My mind started to drift off slowly, and the healing began.
* * *
I awoke slowly from my slumber, my face buried in the sheets of the bed, no blanket. My senses returned to me as I could smell the bleach on the sheets once more and the forgotten smell of stale cigarettes. Through an overcast sky, the light came into the room through a large window with only a thin curtain attempting to keep it at bay. I slowly sat up on the side of the bed trying to retrace my thoughts. It was similar to being excessively drunk the night before and knowing there are gaps in your memory.
I took a deep breath and inhaled the stale air of the room, and as I breathed in, I felt different. Though the air was stagnant and stuffy, my body took in the air with desperation. It devoured it like a breath of life. Every air particle absorbed into my bloodstream like a desert in drought.
I quickly got up and went to the bathroom to peer in the mirror. Physically, you might say nothing in my appearance had changed from the previous day, but I was finally able to see myself. There was a light in my eyes, dim, but there. I reached out to the glass and admired my reflection. I touched my face and felt the comforting warmth of my skin and the warm blood flowing through it and beneath it, traveling throughout my body. I put my hand on my chest where my heart rested.
Thump, thump, thump, thump . . .
My heart beat strong, steady, and alive. A smile overtook me as a tear ran down the side of my face. Comfort surrounded my being.
I was whole again.
I kept my hand on my chest for a long time soaking in that feeling. It was mine. It was not staggered nor weak, it did not pump ice through my veins; it was not a black hole.
While looking at myself I saw my imperfections, I saw the pain, the struggle, the hurt, the weakness, the fear, I saw the lost soul. I was not good, I was not bad, but I was fully alive, no longer a ghost among the living. Was the darkness still there? Yes, and I knew it always would be. It was a part of me, my shadow. Everyone has a shadow they cannot evade. It is their burden, their heartache, their darkness, their secrets, their reminder of their struggle, and a reminder of the struggles they have overcome.
Everything had a new significance. I took my time packing up my things, enjoying every aspect of the hotel room, as my excitement grew for the even more beautiful world outside. When I finished I gathered up my things in my backpack and picked up the key to head to the lobby. I stepped outside and saw the sky had darkened and it began to drizzle.
I stood on the balcony outside my room and observed the rain. It smelled of fresh earth, and mud. I listened to the sound of the drops as each one fell to its resting place and gathered in puddles in various crevices. I reached my arm out to let the drops fall on my hand and arm. The temperature of the rain was slightly cooler than the air it fell through.
I walked across the parking lot to the lobby, and the door opened automatically letting me in. I proceeded to the clerk at the front. The lobby was lit with incandescent lamps throughout that reflected beauty of the stained wood that encompassed it. I walked across large squares of tan, marble tiles and made sure to place each foot in a full square. As I reached the desk, I put my bag down and placed my journal and keys on the desk.
The clerk who had been focused on his newspaper, quickly set it down and greeted me.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile and a slight African accent. He had dark skin and short dark hair. He seemed slightly older than me with a smile that revealed perfect teeth.
“Hi, um, I’m checking out, I guess,” I said, uncertain of the appropriate procedure for leaving a hotel.
“Oh, yes, of course,” the clerk reached for the keys, “I apologize for not acknowledging your presence sooner. I was just reading an article. It’s nice to have some good news every once in a while.”
“Oh, no problem, I agree,” I said, glancing over at the paper, attempting to decipher it upside down. The headline read: Bross University Student’s Miraculous Recovery from Death Bed.
The article showed two pictures, one, a girl in a hospital bed looking very ill, the other a school photo of a beautiful girl with long flowing hair and an attractive smile.
“She just got better,” he said with astonishment in his voice, shaking his head as he typed into the computer.
“Hey, I think I recognize her, I think we went to school together,” I said.
“At the University?”
“No . . . high school,” I said, thinking of the unlikelihood that I had gone to school with Joyce’s daughter.
“Where was that?”
“In Crosswood.”
“Crosswood?”
“Yes . . .” I responded.
“Of course, you’re Danielle. Sorry, the room name was under Joyce. Here,” he said putting a large manila envelope on the desk with a ticket on top of it, “Miss Joyce said you would pick this up when you departed the hotel.”
“What is this?” I said, looking at the ticket and picking up the envelope to peek inside.
“I don’t know what’s in the envelope, but that is your bus ticket,” he said.
“Bus ticket to where?” I asked, confused.
“To Crosswood.”
I peered inside the envelope. It had all the documents Joyce had said she had gathered for me: identification, a smaller envelope, and some cash.
“Thank you,” I said, attempting to gather all my things at once.
“No problem and the room has already been paid for, so we’re all good here. Anything else I can help you with?”
“Um, yes,” I said, stuffing some things into my bag, “Where is the bus station?”
“Oh, yes, if you exit the front door to the right, it’s about three blocks down, on your right. It’s small, but you can’t miss it. Looks like your bus should be leaving in about two hours.”
“Okay, great. Thanks for your help,” I said, turning to head out the door.
“You might want to wait a while before leaving, and take cover from the rain,” he suggested.
“I think I’ll be alright,” I said, looking back, “It’s just water.”
Chapter Seventeen: Whole Again
I made my way to the bus station. It was a small building the size of a large gas station with a large semi-circle drive in for the buses. I didn’t bother going into the station and just sat outside on a bench under the roof cover. I looked through the envelope Joyce had left for me to confirm all its contents. I pulled out the smaller envelope and opened it. Inside was a letter from Joyce.
Danielle,
I can never thank you enough for what you have done. Although I was not always the best doctor, nor were you the best patient, I learned more from you than any other person I have treated or known. I know you struggle with the darkness inside you, among the chaos in your mind. But I also know you struggle with it because you are fighting for the light, and that is admirable. I know you have spent so much time trying to kill this thing inside of you that you hate, but I’m not so sure that is wise. I know it seems like a monster lives in you, but it’s more like a stray dog that needs compassion and affection and love to show its strength and loyalty. It has a primal sense to protect the ones it loves and destroy anything that threatens them. Danielle, I encourage you to tame that beast. What I saw last night from it was not hatred, nor anger. What I saw last night took all of you, not just the parts of you that you want the world to see. If you could accomplish that with only part of your soul, imagine the possibilities. If you want a full life, you must mature the other side of your soul. I know it has a lot of catching up to do, and perhaps these words won’t make sense today or tomorrow. However, I believe with all of my heart that you have a purpose in this world, and though your past and this perceived affliction might haunt you daily, I urge you to be stronger than the darkness. I caution you, however, that in order to tame the darkness, first, you must delve deep into it. I pray that you do not lose your way, but once again find the light, and come out the other side complete.
I finished reading Dr. Joy’s note, folded it back up, and placed it into the envelope. She was right in that much of what she was saying I did not understand, but I trusted her that in time I might. I let the words resonate for almost an hour, but found no further meaning. I realized some things you are not meant to understand till a certain point. I made a mental note to hold onto the letter.
As I sat under the roof, the rain began to pour down harder. A crowd of people began to take cover in the area I was as our bus approached for boarding. It pulled around and stopped several feet ahead of us. People began to organize their things for the rainy trek to the bus. After about fifteen minutes they began loading passenger’s luggage into the side compartment, and the people began to climb inside.
Before the line began to grow, I made my way toward the bus entrance. A few people were in front of me displaying their tickets. I fumbled with the stuff in my hands to reach for my ticket in the pocket of my backpack. Just as I had grasped it, a man behind me stumbled, cannoning into me. As he did, my journal came loose from under my arm and fell to the curbside into the stream of flowing water. I immediately reached for it with my free hand. When I pulled it from the water, it was soaking wet.
“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry,” the man said as he attempted to help me gather my things, “Please tell me that wasn’t important.”
“It was everything I needed to know about my past up until this point . . .” I said with despair, more to myself than the man.
Another older gentleman, who had apparently heard my comment, spoke up from behind him.
“Perhaps it’s a sign to let go of the things in your past, and not let them define you,” he said with a smile.
I returned his smile.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
I shook my journal off so that it would not drip, and the man who had knocked it out of my hands gave me a plastic bag to keep it in as it dried out. I climbed onto the bus and presented my ticket and made my way to the back to take a seat.
I shoved my bag under the seat in front of me, not wanting it too far from reach and glanced out the window as others piled into the bus.
I rested my head against the window as the rain pattered against it, watching the droplets run down the glass, as the bus engine hummed, waiting to leave.
As I watched the droplets, I began to drift off. As my dream materialized, the droplets began to dry and suddenly the sun shined through the bus. It could have been a summer afternoon. I looked up to realize the bus had changed. No longer were there many passengers awaiting their destination, it was just me. The bus was no longer a passenger bus, but a school bus.
I heard the noise of tires screeching and woke from my dream with a jump. The passenger next to me glanced at me briefly. She was a woman in her early forties with pale white skin, red lipstick, and dark red hair. She was quite beautiful, yet motherly in appearance.
“Nightmare?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I said, letting my heart settle.
The dream quickly faded in my mind, though I attempted to hold on to it. There was something in that dream, something I wanted, but the thought slipped tantalizingly away.
“I don’t know how people can sleep on the bus,” the lady said.
“Yeah . . . I don’t know. It’s unusual, I’ve never been able to sleep while driving,” I said.
“Well lucky for you, you missed most of the trip. We’re about ten minutes out.”
“I was asleep for four hours?” I asked in disbelief.
“Oh yes, quite peacefully for the most part.”
“Weird,” I said, drifting into my thoughts.
“Are you visiting family?” the woman asked.
“I guess you could say that,” I replied, “How about you?”
“Returning home actually, from a business trip in Dallas. This is the third bus I’ve been on, and the trip was nearly eight hours. I should’ve just flown, but my flight was canceled and I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see my husband and son.”
“You’re from Crosswood?” I asked.
“Not originally. I moved there about a year ago from Florida. Are you from Crosswood?”
“Yeah, I grew up here.”
“You seem so young to say that in past tense. How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
“Three years.”
“That’s quite some time. Are you staying very long?”
“No, I just have some unfinished business,” I replied, “Then I’ll be leaving.”
“Where to after that?”
“No idea,” I said with a forced laugh.
“Well, that’s okay. You can only live in the moment if your next step isn’t yet planned.”
“I agree,” I said, as the bus came to a stop. I grabbed my bag in preparation to exit.
As we filed off the bus, the woman turned around, “Well it was very nice talking to you. Oh, so sorry,” she said, extending a hand, “My name is Olivia.”
I reached for her hand cautiously.
“Danielle,” I replied, “Nice meeting you as well.”
As I exited the bus, I made an immediate left and walked across the street away from the bus and the crowd awaiting it. There in Crosswood, it wasn’t raining. The sky had many clouds, but the sun still shone through them. It was breezy outside and rather cool. I’d assume it to be February. I was instantly familiar with the area though it had changed. It looked a little less small town, and a little more commercial with more fast-food chains, and a modernized landscape.
I knew where I was heading wasn’t far from the bus station. Perhaps this is why Joyce suggested I take the bus. Maybe she knew where I intended to go. I made my way up and down the roads, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I knew it was possible for someone to recognize me, not to mention, I probably looked like a homeless person.
I stopped for a second and realized technically I was a homeless person. I laughed how, apparently, my mind was quick to judge the very situation I was in.
After about twenty minutes of walking, I arrived at my destination.
I looked up at the entrance gate that stood open. Beautiful iron bars were mounted in a black arches and rolled down into white brick, and then more tall black iron bars created a fence around the enclosure. I read the sign inscribed on the bricks as I proceeded inside: Crosswood Cemetery
I walked down the dirt paths crisscrossing the cemetery. The grounds were well kept and the grass was green, but I wasn’t sure where she had been laid to rest. I wandered for a very long time, reading multiple headstones. While making my way toward one of the trees, I found her.
Bridget Blake 1965—2003
I dropped my bag where I stood, and approached her headstone, avoiding others in my path. I felt my legs grow weaker with every step I took. A metal ball seemed to expand in my throat and made the mere act of breathing a painful endeavor. My vision began to blur as tears filled my eyes and caught the sun. I attempted to not resist the emotions, but the instinct to suppress them came more natural.
As I arrived at the foot of her grave, I collapsed to my knees facing her headstone. I laid my face against the grass, and I felt a tear escape me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
As the sun began to set, I slowly sat up, wiping the tears from my face and sat cross legged next to my mother’s grave. I plucked at the grass as I gathered my thoughts. I pondered all the things I now wished to say to her. At the foot of the headstone was a small bundle of dead flowers that you could tell was once quite beautiful.
“I know . . . it’s weird that I’m here. I’ve been gone so long. Even before I was sent away I was already gone. It’s so strange; I feel like I’m saying goodbye to you for the first time. Like it happened yesterday. I don’t blame you for what happened to Nathan. It’s not your fault, what happened to him, and it’s not your fault what happened to you. Slowly I’m beginning to see that what happened wasn’t my fault
either. At least not everything. I wish you didn’t feel like you had no way out, I wish I hadn’t judged you, and I had just been there for you,” I said as a few more tears ran down my face, “I’m sure you know my secret by now, be sure to thank Grandma Elizabeth for me. I’m still trying to figure it all out . . . I feel as if I have no answers, no place to start from. I’ve been running from my past for a long time, and I don’t think I’m done running yet. I won’t be back to visit for a very long time. I think my future lies away from this place. I just want you to know that I will never forget you, and I do love you, and I forgive you . . . And I hope you’ll forgive me, too, for what I’m going to do.”
The wind rustled a little in the trees as the sky began to light up orange and red behind the earth. I reached my hand to the flowers and touched them. They glowed slightly as the life returned to them. They became saturated in purples, reds, and yellow, and the petals began to stretch to the sky as they bloomed once more.
I arose from my position knowing there was one more thing I had to do before my departure. I made my way back across the cemetery grounds toward the entrance.
“Danielle?” came a voice from behind me.
I stopped in my tracks. Without turning around I attempted to place the voice as well as contemplated proceeding to leave without acknowledging it.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” came the unexpected sound of a toddler’s voice behind me.
I turned around to confront my curiosity.
“It’s really you,” said Trish.
“Trish?” I said in disbelief.
“Dani, wow I haven’t seen you in forever, not since . . . that day.” She seemed to be recalling our last encounter and trailed off.
“Yeah.”
“I heard the craziest stories about you. People were saying that you died, or that you were arrested, and that you were crazy. All I know is one day you just disappeared. Where have you been?” she asked bluntly. She never did have a knack for subtlety.
Manifesting Shadow, #1 Page 23
