The Wall Crossers

November - Leida Offenbrücke - Saturday - Olivia's perspective

And then it's morning.

I still have a mild trip going, but able to think more clearly. The tab she gave me must have been a powerful purple haze (street name for a type of LSD). Leida is cuddled close, on my right side, head on my shoulder, one arm under my pillow, hair splayed all across me, her face pressed against my neck, lightly drooling on my collarbone—I hear her steady breathing, her mouth is open, right breast pressing against my ribs, her right arm draped across my chest, hand squeezing my left arm, like holding me in place—and this thought makes me shiver.

I can't remember last night—what happened—not yet. Something bad. Some loss I can never recover?

There is very little light coming through Leida's two large windows—one over her table and one on the front wall to the right, away from the stairs. It is still early—before sunrise. The light must be from the street.

I very gently wiggle and slide my body out and away from Leida's body—from her grasp on me. As her head and arm fall from my body, she moves slightly, smacks her lips a couple of times and breathes out, "Raphaela?", soft, like a question.

I tiptoe to the bathroom. When I am finished, I turn on the bathroom light and close the door but leave it ajar so there is some light shining into the great room. This helps me find my underwear, my tights, boots. I put them on. I take my dress from the hook and slip it over my head. I find my bag and check that the purse remains inside. My coat is draped over one of her chairs at the table. My watch is in my coat pocket, for some reason. I look—it is 5:30am. I wind the watch and put it on my wrist. I brush my hair.

I walk over to the bed. Leida is fully asleep. I think of more from My Guitar Gently Weeps, the part that is about, Looking at a love that sleeps. But this is not appropriate here!... she is not my love.

I watch her innocently sleep. What she did to me was wrong. But did I encourage her at dinner since I was so beguiled by her? It was my mistake to come to her apartment—and maybe that signaled to her my consent—to put myself under her control? Her plan? What kind of plan could that have been? I freely gave my time for her article. What else could she have wanted from me? I have nothing to give. But I did go along, I did... I think?

This is what injured women are always accused of—of encouraging the aggressor. And the victim often even feels self-blame.

Still, you don't give someone drugs without telling them—what it is. I am well aware of LSD—and should have noticed the tiny dried spot from a dropper on the face of the heart candy. This is how it is delivered from makeshift illegal lab to user. Acid can kill. Some people freak out bad—some take their own lives. Even now, my trembling body and imbalanced thinking are disturbed by that dose of fear taken many hours ago—it is not finished with me. So I need to quickly get to my barracks—to that place of known safety and calm—and then to Anja, my haven of comfort and affection.

Before I leave, I look up to the ceiling over the bed to see one more time the enthralling star chart—that part of the acid trip that had been so emotional—so moving for me.

There is no star chart on the ceiling.

I walk to Leida's table and see her journal lying there. And her pen. I have a flash in my brain—remembering something important—that I need to say to her. During the night the words had come to me, about this—about Leida. Important words, that I feel a need to tell her... to write them down for her so she will read them later.

As part of the acid trip, I had had a vision in the night of a path through a forest and all the trees were adorned with stars. Incongruously, a phone was ringing, and the receiver brought to me. It made sense somehow, in the trip, but now? I came to a clearing and a woman was standing there, and the look on her face made me sure she was waiting for me. She was speaking to me, but like into a phone... so strange! I only recall a fragment of those words, something like, pose in echoed knells, assuming a sign of clappers deep within dark wells, or something like that. She wore a long blue gown that swept the ground. Her wavy gray hair was pulled back. I did not recognize her, but her eyes were dark like wells. I walked closer. She smiled at me and opened her mouth and recited some words... for me, and I knew—to remember. Leida was nowhere to be seen. And when the woman finished speaking these few words, she lifted her left hand to cover her face, showing me the back of her hand, and on her thumb was a silver ring with a blue stone. And even though the forest around us was the dark of closely forested evening, there was light from the sky enough to touch the stone, briefly flashing me a beautiful six-rayed star. And I felt joy, and love, and warmth when those rays met my eyes—my face.