Room 421: The Storm

The storm1

".And love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken2

hallelujah"3

(Jeff Buckley, Hallelujah)4

He's sorry. He's made that clear from the start. That's partly why he's bringing her here, to say sorry. He doesn't mean for these things to happen, he just has a bad temper, that's all. On those nights, when he's angry, he doesn't see her. He sees a different person all together. He sees hunger, anger, hatred, war and all that's wrong with the world. That's what he hits. Not her.5

She knows he's sorry. He told her, over and over, repeating the increasingly hollow words. She is an embarrassing, ridiculous person, with too many needs and desires. This is why it happens. She brings it on herself. These are the things she knows. She has not packed much for this trip - she does not have much to pack.6

The hotel is like a pretty young woman in her grandmother's clothes: still attractive, but there is something not right. Something uneasy. Lying back on the bed in their room, 421, she looks at the ceiling as though it is a mirror.7

Maybe it is a mirror. It is blank - this is how she feels. There are one or two delicate cracks - it is ageing, as is she. As she watches, a barely visible spider dances wearily across the ceiling. This too reflects her - like the spider on the ceiling, there is only a tiny bit of life left in her too.8

The key turns in the lock and she is shaken from her thoughts. As always, she wonders what would happen if she just ran away. She thinks about this for a split second. A split second too long. Glancing one last time at the ceiling, she realises she will be staring again at it later. When he returns, steeped in alcohol and anger, and he pins her to the bed, hurting her, she will think about the ceiling.9

He feels the atmosphere inside the room is as heavy as outside. It feels electric out there. That is the only word. He wanted to scream, with the sky pressing so close around him, trapping him like a leaf in an updraft. The sky is the grey of a suit she used to wear, when she worked. She'd laugh to think he remembered that suit. Soon the rain will come, and the thunder too.10

He is mostly alarmed by the silence. If he listens carefully, he can hear a static buzz. He wants to get out, away from this holiday. It was a bad idea, and he realises this only now. He has brought her some wine, though he knows very well she will not be the one drinking it. Once more, he wonders if it is his fault. 'It' could be the storm, the silence, the buzz, her.11

Sometimes the oddest things make him laugh. His team losing a game. An obituary in the paper. A road sign with no obvious humour intended. It is strange - here he is, with her, in one room of many in a large hotel, in a busy city. But he couldn't feel more alone.12

She has been watching him since he put the bottle down. She waits for him to see her, but he is thinking, and it does not do to disturb him when he's thinking. She moves to the shower in the bathroom, and slides the door open as quietly as possible. She thinks.what does she think about? Her mother, her old room, a dog she once had, called Anna. Those records she used to play, and she tries in vain to remember the lyrics. Those lyrics used to hold more meaning, more truth than any real life. Funny, this odd parade of thoughts. She wonders if she will die tonight, as she wonders every night. It seems certain tonight. Why these thoughts?13

He realises sadly how much time they spend in silence. This was not how he pictured it. He knows she doesn't hate him, and so he hates her. He wishes, miserably, that she would leave. She is never happy anymore. She used to sing in the shower, she used to buy flowers, she used to wear a particular lipstick he loved. The smell of it reminded him of home. Reminded him of the American Dream, lazy sunny days, and strawberries. She used to do so many things. He stops. He can faintly hear notes rising above the shower water, which blends with the rain outside.14

She never had a great voice, but she could carry a tune. This is an old song, and she knows the words but not the name. She stops. She has been singing out loud, and with the realisation of a dreamer leaving behind a nightmare, she jerks away from the song and back into life.15

He wonders how they will share the same bed again. Two people can be so close, yet miles apart. Suddenly, he understands that he doesn't know her, and he never can. Humiliated, he creeps out of the room and to the hotel bar.16

She hears the door shut. It is muffled, and anyway, she doesn't realise the full gravity of what she has heard. It hits her, and she knows he has gone, he won't be back til early in the morning, but she has to stay awake, or. the lonely night stretches in front of her, but she feels comforted. It will be less lonely on her own than with him. Drying off, she dims the lights and watches the storm unfold. She puts the TV on a low volume, so it sounds like a whisper. It feels like a friend. Making herself a coffee from the service provided, she settles down to wait.17

*18

The storm shows no sign of blowing itself out, and empty-eyed and headachy, she allows him to lead her to the bed. It takes her too long to comprehend that he is leaving her alone. He has gone to the bathroom, and when he comes back she is miles away, dreaming of her old dog, her records and her mother, in that order. He couldn't face it tonight. He was looking at her in a new light, as a fragile doll.19

He greets her in the morning with the news that he has checked out. The doll that slept beside him last night has gone, and someone far more human has returned. It must have been the storm, he decides. Silly to think of her as something she's not. He is brusque with her now. For once, she is the one who cannot remember last night. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe it was the storm.20