Lozium

It was raining when we landed in Mexico. I felt the heat in my chest as we walked from the airport to the coach, it squeezed my lungs and made my oesophagus feel tender. My mind flicked to my asthma pump, but I didn’t have the energy to dig it from my bag. 

 I leaned against the window of the coach, exhausted from the flight, pissed off at the weather. I didn’t leave London for more rain. 

 Lena sat beside me, annoyance at my attitude radiating from her. 

 I watched the Mexican motorway roll past, the view obscured by the trails of water running down the pane. I wished she’d reach out, I wanted the familiarity of her hand curled into mine. She was reading. 

 The coach was air-conditioned. Although I could breathe better, I shivered in the chill. Lena gave me her flight blanket, and I tucked it over my lap. I tried to lean my head on her shoulder, but I felt her tense and shrug me off. I frowned and sighed. 

 Three years and a few months into our relationship, we had booked the holiday in an unspoken final try to let what was between us breathe again. If it could. But it seemed that Lena was unable to provide the subtle comforts I ached for. And I was repeatedly failing to hold my tongue and swallow it. 

 By the time we reached the resort, I had dozed off. Lena nudged me roughly and hassled me to tip the driver. I couldn’t see why she couldn’t sort it and get even later. In my post-sleep crankiness, I shoved whatever note I found first into the driver’s pot. I waited impatiently to retrieve my bag, and after forty minutes of standing and sitting and standing in the lobby, we were finally taken to our hotel building. 

 My eyes swept over the place. The bathroom had an immaculate step-in stone shower, a rounded mirror above the sink, a small low white toilet. I looked about the bedroom. Large dark wardrobe. A TV. Two double beds. We’d argued about that. 

 

 There was a balcony, more than big enough for its black metal table and accompanying chairs. Two of them. I floated for a moment in a fantasy of Lena and I sitting at that table on the balcony, talking into the early hours of the morning. 

‘Are you doing that now?’ I asked. 

 Lena was one for unpacking; she had her suitcase open on her bed, and was moving her toiletries into the bathroom. I fell onto the other bed, closest to the balcony. Tiredness moulded me into the pillow and my eyelids drooped. My chest still felt tender.

‘Are you going to sleep now?’ 

‘No. I’m just closing my eyes.’ 

 I heard Lena fiddle with the TV, flicking through the channels for something English. She was the only person who hated my fatigue more than me. 

 I heard her fuss with the temperature panel, heard the air-conditioning come on. As the coolness spread around the room, I felt my chest ease a little and drifted off. 

 I woke up an hour later. Coming to took a while, I had to remember that I wasn’t in my bed at home, or in Lena’s at hers. I wasn’t in London, wasn’t even in England. I was on the other side of the world. Mexico hadn’t made a great impression on me so far, was no less bleak than the city I had left. I looked over at Lena reading on her bed, and a wave of loneliness washed over me. 

 I sat up, habitually checked my phone. Out of range. I rubbed my eyes and looked over at Lena. No visual acknowledgement. 

‘Do you want to go to dinner?’ she asked quietly, after a moment. 

‘Yeah. Just let me change quick,’ I muttered. 

 

 I peeled my jeans off. The rain had made it humid. Humidity wasn’t good for my asthma. After changing into black cotton trousers and a vest top, I found my pump and inhaled deeply. Lena eyed me suspiciously, as though I might be exaggerating. I knew what she thought of me. 

 But she surprised me before we left. Before pulling the handle to open the door, she slipped her hand around my waist, pulled me close, and kissed me. The Carmex she always wore made my lips tingle. I hugged her close, burying my head into her neck. I stood there breathing her in to stop myself from crying. I pulled away. For a moment, we held each other’s gaze. A sadness passed between us, and then we left for dinner. 

 There was no hand-holding on the walk to the main dining room. I knew there wouldn’t be, even though I always hoped. I listened to the crickets and thought back to being a child in the Gran Canarias with my mum and dad, how excited I was to be in a new place.  

 The room was circular, with a dome-shaped roof. The walls were a light pink, the detailing in beige and gold. Nice non-offensive decor. This was what all-inclusive meant. Lena seemed happy. 

‘Ola,’ she said to the host, smiling brightly. It was a beautiful smile, but I was still tired and my cognition was slow; I was oddly unable to make the connection between that smile and my girlfriend. I followed her numbly to our table. Lena ordered amaretto and coke, and I imitated. I smiled vaguely at the host as he left for our drinks. The food was all self-service.

‘Are you coming? He’ll leave our drinks,’ she said. 

 ‘Oh, sure. I can’t wait to see what they’ve got.’

 I followed her down three beige steps to the buffet. There were a lot of dishes on offer, some traditional but mostly international. Lena headed towards traditional. Presented with food, I realised I wasn’t hungry. And definitely not in the mood to attempt anything other than simple carbohydrate-based food. I drifted around the pizza before settling for two slices of margherita. 

 

 Lena was back at the table already eating when I sat down opposite her. 

‘Are you alright?’ she asked, looking at my plate. 

‘Hmm? I’m just tired, babe,’ I answered quietly.

 I picked up my drink to delay the process of eating. The coke was cool against my throat, the amaretto sweet. I finished it in one. Lena watched me place the empty glass down. I caught her eyes, and all I could see was the two double beds back in our hotel room. 

‘I’m thirsty,’ I said with a sigh. 

‘I didn’t say anything.’ 

‘You didn’t need to.’ 

 I heard the frustration in my voice and instantly regretted it. 

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really am just tired. From the flight. The longest -’ 

‘You’ve been on. I know. It’s OK. We’ll go to bed, get some sleep.’ 

‘Maybe we could have a lay-in tomorrow,’ I suggested. Lena frowned. 

 ‘Actually, I was thinking about getting up early, meeting the rep, booking some things for later on in the week.’ 

‘Oh right. OK.’ 

 I took a bite of the pizza. Chewed. Swallowed. A waiter came over to offer more drinks. Lena declined. I ordered a double vodka and coke. I didn’t meet her eyes. Of course she didn’t want a lay-in: it meant potential intimacy. Maybe she thought I’d switch moods mid-sex. Not to say that it hadn’t happened before. On occasion I’d be energetic to begin with and then worm-like until we finished. It was a zoning out of sorts, and Lena never reached any further to pull me back and anchor me to the present. There was no stay with me now baby, nothing to halt the empty fog that would seep in unexpectedly. 

 

 I gulped my vodka and coke down, finished my slice of pizza. I ate the second and ordered a third drink. I went to the toilet, couldn’t figure out how to flush it. 

       ‘It never occurred to me that a Mexican toilet might have a different flush system. Seriously. I didn’t even know that was a thing,’ I told Lena back at the table. 

‘You’re shouting,’ she replied. She popped an olive into her mouth. 

‘No I’m not. I’m projecting because I’m amazed.’ 

‘It’s not that big a deal.’ 

‘A different flush system? That’s huge -’ 

‘Please, Em…’ 

‘What? What the fuck have I done now?’ 

‘You’re drunk. We’re leaving.’ She spat the stone out. 

 I swallowed my third drink whole. I motioned to the waiter for a fourth. 

‘That had better be it,’ Lena warned. 

‘Excuse me?’

        ‘After this one, Emmy. That had better be the last drink you have tonight.’ 

‘Lena, I’ve had three drinks. Chill out.’

‘You’ve had doubles.’ 

         ‘And what are you? The drink police? I didn’t know I had a drink allowance.’ 

         ‘I didn’t say that. But it’ll make you feel worse,’ she said, looking down at her own glass. I looked at her closely. 

         ‘How could I possibly feel any worse?’ I asked. I heard the bitterness in my voice. I sounded ungrateful. Lena heard it too. I looked away, fixed my attention to one of the other tourists – a middle-aged man in a white shirt open at the collar. He hovered around the noodles, before turning his attention to the woman who had just approached him. She put her hand on his back, and he smiled widely at her. I looked at Lena. She was looking at me. 

‘Do you know what country you’re in?’ she hissed. 

         ‘Me-hi-co,’ I hiccupped. She shook her head. I was being facetious, and we both knew it. 

         ‘Look, it’s all-inclusive, the drinks are free. Like… We should be having fun. We’re in this amazing place -’ 

         ‘Really, Emmy? I hadn’t noticed. Your face said something else when you came off that plane.’ 

‘That’s uncalled for – I told you I was tired OK -’

‘You’re always tired.’ 

 I said nothing. The waiter returned with my drink. I offered a half-hearted gracias before taking a sip. I could feel the weight of the alcohol. Lena stared at the dome-shaped roof. I stared at the glass double doors. 

        ‘Can we go now?’ she asked, still staring at the roof. I rotated the ice in my glass, took another mouthful and stood up. Lena walked ahead of me, and in letting her pass first, I knocked my own chair over. 

 

 

Back at the hotel, I studied myself in the mirror while I washed my hands. Definitely drunk. I didn’t like what I saw. The roots of my hair were frizzy from regrowth. I’d put on weight recently, and it was noticeable in my rounder face. And my eyes – well, there was nothing there, just pools of brown nothing. No wonder Lena was the way she was with me. 

       ‘Feeling better?’ Lena was sarcastic.
       ‘Not quite,’ I replied regally, ignoring her tone. I marched from the bathroom, through the room and opened the patio doors and stepped onto the balcony. Dragging one of the chairs against the terracotta tiles, I positioned myself in the direction of the man-made beach, watched the waves foaming over the tops of the palm trees that decorated the walkways. 

 From the periphery I saw the light go off in the room. It made me angry. I didn’t know why. I clenched my hand into a fist. A bubble of deep frustration pulsed in my stomach. I wanted to scream. To howl. To rage. 

 I breathed in and I breathed out, closed my eyes, listened to the lizards scurrying in the damp brush. The faint sound of the sea, the warm breeze stroking palm leaves into rhythm – 

‘Are you coming to bed?’ 

 Lena was at the patio door. Despite the disturbance in my mindfulness I took her in in the half-light. Wearing just a t-shirt and knickers, I looked at her toned thighs and wanted to kiss them. I loved her. In the most indescribable ways, everything about her made sense to me. But somehow, there was something stuck between us, the stone that stops the wheel turning. I looked away. 

‘In a minute,’ I replied, huskily. 

My throat was dry and I needed water. I was sobering up. I felt Lena’s hand on my shoulder. Unexpectedly, she bent down and kissed my neck. I didn’t move.

 

      ‘I love you. And I’m sorry.’ She kissed my neck again, grazing her teeth on my earlobe. Then she turned my face to hers, kissed me slowly. She was sorry. She took my hand and I got up and followed her into the room, to her bed. We left the patio door open, made love to the sound of the Mexican nighttime. 

 Sometime afterwards, around three, I untangled her from me. There was a tremor in my stomach that I couldn’t sleep with. It turned over and over inside me, and I was starting to feel nauseous. I crossed over the room to my bed, grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on. I bent in front of my suitcase, still unpacked on the floor. I lifted the lid slowly, listening for any disruption in the rhythm of Lena’s breathing. I fumbled in an inside pocket for my notebook and pen. In the dark room, with only a faint orange glow from a light at the side of building, I wrote in the back of my notebook:  I’m leaving you after this trip.