ROOM 7

We arrived at about 6 p.m. and had to carry our bags up four flights of rickety stairs. The creaking broke the silence of our arrival. A keychain was left in a flowerpot next to the entryway which held two keys; one large and silver, the other small and gold. When we reached the door to room seven Jeff fidgeted with the keys for upwards of five minutes before the door was pushed ajar. You have to do the top lock first, all the way to the right with the large key, then spin out the bottom lock to the right with the small one, he told me. I nodded and wiped the beads of sweat from my forehead. Jeff set our bags in the bedroom while I opened the windows in the kitchen, the largest of which stepped out to a small balcony. I sat on a wooden chair at the kitchen table fanning myself with a hardcover copy of Tom Lake which I overpaid for at the airport having forgotten to pack a book. You always forget something, I remember Jeff saying at the time. It was true. I snorted to myself, causing Jeff to look up from the map he was studying. 

What’s so funny? He asked. 

I bet most couples who go on vacation at the suggestion of their marriage therapist choose an all-inclusive five-star resort with air conditioning, and couples massages, and gourmet meals with shared bottles of wine. I gestured to the rusted stove top housing a teapot that could be no younger than 70 years old. 

Jeff smiled softly, well we can share a bottle of wine at dinner tonight. 

Jeff, look at this! I jumped up from my chair and walked out onto the balcony following the sound of birds singing. There were hundreds that appeared seemingly out of nowhere and began flying haphazardly in every which way. 

What is it, Tess? 

These birds. There are so many and there’s no pattern. They’re just flying…everywhere. 

He stretched his neck from his seated position so he could glimpse them through the corner of the window. 

I was astonished. I’d never seen anything like it and Jeff took such little interest. Later I learned from a local cafe owner that the birds did this to publicly signify their time of departure for southern migration. At the time, it felt ominous and I, small and confused. 

I’m gonna go lie down for a minute. 

Back in the bedroom, I pulled back the curtains so a sliver of orange light poured onto the paisley quilt. I laid down on top of the blankets and picked up my phone which felt extra heavy in my hands. I dropped my phone beside me and closed my eyes which quickly filled with black birds darting here and there, singing to each other. When I finally opened my eyes again there was no light in the room. Groggy, I rubbed the tops of my eyelids and temples and looked toward the window at a black sky. I felt for my phone, which was laying where Jeff would sleep on the right side of the bed and pressed the home button. 10 p.m. was displayed on the face. Something must have happened. My heart began beating quickly in my chest and my throat felt tight. Jeff?

I jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen where a brown paper bag rested on the small wooden table. Jeff! 

I ran to the far side of the small kitchen and before I could even push open the large window, I saw Jeff’s profile and a faint smoke lingering around a cigarette tucked into his lips. 

I pushed my way out: did you not hear me calling your name?

No, sorry, I didn’t want the smoke to trail inside so I closed the window. 

How long have you been out here? It’s 10 o’clock! We were supposed to go to dinner at 7.

I didn’t want to wake you, it was a long day, a long flight. 

But I wanted to go to dinner and drink wine. It was our plan. 

Well, I didn’t want you to get angry at me for waking you.

Well now I’m angry you didn’t. You could have literally just asked me if I still wanted to go to dinner or would rather sleep. 

Ok well I didn’t. 

But why!? I just don’t get it. 

I don’t know, Tess. I don’t know. 

Well, I’m starving. At this point my eyes were welling with tears. 

Jeff put his cigarette out in an old tin ashtray. I thought you would be. I went out and grabbed some gyros. I left yours on the table. 

So, you didn’t wake me, and you left me here alone? 

I got you dinner. We can make a new plan for tomorrow. Everything will be fine. We don’t have to follow every plan we have perfectly. Things change, life is a moving target, and you adapt. Like I said, it’s been a long day. 

I tried to steady my breathing. I wanted to go to dinner and enjoy our first night. I wanted him to want that too. I need some fresh air. I’m going to go for a walk. 

I didn’t wait for him to respond. I passed the gyro on the table and took the keys off the counter. When I stepped into the dark, warm air I immediately remembered my hunger. I couldn’t go back up those stairs, not while the situation was still so hot. I walked toward the sea, stopping at a street vendor on the way where I bought a large bag of potato chips and a water bottle. I sat down on a slab of concrete peaking over the glossy, black water and crunched on my snack. The water was calm, the sky was even calmer. I wondered about the black birds from earlier, convincing myself they had been trying to warn me not to fall asleep. 

Jeff and I had been married 4 years and already I feared he hated the sound of my voice. He is a good person, kind and uncomplicated. I had always been worried that I would push him away and maybe that fear led to irrationality. Or maybe the ways in which I didn’t feel he showed me love were legitimate concerns. He made me feel safe but not pretty, cared for but not adored. 

I finished the whole bag of chips and my mouth felt saltier than the sea. I downed my water. Why are we here? I thought. We needed to reconnect. Get back to the place where there was only hope and no fear. That can’t happen if we’re sneaking off alone in foreign countries eating separate meals. Then I thought, he’s probably worried about me. I hadn’t even taken my phone. 

I retraced my steps past the still-open street vendor and across a quiet road to the large, brown doors with gold detail that opened to the creaking stairs. They were even louder now, perhaps because the night had grown quieter, or perhaps because I was alone. I stilled myself at the door of room seven and took a deep breath, prepared to issue an apology for getting so angry. Or rather, for acting on my anger. 

But first, I had to open the door. I rattled my brain for Jeff's instructions, but they were elusive. I twisted the silver and gold keys for a few minutes until the door popped open and noticed the paper bag still on the kitchen table. I folded it up and placed it in the fridge before making my way to the balcony. Jeff wasn’t there. I went back in through the kitchen and pushed open the bedroom door. A silvery white light from the moon shined on Jeff who was sleeping soundly on the right side of the bed, my phone now resting on the left. I stood there in the doorway staring at my husband, who did not fear, did not worry about his wife who was out in the night in a foreign country. He looked peaceful even. 

I thought of the black birds preparing to leave and how maybe they were not singing but crying. 

A tear streaked down my cheek and then another before I wiped my eyes and shook my head. I tried to remind myself what a long day it had been.