Blackout

An icy expanse of concrete against your cheek. The grating drone of a staticky radio. Distant whispers in spanish, clipped.

You force your eyes open. There are bees in your head- no, not bees. Wasps and yellow jackets, zooming around and injecting their barbed stingers into your skull. You know that you drank too much, but you're not sure when.

You raise your head, sit up. Your body feels like it's moving through liquid.

There are three walls here. The fourth border is not solid, so it isn't one.

But you can't exactly walk out.

The fourth wall comes in intermittent stripes. Metal poles.

You're in a jail cell.

You don't know why, can't know. It must be hidden in the black space, the lack of memories. On the edges of the black space, you see yourself leaving the hotel room. The lovely, safe, hotel room.

If your memory is telling the truth, that was two days ago.

The guard is sitting on a stool, with sleepy eyes and a droopy mustache. You get to your feet, rattle the bars. The reamain upright, challenging you, mocking you.

A frog climbs out of your throat. "Why am I here?" You shake the bars more, fervently, but now in a struggle for attention.

His eyes meet yours, confused. Then a dull light bulb lights up behind his eyes, shatters.

" Asesinato."

He then returns to his daydreams, to his offhanded oblivion.

You have no idea what he said. Along with your memory, your spanish phrasebook is somewhere, tumbling into the unknown. You should have learned spanish before your trip. But instead you limped down here, knowing only english, on a crutch made of twigs.

You think of reasons you could be here, rely on your own twisted creativity. But nothing emerges. Those who commit crimes do it to fill holes in their lives. You have none. You don't need money. You have friends. Your hole had been filled a long time ago, with an extra shovelful of dirt on top.

You try again.

"I don't understand. What am I in here for?"

More annoyed, this time. "Asesinato."

Even repetition doesn't bring any meaning, doesn't bring it out of the dark. After a stilted pause, you speak a stock phrase, the only one you remember: "No hablo espanol."

He understands. He gets off the stool, and hurries down a hallway.

Your throat is filled with sand. The headache is still buzzing, and the buzzing has intensified. With anticipation.

He returns, with another man in tow. He is younger, with a sort of constant anxiety radiating off of him. Yet when he sees you, the anxiety melts off, replaced with disgust.

"What do you want to know?" he spits, lip curled.

"Why I'm here. I can't remember anything for the past two days. And all the guard kept telling me was 'asesinato'." Somehow, not even knowing the meaning, the word seems toxic on your tongue.

The man's eyes are on fire, stoked with anger. He acts as if he knows you. Despises you.

"Well, let me translate. 'Asesinato', my friend, means 'murder'."