Abduction

When I get home from work, I look at myself in the mirror. I don't know why. It's always a disappointment. I have a mirror hanging in the hall beside the front door, and the first thing I do is walk in and stare long and hard. The face tired and miserable, covered in city smog, grey shadow where my beard is coming in only makes me want to punch something but being as tired as I am, I sit down on the couch. I flip on the TV. I lean back into the dirty pillows and my cat jumps up on me. She purrs as I stroke her head. She tolerates it for a minute or two, bites me, sick of my affection, and runs back to the kitchen. I keep wondering when I turned thirty. I keep wondering why I bought that fucking mirror.1

The phone rings at work and I answer with a "Hello," though I'm supposed to say the company name; I've forgotten it anyway.2

"Hey," a female voice says through the speaker, "It's you, isn't it?"3

I'm silent. Whoever she's looking for, I want to be him as long as possible, so I hear a vague grunt escape from my throat and I wait.4

"Rory? It's Amanda."5

I don't know why it takes me so long to answer. She says "Hello?" and I cough. The phone is for me. It's hard to comprehend.6

"Yeah, it's me. How did you get this number?"7

"It is you!" She giggles. It sounds strange and practiced to me.8

"How did you get this number?" I repeat.9

"Don't worry about it. You told me what company you worked for, remember? Anyway, look, I'm coming to see you."10

"Oh?"11

"Yeah."12

"Oh."13

She giggles again and I want to yell at her. Quit trying to be so cute.14

"This is Amanda?"15

"Yeah man! I've got a ticket to England! Give me your address and I'll see you on Thursday."16

And why not? I'm not doing anything else, anyway.17

I get home again, after five more hours of mopping floors, changing light-bulbs, I stare into that damned mirror. I'm so confused. I look at my sagging eyes and my limp, sallow skin. I don't know this girl... not really. Some Internet thing. We don't even talk a lot. She's practically a teenager. Why the hell would she come here?18

I slam the door and tear my eyes away from the glass. Americans like to hang out in England and be tourists anyway. She just wants a free place to stay, I bet. Well, at least I can be of use...19

I can hardly believe it but that Thursday, I come home and she's sitting on my apartment doorstep with a backpack, cowboy boots, cigarette, layers upon layers of insanely bright blue eyeshadow.20

"Rory!"21

She squeals and throws her arms around my neck and I shiver, dumbfounded. I cough from the smoke and brush ash off of my shoulder. She won't let me reach for my door handle. She pulls my arm and drags me away. My keys clenched tight in my hand, I look behind me at my receding door, disappearing over the top of the stairwell. Amanda is jabbering away in her American drawl, talking of air-flight attendants, passports, luggage confusion, hitchhiking to my town. She says she has come to see me. I doubt it.22

"You can stay if you like," I stammer "I'm sure you've got other things to do."23

No, she insists. She has a motel room already. She has nothing planned. She wants me to show her "the sights." Introduce her to "people." This girl doesn't understand at all, does she?24

I don't know where we are anymore. She's led me down the block, around corners I've never walked past. I realize we are in my neighborhood still, but I'd have a hard time finding my way back. I'm nearly out of breath. My hand feels strange and uncomfortable in her tight grasp. She. Won't. Shut. Up.25

"So..." she flashes a grin and keeps stomping away down my streets, through my town, "where are we going then?"26

I stop abruptly and she lets go, falls down, and erupts in hysterical laughter. Rolling on the floor, pens, plastic artifacts and loose change spilling from her bag. The girl is insane.27

"Where are we going? I have no clue. Where are YOU taking ME?"28

"Oh, c'mon," she props herself up on her elbows and squints up at me. "And how am I supposed to know? It's like, you're the one who's been here all your life, right? Show me a bar... a monument... a coffee shop... something?"29

I should be nicer. I start out slowly.30

"I..." I take a deep breath and can't begin to imagine what brought me to this moment when I should really be at home with my cat and maybe a sandwich or anything other than this.31

"I just got off work, you know?"32

The girl won't have it. I know how this goes. There's no way I can force her... or even ask her to do anything. I couldn't think of it. Oh well, I say to myself over and over and over again while she grabs my arm again, pulls me down unfamiliar roads of businesses, shops, houses. Oh well.33

She take pictures of me and herself. She pulls me into bars and makes me order drinks. Climbs on statues. Shouts at people walking by. Bounces on her cowboy heels. Eats candy. Tries to speak like she's English. The hours have passed and it's dark. We are quite drunk, sitting on a park bench, her head on my shoulder, singing tunelessly, slurring her words and hiccuping. Hiccuping! Who really hiccups when they drink? I smoke her Marlboros with her. We are absolutely lost.34

My mind grabs hold of reality for a moment and I start to panic. I realize how inappropriate all of this is. This girl should be scared. I'm a stranger. A big, old, ugly stranger. What do I do? I stand up and start walking towards home. I hear her stumbling behind me, calling to me wait up, you're going too fast, where are you going? I can't explain anything to her, can't find the words, but I can't discourage the nut from following me either. I walk around a few blocks a few too many times, but I eventually find my road, my complex. The American trails behind me like a puppy. She's finally quiet. I think she's tired. I open the door and stumble inside the dark.35

I look in the mirror, Amanda hanging on my shoulders. I look even older. Exhausted. Scared. It would have been much better, I think, if she had never come at all. I walk over to the couch as she stands in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed, and flip on the TV. My cat doesn't come out; there's a stranger here. I can't see her, but I know she's given up. I hear a sigh from behind me, and the slam of the door. Just me now, I think, and decide to take that mirror down, next chance I get.36

But I awake in the morning, the TV still on, my cat asleep on my chest, and find a blanket over me. I smell something burning. I jump up (to my cat's great shock and dissapointment) and run to the kitchen. Bacon is sizzling on the pan. A tea kettle has begun to shriek. Smoke is pouring from my toaster. I am suddenly pushed to the side, and here comes that girl, still here, now in one of my shirts, even, and she turns the flame down on the stove, unpluggs the toaster, cracks an egg in another pan, flashes a smile at me, all in one swift ecstatic hop of movement.37

"Good morning sunshine!"38

I turn around slowly. I've got to look for some painkiller.39