The Secret World of Maya Alexander

Chapter 3

The world became vague and dreamy. Maya was lost. Drowning in the empty endlessness beneath her skin. Her husband's presence in and around the room interrupted the still. Yet the effort needed to process his words, or to respond to him, with even a gesture, could not be summoned. Body and mind colluded in her unmoving. Relinquishing the need to move forth into a painful future. A dense fog washed over her and lingered. Her husband's varied tones whispered against the silence of her mind.

Fuelled with maternal advice, Stephen had taken some small steps to care for his wife. A cup of tea, some hot buttered toast, sitting beside her, stroking her softly. Nothing stirred her from the inertial state that held her tightly from her pain.

Drifting through the safety of shadows, the opiate of nothingness numbed and closed down pathways to memories and perception. Hearing was the only sense still connecting her with the world that her body continued to inhabit. Even that was distorted. Muffled. Distant.

Flowing waters whispered through the darkness. Eyes and mind shut tight to the perception of light, the vision of a river rushed before her. Brief flashes of vibrant colour began to paint all over the black canvas of her empty. Blues and greens reflected in an ever-flowing meandering, urging her to let go and sink into its unusually warm waters. To let memories be washed away and arise. A cleansed soul, able to move forth once more into a New World.

Maya remained in what Stephen perceived to be a stubborn stillness when he told her he had run her a nice bath that he was sure would make her feel better. His mum had assured him that a soothing bath and some clean, warm pyjamas would help Maya feel more comfortable.

But she refused to respond to his efforts.

Calling upon all his reserves of patience, Stephen had no choice but to take control. He hesitated before reluctantly removing Maya's stained clothes. An uneasiness weighed upon his shoulders at the invasion of her privacy and autonomy. She had always been fiercely independent. It had been the source of so many arguments.

But that night Maya's body was unresponsive to his touch. She did not stiffen, turn, or try to push him away. She just remained still, allowing her body to be maneuvered out of the clothes still soiled with the memory of her loss.

Stephen lifted her naked body and walked with her in his arms to the bathroom. He lowered her delicate form into the bath. She was lighter than he remembered. Her eyes remained closed. Her body still. So he bathed her, a process that was new and unfamiliar to him.

He concerned himself with the trivial things that remained within his control. Like whether the bubbles he had put in the bath, lavender scented, the ones Maya always said she found soothing, may have left a trace in her thick auburn hair and cause scalp irritation. After he had washed her, he remained beside her for a while, his arm around her motionless form. Eyes still tight. She looked peaceful. So why was his heart pounding so furiously in his chest? Perhaps it was because she seemed so still and out of reach at that precise moment of his observation. Maya was never still. Even in her sleep she had always been restless: twiddling her toes, tossing from side to side. He used to tell her to keep still. But now, as he observed her stillness, his body twitched with a need to move her.

Maya's awareness of her surroundings had faded to its most distant corner of her mind. The warm waters and lavender scents set her adrift. Eyes locked, the brilliance of a dense forest swept before her. Her body languished and lingered in the warm waters of a river running through its centre.  A gentle balmy breeze and a quiet hum cradled her, singing a sweet lullaby, rocking and soothing her.

Lighter, she sunk into a peaceful sleep, tucked tightly in the safety of the familiar forest. Faraway from the cold clinic and crusted clothes that had sent tremors through the already cracked foundations of the world outside her mind.