Seasons

Somewhere Only We Know

                                                                                          WINTER

The snow falls down dusting the shoulders of my coat. A soft powder coating the white landscape in front of me. The flurry silences the world around me. So quiet I hear only the sound of my pulse drumming in my ears. Continuing down the path in front of me, a pang of remembrance blazes through me. It's a memory like a word on the tip of your tongue. There in front of you, but in a place you cannot see. Even though the intensity of the storm worsens, the path I travel remains uncovered.

The echo of a time behind me, I keep moving forward, unaware of how long I've been here on this journey. A journey to the place that rests in the back of my mind, to find something that is lost. The pines rustle overhead, shaking off the weight of the freshly fallen snow. I hear the rushing of the river, its sound building, filling my ears with bright white noise. The sound stops me in place, and the steady hiss filling my brain gets louder and louder. My legs start to buckle, my body trembles, and then I'm on my knees. My hands feel warm and wet, I look down and see blood splattered across the front of my body. Looking back up I see a fallen tree laying across the path. I feel its branches staring into me, it remembers this moment. The memory comes rushing back to me and my eyes lock onto something in the distance. The scene falls out of focus. My brain grasps to remember this place, because it's where you are, the image slips away, forgotten.

#

The world returns in razor sharp focus, the ceiling fan slowly spinning above me. The dreams have been growing stronger, a notion burrowing in my brain, pulling me from somewhere beyond, trying to lead me to the answers I seek.

Crawling out of bed and planting my feet on the hardwood floor, the cold rushes through my body making me shudder. The thought of cold wet snow fills my mind. I pull my journal from the nightstand by the bed and write down the clips of the dream I remember. Attempting to fill in the gaps of dreams past. Trying desperately to sketch out a clear picture of where you are.

It's been a year since the dreams began. Two years since I last saw you. Two years alone, the only conversations I have now are; with myself and my psychiatrist Dr. Phillips, who as a matter of fact I have to visit today.

Traversing into the kitchen, your pans still hanging above the stove, swaying in the breeze from the kitchen fan, a subtle reminder of who you are. The way you would laugh and joke around while cooking, the memory brings tears to my eyes. Wiping them away, I reach for a box of instant oatmeal in the cabinet beside the sink. After all this time I still find myself buying your ridiculous oatmeal with dinosaur eggs. It's silly but it makes me smile. I dump a bag into a small bowl and mix in the water. While it heats in the microwave, I stare at a picture of us at Disneyland. You, forever a child, enjoying the simple things like building snowmen or going to see every animated movie that comes out. The microwave beeps bringing me back to the now.

Finishing up the oatmeal I set the bowl in the sink and head to the shower. The silence of this place kills me, I flick on the stereo and push play, as I head to the bathroom and turn on the water. The record crackles to life. As "C'est La Mort" comes twinkling through the speakers, I undress and step into the shower. The warm water eases my nerves, the stress of where you could be keeps me wound tight, a rubber band ready to snap. I take your soap from the shower caddy and squeeze a couple drops onto the bottom of the tub. The aroma catches the updraft of steam, and it fills my nose. I close my eyes and think of you with your arms wrapped around me. This daily ritual may seem odd and sad but some days it's all I have left. I grab my towel and step out, the bathmat is soft and warm under my feet. Looking at the clock, I realize my appointment is in an hour. I get dressed and head downstairs.