Possessed by Jowita Bydlowska

Author:Jowita Bydlowska
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn Press

* * *

The next morning, I came downstairs to the lobby, and he was there, smiling as widely as before, except his teeth weren’t pointy this time. He looked human. When I woke, the events from the night before didn’t seem real, and a part of me didn’t think there was going to be anybody waiting for me. Seeing him standing there was startling, but I smiled back as if this were normal. When he moved, the air didn’t register it at all; the stillness was almost as unnerving as the chill before. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

Here’s the thing. I could describe him: his height, his eyes, that smile, the way his skin didn’t reflect the light. It was important to me that I had a description for him, even to myself. Being able to define him into physicality normalized the situation somehow. Him wearing different set of clothes, for example — if I were conjuring him, and he were a figment of my imagination, why was he wearing an outfit that looked unfamiliar to me? Today the buttoned-up, short-sleeved shirt was blue, not white, and he wore beige linen pants and loafers.

Excited for the day? he said, and came even closer. He was almost a head taller than me. The air didn’t move. Nothing did.

A group of laughing young tourists passed us by, and I had an urge to ask them if they could see him. The girls wore short shorts and flip-flops that clapped against the cool tiles of the hotel’s stone floor.

I said nothing, not wanting to embarrass myself in case they could or could not see him — either option seemed problematic.

Very excited. Let’s go, I said, and followed the girls. The air outside was moist and too hot already.

The promenade was busy, and again, there was a loud, thumping music in the distance. There were people smoking everywhere, cars honking, beautiful women with long forearms full of bracelets, snapping for drinks inside white cabanas that stood next to fast food stands that served traditional Croatian fare like fruteli, which I knew from my research was a type of mini doughnut whose secret ingredient was brandy. There were also booths serving pizza and burgers — a lot of Americans visited the place.

Everywhere, there were middle-aged hetero couples, guys in khaki shorts and wraparound sunglasses, and women in golf shirts and visor hats. And groups of girls, like girl trains, in white crocheted tops, stumbling over too many too-long legs, laughing as if drunk — it was early in the day for that, so it was all more about putting on a show. There were boys, too, boys whistling, shaved-head thuggish types narrowing their eyes, spitting spit, drinking out of cans.

So. Do you know everything about me? I said. I wasn’t quite sure what I was asking. Or why I was asking it. I sounded confrontational.

No. It’s not like that. I don’t watch you, or I should say, I don’t judge what I see. I don’t have any emotion about it.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.