Belief

If I sit still long enough I can hear the wind outside my window
howl. It talks to me sometimes in language only I can decode. I've let
others listen. I don't keep it all for myself. But the others, the men
in their fancy white, they claim they can't hear it. Listen! I shout at
them. Listen, they're talking now. But they close their ears. Well,
it's all bullshit, anyway.

Someone once told me many years ago that nothing scared them. Nothing
at all. And, being young and wanting to impress, I agreed and said I,
too, was scared by nothing.

But that was a lie.

There is something that scares me more than anything. Something that
can creep into my mind at its most feeble and leave me rigid with fear.
I'm scared of that fine line between sleep and awake.

That time just before waking when you still dream but the dream takes
in the events that surround you. An alarm clock rings in your dream.
Your lover talks to you through the body of another. Events out of
control.

And what really scares me the most is thought that one day I could
become trapped in that world.

She comes to me in the dead of night.

I lie awake watching the clouds move across the dark sky. White sheep
that I count to no avail. The first bite of winter has arrived; the air
has taken on a chill I can remember from a previous time. I sense a
presence in the room before I turn. She stands in the corner, hidden in
shadow. Only her face is visible, a shock of white against the
black.

I close my eyes and count to eleven.

She moves across towards me. Her eyes are the deepest blue. If I were
stronger I could fall into them and swim to their depths, lost and
happy. But I am weak and lying on my hospital bed.

She says, "Have you been waiting for me?"

Warmth flows with her voice, warmth I know has been missing from me for
a long time. Hope, like a piercing cry, blisters my conscious. This is
what I have been missing, I realise. Tears pool in the corners of my
eyes, then run down across my cheeks. She moves other to me and gently
wipes them with her cool fingertips.

"Thank you" I whisper, my voice broken and cracked by solitude.

"Do you know why I am here?"

"You can't be here. No one is allowed here."

She smiles. "I am the exception." Her voice holds the firmness and
confidence that I lack.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am. I am the one you have been asking for."

I close my eyes again. She's right; I know she's right. But still I
cannot think who she is. I remain quiet for a time. There seems no
hurry. She stands so close I can hear her breathing. I relax and enjoy
the company of another. A luxury I have done without for so long.

"Who are you?" I ask again.

Her footsteps recede and I open my eyes. She stops at the window and
watches the rain that has started fall, forming beautiful lines that
criss-cross the night sky. Her fingers run themselves down the broken
and bare wire mess that covers the scene.

"You know my name," she says.

I falter, but only for a second. "Mary." The word forms in my mouth
before I think it. She smiles again, her ruby lips clownish against her
pale face. I know now that I would do anything for her, follow her
anywhere. But that thought scares me also. I want to run from her and
hide, in a cupboard, under the bed. Anywhere, away from her gaze. And
at the same time I want to fall into her arms and have her carry me
away.

I open my eyes, and she is gone.