Sitting up in bed, looking around. It's just a bland, standard-issue hotel room, tan and tan with a subtle tan stripe, the windows shrouded with heavy blackout drapes. The only light's the dim yellow glow from the bathroom nightlight.

This isn't the most comfortable place I've ever slept, but it'll do, by God it'll do. I rearrange the sheet and the flimsy Vellux blanket over myself and lie back down, turning onto my right side, propping my head on my hand.

My chest grows tight as I look at her. She's washed off her makeup and put her shrewd wit to bed. Now I'm seeing her bare face, her secret face, silent and naked in the night. Once she only showed that face to me. And tonight, at last, I am seeing it again.

I love watching her when she's asleep, she's so beautiful. Her dark hair's spread across the pillow, and she's smiling faintly as she sleeps. How I've missed this sight. And all those years of missing, of longing, have made this moment even more beautiful now that I'm here again at last.
The chain of her necklace glints gold against her breast. I can't stop myself, and I smile a little as I reach to turn the crucifix over: He likes to see.

I don't know how long I lie there, just staring at her, but it seems like only a moment before dawn is glowing around the heavy drapes. She wakes up slowly, and smiles when she opens her eyes to find me watching her. She reaches over to touch my face, I run my hand down her side and around to her back....

...and God, I've missed that too, she grabs my shoulders as she cries out....

...and finally, we lie in bed again, exhausted, grinning like fools. "Oh," she says, "Greg, my God, that was...."

"That was some good curry?" I suggest. She playfully punches my shoulder, and I catch her hand to kiss it. "You know, in India they eat vindaloo curry three times a day."

She sits up in bed. "Well, now that we've had India breakfast I'm ready for American breakfast."

I lie back down. "Wonder if they have crab cakes Benedict?"

"What is it with you and that crab? Well, they say you are what you eat. Why don't you go ahead and shower while I go get some coffee and the paper?"

"I'll go." I sit up and reach for my shirt.

"No, you'd better go, otherwise I'll have to listen to you complaining, just like always, about how I didn't leave you any hot water."

I chuckle and watch her go. I wait for a while and then head off to the shower. I wash quickly and come back out to the room.

Stacey's not back yet.

I sit down to wait. Long minutes pass like seconds, and Stacey still does not return.

I start getting uneasy and decide to go see where she is. I stand up, and almost fall as my right leg buckles beneath me. I grab the wall with my left hand and reach for my cane with my right.

It's not there. My heart starts to race as I look wildly about the room. I don't see it. I stagger across the room and hang on to the dresser as I try to bend over and look under the bed. It's not there. I can't find my cane. My cane's gone.

I walk over to the door and step into the hallway. It's almost pitch dark -- only the emergency lights are on. "Stacey?" I call.

The door clicks shut. Too late I realize that I don't have the room key with me.

"Stacey!" I yell.

There is no reply -- not from Stacey, not from anyone. I take another step, holding on to the wall, trying to peer down the dark hallway. Where is the elevator? I can't tell.

I take another step. Pain shoots up my leg, and I almost fall. I cling to a door frame, my heart pounding with fear: I'm not going to be able to make it to the end of the hallway.

What am I going to do? I'm locked out of the room, I can't make it to the elevator -- and what if I do make it? the power's out --

"Stacey!" I call again. "Stacey!"

Nothing.

Stacey, come back, please come back, please, I need you -- I can't do this, I need you --

And then I realize that nobody is responding, there are no newspapers or food trays in the hallway, the hallway is absolutely empty, my right leg is burning with pain, I am alone in the hotel --



I'm awake.


I take a deep breath. I'm awake.

I look around my room. The bathroom light's on. As my eyes adjust, I can see my wallet and phone on my dresser, my clothes hanging in my closet, my cane hanging off the nightstand next to the glass of water and the bottle of pills.

I push myself up on my elbow and reach for the Vicodin. I take a couple, send a drink of water after them, and lie back down, hoping I can get another hour or two of sleep, even after that, before it's time to get up and endure another Monday....