M now sat cross-legged on the yellow sofa staring at the infinite space of the guitar. Her long fingers kept busy feeling her dark brown hair tresses. Occasionally they (her hands) came across a coarse hair and they pulled it out. She examined it closely and then let it fall on the floor.

At first the hours hang heavy on her mind, but as the succession of light and darkness accelerated she lost track and time melted altogether in the whirlpool of her thoughts. She drifted between anger and self pity, and sometimes hope. And when every trace of hope disappeared there was nothing but vacuum.

Then she got up. She felt light, as if she was no longer substantial but a form of energy. This novel state of buoyancy took her by surprise but she got used to it soon enough and without much hesitation she opened the apartment door and headed for the elevator.

Once outside M floated through the crowd of nine-to-fivers, through the multitude of yellow cabs, and the steam rising from manholes like urban genies. She noticed an escalator and she let herself be led to the basement of an enornous structure where destinations flashed on monitors 29.97 times per second.

Departures: Montreal, Miami, Boston, Chicago, and then, yes, that is where she meant to go, New Orleans.

”The tracks between Kannapolis and Toccoa are under construction, so there will be a two-hour bus connection”, the woman at the ticket counter informed M.

M had an aversion for buses. She had not taken one since primary school, and that was more than twenty years ago.

“I’d rather not take the bus” she said firmly.

“Well, then you will have to go through Chicago, the Cardinal is boarding now”.

She got a window seat facing backward and let her head lean against the coolness of the glass. As her lids dropped over her dark brown eyes she found herself on the roof of a cylindrical building. White sheets hanging from wire lines flapped in the gale that was generated by the numerous fans suspended at a distance above her. When she looked down in the central courtyard of the building she saw thousands of snakes sliding and curling around each other, engaged in a giant orgy. Suddenly the delicate rail that she was leaning on gave way and she started falling.

She opened her eyes with a jerk.

“Had a bad dream?” asked a voice close to her.

“I guess...” she answered absentmindedly, still tasting the fear in her mouth.

“I hope you mind me sitting here”.

M turned her head to face the owner of the voice. She was startled. How could that youthful voice she heard belong to this ancient body sitting beside her. The old lady’s face was covered in a thick layer of make-up that emphasized the deep grooves that run along her forhead and down her chicks. M noticed her nose. It was the biggest nose she had ever seen on a human being.

“It’s so hot in here” the old lady noted and started fanning her face with her bony fingers.

M nodded positively even though she did not think so. She was in no mood for conversation.

“My son made me wear all these clothes” the old lady continued. A lycra bright yellow mini dress was all she wore.

“He likes to take care of me, but sometimes I tell you he goes a bit too far. Especially after I fell down the stairs and fructured my pelvis the whole family treats me like a baby. My sister keeps insisting that I go live with her in the suburbs. I can’t stand suburbia. I am perfectly happy living in the city with Morris, my darling Morris. Let me show you a picture of him. I bet he is the cutest thing you ever saw”.

The old lady opened her bulging purse and with great care she pulled out a polaroid of a plumb street cat.

“This is my Morris” she declared as she proudly showed the picture to M.

“What do you say, isn’t he just adorable?” M nodded in agreement although she was a dog person herself.

“I got my first cat on my twelveth birthday. Daddy gave it to me. Oh! I remember I was the happiest girl in the world that day. Toto. That is what I named him. I don’t remember why. When I got married Toto stayed with my parents because my husband was allergic to cats. The poor thing did not take the separation well. He fell ill and died not long after. My dear Toto, God bless his soul”. The old lady paused but not for long.

The old lady’s soliloquy was like static interference in the background of M’s thoughts. She was thinking about him again. She kept running their time together through her mind trying to find where and when did things go wrong. But monologues seldom lead to answers and she knew that well. She had to stop thinking about the past and start feeling the present. A present without him.

The sun was by now long gone. The few passengers in the compartment had fallen asleep. The old lady was fast asleep too. M watched her nostrils contract and expand rhythmically as the air flowed in and out of her fragile body. She was relieved that the old lady’s pratting had finally stopped. She found the silence soothing, but soon enough she got restless. Maybe a bit lonely too.

“Last call for alcohol” the bartender was saying as M entered the lounge car.

Although she rarely drank liquor she now craved a strong spirit. She got a double southern comfort and took a seat close to an old man watching a talk show on his portable TV. On the opposite side of the cart there was a loud group of teenagers playing poker.

A voice that came though the loudspeaker on the ceiling woke M up.

“We will be arriving in Nappanee Indiana in approximately twenty minutes. If you are getting off at this stop please make sure that you have all your belongings with you. All doors will open. Nappanee is the next stop in approximately twenty minutes”.

It was already the morning after. There were only a few hours until Chicago. She stood up wondering which way was her seat. She went right. Most of the passengers were still sleeping, their limbs hanging in the corridor and she took great care not to touch them as she passed.

After walking through a few cars without finding her seat she started to wonder whether she was going the right direction. She was about to turn around and head for the opposite direction when she caught a glimpse of the old lady’s face reflected in the small mirror that she was holding while adding more layers of make-up. The old lady must have seen M in the mirror too for she turned around.

“Well, good morning my dear” the old lady said as she gathered her skinny legs so that M could get to her seat.

“You look tired. Did you not get any sleep last night?”

“I did sleep” M assured her.

“Insomnia I suppose” the old lady went on as if she did not hear M’s answer. “I used to suffer from it too for years and years, but then I came accross these pills and I must tell you they work miracles”. She reached into one of her bags and pulled out a brown glass jar. “Here I would like you to have some, you will need them, you have a long journey ahead of you”.

She opened the jar and poured about a dozen small white pills on the surface of the mirror and offered them to M.

M was not planning to take the pills but she took them with a smile and a polite “thank you” for she hoped that this would end this conversation.

The old lady went back to her make-up.

“Do I look alright”, she asked M when she was done and without waiting for an answer she went on “I am visiting an old friend of mine and I certainly do not want her to think that I am letting myself rot”.

The train started slowing down.

“Oh, dear are we here already”, the old lady exclaimed and started gathering her numerous bags. “Ok, goodbye for now my dear and do not forget to take those pills, they are just what you need to make your trip bearable”, she said as she hastily headed for the exit.

As the train started gathering up momentum again M noticed an envelop on the floor. She picked it up and opened it more out of an inexplicable sense of duty than out of curiosity.

From St.Peter’s Hospital
Dear Mrs. Wiseman
It is with great grief that I inform you of the death of Mrs. Tracy Phillipson. She was buried yesterday in Nappanne Indiana. It was her request that the enclosed items be forwarded to you.
My sincere condolences,
Oscar Burns

M was now heading for New Orleans. She paid the extra fare in chicago and got a private couchette. It was small, smaller than she expected but at least she has her privacy. In this enclosed space that could not have been more than two square meters there was a red leatheroid armchair that turned into a bed and a stainless steel sink with a mirror on top.

All she could see from the window were endless fields of wheat. Once in a while there was a town, a few cabins and some stores along a gravel road. And then fields again. It was so dry that M was terrified by the thought of what would happen if a fire started.

Suddenly she got dizzy. She felt her blood being sucked out of her body by invisible leeches and frigid sweat oozed out of the pores of her pale skin. She sensed the temperature around her rising rapidly until it was hotter than in a furnace and she knew that it would not be long before this heat paralyzed her altogether. As she was about to loose the battle against unconsciouness she remembered the old lady’s pills. “They are just what you need to make your trip bearable”. She reached for them in her pocket and gulped them down with as much saliva as she count gather. She turned her body sideways and brought her legs close to her body and in the comfort of the fetal position she let go.

It was high noon when she arrived in New Orleans. Standing in front of the station she scanned the view. In the distance, through the heat devil, she noticed a tall thin structure and she headed towards it. As she approached it she saw that it was an equestrian statue mounted on top of a pillar. She stood underneath the marble horse wondering where to head next. The unknown mystified her and she was unable to choose a direction.

She started wondering if she had done the right thing. Her doubts multiplied and soon enough she decided that it would be best if she went back. But as she was heading for the station she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, were are you going?” she turned around to face a tanned male figure.

“Don’t tell me that you were trying to flee”, he said in a scolding yet playful voice. “First time here i gather”.

M was looking at him puzzled not quite sure how to react. Had she been able to see his eyes she could have understood more, but they were covered with mirror glasses.

“My dear you just got here, you can’t leave us just yet. Come i’ll show you around a bit”.

It was not clear if this was an order or an invitation. In any case she surrendered herself to this self-appointed guide and walked obeyingly by his side.

“It’s really not bad of a place if you get to know it. Just keep your mind open and I am sure that you will find this trip quite illuminating”.

“By the way, I am Phillip” he said and extended his arm.

M hesitated for a second. “Ava” she declared as her hand joined his in a brief but firm handshake. His skin felf fresh but cold, very cold.

“I am a writer myself”, Phillip said. “I make up love stories for bored housewives. It is more of a social service than anything else, I use Phillipe as my pen name, my publisher thinks that romance sells better when the author is female”.

They continued walking in silence. M was feeling more at ease now. She looked around observing the grey office buildings. There was not a soul outside but she could hear pieces of conversation coming from a distance. She let the voices sip into her and the more she walked the more comfortable she felt.

When they reached a wide street Phillip(e) stopped abruptly.

“That’s the old quarter” he said pointing to the other side. “This is where I exit, but i am sure that you will do just fine by yourself. The hotel is about three blocks that way, you’ll see it”.

He gave her a smile of confidence and then he turned around and walked away.

M knew that there was no going back now and she crossed the street to the other side. The sunrays were so hot that she was afraid that her hair would catch fire. She had to find a shelter soon, before she got sun stroked.

The entrance to the hotel was narrow. She would have missed it if it wasn’t for the cat the mewed as she passed by. Inside the air was dump and stuffy and there was barely enough light to guide M through the long corridor to the lobby. Gradually her eyes adjusted and she could see the moist red walls and the two trumpets hanging from the low ceiling about the reception desk. Somehow it all felt familiar.

“Do you have a room available” she asked the old man behind the desk.

He raised his eyes indolently and looked at her through his thick round glasses

“We always have rooms available dear. Do sign in please”, he said in his thin flat voice and handed her the log.

‘Ava Wiseman” she wrote. She was not sure why she was using the old lady’s name. Maybe she had forgotten her own, or maybe she never knew it at all.

“You are in room nineteen, the bar is downstairs, and remember no loud noises and no jerky movements”.

Her room was at the end of the corridor. She lay down on the rigid mattress looking at the fan on the ceiling. She was tired and wished to close her eyes and sleep but she found it impossible to relax. She felt that she was not alone, she could almost smell the lingering souls in the air. A drink was what she needed now.

There was nobody in the bar. She sat on a stool looking at her reflection in the mirror behind the bottles. But was it her reflection?

“Hello there”, she heard a voice behind her.

M turned around but it was too dark to discern the details of this figure. She was not even sure if it was male or female.

“Hello there” she said “are you the bartender?”

Her question caused a sudden burst of contemptious laughter to arise from the opposite part

“There is no bartender dear, it’s self-service, don’t you know?” it said as it walked around the bar and stood directly opposite M.

M could now see it more clearly. From the figure she conclude that it was a woman although her features were harsh, androgynous. Her hair was blond, too blond to be real.

“I am elma, and you must be Ava” she said in a staccato tone.

M nodded affirmatively with bewilderment in her eyes.

“Well... Ava I will be nice enough to make you a drink”, she stated and started mixing a variety of fluids which she poured in a tall glass and offered it to M.

“Cheers my sweet!” Elma said as she raised the brown bottle that she was drinking from.

M did not want to drink the milky concuction but she realized that she did not have a choice. So, she raised the glass and drank the content in fast, consecutive gulps. The drink was insipid but it left a distinctive aftertaste.

M tried to avoid Elma’s eyes but she could feel her intense stare and this made her increasingly uneasy. She wished to run away but her mind was getting muddled and her body was weak. It took all the strength and determination that she could master to stagger back to her room. But this was no escape.

Elma raised the brown bottled and emptied it entirely in her mouth as she stood in the doorway of room nineteen. Then she slowly started to approach the bed.

M knew that it was now inevitable. This is how it must be and she had to be brave.

Elma was unconscious when M opened her eyes. She did not know how much time had passed. Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months. Nine months? Her mind was as clear as never before and she knew exactly what to do.

First she tore the blond wig off elma’s head. Then she took the bottle and while uttering a stentorian cry of deliverance she slammed it against the wall with all her might. Taking a sharp piece she slashed elma’s body. The blood blended with the dust and formed a red mud that slowly swallowed the bed together with the psycheless body.