Sometimes, in the midst of the chaos, you just need to find your gravity and hold onto that…even if it’s a silent contemplation. Freedom comes to each person in different forms. To some, it is family, to others it is addiction, love or maybe even religion…and to a few it is a friend built in the imagination and kept safe in the recesses of a messed up heart. One that can never be tangible…but persists surrealistically in defiance. Fly…because life’s too short to stay still or caged little bird. So I’ll fly silently with you.
“Why are you driving my car?” I asked her. She just looked away forlornly and ever so morose. Her hands slipped in and out of the steering wheel. White, pale hands. She still clutched her rosary. I shivered. It looked exactly like mine. Blue-black hematite beads with Jesus’arms outstretched and Mother Mary holding tightly to her precious baby.
“You’re going the wrong way,” I said. She twisted her mouth into a gigantic o-shape and for a moment I felt the universe stop. I looked away from her. Her mouth twitched and she was lost in conversations with people I couldn’t see. Why couldn’t I see them?
“You CAN see them too,” she said, as if the secrets of my mind were now in her possession. “It’s a gift.”
Something about the way she lingered on that word ‘gift’ made me doubt her. Perhaps it was also the unease I felt at the sight of tiny droplets of blood, that started to run down the side of her mouth. I couldn’t look her in the eyes but something about her mouth. I was drawn to it.
“Did you remember to pray today,” she asked me solemnly. “Prayer is the anchor…don’t forget that…but they’ll tell you your soul is black and that there’s no hope…don’t listen. Too many voices. Here and there. There and here. Voices. Eyes. Pray. You mustn’t get lost.”
She started to tremble. The car started to swerve. Her hands moved through the steering wheel.
“Does he remember?” she asked me. “He promised.”
I felt a stab in my heart. I wanted to hug her tightly. But she’d just fall right through.
“You’re my second chance, little raven.” Her voice seemed choked. Gurgled. Dead.
For a second I thought her eyes became concrete and sparkled.
And she was gone.
I was alone in my car. Alone. But I could hear the voices. Wanting to be seen. Wanting to be heard. Wanting. Wanting. Voices. Eyes. Pray she said.
There was blood on my mouth. Blood she left when she kissed me.