4

Absent

The glow of the candle hung briefly between them. A screen, or a veil, maybe. The finest muslin, it was enough, just enough to take the edge off her words; to disguise, perhaps, the images in their saying.

They spilled out, an overflowing of what she was thinking. Not in any order or pattern, they were a release, an escape of things that had too long been held hidden.

Her mind retreated and reflected on the telephone conversation. In the anonymity of the distance between them, the not seeing him, she offered a mosaic, shards of colour and experience waiting patiently to be assembled into a picture of herself she had not yet formed.

The veil lifted, she smiled. It was a safe place, for now, not to be anything or anyone – merely or especially a selection of herself, what she felt she could say or be in that moment, without judgement of what she was or thought she might be. A place to explore in no way she had ventured before.

It was as if… She considered and was unable to decide if these words were being spoken or merely heard within her mind. It was as if she had just learned to speak and, for the present, had to say everything, to try and say it all in case she lost the power again. Or it was taken away from her.

But, strangely, she knew, as she listened to herself, that no one could take anything away from her. There was no power, so nothing could be lost. She listened to herself, her ‘self’ for the first time and smiled knowingly.

She knew… Her mind paused and almost laughed. Suddenly she knew so many things that she couldn’t think of them all at once. But from the giggling mass of bright new thoughts, she knew she had found a place to rest.

It came as a shock, her real voice, her worldly voice had been talking, she recalled, about holidays and sun, and she had stopped in mid-sentence. It didn’t seem to matter. The candle flickered, she created a new veil of words behind which her mind could play with her ideas.

She felt herself breathe and knew she wasn’t breathless any more. She savoured the mood, the red wine, the sound of the birds settling for the night, the refreshing edge that heralds chill night air. Like a child she played with them, the ideas. She had a chance to play with them all – as if everything, at a whim, could be viewed in slow motion. There was no sense of rushing, no panic to be somewhere or to do something; no need, even, to drink, talk or enjoy quickly as if it might end too soon. It would end when she decided. Movement had ceased.

Slowly she became aware that she had stopped talking and there was a silence between them. But she understood, in a way she’d never contemplated before, that silence was fine, emptiness held no fear, that there was no unease, that the space could be filled with a laugh, a smile, an exchange of glances or left in peace, for the moment.