My Dear Stranger (2 page)

My Dear Stranger I

I’m lying here staring at the silhouettes upon my bare walls as the stars glow, reflecting light through my windows.  The world seems audacious, bold
and daring.

You promised to call me to see if I’m still alive, but if I wasn’t alive, would I answer the telephone?  I can’t believe how much I drank tonight.  I can’t believe how much I threw-up.  I can’t believe how you took care of me tonight at that nasty bush party. 
You’re such a good friend Petzy, and I know I’m safe with you when I drink like that.  I know you are my friend even if I don’t want more than friendship with you.

My room is so dark tonight, even with the moonlight glow through my window.  And I can’t help but just lie here.  Why can’t I sleep?  Probably
because I passed out in Petzy’s car for a while when he left to collect all his friends.  Maybe this is a second wind or something.

Why am I crying?  Maybe I’m hung over already?  I don’t know, but I feel wide awake and sad, and my tears are spilling all over my
purple pillows.  What’s wrong with me?  Maybe I need another drink.

Looking, I see the man again.  The man in my dreams.  He follows me around and He enters my soul.  With His dark eyes, He lets me weep quietly in my bed while He watches me silently.  Why does He stand there in the corner all the time?  Why does He take my crying silences and make them His own?

When He just stands there while I write, I feel kind of paranoid or threatened, I’m not sure which.  I know He tries to appear real, but He must be a dream.  He has to be a dream because I know I’m okay, even though I’m awake.

Lighting a cigarette, my parents are still pretty cool about me smoking in my room and I love that.  With my white hardwood floors and minimalist furniture, there isn’t much to burn.  And as long as my window is open, and I don’t smoke in my bed, my parents stay cool.  Though right now I’m technically lying in my bed, which they forbid, I’m sitting up, sort of, so they can’t be mad at me if I’m caught.

Grabbing my ringing phone quickly, I’m glad my parents bought me a private phone line for my birthday.  Answer
ing, I smile.  Petzy does care, and he did check in.  Petzy questions my health, and asks if I’m still living.  I speak sarcastically, uttering reassuring words to him, but I’m honestly happy he cares enough to call.  And when he is satisfied, he says his simple goodbye as we end his conversation.

I see the man again.  He stares at me from the corner as He waves his ghostly hand.  Why does He come to me?  What does He want from me?

I close my eyes, trying to leave Him absent from my room, yet when I reopen my eyes He sits at the end of my bed.

Quietly, softly, He hums to me a lullaby as I slip into a comforting trance of early childhood.  This lullaby is familiar, yet I can’t place it.

I lie here with my cigarette burned to the filter, creating a stench hidden by beautiful streams of white fading smoke, while He sits at the end of my bed watching me write.

Who called on this man to enter my soul?  Was it a guardian angel, or a friend?  Why has He come to me again? Why does He always return when I show Him such little affection?

I should probably stop writing now because it seems a little rude writing, trying to ignore the man who waits at the end of my bed for something from me, I think.

Last night I decided to do something.
  I was holding my diary and pen and I tried to stand from my bed but my knees buckled and I fell to the floor.  I remember just as quickly as I fell, He stood and picked me up delicately in his arms.  Placing my limp arms around His broad shoulders, I finally felt a sense of tranquility in the night.

He carried me to the washroom and filled the tub with warm relaxing water while He stared at me.  Eventually, He placed me in the water, with my body slowly stripped by Him and cold, but once in the water I became startled by my situation.

Massaging and cleaning my body with a sponge, He gently caressed my breasts and thighs, and I remember it felt heavenly.  I had never been bathed before by a man, and I couldn’t believe how good it felt.  I felt relaxed and beautiful.

Once again, I felt an intense internal déjà vu with Him while I was bathed.  Who is this man who touches my skin with delicate lips and hands?

After a time with Him in the bath I began to feel my eyelids grow heavy.  I remember I tried to fight it but my body took control, and slowly I fell into unconsciousness…

This morning, I am alone.  There is no one around.  All is quiet. 

Once again, I am lying painlessly in my bed, while my h
air is wet, and my skin in damp, and I don’t know what happened. 

But as I rise from my bed and peer out my window I see him.  He is tall and dark, waving His ghostly goodbye again.

I am still alive somehow.  And as I remember Him, I wish He had kissed me goodbye.  I find I already miss my dear stranger.

April 1996

16 years old

CHAPTER 2

 
Looking at my makeshift ashtray, a coffee tin cast off, I’m surprised.  Who knew someone who doesn’t
really
smoke could smoke so much.  What the hell am I doing? 

  I think I’m sad, or scared, or maybe just struggling with the fact that this was our beginning.
  I don’t know, but I’m glad my neighbors can’t see me, or even smell me from the angle of the garage window toward my back property.  I think my whole neighborhood would be shocked to see me like this. 

  Sadie Hamilton would never be chain smoking in her garag
e, lying in a lounge chair in her pajamas by 10:40 on a Saturday morning.  Sadie Hamilton should be dressed, on her way out shopping, antiquing, or going to a sporting event with her husband and son.

  Rising from my lounger, I know I have to get
dressed, and I want to get dressed.  I need to be as normal as possible for this.  I have to remind myself I am normal, and I
can
do this.

  Why did I always sign my own journal with my name, the date, and my age?  Why did I think that was so important at the time?  I didn’t want anyone to ever read this book.  I didn’t ever want this to be found, and yet I signed, dated, and submitted my age to each entry.  I don’t know why I did that, but it’s hard remembering clearly my younger me.  It’s hard seeing my younger me through these older eyes.  It’s hard seeing my teenage writing, and my teenage tear stains in the blurred ink on the crinkled pages of this journal.

*****

  Dressing, I think I’m surprised I look the same as I did when I woke up this morning.  I don’t really feel the same.  Actually, I feel a little nauseous, which I think is to be expected for someone who hasn’t had breakfast, and for someone who drank an entire huge thermos of coffee while chain smoking.  It’s funny how I did that for years with no effect, yet now I’m nauseous. 

  Looking in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth, I’m relieved to see I still look the same as I did earlier.  I’ve always been attractive, not gorgeous, or even stunning, but attractive, yes.  I still look young, and I take care of myself.  I eat properly and though I don’t work out at a gym, I do go for long brisk walks every single morning before my husband leaves for work, and once again in the evening when my son is settled into bed.  And so far, these walks are all I’ve needed to keep my body at a low weight without having to do much more, though I’m sure as age creeps up, this too will change.

  Waiting at my front door, I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I feel something forcing me to pause.  Jumping, my house phone suddenly rings, and running for the phone I can’t wait to hear his beautiful little voice.

  “Hello?”

 
“Hi, mommy.  We’re here at auntie’s chalet.  I miss you.”

 
“Her chalet?” I grin.

 
“Daddy says it’s a chalet, not a cottage, and that people who have these chalets have lots of money so they get to call them chalets, not cottages, if they want to.  Right, Daddy?”

  Hearing my husband in the background makes me smile.  He is so good with our son.  He is always so patient and loving, and I
’m really happy they’re together for their first ‘alone’ trip, though alone is really not the case with all my husband’s relatives around.  I’m sure they feel they’re alone though without me there to mother them and monitor everything, like I tend to do.

 
“What are you going to do first, baby?”

 
“Hot chocolate.” And there’s my little boy.  Forget the skiing, and all his cousins and aunts and uncles, and even his daddy, my baby is headed right for his aunt’s world famous hot chocolate.

 
“Okay, but don’t drink too much.  You’re going to be skiing and running around and I don’t want you to get a sore stomach, okay?”

 
“I won’t, I promise.”  And then there is the silence I know of my son.  He hates speaking on the phone, so he always just waits for the other person to speak so he can answer.

 
“Okay.  Have fun baby, be safe and I’ll call you later.  I love you very much, Jamie.”

 
“I love you, too.  Here’s daddy...” And that’s it.  My son is gone, probably running for his Aunt Mary’s delicious hot chocolate.

 
“Hi.  We made it, and he talked my ear off the whole time.”

  Smiling, I knew Jamie would. 
“He’s excited.”

 
“I know.  But man, he can talk.   What are you up to?”

 
“I’m not sure yet.  I was going to go grocery shopping, then clean the house later.  I think it’ll be a boring weekend for me, so I’ll probably call you way too often.”

 
“No problem.  I like talking to you.  But not now, Jamie is already forcing Brady to take him outside, so I better go.  Have fun.  I’ll call you later.”

 
“Okay.  Have fun, but please watch him okay?  I’m very nervous he’ll get hurt.”

 
“I know Sade, and I’ll watch him.  Nothing’ll go wrong, I promise.”

 
“I know, I’m just scared…”

 
“I have to go, but try to relax.  I’ll call you every hour, okay?”

  Smiling, I know he will. 
“Okay, have fun.”

  And
that’s the end of our call.  My husband and son are safe, and I know they’ll stay safe, but I can’t stop my fear.  I need Jamie to be safe.  I need Jamie.

  Walking out to my car, I see the Nickels family across the street with football equipment.  Ugh, I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with Jamie playing football- it’s just too violent.  Not that hockey isn’t bad enough, but somehow it feels less violent.  

 
Waving at her, Karen waves back looking exhausted.  She has 3 kids which means sports, and meals, and house-keeping, and mothering for 3 kids, which looks to me like it equals pure exhaustion.  I don’t envy that kind of manic existence because I like my life. 

  My life is almost entirely quiet, with only Jamie’s voice in my house, which I never get enough of.  If he isn’t speaking with me, Jamie plays quietly, and my husband watches television in the lower family room which I never hear.  So thankfully my house stays pretty quiet all the time.  We even had a clock in the living room that tick-tocked too loudly which I hated, so we replaced it with a totally silent clock. 

  I really hate noise, especially ambient noise.  I hate when people jingle keys or make the change in their pockets rattle, or tap their fingers or feet for no reason.  It just seems so stupid to me.  I always want to tell them to stay still and enjoy the quiet like I do.

*****

  Driving toward the grocery store, I’m just not in the mood.  I’m not sure what mood I’m in, but a grocery store seems like way too much work today.  I don’t want to, so I’m not.  Turning toward the coffee house I love, I wait in line and order 5 extra-large cups of my favorite coffee to go.  I can always microwave them later when they’ve cooled.

  Once I’ve left the coffee house I know what I want.  I know I want more cigarettes.  I know I do, but I’m scared someone will see me.  We live in a huge city so the chances of being caught are slim, but I find myself driving far away from my house anyway. 

  Finally stopping in the next town over, the suburb of our city, I pull into a gas station.  Asking for a carton of smokes seems wrong, so I ask for 8 packs of smokes which IS actually a carton, but the attendant doesn’t correct me, instead just handing over 8 packs for me to buy.  Neither of us said the word ‘carton’ so it feels different somehow, maybe even okay.

  Arriving home, I pick up my carton of 5 coffees, and my noncarton carton of smokes and enter my beautiful home.  I love my home.  It’s colorful, but soothing, and I love the silence of my home.

  Walking into my kitchen, I leave my four extra coffees on the island, and walk to my bedroom.  It’s only 12:30 and I have a whole day ahead of me for this.

  Undressing out of my nice appropriate public clothing I throw my hair in a ponytail, and change into a t-shirt, my comfy leggings, and a huge sweater.  The weather is sunny but definitely cool, and since I’ve decided to spend my day in the garage, I should probably dress for warmth.  God knows, a damp, cool garage can wreak havoc on muscles.

  Entering my garage, sitting back in my lounger I light a smoke, exhale slowly, swallow a gulp of my favorite coffee, and simply relax. 

 
I’m not sure what I’m doing and I’m not sure why I think I have to do this today.  I’m not sure why I’m doing this today, but I think I’m ready today.  It’s time.

  Exhaling again while getting comfortable in my lounger, I finally open up my silken
teal blue journal.

My Dear Stranger II
Last night I awoke to my dear stranger again.  Quietly and peacefully He stood, watching me sleep as He had so many times before.
My stranger is so beautiful, yet I think He is completely unaware of the pain and loneliness I feel when I’m alone.  Each time He visits, the tranquility I feel with Him is overwhelming, but too great to live without once He leaves me- as He, Himself has become too great to live without.
No harm, nor upset comes from His visits, only love and adoration surfaces.  And though I wait patiently for His visits, and each visit becomes more intense than the previous, still I feel only at peace when He comes to me.
I began to cry as He wrapped His warm arms around me, giving me a sense of wonderful strength and security in His warmth.  Many nights have been spent in my stranger's arms, as His strength sets my pain and anguish free.  Without words, He lets me know He understands and loves me, as I love Him.
After an hours’ worth of tears, I found myself drifting easily asleep with less heartache and misery than before His arrival.
But once I was asleep, the dreams of sadness and loneliness conquered all the happiness I had previously felt with Him.  Yet as I woke with my heart racing, and my tears dripping down my face, my stranger stood over me smiling, holding my hand in His own.
Gently, He placed a cool wet cloth across my forehead and softly kissed my lips.  Raising a glass of water to my mouth, His eyes mirrored my image, which caused me to become upset once again.  I looked horrible, but still I knew He loved me- all there was to me.
I feel He was certain my fever would break, yet I could see the concern and fear in His eyes.  For the first time I saw myself give to Him all the reassurance and love which He had always given to me.  Within this reassurance given, tears trickled down my pale cheeks, because I became tragically aware that my dear stranger was not invincible.  Like myself, He too had fears, though He chose never to show His own vulnerability to me.
Whether through conceit, or simple intelligence, I knew He would never again let me see His face of fear and vulnerability because it has become His quest to heal all my fears and sorrow.  After only minutes of smiles and peace within a warm hug, I began to fall asleep as my dear stranger knelt by my side.
I am convinced that it was at that precise moment of sleep, with His gentle smiles, and delicate kisses that my fever finally broke.  With Him by my side, I finally became well.
I often wonder if my dear stranger is only a continuous dream within a dream.  Yet as I awoke this morning with a dry facecloth on my pillow, and with lips fully quenched, I knew He had come to me again.
Filled with love and hope, I will await His peaceful return.

April 1997

17 years old

 
Smiling, I remember that night vividly.  I remember feeling loved.  I remember His beautiful concern and I remember how He cared for me.  I was sick with a fever and my parents were away again, but I wasn’t alone.  He came to care for me.

  I real
ly don’t know how many times He visited.  My memory likes to believe it was every single night but I know that’s not true, because my memory also feels all the loneliness I felt when He didn’t visit me at night.

  Rising from my lounger, I stretch my aching back and find one of the patio furniture pillows to help the ache.  Looking at my gross makeshift ashtray, I think I’m shocked by how full it is.  What the hell do I do with it now? 

 
Seeing a grocery bag with a muddy pair of sneakers in it, I throw the shoes in the garbage and empty the coffee tin into the bag. My husband won’t see the bag low in the garbage bin, and I’ll make sure there’s plenty of garbage on top to hide it.

  Finishing the last of my first cold coffee, I contemplate grabbing a second, but I want to space them out.  It’s only early afternoon, and this day may become long for me yet.

  Sitting back in my lounger with the pillow placed behind my back helping me sit up better, I’m ready.  It’s time.