I was staying in an old-fashioned apartment occupied by two women. Maybe there were three of them, but I do not remember the third very clearly. The women were in their late thirties or early forties. My room, or the room where I was to stay for a few days, was quite large, but it was crowded with small furniture of all kinds. Also, it was in everyone’s way. Several doors led to other rooms, occupied by my roommates. My bed was large, as well, but it was stuffed with pillows of all sizes. Everything was wrapped in coarse lace and stiff embroidery. Small pots with hanging flowers hung around the ornate bed, making it feel cramped.

The first night I slept there was rather comfortable. I remember waking up quite rested. The taller of the two women came out of her room and sat at the edge of my bed. As she was telling me about something that had happened while I was asleep, which I cannot remember any longer but which might have involved my mother’s phone call, I pulled her under covers alongside me. She let herself be held tight. Her long legs felt smooth and warm between mine. But then the shorter woman, who appeared somewhat older in the morning, came out of her room. She did not pay us any attention, but it was clear the woman in my arms felt a bit uncomfortable because of the silence. At this point the third woman might have come into the room, but she too would have been behaving as though everything was just fine. One thing I remember clearly is that one of the roommates was watering the flowers around the bed, and that I was cringing every time I would see the water drip from the pots onto the lace. The two of us in bed felt that air was getting ever thicker, but the longer we waited to say something, do something, the more difficult it was to make things right once again.

I am not sure how things developed by the time I woke up, but I remember thinking feverishly about the best thing to say or do, which would relax the tension between my roommates without offending anyone. I remember rehearsing in my mind now one thing, now another, but ultimately deciding against all of them. All the while, the woman in my arms and I felt so snug, so content, that it was almost painful to imagine us parting. Uncomfortable as we were because of the other woman, or perhaps two of them, who hovered around us, we still preferred our warm hug to an amusing way out of our predicament. We were probably still holding onto each other when I woke up.