Circles

"Who's soul is sense - cannot admit" - John Donne

Whose soul is sense – cannot admit

Of absence, ‘cause it doth remove

The thing which elemented it.

Ree was glowing when she came home; I watched her face drop though as she opened the gate, like the touch of the painted wood caused a gravitational pull back to reality. It hurt seeing that shadow over the house; over my family, and all because of a stupid accident. I didn’t remember then what the accident was, but there was a stirring memory every time I thought about it, just beyond conscious reach. Sounds almost like a joke ‘beyond conscious reach’; I’m not conscious am I?

I followed Ree as she trudged into the darkness – I wanted to jump into her mind again, like before; recognition was important for me then. I instinctively grabbed her hand as she reached for the switch, like I always did when she was four-years-old and terrified of something evil hiding in the dark room.

I shielded my eyes from the light it was so bright… and warm? My body was still, my bed surrounded by doctors and nurses. ‘Em!’ They said ‘We need you to stay with us. Keep your eyes open.’ I must have closed them though. ‘Em, eyes open. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me. Em?’

‘It’s my fault’, I heard, barely more than a whisper. It came from me, but not me. Not really, not my mind, not my body. ‘Honey accidents happen; it’s not your fault.’ Mums arms came around me, I felt the rough wool of her jumper and her tears soaking through the thin cotton shirt I wore. I should have been content, comfortable- this is what I wanted. But I wasn’t. I pulled away, unable to see anything but smudges of colour as my vision grew more blurry. It hurts. My throat hurt, my head hurt and even my heart hurt. Dad said nothing, his eyes glazed over, hiding behind a reflective mirror. I could tell he needed something. I don’t know why but I stood to hug him, walking rather than floating, each step thudding through me. Not my choice, I didn’t tell myself to do that.

‘My Em’ he muttered in my ear. ‘They’re taking my Em- our Em. Ree I want her back.’ I didn’t hurt for myself then. I felt his sadness too.

It didn’t occur to me in that moment, but he called me Ree. It wasn’t my memory. It was Ree’s.

For a brief second I could still hold her hand, enough time for me to have felt her soft skin, but before I knew it the moment flew past. I was touching only air; vast, heavy nothingness. It was like I wasn’t even me anymore, but I was right there, in the kitchen, the whole time. I remember a slight confusion, drawing together the experience in my mind.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re here; like in that movie “Just like Heaven” and I just can’t see you.” Ree’s voice pulled me out of my own mind. “Maybe you are – I dreamt of you. I dreamt of you every night for weeks and you would scream at me. You would blame me.” I’m not sure if she knew I was sitting on the cold granite bench – I could feel the chill rising into the air – listening, to me it seemed more grasping for a way to make sense of the turmoil inside her mind. “It was my fault though; if I’d been paying more attention, you’d be ok.” I lost understanding of what she was saying. “Then I saw you – I think it was you – in my dream again, but this time you were so confused, and I was terrible to you. I locked you up. If it was really you, I’m sorry.”

Monsters hide in the darkness.

Her eyes were rimmed with red then, and tears threatening. At that moment I wanted to hug her, make it better – tell her it wasn’t her fault even if I couldn’t remember. I think that was one of the pieces of this strange state – accepting I couldn’t connect with them like that anymore.

Childishly I still believed I’d wake up. Life would sew itself back together as the beautiful tapestry it should be, where Ree wouldn’t blame herself, Mum would dress in bright colours again, and Dad wouldn’t cry because he was never afraid of anything.

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Lines from poem " A Valedictation of Mourning" by John Donne

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