I carefully push myself up off the bed and shuffle into the bathroom. There’s no glass, so I cup my hands under the tap and splash water into my mouth over and over again until finally the sandpaper is gone along with most of the sweetness.

Next I peel off my clothes and step into a cool shower, washing away the sweat and rot from that comforter. The water brings some lucidity to my cloudy brain.

I remember a dream I had last night. May was in the room. She stood over the bed, laughing at me for drinking too much. Then she asked, Why are we here? I told her Avril Island, and she suddenly disintegrated right in front of me, like she was made of sand and was being blown away.

I find some headache pills in my travel bag and then go sit on the bed, wrapped in a towel, to wait for them to kick in. The sight of the half-empty whiskey bottle on the desk sends a wave of sickness through my stomach and a resounding pounding through my head.

Whiskey—what was I thinking?

I was thinking that I wanted to be drunk, and it was all I could find when I arrived last night. My plane landed at eight PM. I had to get a bus north, and by the time I arrived at the small lakeside town, it was well past midnight. Only one motel had any vacancies, and the only things on offer behind the reception counter were bags of stale chips, bait, and whiskey. I bought two of those items and retreated to my sad room to consume too much of both before passing out.

The sad cliché of it all motivates me to get moving. I put on some fresh clothes, shove my dirty ones into my suitcase, and I’m packed. The headache pill has kicked in and a few handfuls of chips have settled my queasy stomach, but I need to move slowly so as not to disturb this delicately constructed state.

It’s a futile effort. As soon as I step out into daylight and see my surroundings, the nausea and pounding are back, an awkward combination of hangover and nostalgia.

I haven’t been back to this town since I was twelve, but not much has changed. The main road crosses in front of the motel, and beyond that is the lake, sunlight flashing across its surface, so clear you can see the sandy, shallow bottom. Locals spread across the public beach in front of it, and children in bathing suits hang off the old jungle gym equipment that still sits on a patch of lawn too close to the road.