Oceans Between Us
She stood there, arms outstretched and firmly holding on to the door frame as her toes wriggled forward to see how far she could get to the edge without slipping. Feeling the warm sun on her face and the gentle breeze buffering her from side to side swinging her whole body with a gentle rocking, she glanced down at the vast blue water below. It churned and eddied with a light force, and she could smell it’s humidity on the air. Her breath deepened as she contemplated just leaping forward into the unknown. It was safe inside the white room, and no one could touch her there. The walls were soft to the touch, and absorbed her thin voice as she sang as well as it absorbed her sobbing cries. There were cool crisp white pillows stuffed with down strewn all over the floor, as well as big down comforters to hide under.
In her mind, pictures flow continuously like a drawn out movie and she could live in each moment briefly. The sounds of the water lapping gently at the dock as she hooked her first worm with her dad at her side and felt the tug of her first perch on the line. . The rubbery, fishy smell of grandpa’s waders after a long day fly fishing. The gentle swoosh sound of grannies deep freeze and the feel of the cold air flowing over her fingertips as the delved in for ice cream in the warm summer heat. The scent of honey colored cedar paneling that edged the hallways and the glistening swordfish dueling each other for a place on her grandparents basement wall. The vibration of the electric trains as father and daughter stood side by side and polished the tracks with tiny erasers before driving out with the wind in her hair to catch the California Zephyr in all it’s restored glory. Deep crimson velvet seats, the little tables and their clean white linens. The taste of wild blueberries on her tongue in pancakes she and her father made together after braving the loons at dawn to pick them in the warm summer air. The creak of leather on her poppa’s chair as he watched the baseball game and peered down at her with skeptical eyes. The smell of the deep oriental carpets and wood polish that wafted through there home, and the feel of her grandma’s long hot pink nails tickling her back. The taste of a plum, eaten on a warm fall day after riding cool water rapids and chasing waterfalls with her Dad and sister.
So many memories to shield her from all the pain. To protect her as if they knew that deep down inside she was still a vulnerable child. Not ready to jump from the ledge, too afraid to fall and much too far away from the visions she fills her nights with. The world outside her door seems inviting and exciting, full of color and light. A promise of adventure and stories to pass down, should she ever need one. But she closes the door, and goes back to thumbing through her mental sensory album, happy to be here until the world crumbles around her. And if the world should fall, so be it. She is safe here, and only the loneliness can drive her over the edge, the silence edges her towards the door again, the lack of touch darkens the room and she tries to sleep it away, only to awake in a nightmare of her own making. The dark tomb where her adult lives, in sorrow deep under the depths of the tears she has wept in silence. The sounds echo off the bare damp walls, amplifying with each bounce and reverberating until her eardrums are beaten raw and give up in defeat. The soles of her bare feet, too bruised to walk and the muscles of her arms too sore to lift herself off the dirty floor on which she sleeps. This one holds her prisoner, she is both afraid of the light and afraid of lifting the hatch in case she has forgotten how to swim.
They stare at each other through the waters, each comfortable and conflicted and waiting for the other one to make the first move.
