Fear Asylum

Meetings Can Be Impossibly Quiet (Ch. 3)

While the sun hid behind clouds, jumped out every now and then, and finally began to dip under the horizon, Graham stayed seated where he was, switching his activities at odd intervals. After sketching he went to reading, and now he was back at drawing. I didn't want to bother him, but I was interested in what he was drawing.

Art is an opening into the artist's mind. So his drawing could be my first step to understanding him. As I rose off the bed as silently as possible, and walked a slowing pace, he turned his back to me with even looking. My shoulders slumped lower as I realized he most likely wouldn't let me see it. I sighed and picked up my notebook and phone.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna get going." I said as I walked to the door. But instead of staying in his chair and not making the slightest of motions, he actually turned to face me with that pleading look he wore in his file. In fact, he had his mouth open, possibly in protest of my leaving, but soon pressed his lips together in silence. He turned away, but I could still see the red color run across his face. "Sorry," I smirked.

My hand gripped the doorknob, and I twisted and turned it. I walked into the adjoining room and set my things down. I looked into the two-way mirror and I could see him sitting at his desk. There was a barely audible curse, but I know he had said it. Unbelievably, he turned to stare at the mirror, and I didn't see his lips moving, but I felt as though he said "sorry". With no meaning behind the apology, I simply ignored it.

But I didn't ignore the fact that he was somehow saying these things without actually saying them. It isn't possible, but I know I heard it.

He was now reading, The Invisible Man, I believe, and after turning the last page ever so slowly, he placed the book inside of the desk. He pushed the chair back and turned to his window. He pushed aside the curtain and the street lights gushed into the room. After seeing a small taste of freedom, his face dipped in sadness. His head lowered; it seemed as though he longed for a life outside of this place.

He looked back into the mirror and there was something I hadn't noticed before in his eyes. Those hazel eyes with dark murky rings, once vibrant green interiors, and random specks of gold. They seemed so familiar. That barely audible whisper. It felt as though it had rung through my ears previously. But just as my mind would grasp the past memory, it would slip through my fingers. I looked again through his window and realization that it wasn't a street light, rather moonlight.

I hadn't even noticed how many hours had passed. I gathered my things, taking everything with me. This institute was strange, and I wasn't about to allow them access to my work. I dropped my notebooks into my bag along with my laptop and purse. I put my jacket on and slung the bag on my shoulder. I stopped outside of his door to say goodbye, my hand just above the doorknob, but pushed the idea away. I would seem like a liar if I had said I left before, but instead stayed back to watch him. It would also make me look like a stalker.

I walked downstairs and passed Nancy's desk. I waved goodbye as I pushed the door open. A gust of icy air blew past me, and I zippered my jacket up against the cold. As I drove to my apartment, I thought about Graham. There was something about him, and I was going to figure it out.