***
Blue irises shone through my soul, reflecting through a mirror just out of my reach. My fingers traced the image, gliding along the cheekbone, carving out the chin. A paintbrush dipped in grease streaked out his scruffy beard, shaped his coarse eyebrows. The mouth curved into a smirk, mocking but loving. The sound of his name tumbled over my lips, forming a word I had not spoken in what seemed a thousand years.
Pupils dilated as I sat up with a start, shoving the bedclothes onto the dusty floor of the bungalow. Drops of sweat clung to my tanned skin, forming pools in the hollow sections of my leathery hide. Thoughts swirled through my brain, images and memories long forgotten. The sounds of motorcycle engines, rumbling like monsoon thunder in my ears, haunted me as I gathered piles of linen from the ground.
The bitterness of fermentation choked my throat as I gulped the remainders of an opened can of coconut milk. Rapping on the door briefly caught my attention, and the room burst with afternoon light.
“Miss Smith?” The hostel owner queried. She wore a stained grey apron over a floral-printed homemade housedress.
“I need to leave. Today.” My voice was hoarse, as though I’d been screaming. I held a hand over my face, blocking the rays of sun that squirmed around the haggard woman.
“You leave today?”
“Yes. I need a cab to the airport in Bangkok immediately.”
“Bangkok. Yes. I get you cab.”
The door swung shut, squealing on ancient hinges. The nails-on-a-chalkboard sound sent a shudder down my rickety spine. In vain, I searched for clothing that would be suited to the winter I would face upon arrival in New York. Who needed sweaters and long johns way out here? My body dashed around the room, throwing clothing and books into bags. Yet my eyes could only stare forlornly into the mirror, watching the formation of his face, drawn over and over again.
“I’m coming,” I murmured, reaching out for the image, longing to touch his face, even though the gauze of a glove. “I’m coming.”
“Miss Smith, cab ready. Driver tell me flight to America coming soon. Better hurry!”
The clatter of the city drifted around me, a dream and a nightmare. Tourists with cold compresses attached to their foreheads, waving fans over their faces, swatting mosquitoes, swarmed around the local fruit stands. In the cab, I shoved a sliver of pummelo into my mouth, wincing at the bitter juice that ran down my throat. Fingertips pressed against the window ledge, detached from the thoughts in my head. Perhaps I had been waiting for this vision, and that was why it had come. Maybe it really was only a dream, and I was headed back to nothing.
Maybe he wouldn’t be there at all.
***
End.
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