by Ken Dickson
“Beth’s been hounding me to get a Blue Ray disc player. I don’t think that it’s worth upgrading with the television that we have.”
“If I were you, I’d man up and go with the new technology. I’m sure that there are other advantages.”
Chapter 8
UNKNOWN CALLER
That evening, I lost the Blue Ray disc battle when Beth convinced me of the benefits of having access to Netflix and Hulu Plus. She purchased the new player the next day, and I unboxed and connected it after dinner. I was in the process of setting up Hulu Plus when my phone vibrated. The display said “Unknown Caller.” I normally wouldn’t respond, but sometimes I received calls from relatives or friends using calling cards, and the same message displayed.
“Is this Ken?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Emma.”
I only knew one Emma. “From Gracewood?”
“Yes. I received your invite on LinkedIn, but thought it would be better to call.”
I had no idea where she’d gotten my number, but was thrilled.
“I’m not stalking you. I just wanted to thank you for how you treated me.”
“Okay.” It was the same nebulous response I’d heard from her on my last day at Gracewood when I told her I was leaving. “I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at Gracewood?”
I suspected that she was fearful of facing a formerly dangerous patient on the outside. I couldn’t blame her, but had no desire to return to that place without a good reason. “Why don’t we meet someplace else? Do you like the Phoenix Botanical Gardens? It’s nearby. We can talk and have lunch at their café—my treat.”
“I haven’t been there in a while. That sounds nice.”
I saw no point in wasting time. Hardly a day went by that I didn’t think of her. “Could we meet tomorrow at 11:30?” An awkward silence followed.
“All right,” she finally answered.
“Are you okay, Emma? You seem upset.”
“I’ll talk about it tomorrow. It’s complicated.”
She sounded extremely tense—not the Emma I remembered at all. If she was in trouble, I’d do anything to help.
***
When I was confined in various psych wards, it seemed that they all had one thing in common—the staff didn’t interact with patients. They provided discipline and took notes from afar. That was all.
Emma was the lone exception. As part of her job, she engaged patients in various activities to challenge their minds and calm their rattled souls. She could have done so from a distance like other staff, but instead, she sought out those who’d benefit most from kindness, and then interacted with them as if they were normal.
Emma was difficult to miss: attractive, slimly built, and as graceful as a ballet dancer. Her wavy, dark-brown hair fell to shoulder length when not in a ponytail, and her eyes were the pale-blue of glacial ice. Internet searches yielded a few facts: she’d danced and sang for much of her life, pursuing those passions through high school, college, and then in local theater. She held a degree in Movement Therapy. I had no idea how or why she became a recreational therapist. Perhaps it provided better career options.
I was drawn to her from the moment we met. I watered flowers with her every day at Gracewood, and that half-hour was the highlight of my day. She’d planted the gardens herself, but Gracewood wouldn’t spring for an automatic watering system. Without hand-watering, the flowers would die in days from the sweltering Phoenix heat. I never forgot her kindness toward me during that brief time together and prayed that someday we’d meet again under better circumstances.
***
Thursday morning arrived, and my prayers would soon be answered. Unsure what to expect, I waited impatiently for her by the wrought-iron entrance to the botanical gardens. My heart raced when I finally spotted her approaching, wearing a floral print blouse reminiscent of the one that she’d worn when I first saw her at Gracewood. However, that was the only thing familiar about her. She was much paler and thinner than I recalled. I wondered if she was battling cancer or a terminal disease. I could think of no other reason for her unhealthy appearance.
Unlike Jessie, she remained coolly aloof as we greeted and walked toward the cashier. After paying the entrance fees, I led her on the most therapeutic route I could to boost her spirits, beginning with the butterfly pavilion.
Generally, the butterflies avoided people, preferring the aromatic flowers and lush vegetation, but something odd happened as Emma entered: they descended upon her like flies. She extended her hands, and several of them lit on them immediately, flexing their black and radiant blue, fiery orange, or spotted wings open and closed. She smiled weakly as I watched in awe.
In noticeably better spirits after leaving the pavilion, she directed me to sit on a nearby bench shaded by a massive mesquite tree. Then, she removed her sunglasses, set them beside her, leaned forward, and buried her face in her hands.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I watched you at Gracewood,” she replied from behind her hands.
“I don’t know how you could have done that without me noticing—I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. There was something about you that felt familiar, comfortable.” I wanted to tell her what I really felt—that she seemed like an angel for how she treated me and other patients, but I left it at that. She placed her hands on her lap, sat, and gazed at a boojum tree across from us. Her eyes were puffy and red, but she didn’t hide them from me or make any apologies.
“Do you remember asking me why I was able to cross the line between patient and staff so easily?” she asked, turning toward me.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t have an answer then. I’d only recently become that way. It happened the next day after I’d placed a calendar on the wall in your unit. After that, I felt more connected and empathetic toward patients. Then, I noticed you playing football, soccer and basketball with patients. You drew out their best, regardless of how withdrawn or dysfunctional they were. Eventually, I realized that we were kindred spirits. Nevertheless, the patients at Gracewood are dangerous, and I was trained to not let my guard down. I wish that I had. I needed answers, and as crazy as it sounds, I believed that you had them.”
“I hate to say it, but I wasn’t capable of giving answers back then—ones that made sense, anyway. Things are different now. Feel free to ask me anything.”
“Since then, my life’s been a mess. My husband and children treat me like I’m someone else. Each day, the wall between us grows more formidable. I didn’t know who else to turn to, so I accessed your records and obtained your phone number.”
Unknowingly, I’d been interacting with someone like myself for weeks at Gracewood. That’s why I was so enamored of her. I thought of her every day, and tending the gardens with her was my top priority. Rather than respond, I simply extended my arms. Initially, she hesitated, but once we hugged, her tension eased, and I experienced the same calmness that I had when I hugged Jessie—like greeting Beth after weeks of separation due to work in Europe or Asia. Nothing mattered outside of that instant of time—a pure moment of presence. With that hug, I said what words could not.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“It’s going to be just fine,” I responded, patting her gently on the back. We ended the hug, she slid her sunglasses back on, and then leaned back against the bench. Seizing an opportunity to enlighten her, I told her about Jessie, explaining how her life had turned completely around, and Tim, who had only recently changed, and already faced struggles of his own. I finished by discussing my situation. “Beth handled my medical and mental health problems admirably. Her real challenge came when faced with the new me afterward. We’ve been on a roller-coaster ride ever since. Though I love her, I often wonder if we’ll make it. Regardless, I haven’t lost faith. I’m certain that in time, both of our situations will resolve themselves.”
She removed her sunglasses and wiped tears from the corner
s of her eyes before they streamed down her cheeks. I hoped that they were tears of relief, of realization that she was no longer alone in her struggles. “Becoming the way we are is a kind of mysterious destiny. I have no idea how it works, who will be affected or when. As far as I know, it could already have spread to others around this city, the country or the world. I suppose that you could think of it as a sickness, but I think that it’s a blessing, a gift.”
“But my life is such a mess!” she exclaimed. “My family treats me like a freak, pushing me away when all I want to do is be with them more than ever.”
“I understand, believe me. There are days when I expect to be served divorce papers any minute. Sensing the friction between Beth and me, my kids built protective walls, too, and Beth exacerbates the situation by isolating them from me whenever I do anything seemingly out of the ordinary—which happens frequently, lately.”
“What should I do?”
“We’ve each been given a kind of clean slate, and see things differently as a result. Unfortunately, our families are unchanged. We have to accept them as they are, without expectation. If we fight our reality by trying to make them understand or be like us, things will only get worse. You have to let go. You have to put complete faith in the fact that everything will be okay no matter how things turn out. As long as you resist that truth, you will continually butt heads with your family. You have to accept yourself, as well. As far as I know, there is no going back. We are who we are.”
She turned her head to the side and let tears stream freely. I placed my hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “I knew that you’d have answers.” She turned toward me and hugged me again, sobbing as she did.
“Just trust and let it go. Everything is going to work out perfectly.”
She moved away and gazed at me questioningly. “Will my family love me again?”
“Have faith and let go. It will all turn out fine.”
She wiped her tears away and replied defensively, “I love them dearly. I don’t ever want to let them go.”
“You don’t have to let them go, just let go of fighting for them. Let life follow its natural course, and focus on the positives it sends you.”
She nodded, but still seemed determined to resist to the end. Unfortunately, the only logical end was the end of resistance. Anything else would lead to misery. She remained quiet for some time after that, then stood from the bench and slid on her sunglasses. I joined her, and we continued along the paved walkways.
Whenever we passed a blooming plant, she shared interesting facts about it. “This sea-lavender isn’t a desert plant at all. It thrives by the ocean. It is very drought tolerant, however. I should plant some at Gracewood. These blackfoot daisies, on the other hand, are straight from the Sonoran desert, and so are these desert marigolds.”
At one point, she stopped and glanced upward, apparently drawn by a familiar sound. “That’s an Anna’s hummingbird,” she said, pointing toward an iridescent emerald hummingbird with a dazzling rose-pink throat flitting between the flowers of a blooming ocotillo. “They look more like jewelry than birds, don’t you think? Did you know that they weigh less than a nickel?”
“I didn’t know that.” The gardens were exactly what she needed. It warmed my heart to help her forget her troubles for a time. We ate lunch after that at the café, and then returned to the entrance.
“Emma, There’s something that I’ve wanted to say for a long time.”
“What’s that?”
“Thank you for treating me with such kindness at Gracewood. You were my single ray of sunshine in a dark world.”
She extended her hand as if to shake mine, and I responded in kind. Instead of shaking my hand, however, she clasped it with both of hers. Instantly, truth chills rippled up my arm, across my back and up my neck. Savoring them, I noticed Emma shudder at that very same instant. It mystified me that we’d shared the same experience, but I said nothing.
“You really aren’t a dangerous man, after all.”
“No, just a victim of circumstances.”
“I couldn’t speak to you at Gracewood, but I shouldn’t have waited so long to contact you.” She squeezed my hand and then released it.
“Everything is going to work out, I promise.”
She nodded uncertainly, and we parted ways. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again, but at least I’d had an opportunity to thank her. Nonetheless, I couldn’t let it end that way. I called out to her.
“Emma?”
She stopped and turned. “Yes?”
One day, when we were watering Gracewood’s gardens, she described her own garden. Whether it was true or not, I imagined it to be the most beautiful garden in the world. “I’d love to see your garden sometime.”
She tipped her head a bit, smiled curiously and then walked away.
Chapter 9
BECKONING
Emma’s situation troubled me for the remainder of the day and into the night. I wished that there was something I could do for her, some way I could help. I tossed and turned until well after midnight before finally relenting. I’d done everything I could in the short time we had. There was no way to contact her again anyway. I slept like a dead man for five hours after that until the dream began.
A helicopter hovered in slow motion above a city street, its blades emitting a resonant whup, whup, whup. Below, people walked briskly to their destinations, oblivious to the din of the Vietnam-era Huey. Small white cards rained from an open side door of the aged helicopter. As the cards tumbled lazily toward the indifferent pedestrians, a few of them paused as if suddenly awakened from a trance and gazed curiously upward. The cards ceased their random tumbling and streamed purposefully toward each of the curious onlookers. Almost in unison, they cupped their hands, and the cards filled them to overflowing. The vision slowed to a standstill and zoomed in on a view of one handful of cards. In crisp, bold letters on each card were two words written in capital letters: JOIN ME.
Just then, a cooling mist rained down upon them. By the time they realized what it was, it was already too late. The Huey had sprung a massive fuel leak. Starved for fuel, its engine sputtered and then backfired, igniting the fuel vapor cloud created by the fuel and prop wash. A searing fireball consumed the fuel downpour at lightning speed, incinerating every card and everyone who caught them.
I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the blast and carnage. When I was certain it was over, I lowered it only to discover that my hand was on fire. Crimson, yellow and blue flames twisted from my sizzling flesh into sooty black smoke. I shook my hand in an attempt to extinguish it, and the fire roared in satisfaction. All at once, it spread to my arm and then to my chest. Before I knew it, my entire body was engulfed in flame. The flames burned brighter and hotter every second until my vision blurred and I collapsed.
An instant later, I opened my eyes. I lay face up on the ground. Above me, rain clouds parted and the sun peeked through, shining right on my face. I turned my head from the harsh light and noticed saguaros, prickly pear cactus and the crushed granite of desert floor. I sat and peered ahead. A damp dirt road stretched away, climbing a hill and disappearing beyond it. The sunlight illuminated the road more brightly than anything else. I rose to my feet, breathed in the moist, creosote-scented air, and proceeded down the road toward the hill. I made it but a few steps before I awoke.
I couldn’t remember ever having three dreams in one. The desert dream was nothing new. I had that all the time. Neither was the fuel and fire dream. I had those often since burning my hand despite the fact that I never thought about that when I was awake. Although my waking mind had a good handle on my emotions, my sleeping mind experienced them freely. Whenever I had that dream, I awoke in fear and remained that way until some part of my brain switched on and calmed me. That led me to wonder if my lack of negative emotions was in actuality a cognitive ability to block emotion that switched off while I slept.
The helicopter drea
m was new—the cards raining down, people catching them and the words JOIN ME. I understood what it meant, but was reluctant to admit it. With Jessie, Tim and now Emma on the seemingly growing list of changed people, it had become increasingly difficult to deny that what I once only imagined while locked in a psych ward was happening for real.
Chapter 10
THE GREAT DISPARITY
With each changed person I encountered came the small voice in my head whispering, “Utopia.” When I first changed, I could see incredible advantages to my new mindset. When my interaction with other patients led to their improvement, it convinced me that I was contagious. I quickly realized how much people like us could accomplish together. I immediately began drawing plans for an entire society of changed people, to explore the potential of this seemingly limitless state of mind. I called my little science project Utopia. I thought that everyone would be as excited as I was about it, but the more I spoke of it, the crazier I seemed. I wasn’t interested in going down that path again.
Now, however, what I’d once only imagined had manifested for real. In only four days, I’d met three changed people. No matter what kind of spin I put on it, the results were the same. A great disparity was brewing, and at the focal point of it were changed people. If I did nothing, they’d face daunting challenges. With all the difficulties I’d had with my own family and friends accepting the new me, it was undeniable, and Emma’s situation drove home the point even more.
Back when I was frantically drawing up plans for Utopia, I was more imaginative than practical. I knew what the change meant for humanity, and I wanted to be the first one on the ride into the future. Without negative emotions, I imagined that everyone would get along, allowing humanity to work together like never before. I wanted to jump-start what I believed would be an exponential process toward anything and everything being possible. I envisioned living longer, being healthier and having unlimited opportunities as a result of humanity’s newfound camaraderie and the advances born from global cooperation.
