Carried Away

by Whitney Williams

  I awkwardly pulled in more of my hands-free breakfast while I looked out at the city and the harbor, so normal in the daylight but still anxiously haunted by the night before.

  Standing there with that thick, red, shag carpet under my toes, I saw my reflection. I was starting to realize I was free and to accept that I was never going back. That thought made me sleepy. I had been through a lot. I ferreted back under the covers and dozed off.

  --Gretchen--

  Dear Diary,

  It’s done. By now, Reggie is off to Annapolis, and I’ll never see him again. The only thing I think I’ll miss about him is being called Geegee. I never told anyone I went by that name back in England. He just made it up on his own. It was cute and made me feel young. I guess it reminded me of a time before I knew about grief.

  Then again, maybe it was the clouds. I’ve flown plenty but it’s totally different in the pilot’s seat. When Reggie took me up in his dad’s Cessna, he was always pointing out things on the ground. That’s silly. I looked the first few times, but then I just ignored him.

  I like looking at the clouds. Sometimes they’re laid out like a fluffy quilt, and the plane tucks you in and wraps them around you. Sometimes they just float along out there in the sky, doing their own thing. Clouds don’t care about much—about anything, really. They’re so calm and peaceful. I liked to try to forget that he was there with me and imagine I was just drifting along with them, going wherever they go. Clouds have no memories, no desires. I wish I were one of them.

  Oh, and in case you were wondering, sex is awkward and painful. I hope it gets better with practice.

  - gg

  Chapter Four – Everything She Ever Wanted

  --Sally--

  The phone rang. With my arms tied behind me, I had to pick it up with my foot, drop it on the bed, then roll up to it. “Hello?”

  I heard a woman’s familiar voice. “Good. You’re there. He is on his way back to—”

  “Yumiko-sensei! Is that you? Are you OK?” I couldn’t imagine the things they must have done to her after we left, and I was glad I couldn’t. “I begged to go back, but he said it was your idea! Were you hurt?” I spewed questions at her without waiting for answers. She kept talking even though I wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

  “LISTEN TO ME!!!” Her cry sounded desperate, scared, despite her stifling it down to a normal volume. For a moment, the only sound was the jagged hiss of a bad phone line. Was she calling from a pay phone? Perfectly calm again, she said, “He has a headache, a migraine, and he is headed back to the hotel. You must turn out all the lights and close all the blinds. Do not talk to him. Stay out of his way. There is nothing we can do for him.”

  It felt good to hear Yumiko-sensei refer to herself and me as ‘we,’ not just because I admired her but because I had seen what she could—and would—do to people she disliked. I was sorry I had interrupted her at first. She was my friend.

  She continued, “I have to go home, but Gretchen is on her way. She cannot get there until tomorrow morning. He has a morning flight, but she should be there in time. Let him sleep until she arrives.”

  Gretchen? Was that the name of the gorgeous assistant from the airport? If so, I had guessed the first letter correctly.

  “Do not fail me, Shikomi-san.” She addressed me as her inferior with both title and tone. “If you cause him any pain, I will know it. I will know it, and I will hold you personally responsible for every moment of it.” Her threat chilled me. Behind our bad connection’s static, I heard a garbled moan that I only inferred to mean ‘final boarding call’ when she said, “I have to go,” and hung up.

  I don’t mind having my arms tied behind my back, but in that situation, it wouldn’t do. Razor blade? No. Letter opener? No. Butter knife? No, but that banana is coming with me.

  I squatted on the balcony with my back to the railing from which I had hung the night before. When I found a convenient edge, I started working the silk back and forth, breaking a few strands at a time. With that underway, I half-bit the top of the banana and pulled back the stem, peeling it down one side. It was ripe enough I had no trouble eating it out of its peel. Chewing a banana doesn’t take a lot of concentration. It didn’t slow down my rhythmic picking against the wrought iron. That was slow work but a solved problem, only a matter of time.

  He had a migraine? I could take care of all the lights and sounds. Actually, I thought I should probably leave the phone plugged in in case Gretchen called. Or maybe not. Could there really be nothing to do but stay out of his way?

  Despite Yumiko-sensei’s threat, I decided not to believe that. I wouldn’t jump him as soon as he opened the door, but surely there would be something I could do. Maybe I just didn’t like the thought of being helpless.

  My wrists broke loose, but there was a band near my elbows I couldn’t shrug off. I started working it and decided I’d have a look in the mirror if it wasn’t the last.

  I prepared everything quickly and carefully. There are lots of little lights you don’t normally notice: clocks, appliances, smoke detectors. I turned the sheets down in a full triangle and moved some furniture to make the path from the front door to the bed a little wider. I considered drawing a hot bath. He would need to hear either the water or my voice to know it, and sounds were out. They hadn’t replaced the robe and slippers, so the best I could do for clothing was a towel. I didn’t need to be dressed, but I felt like I should. I had responsibilities.

  From a chair in the bedroom, I heard the suite’s door open and close, then fabric hit the floor. He had shed his suit jacket but still wore the tie. With no regard for its covers, he walked straight to the side of the bed and eased himself down onto it, as if he had tripped over it and fallen on his face in slow motion. That was it. The least I could do was take his shoes off. I snuck up on them and eased their thin, black laces undone. Socks were trickier, since they touched his skin directly, but doable. I emptied his pockets, removed his cufflinks, and unbuttoned his sleeves. That was all I could get. He was half on top of the sheets, but I thought I recalled finding an extra blanket in a closet when we arrived.

  Much to my surprise, he moved, rolling slowly onto his back, then putting his hands over his eyes. I cursed the daylight leaking around the curtains, but I had a towel handy, soft and warm. Unwrapping myself, I laid it gently over his face, folded it back, then forward again, tripling it over his eyes and leaving his nose and mouth uncovered. His hands slid down from his face to rest on his chest.

  I felt victorious and relieved, like a climber hanging at the end of a rope who had pulled herself up a foot or two. Having that slack made me optimistic. I started working his pants.

  He made no complaints when I touched him gently, even if I moved one of his arms or legs. I got him undressed and tucked in (though without a pillow), but it wasn’t enough. Something about his breathing spoke to me of pain. Mounting the bed, I knelt with his head between my knees. My hair could block out the curtains’ dim glow as well as or better than the towel. It also felt softer. It felt more personal. I had a glass of water ready by the bed, and I tried dabbing some of it on his forehead. That was no good, my first error. I knew that rubbing the temples could improve circulation. That was strike two. Looking down at his strained face below me, I decided to go down swinging.

  I remembered the first time he kissed me, how his hand behind my neck had relaxed my entire body. It took enough pressure to feel it in my muscles. If I was wrong, Yumiko-sensei was going to kill me. At least I hoped that was all she’d do.

  I laid my fingertips lightly on his neck, then drug them around behind it, one hand above the other. I slowly squeezed until my fingers stopped, feeling the hardness of bone. Except it wasn’t bone. I was barely depressing his skin. I squeezed harder, but nothing gave. I knew no anatomy beyond Halloween skeletons. What if I was wrong? I squeezed as hard as I could, adding my thumbs along the sides of his neck. I let go immediately when his brow twitched. I thought I might have hurt
him, but no, thank goodness.

  His expression softened. I slipped my fingers back in to try his shoulders. They were just as hard, but I knew there couldn’t be bone where the trapezius belonged. I jerked away from him when he started to move as if to sit up. That couldn’t be a good sign. Instead, he pushed himself up closer to me and lay back with my knees digging in behind the muscles of his shoulders. His head brushed past my breasts as he laid it back into my lap, resting it on my thighs. I leaned over him, cradled his face gently between my hands, and he sighed.

  I woke to the tickle of fiery, red hair. I was right. Gretchen was the woman I had seen before and nicknamed Gorgeous. I held his head in my feet, having shifted in the night, and was propped up on my elbows with my hands on his chest. My head hung down above his neck, and my breasts dragged his forehead. I wasn’t sure why that felt good. Maybe I was trying to heal him solely by the force of my femininity. I did wish I could.

  Gretchen had curly hair, not super tight and frizzy and not just a little wavy like mine, somewhere in the happy medium. She wore it tied back, but it still hung down and tickled my arm and leg as she whispered in his ear.

  “Henry?” So that was his name! “Henry, can you hear me?” I was dumbstruck by the fact that I had never heard his name before. Even more astonishing was that I had never wondered. He, Henry, was my focal point, antecedent to all my pronouns. In my mind, I was Me and he was Him, simple as that.

  I had never given him my name either, and I also hadn’t noticed that I had not. Even when I wasn’t with him, Henry, I felt like he, Henry, knew exactly where I was and I would inevitably return to him, Henry, like a paddleball. Why would he need to know my name if I would always be right there?

  He was still asleep, but I wasn’t. I lifted my groggy head and pulled my hair to one side to shield against the morning sun seeping in. Gretchen was still whispering, barely audible, “Good morning, Darling; wake up.” I moved a hand to massage his shoulder. He was still tense, but I had to go deeper for that rock-hard tension from the night before. He inhaled deeply and exhaled. Gretchen touched my knee to thank me. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Not...right...now,” he whispered. I was relieved to hear his voice, well, to hear something. He had seemed dead to the world before, and I missed him.

  “Oh, Henry,” she continued until her voice trailed off, “you’ll work yourself into an early grave if you never...” Then her forehead hit the mattress while she sighed her frustrated concern. She began again. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  She soon returned from the bathroom with a small tub (the ice bucket) of warm water and some washcloths. I had always assumed that a sponge bath would involve sponges, but even today I have still never given, received, seen or heard of a sponge bath using an actual sponge. Gretchen worked smoothly, gently, patiently, singing sweet nothings the entire time.

  I’ll never learn to sing like Gretchen. Doing it so quietly is neigh impossible. She made it seem like she was just idly humming to herself to pass the time. Having tried now to learn to do it, I am that much more amazed that she got him so clean at the same time.

  Then she brushed his teeth, dancing gracefully past his clumsy attempt to seize the brush from her. I wasn’t expecting that. When she finished, she took a sip from the glass of water I had left by the bed, then she kissed him, opening her lips to offer him the water. He swished it around, rinsing his mouth out. She leaned in again to kiss him, but he waved her off, reaching blindly for the glass. I thought the first kiss was a neat trick, but I couldn’t say I’d have gone for the second. We had exchanged a lot of bodily fluids over the past couple of days, but for some reason, oddly, that seemed too much.

  He had sat up on the edge of the bed in the course of rinsing out his mouth, but he kept his eyes closed and moved very slowly. Gretchen helped him into a soft, silk, beautiful robe she had with her, almost a smoking jacket. Crouching to look up into his closed eyes, she asked if it was too bright.

  “Yes, a little,” he whispered.

  She unbuttoned the top of her dark green, high-necked suit, took it off and put it over his head upside-down, tying the sleeves under his chin to form a makeshift cowl. She really was gorgeous, smooth, fair skin, bright green eyes that matched the lacy brazier straining to hold back her ample breasts. She didn’t look top-heavy like I did sometimes. Her wide hips flared out in perfect balance under her matching mid-length skirt. She was much heavier than me, but she carried it so well I felt skeletal and ghoulish next to her.

  She is the reason there are so many statues of naked women around Paris. They have been trying for centuries to make one that looked like her, but they still haven’t gotten it right.

  Gretchen had packed everything before waking him up, and the suitcases were already by the door. It looked like we were about to leave, and I was still naked. Having lost my clothes was starting to be a problem.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Love,” Gretchen noticed. “I thought there would be another robe in the room. I’ll go fetch one from the desk.”

  The hotel’s fluffy white towels were becoming my new wardrobe. They were generously sized, so I wrapped myself up and whispered to Gretchen that I was OK. I didn’t think we’d be going far with Henry in his robe and her in her skirt and bra. I’d probably end up in the suitcase again anyway.

  I asked her if we had time to get him to his flight, to which she said, “No worries, Love. I’ll take care of it.”

  When he stood up, I took his hand to lead him out since his cowl only showed him the floor beneath his feet. Gretchen picked up the suitcases, and we left. Her driver was waiting downstairs and saw us coming. I didn’t want to let go of Henry’s hand, so I crawled backwards into the car, leading him in.

  We left the hotel and spent some time driving. I didn’t really pay attention. Eventually we stopped, but then Gretchen spoke to the driver again and pointed where she wanted him to go. We were at a little airstrip, not the airport. Several small planes were parked out on the tarmac, and we pulled up right next to one of them. Gretchen got out, reached up under the plane and somehow made its door unfold to form stairs. She opened the car door behind me and whispered, “Ready.”

  The tarmac felt hot under my feet, but not unbearably so. I backed up the stairs in front of Henry, and held my hands out with the top edge of the airplane’s door behind my wrists so he wouldn’t hit is head. The plane was a small jet, only wide enough for the two plush recliners facing each other and the aisle beside them. I sat him in the far one and closed all the windows. There was still too much light. I went back to the door, still open, and saw Gretchen walking back toward the plane from a nearby building. Beauty cascaded from her every ounce, every contour, every motion. Yumiko-sensei was made of hardened steel and pierced any heart she chose. Gretchen was made of enriched uranium and the shockwave from her smile destroyed the city, vaporizing seven million human hearts in a giant mushroom cloud.

  When she boarded, I asked her how long until our pilot (I, we, had not just drivers, but pilots!) would get there. Pulling the door closed by the rickety-looking handrail of its stairs, she casually answered, “I’ve got it, Love.”

  Gretchen, still in her pumps, skirt and bra, swung around into the pilot’s seat, put on a little headset and started flipping switches. Really? The sexy assistant flies the jet? The engines cut on and spun up into a low whine. Apparently so.

  I quaintly remembered being so tickled with myself, thinking I was a moving hard-on in heels, and I lifted a bare foot to brush the dust from its sole. I wasn’t used to walking barefoot, and I felt kind of awkward about it. For that matter, I wasn’t used to wearing short sleeves, much less walking around wrapped in only a towel. I nervously smoothed it and foolishly tried to pull the bottom lower and the top higher at the same time.

  Nudity has a funny way of sticking to your skin until it sinks in, seeps into your blood and redefines you. The first glob of it hit me hard the night before I left, after I waxed, painfully ripping away my body’s
last layer of defense, and touched my newly smooth and tender skin. The past week had smeared that feeling all over me, dabbing it on thicker every time I was touched, every time I was seen. Thinking about myself and the dancing attorney and the singing jet pilot (and what was next?), I suddenly felt inescapable, unconcealable, hopelessly permanent nakedness running thick and pure inside me. I wanted to hide, to cover up every part of me that might be lacking or imperfect. All my insecurities lay bare, completely unguarded. I guess my normal clothes made me feel camouflaged among everyone else. I wasn’t. The biggest, fluffiest towel ever made could not have changed that.

  Going to Henry, I converted my wrapping into a small blanket to lay across my hips and his lap, and I slid a hand into his robe to rub his shoulder. At least I was still a smart accessory for the well-heeled, gentleman traveler. Hopefully that would do for a while.

  I felt so unprepared. Gretchen underscored the point when she turned to look back at me, speaking with her full, clarion voice for the first time. “Hang on, Love, little bumpy going up.” Then she winked. KABOOM!!! FWOOSH!

  I don’t know where we landed, never asked. It was an island. Actually, it might not have been. I only remember it that way because we were on the beach the whole time.

  After Gretchen parked the plane, she left to go get a car. That took some time. Henry had woken up while we landed, and he was feeling better. He was still tense and achy, but the migraine had passed. I unwrapped Gretchen’s top, his makeshift cowl, from around his neck. She hadn’t even checked to see if he still needed it before she got off the plane. I can’t imagine anyone would complain about seeing a woman like her in a skirt and brazier, but still, I was impressed that it seemed like she hadn’t even given it a thought.