I was left here in the muddy field on the day of my birth. My limbs flailed, dirty, naked, weakened from hunger and exhaustion. I lay in blood and cried, cried, cried for someone, anyone, to administer justice. I didn't think I could bear the abandonment. I didn't want to die so soon.
When finally I was no longer able to cry out at the sound of footsteps passing, and my vision had dimmed and my breathing become shallow, one pair of feet stopped beside me and I was lifted from the ground and wrapped in a garment too big for me: his coat.
Isa 9:2 The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine.
———————
I grew up strong and joyful. My lover was all I needed; he washed the grime from my skin, and every day we rinsed my new clothes and then ate (extravagantly) at his table. Sunlight flooded our doorways on mornings, and the ghost of moonlight seemed to keep watch all night. His house was overflowing with life. I soaked it up, always hungry but never lacking.
My lover gave me a name. He called me Beautiful, and I knew he was right.
Rev 21:1-2 Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared. And the sea was also gone. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.
———————
The marriage is a memory now. Like a dog I have returned to my own filth. And I know my own thoughts, but I don't know why. I don't know why I am the way I am.
I sought other lovers.
My depravity has crippled me. None of my lovers cared for me. None of my soul mates lasted more than one night. I have been known by so many names that no one can remember what I was really called-- including me.
21:3-4 I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, "Look, God's home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever."
———————
My mud-encrusted limbs curl in and lock against my shivering, sweating body as I cry, cry, cry for someone, anyone, to somehow obstruct justice. I don't think I can bear to pay for what I've done. I don't want to die alone. I don't want it.
But I deserve it.
21:5 And the one sitting on the throne said, "Look, I am making everything new!"
———————
I listen to the tired shuffling, the blind aimless marching, the dull thuds of heavy animal hooves as they pass.
I register a change in the light through my eyelids. One pair of feet stops beside me.
It seems my social networks are positively swarming with awkward people, shocking numbers of them. I cannot tell you how many times I've had the following sequence of conversations:
Me: Jane wants to come with us, too. Is that okay? Dick: I dunno. Jane is just so awkward. Me: Really? Dick, what do you mean? Dick: You know, she's... awkward.
(later that day)
Me: So I was talking to Dick about who's coming tonight, and-- Harry: Dick's coming?! Me: Yeah, is that a problem? Harry: Well, not really, it's just that Dick is so... Me: What? Harry: ...he's so awkward. Me: Oh really.
Man, just say it.
Say it, tell me that you have a hard time with so-and-so because you don't understand him. You don't know how to relate to him.
Explain to me that her entire background is different from yours; you are two very different people.
Say he doesn't communicate in a way that makes sense to you. Say he misreads your body language.
Admit that she's unconventional and you can't predict what she'll do next.
Say he's shy and quiet and seems to be on edge around people he doesn't know.
Tell me she says, out loud, the first thing that comes to her mind and people tend to find it offensive or strange.
Own your feelings, your opinions, your limitations and your discomfort. Go ahead and say you just aren't interested in any of the things he wants to talk about.
But do not, HEAVENS PLEASE do not waste our time by telling people that someone is "awkward".
Oh, you greet me with your soul-defrosting smile at the sunrise The glare is such that I can barely turn my eyes on you And you would lead me into all your bright and endless futures Though I'm compelled and haunted by my trusty point of view
The dim abstractions in my mind Are less convincing all the time The day is slowly burning out The light is trickling homeward now I smolder with the dying stars I want to know their tired hearts
To trip the light fantastic at the bottom of the ocean To turn away from hoping in my hopeless sanity I do not want to love them in a scientific fashion But come down with the madness that caused you to care for me
I see you give your light away But you seem brighter every day I think that you have got it bad By love consumed, completely mad I'm just as well as I can be Oh, get your germs all over me
If I came off put together, it was only by mistake I'm a ghost inside the armor, too well-fitted to escape So alone in this skin I am trapped in my sin Take me out, strip me down Say it straight to me now If I came off put together, that was part of my mistake Until you are my covering I'll never be okay
This is the next chapter to the story that has no name. The first chapter is here, if you'd like a refresher.
I want to get out of here.
I linger in the doorway for a minute or two, disoriented, trying to think. The hallway is so inscrutably black that it seems the same whether my eyes are open or closed.
How am I going to get out of here?
Now that I have begun to think about that, I cannot get it out of my mind. But I can't think of a decent answer to the question. There is no evidence of an exit, no bizarre green glow around a corner. I have no idea just where I am in the hospital. And I have no idea what I will do or where I will go if I find a way out. So I focus on a problem that seems more manageable.
My throat and mouth are so parched that my tongue sticks to them. My head is pounding. Despite the nauseating smell of the hospital, I am becoming increasingly preoccupied with the idea of getting something to drink.
I step over the threshold on bare feet. Nothing significant changes. The tile is stickier, probably recently mopped with too strong a solution.
With a clear and crazy-making image of a drinking fountain in my mind, I turn to the right and begin to walk, sliding my hand along the wallpaper for a sense of orientation. I imagine cold city water in my mouth and I feel better. Feverish anticipation distracts from the weight of anxiety in my stomach. I am noticing that my palm has become slightly numb from friction with the wall when my chest collides with a shoulder. My hands fly outward.
At first it seems that a siren has gone off between my ears. My own scream ends with an awkward gasp for air. The other person quiets down much more quickly and I lose track of him. He could be right in front of me. He could be running away, and I'm not sure I would hear it over the adrenaline thumping through my body.
What if I die in here?
Oh, for heaven's sake, I'm in a hospital and it's the middle of the night. I've probably just run into a sleepwalker.
Or something.
I wait a few more seconds and take a deep breath.
“Hello?” My voice surprises me. If a voice could be pale, thin, sickly and out of shape, that is how mine would sound. Instead of echoing from the walls, my question seems to disappear into a cardboard box.
My own heartbeat floods my ears as I wait. Then a warm, foul breath clouds my face and someone whispers loudly, “What are you doing in the hallway?”
Deirdre!
———————
The button was stuck. I pushed it again, watching the TV expectantly. When that didn't work, I inspected the remote control closely and tried dislodging the power button with my fingernail. The problem was, I'd bitten all my nails down to the quick. Using them was painful. And pointless.
As a final effort, I tried pushing the button as hard as I could.
“You have never been satisfied with anything I do!” a soap opera character told her mother. I would have to be content with switching to one of the other three channels. I sighed with great irritation, searching the remote for the appropriate buttons.
“What are you doing?”
I startled and looked to my left. A wide-eyed girl was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
“Trying to turn off the TV,” I explained. “Who are you?”
“She told you to stop watching it?”
“No one told me to. I want it off, but the button is stuck. I can't get it out from under the edge. I don't know, maybe I... maybe I pushed it too hard when I turned it on.” I faked a little chuckle. “Are you gonna tell me who you are, or...?”
For a moment she stood there, squinting at me, then she shifted to the other side of the door frame and glanced around the room. “Deirdre. I live down the hall in one thirty-eight. On my break I noticed they'd started—”
“Your break? Aren't you a patient here?” I interrupted, hoping my question didn't sound too insensitive.
“Yeah. I leave my bed when the nurse is on her lunch break. I noticed yesterday that they'd opened this room, but there was nobody in it yet.”
“Opened it?” I asked.
“They opened the door and put the sheets on, and set up the TV and basically everything you've been enjoying this morning. They even gave you a plant, in case you hadn't noticed.”
I hadn't noticed. A catcus occupied a pot in the corner to my right. It resembled a very large and prickly watermelon; some of its spines were glowing with cold light from the window. “Wow. That's... weird,” I said, “It's cool, I guess, but I have to be honest... I didn't even know I was gonna be getting my own room until last night.”
“It's called hospitality,” came a response from the hallway. Deirdre's eyes became comically round, then she slid away, probably toward her room.
The nurse was a fifty-something woman of immaculate posture, wearing white scrubs and the smallest of smiles. She crossed her arms and watched me calmly, unblinkingly, and I wondered whether she was aware that she'd frightened Deirdre away— whether she'd noticed Deirdre at all.
“Do you know how lucky you are?” she asked. I welcomed the question because it broke the silence and freed me of the obligation to greet her. But I had no idea how to answer. Lucky? Sure, it was nice to have a place to stay, but I sensed that wasn't what she meant.
“Uh, yeah, I... sure. Well, no, not always, but... yeah,” I tried, hoping she would fill in the blanks for me. I wondered whether she'd overheard when I criticized the cactus.
She raised her eyebrows at me. I noticed for the first time that her eyes were a vivid pale blue.
“Careless, but lucky. You sustained a head injury last night, fell right into the coffee table. How fortunate that you happened to be in a hospital waiting room at the time.”
The nurse continued to stare, and though her face had not changed at all, I guessed she could see my surprise and embarrassment. My face burned. Oh well, I said to myself. At least she didn't know what I was thinking about her patronizing tone.
"Good night," she says quietly, "I love you," and then she leaves. An expanse of yellow light becomes a beam-- a slice-- a sliver-- a hair stroke-- and is finally soaked back into the hallway.
Between the sliver and the hair stroke, I lose confidence. I bury myself in the sheets and breathe carbon dioxide.
Silence.
When she tucked me in (twice) and sat down next to my knees, when she told me a silly story and bent down to kiss my forehead, when the base notes of her perfume filled the room--back then, the world was full of softness and beauty and grape jelly, and every curtain opened to a bright new adventure and a slow comforting rainfall at once--
Good night, good night...
I am alone, quite possibly forever. Maybe the nights wouldn't always be so bad if they didn't always start so well. I should go to bed all by myself.
I am suddenly aware of the sound of my own pulse in my ears. I strain to hear something from outside, something indicating my mom is awake and moving around. That she hasn't left, that she's talking to my sister or rearranging my brother's shoes by the door. Packing my lunch for school tomorrow. Switching on a lamp to sit down with a book. Keeping a watchful eye on wild boars and bad fairies that would break down my door and tear me to shreds.
Far flies the light...
After a while the upper half of my face emerges from the covers and, despite a growing sense of panic in my stomach, I attempt to use my night vision. I forced down seven and a half carrots at lunch.
Somehow, though, apart from the faint dusky glow on the window blinds, every single thing in my room is the same color. The one called "total absence of color". Which I hate. I really hate that.
But still God's love shall flame above, making all bright.
I'm not even tired, Mom. I can construct a flawless argument for springing up from the bed and locking the door behind me. I could just kind of chill with the grown-ups until morning.
I really could.
I...
Fall asleep.
Maybe my vision is distorted, but God, it seems your moments of reassurance are sporadic compared with the hours and hours when I don't know what you're doing. But you keep coming back, leading me to believe that you never actually left.
