Room B: Regret, Grapes, and a Waterbed

Two strangers.  
Twelve grapes.   
One explosion.    
Happy New Year!

Characters:   
Marla - a woman in a midnight-blue coat, with a crow feather in her bun.   
Guy - a man holding a soggy paper bad and a Christmas cracker. Possibly not from this dimension.    
The bus driver - never seen, only heard through the static of the radio.

Setting to start with:
A quiet bus stop just outside a forgotten seaside town. The Bus stop at the edge of the year.   
It’s 12:56 PM on 31 December. The sky above is cracked with stars. The bench is dump.   

Lights up. Marla sits on the bench, alone. The sound of wind and faint crushing waves. Guy walks in, awkwardly balancing the soggy bag and cracker.

Guy looked at her. “Is this the one that goes backwards?”   
“Only if you’re already been where you’re going “, and she pulled her coat tighter.   
He nodded slowly, eyes between the cracker and her hand.   
“That’s explains the pigeon.”  
She sighed. “Everyone says that”.   
“No, they usually say ‘Happy New Year’.

The radio buzzed in the distance, cracking like foil. A voice slipped through.   
“Next stop: Regret. Final boarding call for those who still carry things they should’ve said”.

He grinned and offered her the cracker. “Wanna pull?”  
“What if it explodes?”   
“Better than waiting alone”.   
They pulled it. No pop - just a chime. A fortune paper fluttered out, caught in her hand. She read it aloud.   
“You’ll find what you listen to… when you stop pretending you haven’t “.   
He sat beside her. “So… is this the wrong bus?”   
“Maybe. But it’s the only one still coming.

Lights dim. Radio fades into the sounds of waves. Midnight bells chime far away. 

The bus arrived. Stopped right in front of them. The door opened with the lazy annoying noise - like it knew it was almost midnight on New Year’s Eve and wanted to celebrate, not open for someone who doesn’t care what time it is.

Marla looked at Guy. Guy looked at her. Both unsure.

”Are you coming, or what? - the grumpy bus driver talked so fast, that even the wind stopped and tried to understand.   
“I want to arrive before the clock goes bang-bang at 12. I have 12 grapes to swallow, and a bottle of Prosecco to cheer the New Year. Next stop: Regret. Take it, or the next bus will be here at the next new year.”

They both jumped in, with not a real option left to choose from. Somehow, between take it or leave it, the door closed behind. And the bus looked like it was flying over the empty streets of the small forgotten seaside town.

”He really wants his grapes and sparkly wine”, said Marla, almost half into Guy’s arms - due to the speed and gravity. She even lost the feather from fear bun. She didn’t bother, it was not that important.   
Guy smiled and tried to be polite. To not touch her. But the bus had different intentions, so he accepted the offer, and he did his best to stabilize the situation.   
Then - the break. There was a break and a half. The door opened quicker this time. And the driver invited them off.

”Wait a second”, Marla tried to speak with the driver, while the bus started to move. “Any motel, guesthouse - anything, anywhere, around?”   
“Ask this Guy. I’m running”, the bus driver said. And he just closed the doors. And there he was- dissolved into the dark night salty air.

Guy stood still for a moment, as if waiting for the night to explain itself.   
Then he laughed. Not loudly. Not nervously. Just enough to prove he was real.   
“Well. That’s rude. He didn’t even ask if we were allergic to regret”.

Marla brushed sand from her coat. The ground beneath them wasn’t road anymore - it was wood. Old plank. A pier, maybe. The sea was black and calm, like it was holding its breath.   
‘So. Motel?”   
Guy shook the soggy paper bag in his hand.   
“I’ve got half a sandwich, a cracked snow globe, and a room key that says ‘Not Yours’. That’s the best I can offer”.   
She looked at him then. Really looked. The kind of look you give someone when the world has already stripped you of small talk.   
“You don’t look like someone who plans”.   
“I used to. Then plans started planning back”.

A light flickered at the end of the pier. Not bright. Not welcoming. Just… present. A small building. One window. One door. A sign hanging croaked:   
Rooms- if you stay.

She felt it then. Not fear. Not hope. Recognition.   
“This is one of those places, isn’t it?”   
“Yeah”. He paused. “They don’t let you leave with the same story you arrived with “.   
“And if we don’t go in.”, she hesitated. Just a fraction. Enough for the night to notice.   
He shrugged, gently. “Then we keep staring here. Waiting for the buses that only run once a year.”

The sea sighed. Somewhere far away, fireworks began testing their voices. Marla took off her blue coat. Folded it carefully. Left it on the bench at the pier.   
“Okey. But if I lose anything in there -“   
“I”ll help you look”.   
They walk towards the door together. Not holding hands. Not not holding hands either.   
As they stepped inside, the door closed behind them without a sound.   
Inside:   
One room.   
Two chairs.  
A clock with no numbers.   
And on the table - twelve grapes.  
Fresh. Waiting.

The clock’s hands began to move. Midnight was coming.

”Where is the bathroom?” Marla asked. “I don’t care about any clock banging on midnight. I’ve done with this for some time now. Not because I wanted to - because I needed to. Sorry, not your problem.”   
“There, maybe? Behind that door with the B on it. I mean, could be.”   
“Yeah, this is it”, she said while opening the door marked with a B. “How logical”, she muttered. “What a motel!”

While she was inside the bathroom, Guy looked around. “A clock with no numbers, two chairs. What a motel!”   
Another door, in the opposite corner. Another B.   
“Ha!” He said. “What could this be? A bedroom?” And he opened it.  
Of course it was… and then he stopped. A bed. A doubled bed with a… water mattress. And a red wallpaper.   
What a motel, he thought.   
He decided not to mention anything. Even if he would happily try the watery mattress… with her.

“All sorted. They have hot water. They have water, which is a good sign”.   
“Now what? She asked looking curiously around.  
“Shall we play a game? We have grapes as prizes.”   
“Depends on the game. I don’t play”, Marla answered in a cold, calculated tone.  
“Okey then- let’s not calling it a game. Let’s just talk. Unless you want to go to sleep. On that mattress.”   
“No sleep. No sleep yet… wait, wait- what mattress?”   
“Nothing. Maybe later. Let’s talk about…”

(… sex, baby - a voice on the radio. It was the bus driver. Singing.)

Guy paused. He looked at the ceiling. No radio in sight. Just the same cracked snow globe on the table next to the grapes. And yet, somehow, the room had a soundtrack now.

”Did you hear that?”  
“What? The bed making dolphin noises?”   
“No. The bus driver singing. He’s in the radio”.   
“Of course he is. He probably is the radio”.

She walked towards the table, eyeing the grapes like they might contain prophecies or poison.   
“Let me guess. Next we dance?”   
“No. No dancing”. He cleared his throat. “But I do have a question”.   
She looked at him, armed crossed, curiosity just barely outweighing her skepticism.

”If tonight… was the only night left before time reset itself, and everyone forgets who they were - what’s the one thing you’d want to remember?”   
 Marla didn’t answer at first. She looked at the grapes. Picked one up. Stared at it. Then popped in her mouth.   
“Cold. A bit too sweet. And that’s my answer”.  
“What is?”    
“The grape. The cold. The sweetness. This. I want to remember I was here. Alive. Somewhere weird. Somewhere I didn’t plan. With someone who didn’t want anything from me. Who didn’t ask me to be perfect.”   
She walked towards the other B door. Opened it. Looked at the water mattress. Let out a sigh that wasn’t quite defeat. Wasn’t quite relief either.    
“You coming, or what?”  
“You mean-“   
“To lie down. Maybe talk some more. Maybe say less. I’m not offering anything scripted.”   
He grabbed a grape. Tossed it in the air. Caught it. “Scripts are overrated anyway.”

He followed her in. The mattress groaned, not out of protest, but out of amusement.

Outside, fireworks started warming up again. Inside, they didn’t touch. Not yet.   
But the room no longer felt like a motel. It felt like the pause between years. And the grapes were half gone.

They didn’t drink wine - they didn’t need it. They ate 6 grapes already. And wine is made of grapes. So basically they ate the drink.

He jumped in, just as he dreamed. And the mattress started to move. Guy felt like a boat on the sea, on a windy day.    
“I hope you don’t get seasick”, he said, moving like a breakdancer, riding the waves.   
“I don’t know. I like the sea from the shore”, Marla said. “But we can find out”.  And in the same time she jumped onto her side of the bed.   
Guy realized her intention, and barely manager a: “nnn-“   
In a fraction of a second:   
Marla surfing waves, Guy flipping upside down in chaotic moves.    
“I thought you said we don’t dance”, Marla said, laughing- finally laughing- while breakdancing next to him.

Guy somehow found his footing- well, kneeling- on the mattress, hair all sideways, dignity somewhere near the cracked snow ball.  
“All right. Fine. We are dancing. But only because this matters has a mind of its own”.  
“Blane the bed, Classic man move.”   
She was laughing now, one leg up like a ballet octopus, clinging to a pillow like it was her floatation device.   
“Don’t worry. If we sink, I’ve got you.”  
“Sink? We’re already four inches under. I’m pretty sure this mattress is made of old jelly and bad decisions”.   
A dramatic squelch sounded as Guy tried to readjust.   
“Do you think we get a refund?”   
“What, on life?” Then she paused - serious, just for a blink.   
“You know what? I’d pay again. For this moment.”   
“Even with the mattress that thinks it’s the North Sea?”   
“Even with that. Especially with that. Because for the first time in months… I forgot why I was sad… and I didn’t cry.”

Guy went still.The waves calmed. He looked at her.  
And this time, when the mattress rocked - it wasn’t chaotic. It was like a lullaby: awkward, beautiful, seasick, and perfect.

“Let’s just try to rest for a moment”, she said, turning her back.

Like it was that easy. Guy started again with his uncontrolled moves.  
“Okey, your choice”, he said, “but before… I’m just curious. Would you do something for me?”   
“For you? I don’t know you. You gave me half a cracker. You offer your soggy sandwich. You joined me here. You ate drink grapes with me, and now we share a water mattress. I don’t think all these things qualify you as my friend. To ask for favors, I mean”. 
“Bur okey, what is it- it’s New year. And how do they say it? Happy! Go ahead, tell me”.  
“I have this wish…” Guy started, “… to see what would happen if we both jump on the bed in the same time. Would the sea-bed reject us and make us fly into the air? Would it make us dance in synchrony? Would it cancel the physic forces - whatever they are?”  
“You’re asking me to jump on the bed with you?!”   
“Yes. We don’t need to be friends for this. Just for the science.”   
“Fine. But after this - we rest”.

And there they are. One on one side. The other on the other side. Both counting. Both trusting.   
Three… two… one -

The jump.   
BOOOOOOMMM!!!

The mattress answer. It exploded.   
No. It didn’t just exploded. It erupted.  
A geyser of air, water, foam, and lost dignity sprayed towards the ceiling as both Marla and Guy were catapulted like budget acrobats in a second-rate circus act.

“This was not the hypothesis!” shouted Guy as he launched into the air.     
“I should’ve stayed in the bathroom! Marla yelled, mid- flight.

They launched - miraculously -on their feet. Guy landed on a bedside lamp, now flickering like it was applauding the chaos.   
The mattress wheezed once. Then went flat. Defeated. Done. Retired from public service without benefits or warning.

Marla looked at him. His hair was wet.   
He had sandwich crumbs clinging to his hoodie. He looked like the kind of man who brings crackers to a breakdown and ask you to jump for science.

She laughed again. That wild, real kind laugh that even regret can’t argue with.  
“I guess you are my friend now”, she said, tilting her head as it finally seeing him in a different kind of light.   
“I think this count as trauma bonding “, Guy replied, rubbing his elbow and trying to locate his dignity under the lamp.

They come back to the table. Both wet.  
She reached for the grapes. Picked one. Held it out to him like a peace offering made of juice and poor life choices.   
“To the worst midnight ever”, she said, raising her grape.   
“To the most unforgettable one”, he answered, touching his grape gently to hers like they were toasting in a palace.

They clinked their grapes like champagne flutes.   
Outside, the clock stuck midnight, and somewhere far off, a single firework exploded, like it was trying to convince the sky to care.   
Inside room B?  
Two strangers on a ruined mattress, covered in bad choices and grape juice, found something that didn’t explode.

THE END.   
(or the beginning. Who knows with grapes and gravity.)

Radio static. Then, as if the cosmos itself couldn’t help but comment:    
“You break it, you bought it. Happy New Year from Room B Radio. Now playing: ‘Love is a Mattress with a weak spine and a strong story”.