The grass is green. It is thick and soft. There is no need for a blanket though Michael takes on from their knapsack anyway. The air is fresh and high. It is simply a perfect day for a concert. Lyllian breathes deeply and leans back against Michael. They are miles from home in a small town on the southern tip of Washington called Ridgefield. Lyllian managed to score them low cost tickets for general admission to see The Cure – a favorite of theirs from their younger years. They even booked a hotel room so they would not have to drive the 2-3 hours back home after. 

Michael hands her a plastic cup filled to the brim with golden beer and they settle in. Nearby crowds sit, lie down, walk by, dance around, and enjoy drinks waiting for the band to start. They are mostly from Lyllian’s generation but here and there are youngsters in their teens and twenties.

There is a contented sigh from everyone.

The girls are at her brother Jim’s house in Seattle for the night and there is no rush to be anywhere or do anything. It’s a little like being in High School all over again. The carefree smiles and lazy chats, the smoking and partaking of refreshment. Neither Michael nor Lyllian dabble in weed, clearly they are the minority here. But they do enjoy the local brews now and again. They are here for the music and the nostalgia. The memories of walks to the bus stop and movies all weekend. Hanging out at Sabrina’s house and at the school pool. Walks down on the marina and trips downtown to hunt around in old vintage music shops and record stores. All the while tunes playing through their minds.

As night falls the band comes onstage. The music is loud and echoes around them. The crowd sways along, some sing, some just listen. Lyllian leans back into Michael as the familiar songs flow over here. The last year has been a little tough. Michael’s pub job is wearing on him and he’s been trying for some carpentry work which he is much better suited to. The stress on the their income has taken its toll as well. It’s been an unspoken strain between them and Lyllian had hoped to use this weekend getaway not to harp on money but to reconnect. It had been planned for several months prior and it came all too suddenly.

The smells of brats and burgers wafted over the crowd just inching out the smell of freshly rolled weed. The night sky was lit up orange and red and her favorite song was playing. She could feel her eyes growing sensitive and welling up with unshed tears. She felt blinded by them.

The stress of work and her boredom, discontentment. Like a caged animal growing weary and losing it will to escape. The constant struggles with her own self-worth and now – now the blackness that overwhelmed her almost daily. Being trapped in a forest of black trees and cold. Shadows of pursuing specters chasing her through her mind.

A feeling of wistfulness passed over her and she could almost imagine it was back in 1997 or 1996 and she and Michael were still young and in love. Still full of passion and drive. Confident and squirrely.

No worries of inadequacy. No worries of unspecified pain. No worries they’d ever see each other in any other light then the light of love and sensuality. Now there are children and bills and commutes and arguing over the t.v. and who’s turn it was to walk the dog and do dishes. The endless unspoken competition about who’s day was longer, harder, more tedious.

She feels Michael hug her and kiss her neck through her curls and she smiles into her tears. The song, “Pictures of You” finishes to monstrous applause and then it’s time to slowly make their way to the parking lot. The wait to get out is long but they, like everyone around them have their windows down and The Cure playing. It is almost an hour and a half later before she and Michael pull into the Stay bridge Suites. The room is small but clean. They’ve got a six-pack of some cheap Mexican beer and a pack of cards.

Sitting in their underwear with the cool night air coming in through the open window of their second floor room they talk as they play rummy. About the times they broke up and got back together. Of the girls and their beautiful little quirks. About the stuff they never ended up doing. They lapse into silence after a particularly good hand. Suddenly Lyllian wants to tell Michael about the blackouts. She needs to.

She leans forward from the headboard and pulls the sheet around herself. “Michael, I need to talk to you.” So serious and weird. Michael takes a long swig and throws a tee shirt over his head.

“So for the last few months, or maybe longer I think, I’ve been having these…blackouts. Memories. Dreams. Out of body experiences.” She finishes in a rush and drinks more beer.

Michael is interested and takes her hand. “What kind of memories? And blackouts? More often than that one time or…? And the time in the church?”

Relief floods through her. She can figure this out. “Yes. The church I mean. The memories are almost too real. It’s like I am not me at all but someone else entirely. I am somewhere else. And in someone else’s head. And it’s scary. And sad. And..” she stops waiting.

Michael strokes her hand with his thumb. She loves this. He knows it.

“Well. What do you know about this person? Are there others there? And it’s been going on for….years?”

“Yes. I think I remember something from when I was, I don’t know, ten? And then again when I was a kid I think. And yes, the church. And…” she trails off remembering the blackouts in which she is kissing and aching for a man who is not Michael.

Michael prompts her. “And..? What happens? Do you recognize anyone? Anything? Oh and is it in English?”

Lyllian starts suddenly. “Wait what? In English? What do you mean?”

“Well, there have been a few times, I don’t know. You were talking in your sleep I think. And it was, well, it sounded Russian maybe?” Michael opens another beer and hands it to her and then gets another for himself.

Lyllian barely noticed taking nearly half the bottle down in one gulp. Russian? Russian? Her mind is swirling crazily and hotly.

Michael seems worried somehow and touches her cheek which is pink. “Hey. Hey. Well what do you think?”

Lyllian sits for a bit. Then leans into him. “I don’t know but I’m scared. It’s scary Michael. It’s like being in someone else’s head. But yet it feels like me. Oh and also my mother. I think my mother has it too.”

“It?” asks Michael.

“This thing. This crazy thing. She started to tell me back when everyone was over for the barbeque. I need to talk to her. What if… what if this is some sort of dementia? Or tumor?”

Michael chuckles. “I don’t…” Lyllian cuts him off. “It is something Michael. Maybe not a bad something. But even so I feel like I’m going crazy. I need to figure this out.”

Michael kisses her lips and brushes her curls back. He takes her beer and sets it on the bedside table with his. “I know. I’m glad you told me. I think we should talk to your mom when we get back. Maybe compare notes ya know?” He kisses her again and this time Lyllian kisses him back.

Next Chapter: Rose, Seattle, May 1980