The Impatient Man and His Suit

White Fox

Drifting down, slower and slower as each hour passed, warmth began blanketing me and lying heavy over my eyes. I was sound asleep, entering the first stage of REM, sailing in the darkness of my mind. I continued to pass through the in-between when plays of color and formless visions captured my minds-eye, generating those snippets of past memories or new adventures we generally call dreams.

Still warm, I peeled my eyes open. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself lying on the ground, surrounded by tall blades of green grass and tall trees softly swaying in the breeze. I slowly rose from my grass bed and perused my surroundings. In front of me was a little stream, crisply flowing over a trail of large stones. I returned to the lovely spring garden! Overjoyed by our fortunate reunion, I decided to soak in the beauty and sit still, closing my eyes and smiling as I meditated on the monotonous trickling of the brook in front of me. I felt still happier as a strand of hair brushed lightly against my cheek.

After a little while of continuing this way, I got up and brushed the dirt from my legs, and began walking along the brook. Nearing the garden of flowers, I noticed the same stone cottage still in place, the basket furniture displayed in the lush grass before it. This place –or state of mind rather –I believe was not conjured by a lucid dream, for I did not recognize that I was dreaming. But I did remember having dreamt about the place and felt the false reality of having visited before. So, I did so as any visitor would do and sat down in one of the basket chairs. I sat for a while in satisfaction and admiration of the pretty spring scene I found myself in again when a strange scuttling from within the flower maze caught my attention. I saw a brief flash of white pass through an opening of vines which showed a gravel path stretching through the flowers. After a while of hearing the approaching scuttling sounds, a small and skinny fox came prancing out of the flowers with carefree eyes. The moment it realized it wasn't alone, it quickly stopped its frolicking and focused its eyes directly on mine. Its nose was small and narrow, the eyes now bright and wild.

"Hello you," I smiled, ignoring the fact that I was talking to a wild animal.

The fox stared at me for a while longer, then turned its head back to the flowers. Methodically turning on its hind legs, it changed the direction of its stance so that it might direct all of its senses to whatever captured its attention. It started panting again, then stopped, then continued. After a little longer of staring at the maze, it looked to me then back again.

"Me and you both," I said ominously while gazing in the direction of the flowers.

I noticed –though the sun was shining warmly over my skin –that the once subtle and warm breeze began blowing stronger than before, and progressively got cooler. Strangely enough, I found myself slightly shivering from its continuous bite. Like a prophetic dream in a stop-motion movie, the warm colors of spring began dying out. Bright and green leaves began falling dead on the yellowing spring floor, vibrant flowers too began shriveling and drooping. The white fox sprang from its feet and darted into the maze.

The beautifully shining afternoon sun was being hidden by malignant clouds, snow soon after began darting to the ground. I felt my heart being burdened as I watched spring slowly suffocate. The snow was nothing like it had been in London. It did not fall gracefully as festive cheers echoed behind it. Instead it stabbed at the ground with hatred and ultimately took its anger out on my skin. They were thick ice crystals instead of softly frozen specks, and cut my fragile skin like paper cuts. I tripped slightly as I tried to reach the cottage behind me. I grasped the brass door handle, yet it would not budge. It was undeniably locked. I could hear faintly over the wailings of the wind, a radio within the cottage playing loudly. I banged on the wooden door with my numb fists and yelled for whomever it was inside to let me in. Giving up on the door, I stumbled over to a window glowing orange. Wiping snow and fog from its face, I could see a blurry fire which shone its blight upon a little mustard yellow arm chair and a glossed side table.

The snow at first stung like a blizzard, but quickly became more like a roaring tornado of pen needles, pricking endlessly at my reddening skin. I screamed and cried for help over the wailings of wind and snow, but no one and nothing could save me from my doom. I could barely even open my eyes, and if it were not for the ice crystals which blinded me, my hot tears blurred my vision all the same as they streamed down my cheeks and neck.

The loud train-like noise which banged into my eardrums slowly calmed itself, leaving the white winds disappearing and the clouds parting, revealing a harvest moon in the middle of the night sky. Silence was my bane in this moment. It was so quiet. The illuminated face of the man in the moon was gone. Though the wind and snow no longer badgered me, this empty and cold weather was scarily unbearable. It was calm and still, yet empty, lonely and cold.

"Is...anyone there," I began robotically, as I stared at a brown armchair across from me. I sat staring at it for quite some time before I realized that I was awake. Feeling a shiver crawling up my spine I noticed the freezing cold temperature of my apartment. Getting up from the couch, I glimpsed at a window and saw a small crack of grey light behind the curtains which proved the wintry morning to be approaching. As I sat staring into nothingness, I noticed that my shoes were still tied to my feet and slowly slipped them off. I sighed heavily as I decided to get up. And taking my damp shoes along with me, I dropped them onto the shoe bench in the foyer. I forgot to turn up the thermostat...

I dragged myself back into the living room to turn on the gas for the fireplace and went on to start a pot of tea. Staring out of the kitchen window I watched a blue streak of morning light stretch across the sky above, orange slowly reaching up from under it. The first sunny winter morning of the season had blessed London, and I could barely enjoy it due to all the anxiety-laced excitement burdening my heart. I was anticipating the disruption this new chapter would introduce to my life. Even the thought of Darla's long-held secret sent my mind through an endless loop. Something as ridiculous yet serious as identifying, living, and breathing as a witch, had not been revealed to me, not even by accident.

Trying in vain to rationalize my new reality, I fixed my tea and knocked about in my cupboards for something carb-filled to bring my cortisol levels down, and settled with biscuits in my cushiony armchair. This was my practice, often when I had copious amounts of troublesome thoughts to sort through, and these sessions almost always ended with some sort of resolve. The resolve in question was to say goodbye to those closest and ultimately interrogate my understandably deceitful friend.