There was water. Lots of water. That’s all I remember from the night she went missing.
Although transparent, water can conceal the darkest of nights.
The flood had washed away the day before--
The warmth of summer drowned in the deep lakes concealing the streets.
Traces of yesterday’s festivities were gone--
There were no footprints
The fervid fragrance of the orchard had been replaced with the sweet scent of dew.
When I first arose, I did not detect her absence.
It was not until dawn that the natural light verified her vacancy.
When did the weather warp time? Where did the current take her?
As though caught in a riptide—fate had brought us together.
Me, from the West. And her from the East.
We had noted each other’s hair.
Mine long for a man. Hers short for a woman.
As the wind carried the clouds, and the clouds concealed the sun--
her pale skin molt silver to gold
And the day, whose events flowed into the cracks of time, melted away.
Turning
What-if into what-was
Despite Washington’s reputation for precipitation
She lamented: I did not prepare for this.
My reflex: No one is.
She accepted to share the shelter under my umbrella.
Occasionally she’d think out loud:
I find the spring showers to be symbolic,
In the West, each day feels fresh and renewed.
I inquired whether she preferred that.
“To live today as if it were yesterday grants me the opportunity to make things...right.”
I asked if the regularity bothered her.
She admitted that although bland; she appreciated the routine and being able to plan.
"Please understand that it was not until just recently that I learned to plant my roots—to cease being a rolling stone as one might put it."
I confessed I was never much of a traveler
That I carried the window to the world in my pocket.
Shortly thereafter we sought shelter as the sky drained itself into dusk.
It was a long twilight for me as exhaustion drew me in and out of consciousness.
It was a short dawn for her as the release of her past inner turmoil illuminated her eyes.
Between the rain and her personal disclosures, there was never a moment of silence.
“I am always running. I am afraid that ‘it’ will catch me. Whether ‘it’ is time trying to collect my health or ‘it’ is a deep repressed memory trying to freeze me in that moment forever.”
I assured her she was not in danger:
Time takes the body but enriches the soul in exchange.
Memories captivate, but time stops for nobody.
In the morning she had left my embrace.
I never saw her again.
But--
Like two streams forming a river I knew our lives were intertwined
forever.
I will never forget the rain.
Abducted and Civilized
You had been born a decent soul, glowing with rose-pedal cheeks, an unearthly smile, wearing a gold colored crown made of paper mache and glittering tinsel, lying in the manger for the town's production of the Nativity of Christ and you knew deep down in your spirit, even before you registered memory and consciousness, that the world was made for you and you had a special existence waiting in the balance, and everything you tried you were deemed a natural and those who knew you and bore witness said you were born for great things and in all things you were as a wild thoroughbred galloping across the untamed country of American West before it was civilized, and the first time you ever stole anything was a fishing rod from the Wal-Mart when you were seven and security caught you and your parents beat you and you learned awful young what it meant to be a part of earth, to be human, and you developed vulture eyes and they beat you with every mistake you made until you were broken and soon you'd been taken to the other side where your spirit dulled and you listened and you obeyed and from then on with each night you waited to be saved and spoke to the stars and each night when you fell asleep with your arms spread like featherless wings we dreamed with you to awaken again.
Mental Abduction
My life was drawing dull... so I decided to visit him again.
My heart was tugging me in one direction, but my brain was warning me better of it. Nevertheless, I found myself upon the doorstep, of 221b Baker Street fumbling about with the ruffles of my dress.
I heard his voice within. It was so tempting... so soothing... so enticing...
I was curious to discover details of such an interesting conversation. I figured he wasn’t alone. Surely Dr. Watson was in there with him, but I supposed that certainly wouldn’t be a problem. I rose my fist to knock upon the door, but my breath got caught in my throat and I lowered my hand again.
Why was my heart beating so fast?
Why was I so nervous?
I took a deep breath and raised my fist once more, but, the door suddenly flung open before I could knock. I expected to see the kindly Ms. Hudson. Instead, I found myself staring directly into the piercing gaze of Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself. His brow was drawn up tightly under the rim of his deerstalker hat, his thin lips were pursed in deep thought, and his long fingers were settled upon the breast of his frock coat. For a moment, I said absolutely nothing. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Dr. Watson shuffled out onto the step beside us. My eyes dashed over him, quickly observing his curious eyes seated right below his bowler hat, his warm figure wrapped in a neat little black suit, and his welcoming smile that appeared right under his mustache.
“Why, hello,” the doctor said, finally breaking the silence, “Who is your dainty young friend, Holmes?”
“Oh,” Sherlock sighed dismissively, “She would like to come along and follow us on one of our singular adventures.”
“She would?” Dr. Watson asked in surprise.
“I WOULD?” I sputtered involuntarily.
“Of course you would,” Mr. Holmes smirked mischievously.
“How do you know?” I retorted, “What if I called because I had a case of my own for you to solve?”
“You, milady, are not immune to my immense powers of deduction,” he sneered, turning on his heels and starting down the walk,
Dr. Watson raised his eyebrows and swiftly nodded at me before scurrying after his companion. The pair headed off down the street, leaving me standing on the step. Only Watson briefly glanced back at me as he scampered along. Sherlock, however, strode forward in a lanky yet dignified and determined way- indubitably a man with his mind made up. After blinking a few times, my legs finally regained consciousness and carried me down the way behind them.
Before long, I was in their company, going off down an unknown street in London with a medical man and an intellectual lunatic to who knows where. As the autumn sun vanished beneath the heavy fog, so did my self-control. I was under the curious hypnosis of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and there was no going back.
She
I drowned in her the way I had feared as a child I would drown in cartoon quicksand. It was unexpected. Gradual. I was trapped before I even noticed a trap had been set for me. And there was no way out.
She captured my attention in a way none had before her. I never understood how she could demand so much of me without a single word passing her lips. Yet, there I was - fully prepared to leave everything at the first breath she sent in my direction. A single gasp. A subtle scoff. Overwhelmed by her essence and entranced by her spirit. It was a question of passion, not of autonomy. She ruled my senses, my desires, and my aspirations.
She destroyed my soul in a way I’d never anticipated. Picked me apart piece by piece, word by word, breath by breath. There was no longer a part of me remaining when she decided she had had her fun. She was miles from me before I realized what she had done. What she had stolen from me. How she had changed me.
A war between two personalities commanded my brain. Two sides of a single being. Two value systems. Two worldviews. Two demons fighting for control over a single soul. As if she had implanted herself in my psyche. She sat on my shoulder. She appeared in the background of my reflection. She watched over my shoulder and whispered in my ear.
My mind was not my own. She owned me.
She abducted my soul without ever lifting a finger against me.