Sanctity (28 page)

“Do you want me to turn any of this in for
you?”  Charlie asked

“That would be great.”  I stacked my
papers and handed them to him.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he turned to
Margaret, “Bye Mrs. Donovan.  Have a good night,” he
smiled.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” 
Margaret asked, sorry to see my company go.

“No, I have a thing but thanks.  Some
other time, maybe?”

“Any time Charlie, Lily is a really good
cook, you know?”  Margaret tried to add a little enticement to
the offer.

“So I’ve heard and I’d really like to be the
judge of that myself.  Next time, though” he flashed a
regretful grin at me and headed to the door.  Kaley saw him
out and trotted back to the kitchen.

“Well, that was very nice of Charlie wasn't
it?”

“Yeah, Charlie’s a great friend,” I smiled
reflectively.  I could see Margaret’s wheels turning as she
eyed me to see if there was something more, “He has a girlfriend,”
I said almost snappishly. 

“I wasn’t asking,” Margaret was
defensive.

“Sorry, I just,” I didn’t know why I said it
or why I said it so grudgingly, “he’s seeing Missy and I guess I
just don’t want anyone, even you, to think he’s doing anything more
than helping a friend.”

“Right, I understand.  Listen, I bought
a few extra things while I was out.  How do you feel about a
little Chicken Tortilla Soup for dinner?”

It was my favorite soup and her
thoughtfulness made me feel even guiltier for being so sharp with
her.   “Perfect,” I said and hoped that I sounded
apologetic as well.  “I think I am going to lie down for a
little bit.  Do you mind?”

“No of course not, I’ll let you know when
everything is ready.”

I put my books in the bag Charlie left for
me.  It must have been an old one of his; it looked a little
worn and dusty.  He probably dug it out from somewhere to make
it easier to get my things to me.  As I stuffed one of my
books in it got caught on a crumbled up piece of paper.  I
absently pulled it from the bag and smoothed it out.  It was
dated from freshman year and looked like some notes from a science
class.  There were little doodles on it including one with a
little heart and the initials C. B. & L.D. written in the
center of it.

I smiled and tucked it back to the bottom of
the bag.  “It must be about 3 or 4 years old,” I thought of
the paper.  I couldn’t help but wonder if Charlie still had
feelings for me and that was why he was putting himself forward to
help me out.  “I have my reasons,” he said and mentioned
biking but I wondered if that was the only meaning behind what he
had said. 

I left the bag by the front door and trudged
upstairs to lie down for a bit.

I was a little winded by the time I got to my
room and it took me a moment to get comfortable once I managed to
make it to my bed.  As I turned over and over again the little
I could remember of the formal I started to feel, “Penitent,” I
thought to myself.  I couldn’t imagine what I had to regret or
feel sorry for.  “Gosh, what have I done, why can’t I remember
anything,” I tried to recall something, anything from the past few
days and it was impossible.

I tried to shake off my fear and closed my
eyes.  It was hard for me to imagine that I could fall asleep
after lying in bed for two days but once I pulled the covers up I
felt willing to give it a try.  I closed my eyes and pretended
that I was sleeping, a trick I would sometimes use to help me when
I thought I was going to have trouble actually falling
asleep.  I didn’t think it was going to work this time and sat
up but when I did, I got the sense that I was not in my own
room. 

I looked around and tried to focus on my
surroundings wondering where I was and how I had gotten
there.  It was very dark but I could see a sliver of light off
to my right.  As I made my way towards the light I realized
that it was the sun peeking through some heavy drapes.  I
reached out with both my hands and wrenched them open.  The
room was flooded with light and as I looked around it seemed
familiar to me. 

The bed where I was resting was a giant
four-poster covered with a thick coverlet.  I approached it
and ran my fingers over the dense fibers.  There was a loose
thread that caught my eye and I moved to the end of the bed and
picked it up with my forefinger and thumb.  I gave it a tug to
remove it from the bedding but it didn’t seem to be attached to the
coverlet.

I followed the thread’s path with my gaze and
saw that it flowed over the edge of the bed and out an open
doorway.  I began to wind it around my palm and followed it
through the doorway.  As I stepped through I realized that I
was somewhere new.  It seemed to be an arboretum centered in a
multi-level shopping mall.  There was a fountain in front of
me and the water was sprouting up and twinkling down in a rhythmic
pattern. 

The thread seemed to pass through the middle
of the fountain and to continue on once it reached the other
side.  As I traced its path I noticed a man sitting on the
ledge of the fountain with his back to me.  I desperately
wished he would turn around and look at me for some reason but he
got up and walked away in the direction of the thread. 

I tried to wind more frantically and
continued to follow the string certain that it was there for me, to
lead me to wherever I needed to go.  The sliding doors that
exited the mall were right in front of me and as they glided back
they revealed another new local.  I was in front of an
apartment building and there were rows upon rows of little
balconies leading up to the rooftop.  The thread streamed as
far as I could see up the side of the building and I was not sure
how I could go about following it. 

I tried climbing onto the rail of the lowest
balcony and stretched myself upwards.  Somehow I was able to
reach the rails of the balcony on the next floor and pull myself
up.  I reached and stretched and made my way to the top of the
building.  My heart was pounding with the effort and when I
stopped to catch my breath I looked down and saw the loose strand
trailing off towards the corner of the roof.  I took a deep
breath and resumed winding it around my palm.  After a while
my hand started to ache and began to look as though it was covered
with a massive mitten because I had gathered so much of the
string. 

As I got closer to the corner where the
thread was lying I saw the man again, standing on the edge looking
down.  He was not facing me and I felt the anxious pain again
that I needed him to look at me, to see me and that I was trying to
reach him.  I tried calling but either he didn’t hear me or he
chose to ignore me.  He stepped onto the tiny ledge and stood
perfectly still for a moment then jumped over the side of the
building.

I ran to the edge and looked down but the man
was gone.  There was nothing there but the thread dangling in
the breeze as it trailed to the ground.  Again I didn’t know
what to do; I knew I couldn’t survive a jump like that.  It
seemed like a completely foolish idea but I unwound some of the
string thinking to tie it to something and to use it for a rope to
climb down.  There was a ventilation pipe nearby and I wrapped
layer after layer of the thread around it then gave it a hearty
tug.  For such a fine strand it seemed very strong. 

I looked over the edge of the building and
was momentarily decided against my intentions.  I gazed up
into the night and whispered a little prayer and as if in answer a
shooting star zipped across the sky.  I tried to gauge how
much slack I would need to make it to the ground, I unwound it,
turned my back and stepped over the edge.  I planted my feet
and pushed off.  I shimmied down the building and when I got
to the ground a gust of wind whipped the thread and it tumbled down
to land at my feet.

I quickly began winding it back up twisting
it around and around my hand.  It took a while to gather it
all again and once I did I resumed my journey.  I followed the
thread into the nearby woods and when I came out on the other side
I noticed that it was leading me towards a motorcycle parked on the
shoulder of a nearby road.  I was many yards away from where
it sat and every step I took seemed to bring me no closer to
it.

I felt like I had to hurry and as I started
to run I saw the man again exiting the woods and straddling the
bike.  He was wearing a helmet and I couldn’t see his face and
I did not know if he had seen me.  I wanted to go with him; I
needed to go with him wherever he was off to.

“No, no,” I started shouting, “wait, I’m
here, you have my thread, please give it back to me.  Please
don’t take my thread,” I held it to my chest as I tried to run to
where he sat on the bike.

I was frantic with fear and grief stricken
when the motorcycle started and its shrieks covered my cries. 
He pulled from the shoulder onto the road and I fell to my knees in
failure.  The thread started unwinding from my hand; faster
and faster it chased after the man and the motorcycle. 

“Oh,” I cried as I tried to snatch it and
keep it from escaping me but it was burning my hand as it was being
drawn so quickly across my palm.  The pain was excruciating
but I refused to let go.

“Lily,” someone was shaking me, “Lily, wake
up.”

“No, no, I need to catch the thread, don’t
you see it, it’s leaving me.”

“Lily what are you talking about?”

I opened my eyes, “Aunt Margaret?”

“Yes, dear, I’m here.  I’m here
sweetheart,” she was cradling me. 

Margaret had never comforted me like that
before and I melted at her touch.  The tears were relentless
as they rained down and down and down.

“I lost him, Aunt Margaret, I lost him.”

“Lost who?” her voice was full of confusion
but I sensed there was something else, almost a touch of fear in
her question.

I tried to answer but my thoughts were no
longer coherent.  I didn’t know what I was saying or why I was
saying it and suddenly I didn’t know why I was in bed or why I was
crying or why Margaret was trying to soothe me.  It all
erupted into a chaotic display of memories that I was unable to
sort out.  I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. 
As I regained my composure I pulled away from Margaret.

“I’m sorry Aunt Margaret.  It was just a
bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked
concernedly.

I laughed with a touch of lunacy, “I don’t
remember,” I shook my head, “I’ve already forgotten it, can you
believe that?  Am I going crazy?” I turned a wild-eyed gaze on
Margaret.

“No, honey, no, of course not.  You’ve
been through a lot and you’re not feeling well.  You mustn’t
think any more of it than that.”

I barely remembered the school year ending
and if it weren’t for Charlie I was sure I would never have made it
through my finals and onto my senior year.  Margaret was
piling her care and concern on me and despite everything she and
all of my friends did to lift my spirits I couldn’t seem to pull
myself together.  My mind was constantly wandering off to some
other place and every day felt more like a dream than
reality.  I was quiet and subdued; I had no enthusiasm and
only went through the motions of having a good time with my
friends.  Whenever we were together all I could think about
was how soon it would be before I could safely excuse myself from
whatever it was we were up to and hurry off to spend some time
alone. 

I didn’t know what was causing me to feel
like I did as I drifted from one day to the next but the sense of
disconnection I felt seemed to pervade all the empty minutes of my
daily life.  Sometimes I lost my perception of time and place
while I considered over and over again all the things I wished I
could remember.  I would try to picture my mother or my father
and what our life together was like.  Sometimes I tried to
imagine what my life would be like if they were still with me.

There were many, too many, mornings that I
woke up on a pillow dampened by a night of endless tears.  I
was constantly wondering why my life suddenly seemed so tragic to
me.  My friends, Margaret, Kaley, my home; there were so many
bright and worthy objects all around me and I could not appreciate
them the way I knew I should.  Sometimes I would grow angry
and resent them all for the ease with which they found happiness in
even the simplest and most mundane of endeavors. 

Charlie seemed the most aware of how I was
feeling and the most determined to shake me from it.  He came
by regularly on some pretense or other and often stayed for dinner
at Margaret’s open ended invitation.  He was soothing to be
around and his patience with my lapses bordered on sainthood so
more often than not I didn’t bother to resist his efforts to engage
me in whatever activity was at hand.

 “You just need time,” he and Margaret
constantly assured me. 

“Time,” it seemed endless and
vague. 

Towards the end of summer Charlie seemed to
be growing more and more anxious that his efforts weren’t having
any effect.  He and Missy had broken up shortly after summer
break began and he came by more and more frequently so I couldn’t
help noticing how uptight he was.  I knew he had feelings for
me but I couldn’t make sense of them especially since I was so
detached and indifferent. I didn’t understand why he was so
persistent but I was grateful that he managed to keep me going when
little else did.

He came by to visit one afternoon and it
briefly crossed my mind that I should tell him that I appreciated
all he had done for me but he was wasting his summer and he
shouldn’t worry about me. As I sat across from him at the kitchen
table though I realized that he must have been talking to me
because he was staring at me looking as though he were waiting for
a reply and I quickly lost my train of thought, “What’s that,
Charlie, I’m sorry.”