Conversation · Working Class Woman

"It's okay. We all feel out of sorts at times." She starts patting your back. "There you go, officer."

Today the makeshift consolations: the shared cigarette, the masculine jokes. Today the embrace before hurting.

"It's still happening. I'm in delirium."

"I'm sorry, I don't really understand what you're talking about." She lets go of your hug.

The lieutenant looks worried. "We can take a break if you're feeling unwell," he says to you under his breath.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Something begged me to open my eyes. It was scary."

"Thanks. I feel better already."

"Good." She lets go of your hug.

"A strangest conversation. Something went wrong in my head."

"A glitch of a sort, I think. Inside my mind."

Keep your eyes closed for a brief longer.

The feeling continues. Warm and comfy on the cold shoreline. You hear a question rising to the surface, trying to break the sensation.

Silence your thoughts. I don't want to answer anything.

You focus on the hug and for a moment everything feels serene. You hear her heart beating -- or perhaps it's your own.

I wonder how long has it been since you last hugged someone?

Do I remember?

No, you don't. And it's better that way.

What do I remember?

Nothing.

DON'T COME BACK HERE!

But I need to remember.

OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME? STOP CALLING ME! ARE YOU DRUNK AGAIN?

PLEASE OPEN YOUR EYES!

"Khm, officer." A coarse female voice pulls you out of your reverie. "What are you doing?" A swash of water hits the coast behind her figure.

You were eavesdropping on your subconsciousness.

Keep them closed.

I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU. I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN! STOP CALLING ME! GET LOST FROM MY LIFE, YOU RUINED IT!

What the fuck was that?

Open your eyes!

Well, if you say it's better...

No thoughts to come back to, no scenes to replay.. It feels calm the way deep sleep is supposed to be.

Muscles, I said muscles! I want manly-manly muscles.

No, please. I don't really want to remember.

Let it form.

So tell me, how does it feel -- to be close to someone, skin to skin?

Intimacy? It's a catastrophe waiting in the wings.

It all comes together now. I was built to be close with other beings.

It's good, but I'd prefer a man. A solid muscularity would support me better.

"I am fighting for the working class."

"Fighting for it how?" She hasn't let go of your embrace yet.

"One hug at a time."

"Oh..." There's a strange sensation as the woman strengthens her grip -- she's hugging you back.

"I guess it's better than nothing. Keep fighting on, my fellow comrade." Then she breaks up the hug, her cheeks flushed.

"A hug a day keeps the bourgeoisie away."

"Hug-by-hug."

"Hey, I hug whomever I please! I'm a hug monster."

"A hug monster? How do these two go hand-in-hand?" She hasn't let go of your embrace yet.

"Well, you're not actually entitled to another person's body. Hugging can be considered a rather monstrous thing to do."

"Right, uh..." She pats you on your back, before gently letting go.

"They don't. I just forced them this way. That's why I am a monster."

"Maybe your husband is missing?"

"My husband? No, he's not."

"This little girl over there told me you have a bad husband."

"Excuse me, a bad husband?" Her back straightens. "What do you mean?"

"Not a nice and helpful sort."

"Do police men just go around repeating what some kid off the street said?"

She doesn't mean to be antagonistic, but she can't help coming off defensive.

"She isn't just some 'kid off the street'. She seems very mature for her age."

"Is she now?" She dries her hands in the apron underneath her coat. Her eyes narrow.