"Shit- let me look at that....can you scoot over?" The apparition ignored my request.
As my eyes adjusted, I knew I was dreaming. Or dying. This had to be a pre-death hallucination.
"Man- if you got a phone you might wanna call an ambulance...cause...
He was sitting slumped down in his seat with his damn fedora pulled just about down over his ears. Did he not realize it was totally dark and there wasn’t a soul out here in the persistent dumping of snow?
I really didn’t know what to tell him. Did I get the room? Well…I had gone into the place after we found it. Michael had been all paranoid about me being recognized, so he made me pull on his parka, put the collar up, and brushed my hair over my face so I almost looked like Cousin It from Addams Family. I would have been annoyed but I was slightly distracted by having his hands on me again. Bad enough to feel his fingers in my hair, but every now and then he touched my face and every time that happened I felt as if I had been zapped by some magic wand that started a reaction down my net of nerves from my face to my belly- and from there further south. What the fuck was wrong with me? I thought I had gone cold turkey and got over that addiction? Guess I wasn’t just a casual junkie. I seriously could not afford to be near to my drug. Which was dangerous- given I had not even considered him my poison anymore.
Well, funny, how I could delude myself with continents and time between us. Now- there was nothing. Nothing but his touch and his eyes…his scent. My extremely strong urge to want to be pulled into his arm. For a hug… A kiss… God- how did he still look this heavenly? It’s been years that I had seen him in person. He looked more chiseled now. The lines in his face telling the story of everything he must have been through. That look of innocence had been ripped from him- there was a haunting, hunted quality to his features, especially his eyes. I tried really hard to not allow my own eyes to roam all over him. But damn- during all his bitching and teasing- his familiar baiting me…how could I help but became entangled in the glances, the smiles..the way he bit his lips. The way he brushed a strand of his hair out of his face. Everything seemed eerily familiar. And horrifically foreign at the same time.
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I had suggested he could just go in himself, if he didn’t think I was inconspicuous enough, and he informed me that I knew very well that was not possible. Sadly, I knew he was right. Even though we were what seemed to be at the edge of the universe, he still would be recognized. Which meant, without a shadow of a doubt, that, despite the blizzard, hoards of fans would appear out of nowhere and deafen us with their screams. I didn’t know how they’d get here- but I knew parachuting in was not totally impossible.
So, in I went, guided by the Travelodge sign. Or ‘Tavedge’ if one only read the illuminated bulbs on the sign. I really was glad the sign was there though, as to me, the whole building looked about as inviting as some ugly third world office building. Opening the glass door, I was assaulted by some smell somewhere between chlorine and musty ancient dust. Damn! How old was this place?
Some stuffed animal with dead eyes and bald spots greeted me from what I assumed to be the front desk. Oh shit. Well….maybe all their funds went into making sure the rooms were cozy and comfortable. After all, the comfort of guests was surely a major concern. And Ireland was such a friendly place. So…yeah…who cared what the front desk looked like? Or smelled like.
