“Were you looking at me?” she asks.
Even though her voice is not what I expected then, it’s all right.
“Yes.”
I hope to score her quickly. She smiles and whispers to me. “Why?”
I smell her neck and whisper back to her. “Cause I want you.”
She is still for a moment. Then she takes my hand and leads me to the lavatories. The moment we get inside, I turn her towards me and start to kiss her. We enter one of the cubicles and we paw and tear at each other like wild animals. My blood races. I come alive. I stroke her arse and her back. Her breathing deepens. I pin her against the wall and kiss her while I slip my hand under her T-shirt. Her breasts are not particularly big and they are lovely to touch. Her nipples, which I’m busy kissing, are hard. I move my hand from her breasts and down across her stomach. When I reach her belly button, she closes her eyes and starts to pant. I lead my hand away from her belly button and slip my fingertips inside the lining of her trousers. I move my fingers further down because I can wait no longer. Wet. My blood is pumping through my body. I close my eyes and everything inside me starts to burn. I plant wet kisses on her neck and her moaning grows louder. I look down and discover a tattoo on her stomach which I don’t recognize. I feel dizzy and I steady myself by taking deep breaths. I feel her tremble violently and I remove my hand from her and support my back against the wall and my hands on my knees. She comes over to me and gives me wet kisses on my neck. I want to, but I just can’t do it. I can’t do it. I’m overcome by nausea, I push her away and I leave. I stumble through the crowd which has grown larger, looking for the exit. I get outside and I throw up for what seems like forever while I rest my hands against the wall. During a brief pause, I try desperately to drag oxygen into my lungs so as not to suffocate and then I start to throw up again. I still feel queasy, but appear to have puked up all my guts as nothing more comes out. My throat is burning. In order to get my breathing under control, I stand with my head lowered while I inhale deeply.
Someone touches my shoulder and I turn my head.
“Are you OK?”
The petite woman looks to be around fifty or maybe more. I nod while I carry on trying to breathe. She takes my arm and slowly leads me to her car. The tall black SUV is elegant and looks comfortable. She leaves me next to the car while she fetches something from the driver’s seat. She returns with a bottle of water and helps me to drink from it. As my breathing stabilizes, distressing thoughts start to creep up on me again. I discover that I have feelings…
I go limp and I start to cry. The woman sits down next to me and puts her arms around me for a long time.
“Do you need something? How can I help you?”
Her voice is gentle and comforting. I can’t give her an answer because I’m bawling my eyes out and I can’t breathe. She holds me tight, refuses to let go. My sobbing is so convulsive that I have to force myself to stop. The woman dries my tears and waits patiently until I become lucid. Neither the pain in my throat nor my desperate sobs hurt me because my heart suffers more.
“Can you take me to San Francisco? Please, please, please?”
I burst into tears again. She embraces me in silence and strokes my hair.
“Yes, of course. I’m heading that way so I might as well take you, mightn’t I?”
She comforts me. I nod my head and dry my eyes, hugely relieved. The big seats in the car are covered with light brown leather. The seat on which I sit is so soft that my body relaxes instantly.
I look at the woman, my saviour. She turns to me frequently with a concerned smile and I start to feel safe. The fine, fragrant car is almost silent and makes me sleepy. I abandon my efforts to count street lights.
“What’s your name?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Danielle Michel,” she replies kindly.
“Hello, Mrs Michel. Thank you very much for helping me.”
I am on the verge of crying again, but I swallow my tears. She makes no reply, but touches my arm and smiles gently. She clears her throat and makes to speak. I don’t mind.
“Where are you from?”
I am tempted to say that I am from Japan, but I can’t lie to a person with such a big heart.
“I’m from Greenland.”
I’m reminded of Suffia and am tempted to giggle, but when I can’t manage it, I remain silent.
“Why are you so far away from home?”
She asks casually and even though I don’t feel like telling her, I can no longer control my mouth.
“I’ve lost someone.”
I can feel that Mrs Michel is struck by grief and struggles to find the words.
“Who?”
Her voice makes me feel so safe that I want to answer, but I can’t recall anything.
“I can’t remember,” I reply without lying.
I am relieved that Mrs Michel doesn’t think I am insane; instead she looks at me with understanding and unprejudiced eyes. The pain in my heart floats away. I realize that it is morning and that Mrs Michel has a calming effect on me, so I find the courage to look at her without worrying about it. From time to time she touches my arm to ask if I need something. I know perfectly well that there is something in my mind and heart that I need to explore and resolve, but right now I am at ease. We drive for a while in silence. We arrive at Salt Lake City and the many hours we have been driving feel like a short period of time. I am so comfortable that I stay in the car while Mrs Michel gets out to do some shopping.
She returns, hands me a cup of coffee from Starbucks and turns to me. “Sweetheart, what is Greenland like?”
She smiles faintly. I try in vain to think of an appropriate answer.
“It’s cold,” I then say.
We start the car and drive on. Mrs Michel’s questions become more frequent which makes my body grow restless.
“What do you do in Greenland? When did you come to the States? Are you visiting someone in San Francisco?”
Every time I have to reply that I don’t know and every time my heart beats faster. Why can’t I give her an answer? Why can’t I remember anything? What am I doing here? What am I doing in San Francisco? As I have not thought so profoundly for a long time, I struggle to come up with a reply. Just as we are about to cross a large bridge, a magical city appears and it dazzles me. My emotions intensify. Whether it is from joy or grief, I don’t know. But I feel too much.
“SF”—San Francisco. When I see the big sign, I become nervous and my heart hurts. Mrs Michel senses my anxiety and takes my hand. She does not let go of me. A feeling of loss overwhelms me and I focus on my breathing so as not to panic. SF. Now I’m here.
The streets in the city centre have no specific directions. Up, down, right, forwards, left, down, up, backwards. It is undoubtedly an enchanted city. I know people call it “gay town”. There are cable cars here, small, open trams that you see everywhere. You can follow tall buildings into infinity. Outside the windows, clothes have been hung out to dry next to the dried fish. People look down from the windows and admire the city from the top. I spot the great ocean which I have not seen for an eternity and am reminded of Greenland. I get a little homesick. Mrs Michel asks me to look at her and I become aware that she wants to tell me something.
“I have to move on. Go for a walk and get some fresh air. Search carefully for the things you repress and don’t be afraid of them. You take care of yourself now.”
She puts her arms around me, and even though I don’t want her to leave, all I can do is let her go. My throat starts to well up.