���� She walks around today wondering if her
perception hasn�t changed a bit. Things are slightly more vivid, a little more
lucid. When it begins to rain, she thinks she might just feel the drops beneath
her skin as well as on the surface.
���� Her gait is unsteady, at best, trying to
find her balance in a plane where there is no equilibrium to be found.
Passers-by make assumptions: she�s drunk, she�s high, she�s lost, she�s sick.
They don�t assume the truth - that she can hear their assumptions. She can
taste their pity.
���� She stares too long; it makes people
uncomfortable, but she can�t help it. She�s never felt so much on so many
different levels before. It�s addictive.
���� �Ma�am?� asks a young man with a southern
drawl and the bluest eyes she has ever seen in her life. �Are you all right?�
���� �I don�t know,� she answers honestly;
everything is too bright.
���� �My head�� she starts before the startling
blue of his gaze knocks her to the ground, �Your eyes!�
���� And he is frightened, and she can feel his
fear, and she can�t breathe for a moment or two for the thick darkness of it.
���� She hears his frantic, lilting voice call
for help, but it is miles away, probably in the same place she left last night.
Her physical body registers wet pavement, wet clothes, spinning head and
flashing colors. Her mind floats dry, far above the precipitation and the
people.
����
���� Later, the doctor flashes a light in her
eyes. It blinds her for several minutes, and she thinks she might be crying
out. Actual voices are difficult to understand, their tones all soft and
paper-thin. She can�t read their minds, or not entirely. What she feels from
them surpasses words. It is pure expression.
���� �Can you lie down for me?� Impatience
asks.�
She
can, does.
���� �Can you squeeze my hand, honey?� asks Compassion.
Those
aren�t her fingers anymore.
���� �Can you speak English?� she is asked by
Detachment.
She
wants to tell him how inefficient language is for what she would like to say,
but that would be too contradictory.
�Just
relax,� Compassion says, but she has passed that ability by hours ago.
�Can
she hear me?� asks startling Blue eyes.
�We
don�t know,� answers Impatience.
In
her head, a maelstrom of shining pigments flows, words of gratitude for the
young man darting in and out of the luminous eddies. Apparently, the whirlpools
lead to speech.
�Thank
you.� Her voice is unfamiliar but warm.
Activity
explodes with new attacks of color as more temperaments enter the room to
marvel and prod.
�She�s
awake��
�She�s
speaking��
�Her
pulse is still slow��
�Ma�am? Is she all right?�
�You�d
better leave��
�We�ll
have to run tests��
�I�m
ordering a CAT��
�But,
I-�
�Now,
sir��
�All-right��
He
leaves the room and she is suddenly cold inside. She is above her own fear, but
something about his power to affect her would be intimidating if she could
realize it.
Much
later, she realizes she is asleep and wakes slowly, testing her perceptions.
The room that holds her is much the same, but different in a way only her new
heart can tell. The ones down the hall and around her are no longer physically
ill; they are trapped, lost in their own heads. They claim her, but she knows
better.
He
visits on the second day. She can see his eyes coming from miles away.
�Ma�am?�
his eyes ask gently.
She
appears to be watching the wind move the branches of the weeping trees before
her, but something tells her he knows better, too.
�I�I
heard you were brought here, and I�� he stops, because he realizes she doesn�t
listen anymore.
He
is younger than she, but not necessarily by years. He ages before her heart,
before her mind. It is beautiful.
She
can feel the curiosity in his breath; the confusion radiates from his body as
he kneels next to her, then sits. He gently places a hand on her arm and gasps
as if slapped; he does not remove his hand.
When
they tell him he must leave, he tries to argue.
�I
need to be here!� his voice shouts. I
will be back, his Blue eyes tell her.
Eventually,
he consents; he is afraid they won�t let him see her again if he persists. Once
again she drowns in his fear and is returned to her room.
The
next day he returns and holds her hand for two hours as she sits on the hill by
the grove. He promises to return.
The
next day she leaves that place.
An
orderly later said he might have seen her walk out among the groves and
disappear, but she knows it felt like flying. Alarms are sounded, searches
conducted, but she is too far away to be concerned with such things. After a
while, she finds herself near a country road, but can�t tell if her feet are
touching the gravel. A little farther down she can almost make out the familiar
pattern of her old quilt, spread on the wet grass and muddy. The patterns her
grandma sewed make her head swim and she falters, lying down on her back.
The
damp fabric cools her heated flesh and she feels grounded for the first time in
days. Extreme effort turns her head to see her telescope lying in the mud,
knocked to the ground nights before by a force apart from her own. Possession
confuses her now. The lights are fading, changing faster than she can account
for them.
And
then she hears it again, the sound.
It
starts in her toes and she sees four lights appear over the distant hills. They
move, fluid and lovely, through a fading, brilliant sunset. She sighs, content.
Above
her now, she is lifted and remembers the feeling of weightlessness with
anticipation. It tickles a little bit.
She
is surrounded by the warm darkness, but there is no fear this time around. She
catches bits of conversation in the round space and does her best to answer.
Why
are you here�
Did
you tell anyone�
�shouldn�t
have�
What
happened�
�wouldn�t
understand�
What
do you want�
To know! she shouts, and it echoes and vibrates
around her.
What
do you want to know? asks Compassion.
Everything,
she answers, but it doesn�t satisfy them - they who know no limits.
Who
is he? Someone unreadable asks
quietly.
She
doesn�t know what to explain, or yet how.
He
deserves to be here, too, she finally answers.
She
finds herself on a doorstep; it rains again. She doesn�t remember knocking, but
he opens the door moments later.
She
is overwhelmed by the relief in his Blue eyes. He cries into her hair.
She
takes his hand and her heart smiles. And his does.
He
doesn�t remember how they get to the hills, but he isn�t concerned with such
things anymore. All he can really think about are her eyes. They are the
greenest eyes he has ever seen in his life.
