Day 16: 28,869 Words and a Change of Pace Without A Change of Scenery

 Today I felt like I needed to go back to the story of Danae/Dylann- a main character who I really don't have a handle on. I can and likely will write about the unfolding events of the Romance Inn for days- there is a lot to unpack- but I really felt like I needed to get to know Danae better because I really have no idea what led to her leaving. Why has she forgotten who she is and why is she at Jackie's Place? I don't really know.

I decided I would stay at the Romance Inn, but go back in time to when Danae and Josh were there with the cast of Donnie's River. This is where they have their first kiss! So here is an excerpt from that! 

Danae had not wanted to come on this retreat, the events of the last year having left her feeling raw, like an exposed nerve. Sometimes she felt so overwhelmed by the maelstrom of emotion within, all she could do was stay very, very still and quiet, waiting for the storm to pass. Being around other people, particularly actors- who can be painfully sensitive, had turned out to be even worse than she had anticipated. They were kind, all of them, it wasn’t that she didn’t like them. It was that their pain was like a mirror to her own. They had each arrived carrying something exquisitely painful, and the retreat was amplifying rather than soothing it. It was all coming to the surface as they trolled for long forgotten hurts. Her wounds, which were painfully fresh, didn’t need the company. The perfectly balanced itinerary, created by the brilliant Isla Martin, was like the perfect storm of wine, therapeutic talk, and the dredging up of adolescent angst. And although the history of the cast of Donnie’s River was nothing like her own story, there was something like truth in it. It made her skin itch. It was intolerable.

It wasn’t that her pain was unique, in fact, quite the opposite. It was mundane in a way that felt trivializing to talk about. Well, I’m divorced, she might say. And then someone would kindly ask, what happened? And how does one answer that question? Well… we hurt each other in a million small ways and a couple of really big ways. And we loved each other in a million small ways, and a couple of really big ways. And the love made the hurt so much bigger, and the hurt made the love so much deeper because it slipped in through the cracks and settled in deep, unfathomable places. And then eventually the hurt seemed to outweigh the love and so I left but it didn’t make me stop hurting, quite the opposite, in fact, it made me hurt so much worse, because I didn’t even have a companion in that intimate pain, not anymore. It was all mine, all my own. And the one person who had been by my side for such a long time was gone, because I left him behind- intentionally- for reasons that don’t seem to make much sense any more. Oh do I want to talk about it? Not really. I don’t really want to talk about how none of my memories make sense any more because when the love goes, you have to go back through your whole goddamned relationship and rewrite every single moment as a precursor to the disaster you were both blithely walking toward, holding hands and singing while you skipped toward it, stupidly, so stupidly, blissfully unaware that you were already a goddamn disaster. No, I don’t really want to talk about that. How do I talk about that? I tell you how, I don’t. So let’s just sit here, and drink this goddamn ice wine, and smile in each other’s faces and leave the pain alone, let it sit in those unfathomable places, let it rot, let it fester there, because this talking certainly isn’t helping.

So mostly, Danae doesn’t talk. She just stays very quiet and very still and hopes the storm will pass. She takes the wine from the professional, neutral server, and turns to go, turns to escape to her room. But the irony of a retreat is that there is no escape. Wherever you go, there you are. 

She is almost at the door to the Inn, almost home free, when he emerges, handsome and perfect and wounded in ways she can’t bear to be in the presence of. Josh.

“What’s in the bag?” he asks.

“Ice wine,” she answers, fiddling with the strap of the gift bag and wondering if she starts running if it will cause a scene.

“That stuff tastes like a combination of carbolic acid and syrup. How can you stand it?”

“I can’t, really,” she answers, which is true, maybe the truest thing she has said all day. And when he stands there looking at her, just as still as can be, and quiet, and not asking anything of her, she realizes that perhaps she can stand to be in his company, maybe even wants to be in his company. She thinks that maybe, with him, she won’t have to hide her pain but she won’t have to showcase it either. Maybe she can just be. Maybe it will be alright.

When the server comes by, and asks Josh if he wants a sample of the ice wine, he smiles at Danae with that famous mischievous grin of his, and suddenly they are two instead of one. “I would love nothing more,” he says. 

Later, when he kisses her, his lips taste sweet, and although she will never enjoy the taste of ice wine, she will always remember that night, and the man with whom she could be completely still. She would always remember the sweetest kiss she had ever known.