Dirty Eden (25 page)

Wait,
frolicking
?

It was bewitched. Everything. I was convinced now. I had fallen asleep again, or in some kind of daze while watching the Angel. But now my mind had come back to me and the field was gone.

The truth
, I thought intensely. I was onto something, but hadn’t quite worked it out in my head yet.

A Michigan license plate sticking out of the soil and mostly covered by moss caught my attention suddenly. I jerked my head so abruptly that Samyaza stopped in mid-sentence to see what had caused the sudden movement. I pretended not to have seen anything and Samyaza watched me, waiting. I tried to recall what Samyaza was talking about so that I could insert a phony reply, as it was definitely the appropriate time for one. I felt my brain struggling to remember any words or phrases and overworking itself to the point of making me experience more anxiety, the anxious kind that makes one want to jump out of their skin. Finally, a few recollections came.

“Yes, I can see why only you could perfect perfection,” I said, hoping that was the latest topic.

Once again and for a longer moment, Samyaza appeared suspicious, but then he brushed the suspicion away and went back to talking about himself.

The license plate was definitely from Michigan. I could see the dark blue background and the first three white letters and just above those, the first three letters in the word ‘Michigan’. But why would something like that be here?

The truth
, I thought again, and this time I felt I was closer to figuring something out.
All that stuff about facing the truth back at the coffee house didn’t end at the coffee house.
Then there was a voice in my head. I was getting sick of hearing voices in my head and nearly dismissed it, but this time it was not the voice of the Devil. It, I was certain, was the ethereal voice of the Angel, Paschar.

“To visit me,” she said, “don’t believe anything that you see.”

I felt something brush against my cheek, like a soft feather. I felt a presence that I could only associate with a ghost or a spirit and I remembered instantly feeling that same presence in the city when I obtained what I thought were the Devil’s eyes.

“You were the one,” I began speaking to her in my mind, “that told me the riddle, back in the city.”

“Yes,” she replied, “I knew you were coming.”

“You’re not even listening to me!” Samyaza snapped. “Get on with your last question so you can stop wasting my time already.”

“No, no,” I replied, shaken. “I was listening, I swear it.”

“Then what did I say?” Samyaza had stopped braiding and brushing hair and now stood with his pale arms crossed sternly above his abdomen. His poor attempt at an infuriated expression was laughable.

The Angel gave me the answer: “He was discussing with you about how no other in Creation can grow flowers like he can, especially lilies and roses.”

“None in Creation can grow roses and lilies like you can,” I said.

Samyaza paused and corrected me. “Not only lilies and roses though, but
all
types of flowers.”

I nodded in response and felt my heart ease with relief.

“Of course,” I said urgently, “I know I could never do anything close to what you’ve done here. The moss is exquisite, too. I can’t imagine how you pulled it off, to make it look so...well, perfect!”

Samyaza fell for it again and while he went on about the delicate technique of growing and maintaining such fine moss, I tried to focus on the Angel more. But I was getting worried, knowing I could not continue fooling Samyaza for much longer.

“So, you were saying?” I said to the Angel in my mind, but this time there was no answer.

“Are you there?”

Still no answer.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Oh shit.
I became quietly frantic. I could feel that I must also look frantic to Samyaza because my eyes felt larger and I could’ve sworn I stopped breathing.
Think, Norman think!
I said to myself.
She said don’t believe anything I see.
I looked at everything again more closely. From the young woman and how relaxed she appeared, to Tsaeb and Sophia and the way they were huddled together like two siblings sharing a nap. This was all a lie; everything here touched by the light was a lie. It had to be because none of it made sense.
But what about the license plate?
I glanced carefully over to see it again.
It’s the only thing out of place.

It was gone.

I was going out of my mind! It was even more of a struggle now to hide my distraction from Samyaza when I could barely contain it. Why was everything so beautiful in this spot only?
Because it’s not real, of course
.

I decided to take the plunge, commit to an impulsive idea all based on reckless instinct. I only hoped this time my instincts would not betray me as I was so used to them doing even on good days.

I stood up.

Samyaza stopped just before starting another sentence and studied me, the glistening white hair of the Angel intertwined around his fingers. I ignored Samyaza completely and strolled over to where I saw the license plate.

“Where are you going?”

I did not respond.

He’s not a threat because he’s not really here
, I told myself.

It was tough at first to believe it, worried Samyaza might finally see right through me and kill me where I stood, but the more seconds passed and Samyaza did nothing, the easier it was to continue ignoring him. Then, the woman went gracefully to her feet, her dirty hair now soft and pretty after Samyaza’s care, fluttering behind her as she started to dance. Lured to look at her as she flitted over to me, I fought the urge. Even as she touched my face from behind with the back of her inviting fingers and whispered, “Dance with me.”

Ignoring her brought the license plate back.

Everything was obvious to me suddenly
—
well almost everything. My mind reeled with excitement, but I was not out of the woods yet and that was a fact I knew better than to overlook.

“I think it’s time you left,” Samyaza demanded, the hiss in his voice more poisonous than ever.

What if he can still hurt me, even if he’s not really here?
I swallowed hard and from the corner of my eye, I saw the edge of the license plate fading. I took a deep breath. There was no turning back now; I had used up all of my excuses and opportunities.

The wind began to blow, but it felt out of place. It did not belong here, or perhaps it was the other way around?
Yes! ‘here’ doesn’t exist and if the wind feels like it doesn’t belong, then it must be real
. My mind was buzzing! I could feel the weight of my brain again, partially heavy with excitement, the other half weighted down by disorganized waves of anxiety rushing over me again and again. I could feel Samyaza coming up behind me, the dark shadow of his remarkable black wings covering the sun. I refused to move and give in to that last bit of fallacy that still had me in its clutches.

“You will leave
now
!” Samyaza shouted, his voice booming in my ears.

He can’t kill me because he’s not here
. Upon realizing this, after convincing myself, I then had complete control. On my hands and knees, I reached for the Michigan license plate and pulled it free from the dirt.

Everything stopped; everything except for the wind.

The sun no longer shone. The moss and flowers and every other beautiful lie had disappeared from around me. I was standing in a room near a window that had bars across the outside. The glass was broken and the wind blew in, whistling and bitter. When I gazed out the broken window, I saw that I was back in the city where I lived, the dead one with a dark sky and churning clouds. I could see the crows outside lining building ledges and power lines, and far off in the distance smoke billowed from a power plant. But I did not live in Michigan. The license plate dangled from my hand. I raised it to match with several other plates mounted upon the wall. Tennessee 99’. California 84’. Ohio 65’. I placed it back in its rectangular spot where I had apparently taken it.

The door opened and a man wearing thick glasses and a white lab coat walked in. He carried a book and a leather-covered writing tablet under one arm.

I froze. Two scenarios quickly entered my mind: stay and try to explain myself, or run like hell out the door and down the brightly lit hallway.

“Sorry,” I said, choosing the first option, “I got lost.”

The doctor did not acknowledge me. He walked past me on his way to the desk near the window, and then right
through
me on his way back out, carrying another tablet. While I gasped and grabbed my chest feeling like the breath had been sucked out of me, the doctor stopped in the doorway and looked back. He raised his free hand to his chest and visibly shivered. The door shut softly behind him when finally he left.

I’m a ghost.

The words sounded as eccentric in my mind as they would have if I had spoken them aloud. Was I dead? Did I finally pass on somewhere on the Outside, burnt beyond recognition as I lay comatose in a hospital bed?
No, that can’t be it.
I still remembered everything. I remembered who I was, every detail of my life and everyone in it. If I were dead, I would have no recollection.
But I’m a ghost
, I repeated, trying to make sense of it.

I left the room, stopping to look behind me at the door once I was in the hallway. I had been able to touch it, to turn the fat silver knob, and my hand did not pass through it as I thought it should.

The wide hallway blazed with fluorescents in the ceiling, the floor and walls ridiculously white and shiny. My shoes squeaked gently as I made my way across the floor. The air was filled with potent cleansers of ammonia and pine; but underneath it, I could smell blood, medicine and other toxicities that I could not identify. The further I went the stronger the smell became and by the time the large metal door was in front of me, I could hardly stand it.

The door was locked. I rose on my toes to see through the square Plexiglas window. On the other side lay a shorter hallway that stretched further ahead and had two counters on either side. Women in white uniforms sat behind the counters scribbling on paper, typing at computers, painting fingernails. The source of one stench now identified; I always hated the smell of fingernail polish. I could see their lips moving as they talked to each other and into the telephones. I tried the knob again. Still locked. Then I did the only thing I could and tried to walk through it. I closed my eyes and braced myself, stepping up once and pushing my nose into the metal. Nothing happened. I tried again, focusing harder, but still I couldn’t get through.

Out of frustration, I hit the Plexiglas with the bottom of my palm.

My hand went through the door.

Oh shit! Shit! Shit!
I was stuck, my hand on one side of the door and my body on the other. A claustrophobic frenzy set in and my body exploded in a desperate fit. I fell through completely to the other side and landed on my face. Shaking off the stun, I looked up from the floor to see that no one had noticed me though I was within five feet of the identical white counters. I stood up and walked past the counters, stopping at the end of one and looking down upon the contents of it. I glimpsed the word ‘Hospital’ on a letterhead sheet, but other papers obscured the words before it.

Suddenly, I knew why I was here. I was sent to face the truth of seeing myself burned and on my deathbed.

“That has to be it,” I said aloud. “Why else would I be in a hospital?”

I couldn’t believe it and I didn’t want to go through with it. To be told what had happened to me and to imagine what I must look like was difficult enough to grasp. To face it head-on would probably kill me completely. I trembled. “I can do this,” I tried to believe.