The Peacock 43

 The sun has sunk behind the trees and now begins the twilight.  I haven't the energy to get up from my borrowed bed and turn on the light, then I remember the bedside lamp, just in my reach.  But I couldn't be bothered.  It is nice in the growing dark.  Soothing. I don't want to think of the tragic absurd spectacle I just made of myself, and I hope they will forgive me for ruining what was, till I began bawling and screaming, a beautiful dinner. Two things I just remembered.  My mother's death, and how she nearly took me with her when she drove the car into a transport truck.  She wanted to take me out with her. Have I forgotten it for all these years?  I don't know.  Then remembering Greta's face, so pale and blank, like a mannequin being undressed in a shop window, for all to see its plastic, nonliving nakedness.   She was flying back to Sweden, to Malmo.  I only saw her when she was packing.  She did let me sit with her and her brother in the living room till the cab came.  They left without saying anything, and I could barely croak out a soft, squeaky goodbye.  Eric her brother never answered any of my texts.  I have not seen him or his sister in more than ten years.  

There is a soft knock on the door.  Carl comes in, carrying my laptop.  

"Do you mind if I visit"" he says.

"Well, this is your room." I reflexively switch on the bedside lamp.

He hands me my laptop then positions himself in the armchair.

"How are you liking this room?"

"I really like it.  It feels like a refuge."

"I used to like to just stay up here and read, and look out the window.  I also used to write stories here."

"You said you're a journalist.  Do you still write?"

"I have an online magazine, about spirituality and politics and the environment.  I'll send you the link, if you want."

"I-I just want to apologize for what happened at dinner."

"It's alright."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want to talk about it while I'm here, or would you rather wait?"  

"I guess now is okay." I have opened my laptop, and it turns on automatically. Fortunately it already remembers my password.  "How do I get online here?"

"Key in southernmagnolia, all one word, small letters.

"Is that from the tree in the back?"

"It is actually.  Do you have a shortcut to your Skype account?"

On my Skype page it says, Welcome Christopher."

"So what is your name, Cosme?"

"It appears to be Christopher."

"Appears to be?"

"I think I'm really Cosme."

"Then you are Cosme.  But tell me something please, Cosme,"

"What?"

"If you wanted to remember your name, why didn't you just look at your ID?"

"There is one very simply reason."

"Which is?"

"I don't have it with me."

"You don't have it with you?"

It's in the glove compartment of my car.  I left my wallet in the car."