Can you hear me?
Sleep is an impossibility. I knew this from the moment of awakening. After a few minutes of restless tossing and
turning, I give up, throwing the blankets off my over-heated form, not
comforted with the cold air that hits me. I stand, wobbly from unattended sleepiness, blinded by dried tears. Trailing out of the room and down the
staircase, I note the faint streaks of dawn beginning to bleed out the stars.
I wonder if it's still dark where you are. I see you standing near your window, as I
know you hardly sleep. My breath
exhilarates. I enjoy seeing you, even
if it is an image I conjecture myself. It gives me subtle pleasure…knowing somewhere you are at peace.
Are you at peace?
I sigh. Whether or not I fully hope so, I'm still trying to decide.
I don't deserve to be remembered, but I can't help but
hope somewhere you're thinking of me.
Entering the kitchen, I clumsily flip on the switch,
setting my coffee maker to provide me with a source of caffeine in the next few
minutes. The clock on my microwave
reads slightly passed 4:30 AM.
I wrap my arms around myself and travel to the
window. Though it is growing lighter
out, all remains mostly dark. Were it
later in the morning I might indulge in a jog. Not now. Too early.
I close my eyes and think of you. It's useless trying not to. You haunt my every thought, notion,
second. As if I'm trapped in a corner
and you have me pinned. I am captured
in your gaze and I cannot look away. We've already traveled that road, haven't we? It sounds too familiar.
Why do I suddenly feel ill?
I dislike this unhealthy, obsessive behavior. Nevertheless, that changes nothing. I know I tend to dwell in the past…I have
since my father died. But that hardly
crippled my ability to function, move, breathe. Not like now. Now when I
cannot focus on the simplest of tasks.
I've become the worst version of myself.
Can you hear me? Will you answer?
I wait. No…I
don't suppose you will.
My coffee is ready and I gulp the first cup down
hurriedly, ignoring the burning sensation it delivers my tongue. The pain, mild as it is, doesn't register
until I move to pour another serving.
It's foolish and adolescent, thinking you can hear
me. I never speak these feelings aloud,
lest what little reasoning I have left be driven away. Oh, I wish you could, though. Perhaps if you did, these conversations with
the idealized version of you I have running though my head would cease.
I would like to maintain some sanity. Not much, mind you. Just enough to pass on the streets.
Morality be damned. What has it done for me lately?
I sigh, drinking my second cup of coffee with steady
patience. The caffeine fails to kick
in as I hoped, and I find myself tempted with sleep.
To return to nightmares? No. I'll stay here and
watch the sunrise, hoping somewhere you're doing the same.
If we watch the break of dawn, then you are nearer
than I thought. I find myself hoping
feverishly that this is so.
With the chance, however slim, that you will answer,
I'll ask once more.
Can you hear me?
Don't you hear it; how can you not? My cries, my pleas…often to the anonymous
face of Mr. Darkness. I beg you to
return, issuing my thousand apologies and never-ending imploration for
forgiveness, the same redemption I know I don't deserve. Tell me you can hear me…please.
Can you see me?
I suppose not…surely if you could see me, I would not
be here, consoling a lonely cup of non-conversational coffee. My eyes reveal too much, though I care to
conceal nothing. Why should I
bother? Every time I glance in the
mirror, I see myself clearly. What I
hid for years. What you saw for years. I question my intelligence. Was I really that blind?
It doesn't matter anymore. I did what I was supposed to do every damned minute of my
career. On a sour note, my occupation
remains annoyingly intact. I know you
wouldn't approve, but neither would they. I can't please anyone anymore…I walk the halls of Quantico every day
with less conviction, trying to survive the snickers, rumors, and rude comments
while keeping control of my longings for you.
Do you see that? Do you hear that? I hope so.
Can you smell me?
Sometimes I sense you near, so close I feel your
breath on my neck. The sensation warms
me in that sad, dreary way that confirms everything I could have had has
officially gone to crap.
You commented once on my skin cream and the L'Air du
Temps I used to wear. Is that how you
remember me? I hope not. Do you remember me in Armani, drenched with
the foul stench of confusion, annoyance, and God forbid, hatred? Oh God, I hope not. I want you to see me NOW, to smell the
revolution I feel TODAY. If we never
see each other again…I want you to remember me like this. Liberated – ready for you even if I am never
allowed my forgiveness.
That's a horrible thought.
So horrible because it's true? Oh, I hope not.
I've been hoping a lot recently. Wonder if you've noticed.
Can you taste me? If so, do I run bitter in your mouth? Am I chilled…too frigid to enjoy? So long I've feared that's true…that my coldness repels others. On a level, I wanted it to. I wanted to exercise I was no pushover, and
I did so in such a convincing away that I pushed YOU away forever. I was cold to you. Can't you see I was afraid? Can't you see I still am? That's
what brings me here…what wakes me in the morning with disturbing thoughts of
the forever condemned. I feel so shut
out…but I did that to myself.
Do I taste of failure? …Never mind…I don't want to
know. Too much in my life has tasted of
failure. I don't care to know if I've
adapted the taste, myself.
Can you feel me?
That is the most vague question. I thought once we shared something that
could not be severed with cleavers. Was
I so misled?
I smile sadly, finishing my coffee.
Take me with you. Wherever you are, whoever you are, wherever you're going and by whatever
means you have to get there, take me with you. I fear my final destruction nearing. You are my truth. The only
honesty in my life.
Please be there. Please be listening.
I place my coffee cup in the sink after rinsing it
clean. With a sigh, I close my eyes,
discouraged by the ineffective caffeine, saddened by my lack of any
answer. I want you to feel me more than
anything…to recognize my pain…to come and offer your healing touch.
Shaking my head, I dismiss these futile thoughts. Perhaps it would be best to try and sleep…at
least for a half hour.
As I move to the door, flicking off the light, a
shudder crawls up my spine, unprovoked. I pause, leaning backward as though trying to fall into it. For a fleeting minute, my heart pounds as my
pulse races. When the sensation leaves,
I find myself smiling.
Hear me. Please?
I feel you, too.
* * *