I wake up, screaming in the dark of my room. My chest is crushed, my face smashed. I can’t make my legs move.
I’m paralyzed.
No. I’m dreaming.
I touch my chest, press the skin until I can feel my heart beating. It’s fast but steady.
“You’re fine. ” The sound of my voice calms me, coming as it does from the darkness of my room. On shaking, weak legs, I walk to the window, push it open. The pine-scented air caresses my cheeks, grounds me instantly.
I’m here. Alive.
Tiny raindrops flutter on my face and the windowsill, cooling my skin. Gradually, I feel myself calming down.
The images fade, slink back into my subconscious.
I stand there, watching the shiny combination of rain and moonlight until my hands stop shaking and I can breathe evenly again.
I hear footsteps upstairs, pacing. Someone else can’t sleep.
Daniel.
I wish I could go to him, say simply, “I can’t sleep, either. ”
Instead, I turn away from the window and return to my thin, empty bed.
* * *
Mist, as translucent and flimsy as a layer of silk organza, floats across my window, blurring the forest beyond. Everything is
obscured by the haze; two-hundred-foot trees appear strangely fragile. Even time seems elastic; the days and nights are passing with near impossible speed. I know that it is because I want time to slow down that it is speeding up.
This morning, as I stand at my window and look across the yard, I see shadows moving in and out among the trees. It doesn’t surprise me that Bobby sees his mother in all this softness. There is an otherworldliness to the forest here. I also know how easy it is to see what you want to see.
For almost the entire year before Thom betrayed and left me, I knew he was unhappy. I was unhappy. But we did what people do—we closed our eyes and thought it meant we didn’t see.
I knew he was talking to Stacey about our troubles.
If I’d looked instead of merely seen, I wouldn’t have been so surprised by how it ended.
This is my resolution for the New Year. I will be honest with myself. I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll see what’s there, not just what I want to see.
After my shower, I redress in my old clothes and get my camera.
The lobby is quiet, steeped in tea-colored shadows.
I walk past the cold dark fireplace.
Daniel’s truck is gone. No wonder the place is so quiet.
Peaceful.
That’s what the quiet is here. Unlike in my home, where for the last year the silence has been like the indrawn breath before a scream.
The quiet and the mist draw me outside. I stand in the yard and stare at the silvery lake beyond. Through the haze, the dock looks almost translucent, a charcoal line against the gray-tipped waves.
I need a photograph of this. Maybe several.
I lift the camera to my face and work to put a blurry world into focus. It’s not until I’ve taken several shots that I realize how cold I am. Disappointed, I return to the warmth of the house. But I feel the need to walk in that pearlescent mist.