Muzak

It was dark and warm when she stumbled out into the street, and a fine drizzle was falling. She couldn't remember where she was or how she'd got there, but that was a familiar experience and she no longer found it especially alarming.

It hadn't always been so. The first few times she'd come to herself in alien surroundings, in the middle of activities she couldn't explain, it had gripped her with an unholy terror that lasted for days after. What was she doing? What could have led her there? What on earth had been going on during the missing time?

On one of those early occasions she'd found herself at a dinner table with complete strangers, mid-sentence in some impassioned discussion; as the words died in her mouth she could see her companions' expressions falter and the chatter and laughter gradually stilled. She'd gazed around at them all, imploring, desperately trying to connect, but there'd been nothing. Nothing but confusion and hostility and a mute absence of help.

"I'm sorry," she'd whispered, and had clutched at the tablecloth as she scrambled, bewildered, to her feet, tipping over glasses and plates and sending cutlery clattering to the floor. "I'm sorry," ashen faced, "I'm sorry..." And fled, never to see any of them again.

Another time she'd found herself on the roof of a tall building, right at the edge, with the city laid out beneath her. Staggering back from that dizzying drop, she'd imagined, just for a tiny moment, that she wasn't alone, that she was surrounded by friends and lovers and they were there to do the worst and most important thing any of them would ever do. Even in the heat of the midsummer sun she could feel the faintest echo of the sting of sleet against her cheek and her fingers were chilled to the bone. But there was no-one else there. It was bright and clear and she knew that as long as she stayed away from the edge, quietly made her way back to the service stairs and down and away, as long as no-one ever knew she'd been there, she'd be safe.

And as the years passed, and it kept happening, it slowly dawned on her that she was always safe after these episodes, and she learned to fear them less. She came to understand that the source of the terror -- the idea that there might be something else happening in those blank times, something that might have a life beyond them -- that might pursue her back into real life and threaten her there -- was nothing but a foolish nightmare. She learned to live with her odd interruptions, her permanent uncertainty, because ultimately she knew it could never hurt her.

Still, it could certainly make life a little complicated at times.

Out into the warm, damp night, then, and trying to get her bearings. A parade of unremarkable shops, withdrawn behind shutters and grilles; lights still on in The Two Chairmen, the blurred silhouette of a barmaid cleaning up just visible through grimy frosted glass; dull grind of late traffic several streets away briefly drowned out by the diesel growl of a passing taxi not for hire.

Where am I? she asked herself, feeling like a B-movie amnesiac. Where am I this time?

Muffled music leaked from an open window above, sounds of a party that had never got going. Some easy-listening favourite she couldn't quite make out. Was that where she'd come from? Where she'd spent the evening? There was the aftertaste of wine in her mouth and she felt a little tipsy, so perhaps. Her watch told her it was a little after midnight, and she couldn't bring herself to care.

She looked up and down the road, trying to dowse the direction most likely to lead to a way home. There were no obvious street signs, no bus stops with handy maps and lists of destinations. The sky was dark and featureless; not that she'd have been equipped to navigate by the stars had there been any. She stood, irresolute, knowing she'd just have to pick some direction and walk in it, unable quite to do so.

"Look a little lost, girly."

She spun, alarmed, but there was no-one to be seen.

"Um... Hello?"

"Don't look so scared, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm right here."

A small movement caught her eye, and there he was, sitting in the front seat of one of the parked cars, smirking up at her, eyes twinkling. She could almost swear he hadn't been there a second before, that the car had been locked up and empty; but she also knew she was still a little fuddled. It must just be that.

"You startled me."

"Sorry, girl, not my intention, not at all. Just trying to help. You look a little lost, as I said."

"Yes. I suppose I am. Can you tell me where I am?"

"That I can. Oh yes, that I can."

She waited, but the man didn't seem in a hurry to volunteer more. He smirked again, and his eyes looked oddly colourless under the harsh yellow glare of the streetlights. She felt vaguely discomfited, and not inclined to be patient.

"So? Where am I?"

"At a turning point, girl. That's where you are. What this is. Can't you feel it?"

"Not as such, no." She sighed. "I was hoping for something a little more practical. Geographical. I'm trying to get back to Bethnal Green."

"Are you sure about that?"

Irritation got the better of her.

"Yes, for Christ's sake. Of course I'm sodding sure. And I can do without all this cryptic bollocks."

"You can? That's a pity, girly, it really is. But, as you wish."

"What I wish is that you'd just tell me the way to go home. It's late and I'm in no mood for riddles."

The man's expression was unreadable. For a moment he seemed indecisive, dithering, but the insouciance returned before she was even sure it had been away.

"Who ever is? Home, you say? Get in then, and I'll drive you there."

There was no reason to trust him; the reverse, if anything. But somehow she found herself getting into the car.

"You know the way?"

"Aye. I know the way. I've always known it."

The passenger side window was open, and she left it, despite the rain, not knowing why.

"Is it far?"

"No, not far."

As they drove off, the last few bars of music drifted in through the window, and she finally recognised its languid tune. The Girl from Ipanema.

"It's not far at all. Not this time..."
Posted by matt at July 29, 2005 10:57 PM