Dear AnyOneGirl…

Dear Emily,

We trailed down the chilled hallway, winding our bags along the maroon mazed
carpet, following doors with gold numbers to find our own; room 310, which must be
on the left hand side – except our key didn’t work. I stared at the splotchy watercolour
boats sailing the walls in cheap gold frames while he ran down the fuzzy stairs to
swap it.

Inside, as always, the stillness swallowed my breath. I thought of the maids who
come in and wash the life away, tear the bed from the fabric of the night before, line
the bins with new plastic, fold towels into soft squares, place the remote on top of
the bedside table next to the lamp that I have to reach up and under to turn on; as if
nothing has occurred here, as if we are the only ones to fall back-first onto the bed
across planks of light that stripe the quilted cover, our heads the first to sink into
pillows whiter than moon’s teeth, their downy stomachs bulging around our ears.

We would sleep well tonight. His face, flanked with black curls, curves towards the
window; watching fleshy trees lean in the wind and the frothy tide rise and fall. The
tomatoes here grow so fat they slice them thick as bread, he tells me. The fish we will
eat later are lying in silver piles. His eyes chant with the waves.

Tomorrow we will walk down the same hallway and into the same room, except
everything will be replaced and refolded, no trace of ourselves except the spewing
suitcases on the floor. We will forget everything in the room with no memory. We
will become still, breathing in pale walls washed in the husky sun.

Love,

Amy

Read more of Amy’s work here at onislands