, but I must have fallen asleep. I remember asking her, she said something but I couldn't recall it the next day. I was too embarrassed to ask her again. You know my pride. But I can't say I needed to know. It would have helped in telling you the story, that's true. I think I could have stayed there for all eternity for all I know if it wasn't for that wake-up call from Ted. He asked me if I was planning anything for our anniversary. That was the best way he could hint at his need to have me back home. That was the moment I realized I lost track of time. That was when I remembered what I was doing in San Diego in the first place. After spending all those moments talking to her about everything except her inexplicable presence on my side, on my last evening there I held her hand and dared to attack the issue. I remembered she had told me she was listening to music on her player the first day she lost her way. "So what was it? What was the sound, the riff, the voice that hypnotized you so?"
She uttered your name, dear brother, and then she vanished for good.
