Page 32 of Every Step She Takes
Sadie
The facts are these: I’m starfished atop a scratchy blanket, wearing one of my ratty UW T-shirts and no pants, hair half-wet, with absolutely no idea where I am.
My brain searches for something familiar. The blue glow of my alarm clock or the yellow tinge of Queen Anne streetlamps coming through the blinds, the soft feeling of my plush duvet and five-hundred-thread-count sheets, the hum of my air purifier. But there’s nothing.
The world outside is mostly dark.
I fling out an arm for my phone. My elbow knocks it onto the floor, and then I knock myself onto the floor when I lean over to reach it.
It’s as my face hits the cold laminate flooring that I remember I’m in a sparsely furnished, depressingly monochromatic hostel in Matosinhos, Portugal.
I slowly recall the events that led to my current half-naked, half-wet state of semiconsciousness. An excruciating eighteen hours of travel; another three hours of walking with a thirty-pound pack; arriving at this hostel and feeling so exhausted, I could barely keep my eyes open. I remember cramming my body into the smallest shower I’ve ever seen. The warm waterfelt divine at first as I hunched under the short shower head, but then my neck started to hurt, and I had to skip my conditioner treatment when the hot water ran out.
After the shower, I laid on top of my scratchy duvet and zero-thread-count sheets in only my underwear and forced myself to write a draft post for Vi’s blog as my heavy eyes kept sliding shut. I remember telling myself to blow dry my hair before falling asleep, but based on the current state of said hair, that did not happen.
I pick up my phone and clamber back onto the bed. It’s not even 5 a.m. yet, but I feel wide awake. I open Google and try to find the closest place to get coffee and breakfast, but nothing seems to open before 7 a.m.
On cue, my stomach rumbles deeply. Across the room, there’s a gurgle, followed by a cough. And fucking hell.Thatis when I remember I’m not alone.
I fall onto the floor again in a misguided attempt to conceal my half-nakedness from Mal before I realize that the room is completely dark, and Mal is still very asleep.
Everything else from yesterday comes rushing back in, and the shame isn’t too far behind it.
In the dark, I reach for my backpack and drag my belongings into the world’s tiniest bathroom. I click on the light and after blinking a few times, I catch sight of the woman in the mirror. Her hair looks like an abandoned bird’s nest, and her face is washed out by the sallow light of the bathroom. Her eyes are some combination of wild and exhausted, and she looks frightened, nervous, and entirely unsure of herself. I splash cold water on my face and then whip out my phone.
“How could you not tell me?” I hiss as soon as my sister answers my call.
“Huh?” Vi sounds groggy even though it’s only 9 p.m. back in Seattle, and Vi has never gone to bed before midnight.
“How could you neglect to mention this is a gay tour?” I whisper-scream as loudly as I can without waking Mal on the other side of the thin pocket door.
Vi yawns. “I dunno. I didn’t think it mattered.”
Of course she didn’t.
“Well, it… it does matter, Victoria.”
“I told Inez you’re straight, and she said it was fine for the promotional trip.”
I wish I had the right words to explain to my sister why itdoesmatter. I wish I could tell her that I’mnotstraight without feeling like a massive fraud. How can I have such intense imposture syndrome over the feelings in my own heart?
“If anyone should be mad, it’s me.” Vi sounds fully awake now and extremely indignant. “How couldyounot tell me how hard it is to work in the store?”
“I think it might be something I’ve mentioned once or twice… a day. For the last twenty years.”
Vi makes a languishing noise, and I can imagine her dramatically throwing herself onto the pile of decorative pillows I bought for her bed. “Jane had me working the register for twelve hours straight, and it was nonstop mean old people and mean rich people!”
“That sounds like our clientele.”
“It’s only been two days, and I’m so tired. And Jane yelled at me every time I was on my phone.”
Good for Jane. If my assistant manager can handle Vi, she can definitely handle running the store until I get back.
“You’re tired?” I practically yell. “You didn’t remotely prepare me for this trek! I’m already sore, and we’re supposed to walk thirteen miles today!”
Vi sighs wistfully. “I would give anything to switch places with you.”
I almost agree with her on instinct, but I catch myself. I’m currently sitting on a closed toilet seat at five in the morning so I don’t wake my roommate. My lower back, neck, and shoulders hurt the way they do after a long day of rearranging the sales floor. I’m starving, and I have no idea how to procure food in a foreign country, and I’m already out of Lärabars.
