Sanctity (10 page)

I was exhausted and fell to right to
sleep.  I immediately began to dream about Michael, that he
was resting somewhere, too.  He was lying haphazardly on top
of a thick layer of covers that were spread over a massive poster
bed in a darkened room.  Even in the dim light I could see
that he was still wearing the clothes he had worn when he visited
me the previous night.  I dreamt that I was nearby in the room
and as I approached the bed his features became more and more
distinct.

He still looked pale and haggard; the dark
circles under his eyes only somewhat diminished and his face
bristling with coarse hairs.  He had a bit of a scowl to his
expression, like he was angry or frustrated.  Despite his
condition he still seemed dazzling to me.  Looking on him that
way broke my heart and I wished there were some way, something I
could do to comfort him.  I sat on the edge of the bed beside
him and stroked his cheek the way my father touched mine whenever I
was feeling down.

Some of the intensity from his expression
seemed to soften and I could almost discern a smile. He appeared to
sigh and turn into my touch. I couldn’t help wishing that he would
wake up and we would be friends again like we were before the
ballet.  I wished we could spend a night lounging on the roof
again counting shooting stars.  I wished we could do anything;
it didn’t really matter as long as it made Michael happy and I
could be the cause of that happiness.  Someone was calling me
from the doorway.  I turned away from Michael and as I did I
opened my eyes and found myself in my own room with my mother
standing in the hallway softly calling my name.

“Oh, is it time already?” I rubbed my
eyes.

“It’s nearly dinner, honey.  I didn’t
mean to let you sleep so long but I lost track of the time.”

My dad was home and helping with dinner by
pouring drinks and setting the table.  “How are you feeling
sweetie?” He asked.

“Better.  Tired.”

“You must be.  Mommy says you’ve been
asleep ever since you got home from school.”

“I know and I didn’t even want to take a
nap,” I said with false defiance.

“Well, after dinner and your shower you can
stay up for a little bit.  You’ll be up at the crack of dawn
if you go to bed again so soon.”

I stayed up until my parent’s bedtime. 
“Well, I think you’ve been up long enough,” my dad tucked me
in.  We skipped on any reading since it was so late. 
“Will you be able to fall asleep on your own?”

“I’ll be OK,” I assured them as they kissed
me goodnight and set the door.

I lay awake listening for any indication
that my parents might still be up.  I kept my eyes on the
slider hoping for a visit from Michael.  I unwillingly fell
asleep.  At some point during the night I fretfully woke up
because I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  My covers had been
pulled too tightly around me and I couldn’t seem to move.  I
almost panicked when I tried to sit up and wasn’t able to. 
Then I realized that it was because Michael was sitting beside me
on top of the covers.  He had his back against the wall, his
long legs stretched nearly to the end of my bed.

He was staring straight ahead and looked to
be lost in some world of thought.  “Michael,” I whispered to
him.

He looked down at me and a slight smile
formed on his lips.  He still looked scruffy but I could see
that he had made a little effort to pull himself together.  He
was wearing fresh clothes anyway and that was at least a small
improvement.

I wasn’t sure what to say as I tried to
wriggle myself free of my blankets.  He lifted himself up to
give them some slack for me and I managed to get myself into a
sitting position beside him.  “Michael, I’m glad you
came.  I have been worried about you all day.”

He brushed the hair back from my face as I
looked up at him but he didn’t say anything.

“I want us to be friends again,” I couldn’t
think of anything more substantial to say.

He turned away and resumed staring into the
empty space in front of him.

“Why did you come, then?”

He continued staring and didn’t say
anything.

A number of minutes passed, “Do you see
this?” I pointed to my chin where I had a tiny hairline scar.

He turned and focused on it.

“I think I got it when I was about
four.  My mother and I were walking to the grocery
store.   We weren’t expecting to go anywhere that day and
so my dad drove the car to work rather than taking the train. 
It was wintertime and I remember there being some snow on the
ground.  We cut through the woods around our apartments and
after crossing through the next complex my mom decided that it
would be quicker if we cut through their woods as well.  It
was a long way to go around if you stuck to the sidewalks,” I stole
a glance at Michael to see if he was listening and I was pleased to
discover that he was watching me as I relayed my story. 

“Well we came to a bit of a hill as we made
the more direct route through the trees and I was having trouble
getting up it.  My feet kept slipping in the snow and the wet
leaves underneath.  My mother bent down and picked me up so
she could carry me up the little slope.  After just a few
steps she slipped in the snow and the leaves just as I had been
doing and we came crashing down together.  She tried to
protect me but somehow I managed to bang my chin on a rock when we
landed and I bit my lip as well.”

I could see that Michael was interested in
my story and that he was wondering at the point I was trying to
make. 

“It hurt so much and the cut on my chin was
bleeding and my lip, too.  My mother was really upset and she
seemed so scared.  She put me on her back and as I cried and
my blood trickled all over her she ran me all the way back home
like that.  When we got there she cleaned my chin and gave me
some ice for my lip.  We got changed and she took our bloody
clothes and washed them all right away.  Then she gave me hot
cocoa and let me sip it while watching TV.”

“I spilled a little of the cocoa on the
coffee table and so I went into the kitchen to ask for a
towel.  When I got there I saw my mother standing in the
corner by the sink and she was crying.  She was crying so hard
it scared me and I thought that she must have gotten hurt
too.  When I asked her where she had gotten hurt she
said “Here” and pointed to her chest.”  

Michael looked moved by my story.

“She wasn’t crying because she got hurt but
because she felt that she had hurt me; that it was her fault that
we slipped and fell and I cut my chin and bit my lip.  She was
taking all the responsibility for what had happened to me and I
knew that wasn’t right.”

“Michael, it’s not right for you either,” I
took his hand.  “It was a mistake, everything, that whole
night, it was a mistake.”

Suddenly he reached for me and crushed me
against him, “I’m sorry Elayna, I’m so, so sorry,” his voice was
hoarse and muffled by my hair.  I felt like he was opening
back up to me and I was overjoyed to sense our connectedness
again. 

“I’m sorry too Michael, I’m sorry,” I was
filled with happiness for having gotten through to him.

“Promise me you will help me be strong,
promise that you won’t try to leave me again.”

“I promise Michael.”

Once he regained his self-control he tucked
me back into bed, “You should get some sleep.”

“Goodnight Michael,” I hugged him tightly
goodbye. 

“Goodnight Elayna,” he gently placed a
bristly kiss on my cheek.

We never talked about that night again but
afterwards Michael and I grew considerably closer.  He visited
me as often as he could and he slowly became very much himself
again.  He looked as handsome as ever; well-groomed and
composed.  I looked forward to his visits and to discovering
the slight improvements, either in his manner or
appearance. 

If the weather wasn’t too unbearable,
Michael would bundle me into his coat and we would take a late
night stroll and talk about the day each of us had.  He ended
up choosing my dad’s firm for obvious reasons and told me he hoped
it would bring some recognition to my father and that he would
perhaps get promoted.  Other nights if I was too tired to
venture out I would take my pillow and blanket from my bed, spread
them on the floor and he would lie beside me while I slept with his
strong hand wrapped around my fingers.  Those mornings I would
wake up in my bed with the shoe in the door and no indication that
he had been there. 

There were even a few nights that I didn’t
wake up but knew Michael had been to see me because he would leave
me a little something to let me know.  Once it was a jar with
flickering lights that looked just like fireflies.  I kept it
tucked in my closet so my parents wouldn’t question me about it and
pulled it out the nights I wasn’t expecting Michael so I could
watch them dance while I fell asleep.  There were little
flowers here and there, an occasional souvenir like a coin that he
found from some far away country – simple reminders to let me know
that he had come by.

I so looked forward to seeing him at night
that I would often lie awake with the hope that I would catch him
the moment he arrived.  He seemed to know that the late nights
were becoming too much for me though and as he recovered himself he
reluctantly accepted that it would not be possible for me to
continue that way. 

He curbed his visits but he seemed always to
be with me somehow.  One night he came early and we slipped
out to walk and talk in the crisp night air.  It was still
wintertime, so we didn’t stay out long and I couldn’t help feeling
that he was withholding something from me.  He told me that he
would need to go away soon and though I tried not to cry when he
left me that night I felt the dread of whether or not I would see
him again. 

A number of sleepless nights passed before
he came back to say goodbye.  I was almost too tired to hear
his call when he came.

“Elayna,” his voice whispered in my head to
wake me up.

I grinned as he tickled my ear, “Elayna,
wake up,” Michael was standing beside my bed as I came to.

“I’m glad you came, I thought you had
already left” I said as I somewhat unwilling pulled myself from
sleep. 

He smiled and it was so genuine and
heartfelt that I knew there was something more to his reply of, “I
wouldn’t have gone without saying goodbye,” he tucked my hair
behind my ear.

“Oh,” I said, “what is it?” I pulled myself
to sitting.

“I cannot keep anything from you, can
I?”

“You could but I would know and it would
hurt my feelings to think that you had a secret you were not
sharing.”  He looked sad, not enough to make me worry because
I sensed that it was something unrelated to us that was weighing on
him.  I couldn’t help being concerned, though.

“I have lots of secrets, ones that I cannot
share,” he stated.

“I know but,” I didn’t have the words to
explain that I understood the difference between his private
secrets and the ones we shared.

He took my hand, “I know you understand,” he
said as though he were deciphering my thoughts.  “It’s time
for me to go away for a little while.”

I felt the tears growing behind my eyes.

He sighed, “I think you need me to go,
too.”

I held back the swell of emotion as he
shared his thoughts with me; all the reasons why he should
go.  It was all so simplistic and logical that I couldn’t
think of any grounds to use as a protest to the suggestion. 
He didn’t tell me the full truth but it was just enough.

“Are you sure, Michael, are you strong
enough?” It was all I could think to say to cause him some
doubt. 

“I’m sure.”

I tried to gather up some courage, “Will you
be gone very long?”

“I don’t know but there is something I would
like to do and it may take some time; maybe days, maybe even
months.”

I couldn’t help but gasp at the idea after
being so close night after night.  “Months,” I shook my head
in disbelief.

“I will help you, if you’ll let me.”

I knew that he was asking to hide my
memories again. 

My first reaction was a downright refusal of
the idea but the thought of missing Michael night after night for
months on end was heart wrenching.  He convinced me of the
proposal when he told me that he wished he could do the same for
himself. 

“I will think of you every day and miss you
every night.  You will be a constant in all my thoughts and I
will be miserable without you.  I don’t want that for
you.  I want you to be happy so that I can be happy through
you.”

“Will you still be with me Michael? 
Will I know you are there?”

“I will be with you but no, you will not
know that I am there.”

I took a deep breath, “OK, I’ll let you help
me but you must promise me to come back if you’re not feeling
strong.”

“I promise.”

A couple of weeks before my 9th birthday we
moved to a new house.  It was bright and sunny the day I found
myself sitting in the backseat of our car while we followed the
moving van to our new home.  During the ride I thought about
our old apartment and my friend Erica who lived in the building
next door and how much I would miss my life there.  It was
really exciting, though, to know I would be living in a
house. 

Michael and my father had been working
together for a few months by then; mostly via phone and
internet.  He had gone away shortly after Christmas.  My
father told me and my mother that it was because his father had
passed away and that he had gone to be with his mother to help her
until she felt comfortable enough to be on her own.  I felt
very badly for him even though I only thought of him as Mr.
Donovan, a client of my dad’s and only vaguely remembered him as
someone I had met once or twice.