(in) sanity
She sat there on the chair next to his bed, watching over him while he was sleeping. When he slept he almost seemed like the same man he was ten years ago. His boyish youth crept back over his features while he was dreaming, and the usual harshness and restlessness drifted away.
It’s a shame that humans cannot shed off their past the way a snake can shed off its skin. Our past usually haunts us; haunts us long enough to materialize in bones and skin. And then it sits there, parasite-like, a constant reminder that keeps you from moving on.
They tell you, you’ll forget. They say you’ll stop caring. But they are wrong. You never truly forget anything. Once you think you have forgotten your past, moved on, picked up the pieces and put them all back together. Something or someone comes along and blows down your carefully constructed house of cards, and all of it is back up on the surface staring bluntly in your face.
She could see his eyes quickly moving back and forth under his closed lids. What was he dreaming of? Was it bearable this time? If it weren’t he wouldn’t still be sleeping.
Some people are better at building houses of cards. Just as some people are faster runners than others. And some minds are so fragile, too many attempts of rebuilding only make everything worse. He was one of the latter ones. She had built a bulletproof castle herself. Nothing could get to her – she seemed like the perfect example of what they meant when they told you that you will stop caring. The only difference was, she knew that it was not true. She still remembered every detail of the of the last decade, every gruesome detail. And it did not seem like she was going to forget any of it in the near future.
The only reason she was still standing tall was because she was carefully feeding on the few happy moments she had during the darkest of times. A mother reunited with her child, a rainbow after another roaring storm, a kiss in a dark alley, a glass of fresh water. And then, the last three years, she had soaked them up like a dry sponge touching water. They were the ones giving her hope. Hope that something could change again.
She often wondered what had happed to him after she had lost him ten years ago. He never talked about it, and she didn’t want to force him. When she had found him, he had been forever changed, but she loved him just as deeply and she knew he did too, even though he couldn’t show it.
At a first glance, he too seemed like a man of stone. But once you settled your gaze at him for longer than only a few moments, you could see his walls crumbling away, see his inability to hold it together even though the will was there.
He moved puppet like through the days and she was pulling the strings. Not because she wanted the power, no; she wanted him to keep going, he wanted to stop. She wanted to save him, he tried to persuade himself to give up.
Her hope was extraordinary. And she hoped that one day all would be well again. He would be well again. And deep down she knew if he had lost all hope already, he would no longer be here. He was not afraid of death, it was life he feared. He knew Death’s shape and form, his voice and even his cold touch. “We are old friends”, he had said once, “I think you would like him too.” But she hated the thought of it, knew there had to be a way out of this mess, the mess created by the ignorance of her own species.
She was trying everything to pull him out of the yawning, pitch black chasm of his own thoughts. But with every attempt, he dragged her in as well. She was fighting it, fighting the battle for both of them. But seeing his mind decay more and more every day, struggled on her own lucidity.
A shiver ran though her and she stood up to get another blanket but instead of wrapping it around herself, she placed it over his sleeping body.
He used to be calm, a rational and fast thinker. His movements were smooth and controlled. Now they were agitated, nervous, and jumpy. Always being on the run and rebelling had not turned against the others it had turned against him.
All of the sudden he sat up straight in his bed grasping for air. With a disturbed look on his face, he scanned the room, his eyes were looking for hers and when he had found them he said with a tiny glance of hope, “I dreamt that I was sane.”
