I

Five euros for a croissant. Charlotte exhaled deeply and

looked away - she couldn’t keep on buying things for Karsten like
this. Why did he have to like croissants so much? She returned to
intently watching her son devour the pastry, making sure that he
was eating every last crumb worth. Wasn't he tired of them at this
point? They had come to this cafe every morning now for the past
week, and she was getting used to the coffee she had deemed
“undrinkable” only six days earlier. Charlotte looked down into the
cup and stared at her reflection; she sighed, examining the faint
remnants of a scar on her left cheek -- she hated this place. The
Irish waitress with the blonde streak was still trying to understand
german; the antique cash register still made that annoying sound
every time it closed; the loud couple in the corner was still laughing,
almost maniacally so. Maybe just she and Kristian would go out for
dinner that night -- maybe that's what they needed. “I'm done,
mum.” Karsten looked at his mother with big hazel eyes, secretly
hoping that she would buy him another croissant. Charlotte tried to
ignore him on purpose, and just stared out towards the street; a
tram was passing by. “Mum!” “What Karsten?” Her voice was
shallow and monotone, and she kept gazing at the tram. “I’m done.
Are we getting anything else?” It took Charlotte a full five seconds
to utter the words “no, love,” and when she did, it was barely
audible. The tram stopped across the street from the café to
discharge passengers; out walked a young woman, twenty-
something, Charlotte assumed, and with her, a man who seemed to
be her lover. They were laughing, he had his arm around her
shoulder, and she was wearing red lipstick. “When was the last time
I wore lipstick?” She pondered the thought of wearing some later
that evening, while unconsciously touching her lips. The couple
then kissed, for what seemed to Charlotte to be ages. Why had
Kristian never kissed her like that? Maybe he had a few times when
they first met, but… nothing like that. They parted, and walked their
separate ways. The young woman, hair blowing in the April breeze,
suddenly glanced at Charlotte from across the street, causing the
latter to shift her attention back towards her son. “Come on, let’s--”.
She scanned the table; where the hell was he? “Karsten?” Charlotte
frantically looked around the café. “Karsten?! Karsten! Kar-- damn
it!” The little boy was standing with his face pressed against the
glass of the display case, eagerly looking at the pastries trapped
inside. Charlotte hurried to fetch her son, trying not to make a scene
of it. “Karsten what do you think you're doing?! Don't do things like
that how many times have I told you not to do that why would you
do that here especially in a place we don't know you almost had me
worried sick you're in big trouble wait til dad hears about this we’re
leaving!”
II
Back in Luton, the Kampmanns led what one could call a
normal life. Charlotte taught biology at the University, her alma
mater, five days a week, and found it very satisfying -- or at least
that’s what she told her friends. She was originally from London, but
was accepted into university, desperate to escape her “prosaic city
life”, as she wrote in her entry essay; she wanted “something more”.
Charlotte was young and restless, Cool Britannia was in full swing,
and everyone wanted a piece of the action. She would go to
concerts every night, get home at three, wake up at noon for
classes, and do it all over again. So was the life.
Kristian, on the other hand, held a high-level office job at the
Vauxhall Motor Company headquarters in town. He was very
serious about what he did, and would express it often in response to
Charlotte’s complaints about him coming home so late. Proud of his
heritage, he was born in Copenhagen to the son of a Danish prime
minister from the early sixties who was a notorious alcoholic, Viggo
Kampmann. The household Kristian was brought up in was a strict
regime, and his only release was school. But as he entered
secondary school, things began getting out of hand. He would
rebel against his parents, not come home at all some nights, and
climb out always-changing girlfriends’ windows in the wee hours of
the morning. Eventually, his parents had had enough, and decided
to ship him off to boarding school in London.
It was here that the two met, at a popular club called Blaze.
Kristian was there that night because his new love interest had been
dying to go for weeks, and Charlotte was there because she and her
friends heard that Victoria Beckham was supposedly making an
appearance. Over the blasting music, their first conversation
erupted when he accidentally spilled his beer on her, and she loudly
told him to fuck off when he tried to help clean it up. For Kristian, it
was love at first sight; for Charlotte, not so much -- he seemed to be
a prick. But eventually, she went back to him to apologize for being
so rude, and offered to buy him a drink. He replied with “Well, it’s
actually me who should be buying you a drink. After all, I did ruin
your shirt.” They both laughed, and that was the beginning.
III
Eighteen years later, this spring trip to Vienna could be
summed up as an attempt to stall a slowly dying marriage. Both
parents wanted this to be the cure-all to their rocky relationship.
Charlotte and Kristian really only talked to each other when Karsten
was present; they hadn’t had sex since December of last year. Their
two-story flat back home was as quiet now as when they were
actually home. Kristian was originally scheduled to be sent on a
business trip here, but he decided that it would be for the best if
everyone took a little break off from the stress that was involved in
Luton life. And so the Kampmanns packed their bags, their
problems, and their hopes, and had them flown 800 miles to the
Austrian capital.
IV
They had climbed the Reisenrad, dined the Naschmarkt, done
the Schonnbrun, seen the Spanish Riders, and toured the Hofburg --
everything the guidebook had suggested. Now what were they
supposed to do? Karsten just wanted to sit in the hotel room all day
and watch cartoons. German cartoons. What the hell was he
thinking? What was the point? What Charlotte wouldn’t give to
know how his little, stupid brain worked. She had taken him to get
checked out, but the doctor assured her that he was completely
healthy.
By noon, mother and son found themselves strolling through
the Stadtpark, for the third day in row. The air was crisp, and there
wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Charlotte looked left -- a mother was
talking to her baby. Charlotte looked right -- a couple of boys were
playing soccer. Charlotte looked left again -- two dogs were going
at it; well at least they were having a good time. She focused her
attention on Karsten, who happened to be vigorously picking his
nose. She smacked his hand away and let out a sound of disgust.
“WHAT did I tell you about that?! You know it’s a bad habit, Christ!”
Taken aback, Karsten blurted out “But mum--”. “Just stop it, I’ve had
enough with you this morning. I’m starting to regret bringing you at
all on this trip. You know what, no dessert tonight, okay? How do
you like that?” In her mind, Charlotte was pleading “Please don’t
start crying, please don’t start crying, that’s the last thing I need right
now, fucking hell pleas--” Inevitably of course, he burst into tears,
and the tranquility of the day was abruptly shattered. At first, she
didn’t do anything, hoping it would just pass. But then,
“Moooooooooooommmmmmmmm, wh--, wh--,
whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy??!!!! D--, d--, dad would never do that!! P--,
pleeeeeassssssse, noooooo!!” Charlotte couldn’t take it anymore.
Karsten went one step too far. “Well, your father’s not here right
now, is he! So be my guest, tell him to spend more time with us,
isn’t that what we’re here for?! Oh, but dad does everything right,
doesn’t he? And mum’s the bad guy? Well, I’m sorry but that’s just
how it’s unfolded, okay? And guess what? You can thank dad for
that! That’s just...” She looked down at her son. Silence. The whole
park was silent. Where was she? Was she even in the park
anymore? The sky grew dark, and the air became thick. A ringing in
Charlotte’s started to increase, but she could hear something else in
the distance. Suddenly, something tugged at her hand and she
turned around. All of a sudden, it was bright, blindingly bright, for a
second. When she regained her vision, she realized that she was
back in the park. Karsten was sitting on the ground with his back to
her; he had stopped crying, but was obviously weary of what had
just happened. He didn’t move a muscle. They were next to the exit
of the park, and for a second, Charlotte wondered, “What if I just…”.
She looked back to make sure he still wasn’t paying attention to her,
then turned her head towards the park exit. “What would Kristian…”.
Almost unconsciously, she started to take a few steps back, still
fixated on her son. Now she was almost in a stride, fully intent on
leaving the park. But alas: “Mum! Where are you going?” Charlotte
stopped dead in her tracks, hesitated, then slowly turned around. “I
was just… going to… never mind, love.” She made her way back to
Karsten. “Honey, I’m sorry I snapped like that. I didn't mean to scare
you. Come on, let’s go back to the hotel -- we’re both tired, okay?”
The boy nodded his head and reluctantly got up. “Really love, I’m
sorry, I really am.” She wasn’t.
V
The hotel room was quiet. Karsten had fallen asleep fifteen
minutes ago. Charlotte wouldn’t fall asleep until fifteen more. The
distant sound of traffic on the plaza echoed up eight floors, so that
every time a lorry honked its horn, the chandelier would vibrate a
bit. A dog-eared copy of Lolita lay on the bedside table,
bookmarked at page 191. The hum of the elevator could be heard
every so often when the ancient machine passed their floor. A
baritone hum
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Charlotte just stared at the ceiling, as if in a trance. She’d wait
for a cloud to cover the sun, and the room would go dark. She’d
wait for it to pass, and the room would be flushed with gentle
sunlight again. Finally, she turned her head -- just ever so slightly,
so that she could see the ticking clock on the wall. 4:37. A long sigh
escaped her mouth. The clock continued to tick, just as a mouse
would tap on a door. Light, to dark, to light, to dark, to light, to dark,
to light. And eventually, just dark.
Charlotte opened her eyes. The room was dark -- a pitch black
sort of dark. And she was hot -- uncomfortably hot. She threw off
the covers and sat up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. It almost
took her a full ten seconds to realize that she was naked, and
strangely, somehow thinner. She muttered to herself, still half-
asleep, “What the hell?” Something suddenly moved behind her,
and let out a grunt. She swiveled her head 180 degrees to figure
out what was happening, and what did she see? It was Kristian,
shirtless and younger looking, deep in slumber. Charlotte looked
down at her lap and rubbed her eyes, when something scratched
her face. Still stunned, she looked at the culprit, which was on her
right wrist. “A watch? Wha--? My watch?” Hadn’t she lost that
watch years ago? “Christ, where the hell did that come from?! The
last time I wore that watch was--” She stopped dead mid-sentence.
“--was… my… we-- wedding night”. Charlotte turned around again
and stared at the still-sleeping Kristian. Was she? Could she be?
Hurriedly, she ran to the bathroom and turned on the light. The
bulbs surrounding the mirror flashed on and illuminated the present
situation. Her face was younger, the scar was gone on her left
cheek, she was fit and slender, and her hair was longer than usual.
She was, in fact, back at her wedding night.
Charlotte splashed water in her face, and went back to the bed
to sit down; Kristian hadn’t moved since. She looked around the
room, trying to remember what had happened that night. A little
black book caught her eye, and she remembered that it was her
college journal. She hesitantly reached for it, daring to read the
information that it enclosed. 10/18/98. Soon enough, the memories
came rushing back.
It snowed this evening, and the reception had to be moved inside
the church. Kristian wrote his own vows, and they were incredibly
romantic. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have married him. I knew
he was the one, I always did. So say goodbye to single, unmarried life.
But if Kristian brings up kids, just tell him that there’s always time for
that later. Besides, who needs kids? Anyway, wonderful things are in
store. You’ll travel the world, meet lots of people, and have new,
exciting experiences. Kristian and I will never fight, and I hope that
we’ll stay together for many, many years.
A tear dribbled down Charlotte’s nose and onto the pages of
the diary. Many, many years. She dropped the book and put her
head in her lap, trying to fight back the tsunami of emotions that was
welling up inside her. Many, many, many, many, many, many years.
With her teeth clenched and eyes shut tight, she uttered
“Stupid! Stupid! What was I thinking!”. Immediately, the levee
broke. She sobbed and sobbed uncontrollably, all the while trying
to find solace in something. But nothing was there. There was no 21
year old Kristian with open arms waiting to comfort her. There was
no one. Charlotte blindly felt around for a pillow to cry into, but she
came up empty-handed. “I was so fucking naive! How could I
possibly--” At this point her words were becoming slurred, and her
face was red. She frantically tried to get the watch off her hand, and
was becoming increasingly frustrated as the task proved futile. She
soon gave up, and resorted to slowly climbing back into the bed,
still bawling. Charlotte lay there, face pressed into the mattress.
She looked once more at her undisturbed husband, then went back
to crying her eyes out. “Nothing is ever going to be the same!”. She
stayed there like that all night, until fatigue eventually won out, and
thrust her back into the whorl of drowsiness.
VI
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The clock read 6:05 when Charlotte opened her eyes. The lights of
the city were irradiating the hotel room -- that petrol ad outside was
going off like crazy again; the ceiling was dancing with colours.
Charlotte watched them for a couple of minutes, enthralled, like a
baby watching a mobile suspended above its crib; just watching,
waiting to see where they darted to next. Dreamily, she murmured
“So…pretty…”.
All of a sudden, the room lights beamed on, temporarily
blinding Charlotte. “Mum! Mum, come on, we’re going to be late!
Dad’s gonna be waiting! M--” “Yes, I hear you! Jesus Christ!” She
let out a long “uuuugggggghhhhhhhh”, and then a “Damn it” as she
slapped her hand over her eyes. She had forgotten that they were
going to meet Kristian for dinner at 7 at that new posh place all the
Viennese were raving about.
Charlotte got herself ready and all dressed up, then went after
Karsten, constantly urging him to hurry. They rushed out of the
room, and caught a cab outside the hotel. In the back of her mind,
she knew that she had forgot something. “What is it, what is it?”
This kept Charlotte occupied the whole ride there. It was her
lipstick.
VII
It was just as the appetizers were being cleared off the table
that the first words between Kristian and Charlotte were exchanged.
He queried “So, how did Karsten behave himself today?” She
replied with “Well, why don’t you ask him?” as gently as she could.
Both parents then proceeded to turn their heads to their son. At that
moment, Karsten happened to be folding his napkin into origami.
They both just stared at him for a second, then back to each other.
Each parent expected the other one to intervene and stop this
blatant violation of table etiquette, but nothing happened.
Eventually, Charlotte broke the silence: “Karsten, stop it, that’s not
proper table manners.” The boy opened his mouth to protest, but
his mother quickly shut him down with “And no buts”. From that
point onward, he remained mute for the rest of the meal.
This sudden change in dynamic left Kristian and Charlotte in
the awkward position of having to talk to each other. There were a
couple “How was your day”’s, some “I didn’t know that”’s, and a
plethora of “Oh, that’s nice”’s. Every minute of it was torture for
Charlotte, who “had to use the bathroom” twice by the time the
entrèes were done. She wanted so bad to ask “Where is this going?
Why are we here?”. But she couldn’t bring herself to say it; maybe it
was out of fear, maybe it was the two glasses of riesling -- she
couldn’t tell. So when the waiter came with dessert menus, she
quickly said “No, that’s fine, we won’t be eating dessert tonight.
We’ll have the check, please.” And in response to Karsten’s pleas
for at least some sort of treat, Kristian, on the same page as
Charlotte, proposed that they go back to the Starbucks in the hotel
lobby and see what they had there. All three individuals were
alleviated to hear this, and for just a moment, a smile of relief
seemed to cross Charlotte’s face.
VIII
Right as they entered the hotel, Karsten made like a bullet
towards the Starbucks with the four euros Kristian gave him, along
with the warning “Don’t get anything with chocolate, okay? We’re
going upstairs.” “But dad, can I stay down here and sit by the
fountain for a while?” Kristian just nodded, and the boy sped away.
As the doors of the elevator shut, Kristian sighed, put his arm
around Charlotte’s shoulder, and said “Jeg elsker den dreng.”
“What?” Charlotte hated when he spoke Danish in front of her. “I
said I love that boy,” he answered. “He’s a good kid.” He turned and
smiled at her, then shifted his attention back to the opening doors
and walked out. Charlotte was awestruck. Who was this man she
had just ridden with? Physical contact? A true smile? Maybe
something had changed. As she exited the elevator, she almost
went the wrong way, still in a state of perplexity.
IX
As she was taking off her earrings in the bathroom, a million
thoughts raced through Charlotte’s mind. What should she do?
Could she even? Would Kristian like it? Would he find it weird,
uncomfortable even? No, no, she couldn’t. But…
 Kristian was lying on the bed, almost asleep, when she entered
the room. Charlotte nervously walked towards him, half trying to
tiptoe, half trying to get his attention. Stopping right in front of
where he lay, she closed her eyes, and slowly exhaled. She could
do this.
Charlotte climbed on the bed, got on top of Kristian, and
started kissing him. She kissed him everywhere she could --
around his face, on his lips, on his warm neck. A fire was igniting
inside her, and it could only keep growing. She caressed his face,
felt his hot breath against her’s, and took in the euphoria of it all.
This, in realization, is what she had wanted all along. Was this the
meaning of the trip? Was this what it had all boiled down to? All
Charlotte knew at that moment was that living never felt so good.
Her eyes were closed the whole time, and she could only imagine
what would happen when she finally opened them.
“Mmmmm. Mmmppppphhh. Wh--. What the fu--?” Kristian’s
eyes popped open in pure terror. Instantly, he pushed Charlotte off
him and gave a wild look around the room. When he finally
calibrated himself and saw his wife lying on the floor, he confusedly
blurted out “What the hell are you doing?! Jesus Chrrrrrist!! What--
what was that?!” Charlotte, stumbling, got up and felt the blood
running down her cheek; her scar had re-opened. As soon as
Kristian saw this, he started towards her, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry! I
never meant to hurt you.” “Just get away! Just get away from me!!”
Charlotte screamed at the top of her lungs. He tried again to
approach her, but she just backed away from him, until she hit the
wall. She started to whimper as her body slowly slid down it, and
eventually came to a stop at the bottom. All the while, Kristian just
kept on staring at his wife in disbelief. What had just happened? His
mind couldn’t process it all at once. All he could think of saying was
“Why would you do that? You know that we...” Charlotte hung her
head back, closed her eyes, and inhaled. After ten seconds, she
opened them.
“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying! I know what’s happening between
us; you know what’s happening between us. Even fucking Karsten’s
catching on!” Every other sentence she spoke ended with her
putting her head in towards her knees, wiping the tears out of her
face, and sniffling. “And it sucks, you know? Do you know how it
feels coming home everyday, having to deal with Karsten, my job,
everything, with no one there to help me? You barely talk to me,
and I barely talk to you. I don’t even know who we are anymore!”
She checked to see if the bleeding had stopped -- still crimson. “I
thought this trip, sniff, would be good for us. I thought that things
could really change here, and that things could go back to how they
used to be. Remember the night we got married?” Kristian hadn’t
blinked even once. “Remember-- remember how you carried me
into our room? And we didn’t fucking know any better, we were so
young. Twenty-one fucking years old! Both of us, can you believe
that! B-- but, sniff, you said something to me that night when we
were lying in bed. You said, Charlotte, you know why I married you?
It’s not because you’re beautiful, or gorgeous, or stunning” She
laughed a bit over the incessant sobbing. “You said, it’s because
when I wake up next to you, and I see your face, I literally can’t
imagine my life without you. I literally wouldn’t know how to survive. I
knew it from the instant I saw you that night we met, I knew that I
wanted to marry you. So when I said “I do” just a few hours ago, there
was no doubt in my mind that you, Charlotte Kampmann, are the one
for me.”
The room became deathly silent. No one moved, no one
made a sound. The elevator hummed by. Kristian didn’t know what
to say. Charlotte knew, but didn’t want to say it. She continued,
“And now look at me -- on the floor, a fucking mess.” She now
shifted her sorrowful gaze back towards Kristian. “I just wanted us
to work out so bad. So fucking bad!” Out of frustration, she knocked
over the little side table with flowers on it, hitting the ground with a
crash. Water streamed out of the vase, causing a small river to
form, heading directly towards the outlet. All of a sudden, the lights
went out. Charlotte just stared at the destruction, her eyes heavy
with fatigue; those eighteen years had finally caught up. At once,
her voice became shallow and tired. “So now look where we are --
here in Barcelona, doing god knows what.” And the room grew
even more quiescent.
The lights came back. Not from the ceiling, but from outside.
Kristian sat down on the bed, and let himself fall backward, not
knowing what to possibly think. First they were green, not neon, but
a soothing sort of green. They came in in long, thin lines, and flew
about the room, like laser beams. Next, the cool blues; they were
large circles at first, but as they swelled and swelled, they suddenly
burst, scattering little blue particles of light everywhere. Now the
barrage of calming purples -- little curved lines that looked like
snakes, wriggling all throughout the walls, ceiling, and floor, trying
to find their way back to the petrol ad they called home.
Immediately, they disappeared. Charlotte could only think “Please
come back, please come back, please com--” At once, the colours
returned. Now they were all together -- the greens, the blues, the
purples. Each individual shape had its own little dance and its own
pathway, inevitably fleeting off into the distance. They blended,
bended, extended, distended, and transcended. All the while,
Charlotte and Kristian stared up at the ceiling, unamended. What
had happened, happened, and there was no going back. Nothing
made sense anymore, and nothing seemed to matter. Only the
pulsating emanation of the flashes and glows were logical now. “So
this is it”, Kristian said, more of a question than a statement.
Charlotte replied, “So this is it”, more of a statement than a question.
The illuminating radiances swayed across space, back and
forth, back and forth, lulling its viewers into a somnolent state. But
eventually, the lumines finally made their last rounds around the
room, saying their bittersweet goodbyes, then dashed back out the
window, ready to go home. And it was only then that the room
became truly, and completely, dark.