Sanctity

by S. M. Bowles

  I absently picked up my toast and took a tasteless bite. After breakfast I got dressed and ready to start the day. Both my parents made an effort to cheer me through the morning. I was too distraught to take much of an interest though and just drifted from one suggested activity to the next. Everything I did to pass the time proved incapable of steering my thoughts away from Michael and during the moments that I found myself alone I concentrated and called to him without success. By the end of the day I began to look forward to going to bed knowing that was most likely when I would either see or hear from him. Then I lay awake straining for the sound of my slider opening or his voice in my head or to sense he was still with me in some way.

  Before I knew it Monday morning had come and I was still lost in my grief and without any indication of Michael. I saw my parents whispering to one another while I ate my breakfast and I knew they were trying to figure out why I still seemed so down. I tried my best to hide how badly I was feeling then and went through the motions of getting ready for school. At one point I overheard my mother telling my dad about Brenda and the way she had embarrassed me at the ballet and that she wondered if it was still bothering me.

  Hearing Brenda’s name made me remember my dream and suddenly I wasn’t just weighed down with the loss of Michael but began feeling somehow responsible for what had happened to Brenda as well. I tried to assure myself that it was just a bad dream and nothing more. I constantly thought about it as Monday drew to a close. My mother couldn’t help noticing how distressed I was and questioned me when I came home from school whether or not there was something I would like to talk to her about. I was beginning to realize what Michael was and starting to understand why I could never tell her about him. I knew I had to try and be more like myself or risk further questioning and the possibility of breaking down and confessing everything.

  Between trying to be cheerful in front of my parents and my efforts to reach out to Michael I was exhausted. I was barely aware of Tuesday passing and by Wednesday night I was close to accepting the fact that there was no hope left and that Michael was lost to me forever. I bathed and got ready for bed; my mother read me a story and tucked me in just as always. My parents said goodnight and I forced a happy smile as they turned out my light and set the shoe in my door.

  I fell asleep swiftly but it was not a very restful sleep. I dozed and woke and called to Michael just as I had over the previous nights. I was not quite ready to give up and desperately tried to think of a way to bring him back to me. Sometime after midnight and a bit deeper of a slumber I found myself in that hazy restlessness between sleep and awake. I was thinking about the feeling I had when I first met Michael and the connectedness I always seemed to sense whenever we were near to one another. I thought of the imperceptible thread that I followed that brought me to where he was sitting on the fountain the day we first met.

  “Oh!” the thought quickly brought me to wakefulness. I could not go to him but I wondered if I could somehow use the strange connection that brought me to Michael and bring him to me.

  I cocked my head and listened. There weren’t any noises coming from either the living room or my parent’s room, so I knew they were safely asleep. I hopped from my bed and after removing the shoe, I closed the door the rest of the way. I didn’t bother to turn the light on as I crawled back to bed and propped myself up on my pillow. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was doing but I started by picturing myself and picturing Michael and I imagined the little tendril that connected us.

  I gave a sort of mental tug and tried to recreate the sensation I felt when I was drawn to Michael the first time we met. I envisioned myself holding onto the connection, the imperceptible thread and drawing him towards me and where I was resting in my bed. At first I didn’t feel anything at all and I was sure that I was just being wishful and foolish. When I was about to give up though, I got the impression that the thread had become heavier and harder to gather up. I felt the first hint of happiness that I had felt since the beginning acts of the ballet.

  I don’t know how much time passed but I began to grow weary with the emotional effort I was expending. I was tired almost to the point where I couldn’t hold myself up any longer but then I heard the slider easing back and the rustle of the blinds. Michael took two steps into my room and collapsed onto the floor. I tossed the covers and gathered him into my arms.

  “Michael,” I whispered into his hair, “oh, Michael, I’m so, so sorry.” As I cradled him I felt his arms wrap around my waist. I could feel him sobbing against me and didn’t know what to do other than let him express his grief as we held one another. I reluctantly began to realize that my dream must have been true and I felt Michael’s guilt as though it were my own. “It’s my fault,” I soothed and as I contemplated what Michael was and I thought of Brenda, a shadow of understanding as to why I was so important to him crept into me.

  I sat quietly and as he slowly grew calm I looked him over. There was enough light for me to see how disheveled he was. I was certain he hadn’t changed his clothes for a number of days, or bothered with any other efforts at grooming. He looked ghastly; pale, hollow and unkempt with ominous circles under his eyes. His skin felt like ice and there was a fierceness in the way that he was holding me. I was suddenly aware of how dangerous he could be and I was afraid of him as he clung to me in the dark. I was too relieved to have him there, though, to surrender to my fear.

  After a considerable time had passed I grew too uncomfortable from my positioning and needed to adjust myself to relieve the stiffness I felt. This momentarily roused Michael from his stupor and he pulled me onto his lap with one hand and dragged us both towards the wall with the other. He rested his back against the wall, held tightly to me and tucked my shoulder under his chin.

  As the hours ticked by I drifted off once or twice only to twitch myself awake each time I realized that I had fallen asleep. Every time I woke I found Michael just as he was, with his head resting on my shoulder and his arms wrapped around my waist. I wished that he would say something; I wished I knew what to do to help him.

  I turned and curled myself into his chest and started to doze off again. I didn’t wake up again until morning. Michael was gone, the shoe was in the door and I was in my bed. Part of me wondered if it was all just a dream and I almost panicked when I called and I didn’t hear an immediate reply. He didn’t say anything but after a few minutes I felt as though he had reached out and touched my cheek.

  It was enough to satisfy me and I was so relieved that I didn’t make any other attempts to connect with him. I got out of bed and went into my bathroom before making my way to the kitchen. My dad must have been getting ready for work but my mom was there packing my lunch for school.

  “Good morning honey, you look better.”

  “I feel better.”

  “Did you sleep well?” My father asked as he came into the kitchen and gave each of us a good morning kiss.

  “I think so,” I knew I didn’t sleep much at all but Michael came to me and that had immensely improved my spirits.

  My mom finished putting my lunch bag together and turned her attention to my breakfast. She gave me a glass of orange juice “Would you bring this to the table for me?”

  I put the juice on my placemat and went back to the kitchen for my breakfast. She was making a pot of coffee and told me that when it was done she would come and sit with me so we could chat while I ate. I found that I was very hungry and nearly devoured my breakfast before my mom took her seat across from me. “I see you’ve gotten your appetite back.”

  I smiled and nodded over a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

  “Good, I’m glad you are feeling better. Do you want to talk about what has been bothering you?”

  I shrugged and polished off what was left on my plate. Thankfully my mother didn’t press me to answer. When I was done I brought my dirty dishes to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. My mom flashed a quick smile as I rounded the corner and made my way to brush my teeth
and get ready for school. She helped when it is time to brush my hair and looked me over as though she needed some assurance that I really was feeling better. She drove me to school and gave me a quick I love you and Have a good day. I waved as she pulled from the carpool lane then headed into school.

  The morning passed slowly and when I was not too busy with my classwork I thought of Michael. I wondered if he was feeling better and when he would come see me next. I wondered if I should pull him back to me the way I did the previous night or whether or not I could even do that again. I was very distracted and the teacher called on me more than once to shake me from my daydreams.

  “I know you have not been feeling well Elayna but you need to try and stay focused,” the teacher said to me as we lined up to go to the cafeteria.

  “Yes, I will,” was my simple reply.

  After lunch I listened extra intently to my lessons and avoided, as best I could, the temptation to think about Michael. The afternoon passed more quickly than I imagined it would and before long I was in the carpool line waiting for my mom to pick me up. I was so relieved to be heading home and that the school day was over. I had been stifling yawns for the past hour or so and felt like I could have nodded off at any moment.

  “Rough day?” my mom asked as I piled into the car.

  “I’m a little sleepy that’s all.”

  “Do you have any homework; maybe you can take a nap?”

  Homework was an exception in third grade. We had some from time to time, never more than 15 minutes worth or so.

  “No, no homework,” I yawned mid-speech.

  “Well, it’s up to you. I won’t let you sleep very long; otherwise you’ll be up all night.”

  The idea of napping was never appealing to me but when I heard the words up all night, it suddenly sounded like a prize winning suggestion.

  “OK, but only if you promise to wake me up,” I tried to sound reluctant to the idea and hoped that her impression of too long was longer than not long enough.

  When we got home my mom suggested that I get into some pajamas so I would be more comfortable and it would be easier to fall asleep. I quickly changed and called to her when I was ready to take my nap. She adjusted the blinds so that the room was somewhat darkened. I crawled under the covers and said goodnight, “Good nap,” my mother corrected as she fixed the shoe and turned the light out.

  I was exhausted and fell to right to sleep. I immediately began to dream about Michael, that he was resting somewhere, too. He was lying haphazardly on top of a thick layer of covers that were spread over a massive poster bed in a darkened room. Even in the dim light I could see that he was still wearing the clothes he had worn when he visited me the previous night. I dreamt that I was nearby in the room and as I approached the bed his features became more and more distinct.

  He still looked pale and haggard; the dark circles under his eyes only somewhat diminished and his face bristling with coarse hairs. He had a bit of a scowl to his expression, like he was angry or frustrated. Despite his condition he still seemed dazzling to me. Looking on him that way broke my heart and I wished there were some way, something I could do to comfort him. I sat on the edge of the bed beside him and stroked his cheek the way my father touched mine whenever I was feeling down.

  Some of the intensity from his expression seemed to soften and I could almost discern a smile. He appeared to sigh and turn into my touch. I couldn’t help wishing that he would wake up and we would be friends again like we were before the ballet. I wished we could spend a night lounging on the roof again counting shooting stars. I wished we could do anything; it didn’t really matter as long as it made Michael happy and I could be the cause of that happiness. Someone was calling me from the doorway. I turned away from Michael and as I did I opened my eyes and found myself in my own room with my mother standing in the hallway softly calling my name.

  “Oh, is it time already?” I rubbed my eyes.

  “It’s nearly dinner, honey. I didn’t mean to let you sleep so long but I lost track of the time.”

  My dad was home and helping with dinner by pouring drinks and setting the table. “How are you feeling sweetie?” He asked.

  “Better. Tired.”

  “You must be. Mommy says you’ve been asleep ever since you got home from school.”

  “I know and I didn’t even want to take a nap,” I said with false defiance.

  “Well, after dinner and your shower you can stay up for a little bit. You’ll be up at the crack of dawn if you go to bed again so soon.”

  I stayed up until my parent’s bedtime. “Well, I think you’ve been up long enough,” my dad tucked me in. We skipped on any reading since it was so late. “Will you be able to fall asleep on your own?”

  “I’ll be OK,” I assured them as they kissed me goodnight and set the door.

  I lay awake listening for any indication that my parents might still be up. I kept my eyes on the slider hoping for a visit from Michael. I unwillingly fell asleep. At some point during the night I fretfully woke up because I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My covers had been pulled too tightly around me and I couldn’t seem to move. I almost panicked when I tried to sit up and wasn’t able to. Then I realized that it was because Michael was sitting beside me on top of the covers. He had his back against the wall, his long legs stretched nearly to the end of my bed.

  He was staring straight ahead and looked to be lost in some world of thought. “Michael,” I whispered to him.

  He looked down at me and a slight smile formed on his lips. He still looked scruffy but I could see that he had made a little effort to pull himself together. He was wearing fresh clothes anyway and that was at least a small improvement.

  I wasn’t sure what to say as I tried to wriggle myself free of my blankets. He lifted himself up to give them some slack for me and I managed to get myself into a sitting position beside him. “Michael, I’m glad you came. I have been worried about you all day.”

  He brushed the hair back from my face as I looked up at him but he didn’t say anything.

  “I want us to be friends again,” I couldn’t think of anything more substantial to say.

  He turned away and resumed staring into the empty space in front of him.

  “Why did you come, then?”

  He continued staring and didn’t say anything.

  A number of minutes passed, “Do you see this?” I pointed to my chin where I had a tiny hairline scar.

  He turned and focused on it.

  “I think I got it when I was about four. My mother and I were walking to the grocery store. We weren’t expecting to go anywhere that day and so my dad drove the car to work rather than taking the train. It was wintertime and I remember there being some snow on the ground. We cut through the woods around our apartments and after crossing through the next complex my mom decided that it would be quicker if we cut through their woods as well. It was a long way to go around if you stuck to the sidewalks,” I stole a glance at Michael to see if he was listening and I was pleased to discover that he was watching me as I relayed my story.

  “Well we came to a bit of a hill as we made the more direct route through the trees and I was having trouble getting up it. My feet kept slipping in the snow and the wet leaves underneath. My mother bent down and picked me up so she could carry me up the little slope. After just a few steps she slipped in the snow and the leaves just as I had been doing and we came crashing down together. She tried to protect me but somehow I managed to bang my chin on a rock when we landed and I bit my lip as well.”

  I could see that Michael was interested in my story and that he was wondering at the point I was trying to make.

  “It hurt so much and the cut on my chin was bleeding and my lip, too. My mother was really upset and she seemed so scared. She put me on her back and as I cried and my blood trickled all over her she ran me all the way back home like that. When we got there she cleaned my chin and gave me some ice for my lip. We got changed and she took our b
loody clothes and washed them all right away. Then she gave me hot cocoa and let me sip it while watching TV.”

  “I spilled a little of the cocoa on the coffee table and so I went into the kitchen to ask for a towel. When I got there I saw my mother standing in the corner by the sink and she was crying. She was crying so hard it scared me and I thought that she must have gotten hurt too. When I asked her where she had gotten hurt she said “Here” and pointed to her chest.”

  Michael looked moved by my story.

  “She wasn’t crying because she got hurt but because she felt that she had hurt me; that it was her fault that we slipped and fell and I cut my chin and bit my lip. She was taking all the responsibility for what had happened to me and I knew that wasn’t right.”

  “Michael, it’s not right for you either,” I took his hand. “It was a mistake, everything, that whole night, it was a mistake.”

  Suddenly he reached for me and crushed me against him, “I’m sorry Elayna, I’m so, so sorry,” his voice was hoarse and muffled by my hair. I felt like he was opening back up to me and I was overjoyed to sense our connectedness again.

  “I’m sorry too Michael, I’m sorry,” I was filled with happiness for having gotten through to him.

  “Promise me you will help me be strong, promise that you won’t try to leave me again.”

  “I promise Michael.”

  Once he regained his self-control he tucked me back into bed, “You should get some sleep.”

  “Goodnight Michael,” I hugged him tightly goodbye.

  “Goodnight Elayna,” he gently placed a bristly kiss on my cheek.

  We never talked about that night again but afterwards Michael and I grew considerably closer. He visited me as often as he could and he slowly became very much himself again. He looked as handsome as ever; well-groomed and composed. I looked forward to his visits and to discovering the slight improvements, either in his manner or appearance.

  If the weather wasn’t too unbearable, Michael would bundle me into his coat and we would take a late night stroll and talk about the day each of us had. He ended up choosing my dad’s firm for obvious reasons and told me he hoped it would bring some recognition to my father and that he would perhaps get promoted. Other nights if I was too tired to venture out I would take my pillow and blanket from my bed, spread them on the floor and he would lie beside me while I slept with his strong hand wrapped around my fingers. Those mornings I would wake up in my bed with the shoe in the door and no indication that he had been there.