As I sat in that room. Feeling the bobbled carpet holding my toes. The breeze from the open window gently caressing my neck. I realised how precious such moments of lonesome serenity truly were to me. The night porter creaked above me. His movements bleeding through the old floorboards. It was as though the floor itself moaned and wheezed in exhaustion. Cars outside whirred past. Occasionally the squeal of breaks and the revving of engines cut through the monotonous droning of the evening’s song. I wondered whether any of the blurred figures sitting in their vehicles could see me. Saw the top of my red hair poking out, only just in view. I sat there, nestled between the window ledge and the single chair. He left this chair by the window to sit upon while smoking cigarettes. My mind’s eye could always picture him there. His tousled hair hid his face as he hunched over, crafting a new rollie.
Every now and then, the wind would blow In such a way that carried the stench of discarded fag butts straight up my nostrils. It smelt like perfume to me. His signature scent. I picked up my book and leaned my shoulder into the chair beside me, feeling its wooden base dig into my arm. Closing myself in. My back pressed against the wall, my knees tucked beneath my chin. My confined space cradled me as I intermittently turned page after page. The ravenous flame in the pit of my belly slowly dissipated with each passage I consumed. I felt I could live this way forever. Tucked away. Left to pour the contents of the earth’s library into my barren brain and occasionally paint my inner monologue onto paper. Swirls of letters and sweeping curves collected across pages strewn before me. Oh, what a life that could be. Lost in the clouds my head swam in. My brain an eroded droplet of sea glass, floating in my skull. Words washing over me.
I remained in this almost meditative state until rudely awoken. Drunken howls from the street below hitchhiked in ascension until they noisily crashed at my feet. Dragging me back down onto the bobbled carpet. I craned my neck out of the window, peering outwards. I saw two blurred figures swaying on the pavement. They seemed to be knitted into each other. Stepping in jaunty unison, arms woven around each other’s shoulders. A smile sheepishly crept across my face. The unity between punters always seemed to tickle me. I watched them stagger on down, closer and closer until I could just about make out the vaguest of details of their faces. It was only when I saw one point his head upwards I quickly ducked away. Suddenly aware I could just as easily have been studied as I did them. I slunk out of my corner and tiptoed toward my laptop which had been emitting song after song for hours now. The notes barely infiltrated my deaf ears. My cave of literacy was impenetrable by the likes of Def Leopard and whatever other band had sprung from my shuffled mix.
I bent down, extending my arm in an effort to select a new song. As my index finger pressed the mouse pad, the door swung open. I looked upward from my crouching position to see him standing there. Alcohol flowing through him, painting his cheeks and nose a dusted crimson. His eyes began to disappear beneath his wicked grin. I couldn’t help but think he had the very same smile as a child who had made some monstrous creation that his parents would no doubt disprove of, but of which he brimmed with pride for regardless. He stood in the door way for a moment. Announcing his presence almost.
“Hello,” I said softly. Remaining in my crowched position, looking up at him.
With that, he spun on the spot, 180 degrees, and strode away. I concluded such queer behaviour to be a result of his alcohol intake. I sank down into a sitting position and stretched my legs outwards. He returned minutes later, repeating the same routine of standing at the entrance of the room for a moment before doing anything. He slid down and sat next to me. The smell of lager and smoke hung around him, I felt it engulfing me as I rested my head on his shoulder. I welcomed this. Wanting to emerse myself in his world for just a moment. Blending the lines between us until we blurred together as one. He began to tell me his plans for the evening to which I responded with encouragement and approval.
Secretly, I wanted to pivot the conversation entirely and let my racing thoughts spill from my mouth and fill up the room until we could only just hold our heads above the water. I wanted to tell him all about my book, of every intruding thought that had bloomed in my mind whilst he had been gone. Instead. I sat there next to him and listened. I smiled as I felt his words warming me. I turned my head towards him and felt my eyes flickering across his rose-stained face. His boyish grin is still on display. His blue eyes pierced through his hair which hung over them in laced drapes. We sat there for a short while. Talking about nothing special. Simply existing in each other’s company before he had to go again.
I wondered whether those early twentieth-century housewives really had it that bad after all. I thought dreamily of filling my days with books and learning and baking fresh loaves of bread which flooded the house with that terrific smell. My mind flooded with all the great women novelists of the time who spent their days sitting at their typewriters, painting entire new worlds onto cartridge paper. I hastily snapped out of this and reminded myself how tethered those women must have felt, living such predetermined lives. and the monotony I hated when met with a regular routine. I also considered the likelihood of being deemed a mad woman in those times. Of being branded as insane, as a loony, as sick. The odds seemed rather high.
It seemed very fitting that this train of thought should lead me back into the arms of my beloved Plath. I snatched my book from where I had laid it, splayed upside down, outstretched and parted at the last page I read. I was terrible for creasing the spines of my books. They all seemed to bear memories of ‘dog-eared’ pages and greasy smudges from mucky fingers. “Well-loved” I called them.
I felt memories dancing behind the glassy orbs that were my eyes, pulling me away from the pages. I imagined what he might be doing. Whether he was laughing. Whether he was smiling. I closed my lids, losing myself in the fleshy veil. The deep red enveloped me. That familiar falling sensation overcame me. It crept up the staircase of my spine until I began plummeting into the abyss. My outstretched limbs felt weightless. I gave my body to the feeling, surrendering any grounding and embracing the fall.
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