Page 33 of What It's Like in Words
Yes. I was just checking because it’s later than we planned.
He frowned as if I had made everything complicated.
I noticed then a small rip in the mosquito net over the bed, a tiny wound that would get bigger and bigger if I wasn’t careful.
DAY 6
I woke up covered in bites, which swelled and hardened as the day went on. Now it was night, and the itching was making me feverish. I couldn’t control my thoughts. I wanted to scratch my back raw.
All I could find under the sink was this?
He held up a bottle of calamine lotion with the label rubbed off.
Nothing with antihistamine?
If I had found something with antihistamine, I would have brought something with antihistamine.
I asked if he could do it for me, and he sighed.
Don’t worry, then, I’ll do it.
I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it!
I sat on the bed in my pajama shorts and bra, and he dabbed the lotion on my back with tissue. I could hear his smile creaking behind me as he counted. That makes twenty-seven. You’re not allergic, but you are really attractive to them.
It’s not funny. They’re really burning.
You’re taking malaria tablets. You’ll be fine.
Ouch! I said as he pressed too hard.
Right. That’s it, he said, and he put the lotion away. He hadn’t finished; he was just annoyed. All day I had been too much or toolittle, but I didn’t know how to get back to the person I was at the start of the holiday.
I asked how it was possible that he hadn’t been bitten. He pointed to a tiny bump on his ankle and when I didn’t laugh, he snorted. Come on, let’s get a drink. I told him I didn’t want a drink but to go without me. He sighed again. No, it’s okay. Let’s just go to bed. We lay down in the dark, but there was static in the silence.
I was genuinely happy for you to go without me.
Yes, thank you. I don’t need permission.
I asked him what was wrong. He said that there was nothing wrong but he was lying. I hated that he was angry, that I wasmakinghim angry. But I couldn’t stop. The more frustrated he grew, the more frustrating I became. The heat wasn’t helping.
Why is it so fucking hot?
It’s the same as it’s been all week, honey.
That, I thought. I loved when he called me “honey,” but today the word sounded different, like it wasn’t being used to show affection but merely as a replacement for my name. Or worse, to show his annoyance. I wondered then when he had stopped calling me “Gay.”
I told him to please just go to the bar, but he said that he didn’t want to go. I said that he clearly did, and I didn’t want him to be unhappy because of me. I reached for my water glass, but it was empty.
Fuck!I’m so fucking thirsty!
He told me to calm down. I told him that I was calm. He told me that I had been a nightmare all day. I didn’t realize that when you said you were allergic to mosquito bites that meant you turned into a fucking psycho! I told him not to be angry, and his face contorted.
Don’t put this on me, Enola. You’re the one who’s having a fucking meltdown. I told you I’ve never been someone who tolerates this stuff.
What stuff? I shouted as he jumped out of bed and left the room.What stuff?
I tried to digest what had just happened, but it was as if someone had shuffled my insides like a deck of cards. I took off my shorts and bra and lay like a starfish. When the gate creaked, I knew that he had gone to the bar. I got my phone to call him and there was a message waiting from Ruth:
