Re: Amy's trailer: Amy M/Si M
The lights were off, and it was quiet inside. No music, no sound, no life within the aluminum Airstream that she called home. For a while, there had been no light, no music, no sound. Since they'd come home, it had been shhhh and quiet, and there was a reason for that: She didn't want to work, and it seemed something had happened with this particular bout of forgetting, and she'd found it really, really hard to face clients since. They'd knocked on her door, and she'd found herself frozen, planted, still and quiet and don't let them know you're here. It had been like that, but she didn't understand why. She only knew she felt different about the knocks that landed heavily enough to make the tin shudder, and panic had crawled up into her throat, a thing with claws lodging there and unable to escape.
It was quiet now, doused and dark, and she'd been sitting on the bed and talking to Si and Jamie, and she knew Si was stressed and tired and other things, and she was kind of hoping she could get him to just sleep, to calm, to be, at least for a few hours. And that was the plan when she opened the door without looking, because she already knew it was Si. She could tell. She could feel him, and she wasn't dressed for clients. Her hair was partly, messily pinned up in a menagerie of pins, and the cotton nightdress covered feet encased in warm woolen socks. Inside, in the dark, two space-heaters glowed orange and bright and warm, and she stepped aside as she held the door. Come in, come in, come in, and her smile was soft and fond and sad, and things didn't feel very good. He looked tired, and she mapped the dark circles beneath his eyes with her blue gaze, and then she moved in the tiny space, already putting a kettle on.