Sanctity (9 page)

I was trying to scream, or was it Brenda
that was trying to scream.  I couldn’t distinguish my dream
from reality as I fought to wake myself up. 

The light flooded my room as my mom and dad
charged in.  “Elayna, are you alright?  You were
screaming sweetie.”  My dad swept me into a tight hug.  I
was shaking and sobbing.  I felt cold and damp and my
nightgown was clinging to me.  “Oh, goodness, she is burning
up.  Get the thermometer, honey.”

My mother came back with it and checked
first one ear and then the other.  “101.8” she said,
“100.9.”  She left and quickly came back with another dose of
medicine.  I stifled my sobs and sipped it down.  She
helped me into a fresh pair of pajamas and tucked me back into
bed. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”  She
always asked this when I had a bad dream.  I was not willing
to share this one though and shook my head no. 

My father came in with a glass of
water.  “Here, try and drink some.”

I took a couple of sips and handed the glass
back to him.  They took turns tucking me in and saying another
goodnight.  My mom lingered on the edge of my bed until she
felt that I was about to drift off again.  I was still awake
when she left though and as soon as she was gone I started to
cry.  They were quiet, private tears that I could not share
with anyone else. 

There was something terribly wrong, I felt
empty; it felt like Michael had left me.  I had not heard his
attempts to reach me ever since I woke up and I just knew something
horrible had happened.   I felt remorseful, responsible
as I lay awake with my silent tears and tried to reach out to
him.  I was sure he would not answer, though, especially since
I was so adamant in my denials when he needed me. 

I must have cried myself back to sleep
because when I woke again it was late Sunday morning.  My
first thought was for Michael; I strove to make my mind as open as
possible but it proved quite useless and I couldn’t seem to find
any sense of him. 

I felt somewhat better, no longer feverish
but still a little achy.  I climbed down from my bed and
wandered into the kitchen.  My mom was making coffee and
stopped when she saw me.  “How are you feeling, honey?”

“Better,” I said.  I didn’t say it with
much enthusiasm but she credited my listlessness to the fever and
the troubled sleep that I had had.

“Do you feel hungry at all?”

“A little,” I mumbled.

I wasn’t very hungry at all but I knew that
my mom would tell me that I should eat at least a little
something.  She made me a light breakfast of toast and juice
along with a bit of fruit. 

“Can I watch TV?”

“Sure,” she ruffled my hair and helped me
arrange my breakfast on the coffee table.  Usually she would
tell me how long I could watch for but she was feeling generous
knowing I was down and left me to myself.

I watched one or two shows but I wasn’t
really paying attention to either.  My dad came and sat with
me while I pushed the food around on my plate. 

“You should try and eat a little more,
honey.”

I absently picked up my toast and took a
tasteless bite.  After breakfast I got dressed and ready to
start the day.  Both my parents made an effort to cheer me
through the morning.  I was too distraught to take much of an
interest though and just drifted from one suggested activity to the
next.  Everything I did to pass the time proved incapable of
steering my thoughts away from Michael and during the moments that
I found myself alone I concentrated and called to him without
success.  By the end of the day I began to look forward to
going to bed knowing that was most likely when I would either see
or hear from him.  Then I lay awake straining for the sound of
my slider opening or his voice in my head or to sense he was still
with me in some way. 

Before I knew it Monday morning had come and
I was still lost in my grief and without any indication of Michael.
 I saw my parents whispering to one another while I ate my
breakfast and I knew they were trying to figure out why I still
seemed so down.  I tried my best to hide how badly I was
feeling then and went through the motions of getting ready for
school.  At one point I overheard my mother telling my dad
about Brenda and the way she had embarrassed me at the ballet and
that she wondered if it was still bothering me. 

Hearing Brenda’s name made me remember my
dream and suddenly I wasn’t just weighed down with the loss of
Michael but began feeling somehow responsible for what had happened
to Brenda as well.  I tried to assure myself that it was just
a bad dream and nothing more.  I constantly thought about it
as Monday drew to a close.  My mother couldn’t help noticing
how distressed I was and questioned me when I came home from school
whether or not there was something I would like to talk to her
about.  I was beginning to realize what Michael was and
starting to understand why I could never tell her about him. 
I knew I had to try and be more like myself or risk further
questioning and the possibility of breaking down and confessing
everything.

Between trying to be cheerful in front of my
parents and my efforts to reach out to Michael I was
exhausted.  I was barely aware of Tuesday passing and by
Wednesday night I was close to accepting the fact that there was no
hope left and that Michael was lost to me forever.  I bathed
and got ready for bed; my mother read me a story and tucked me in
just as always.  My parents said goodnight and I forced a
happy smile as they turned out my light and set the shoe in my
door. 

I fell asleep swiftly but it was not a very
restful sleep.  I dozed and woke and called to Michael just as
I had over the previous nights.  I was not quite ready to give
up and desperately tried to think of a way to bring him back to
me.  Sometime after midnight and a bit deeper of a slumber I
found myself in that hazy restlessness between sleep and
awake.  I was thinking about the feeling I had when I first
met Michael and the connectedness I always seemed to sense whenever
we were near to one another.  I thought of the imperceptible
thread that I followed that brought me to where he was sitting on
the fountain the day we first met. 

“Oh!” the thought quickly brought me to
wakefulness.  I could not go to him but I wondered if I could
somehow use the strange connection that brought me to Michael and
bring him to me.

I cocked my head and listened.  There
weren’t any noises coming from either the living room or my
parent’s room, so I knew they were safely asleep.  I hopped
from my bed and after removing the shoe, I closed the door the rest
of the way.  I didn’t bother to turn the light on as I crawled
back to bed and propped myself up on my pillow.  I wasn’t sure
exactly what I was doing but I started by picturing myself and
picturing Michael and I imagined the little tendril that connected
us.

I gave a sort of mental tug and tried to
recreate the sensation I felt when I was drawn to Michael the first
time we met. I envisioned myself holding onto the connection, the
imperceptible thread and drawing him towards me and where I was
resting in my bed.  At first I didn’t feel anything at all and
I was sure that I was just being wishful and foolish.  When I
was about to give up though, I got the impression that the thread
had become heavier and harder to gather up.  I felt the first
hint of happiness that I had felt since the beginning acts of the
ballet. 

I don’t know how much time passed but I
began to grow weary with the emotional effort I was
expending.  I was tired almost to the point where I couldn’t
hold myself up any longer but then I heard the slider easing back
and the rustle of the blinds.  Michael took two steps into my
room and collapsed onto the floor.  I tossed the covers and
gathered him into my arms. 

“Michael,” I whispered into his hair, “oh,
Michael, I’m so, so sorry.”  As I cradled him I felt his arms
wrap around my waist.  I could feel him sobbing against me and
didn’t know what to do other than let him express his grief as we
held one another.  I reluctantly began to realize that my
dream must have been true and I felt Michael’s guilt as though it
were my own.  “It’s my fault,” I soothed and as I contemplated
what Michael was and I thought of Brenda, a shadow of understanding
as to why I was so important to him crept into me. 

I sat quietly and as he slowly grew calm I
looked him over.  There was enough light for me to see how
disheveled he was.  I was certain he hadn’t changed his
clothes for a number of days, or bothered with any other efforts at
grooming.  He looked ghastly; pale, hollow and unkempt with
ominous circles under his eyes.  His skin felt like ice and
there was a fierceness in the way that he was holding me.  I
was suddenly aware of how dangerous he could be and I was afraid of
him as he clung to me in the dark.  I was too relieved to have
him there, though, to surrender to my fear.

After a considerable time had passed I grew
too uncomfortable from my positioning and needed to adjust myself
to relieve the stiffness I felt.  This momentarily roused
Michael from his stupor and he pulled me onto his lap with one hand
and dragged us both towards the wall with the other.  He
rested his back against the wall, held tightly to me and tucked my
shoulder under his chin. 

As the hours ticked by I drifted off once or
twice only to twitch myself awake each time I realized that I had
fallen asleep.  Every time I woke I found Michael just as he
was, with his head resting on my shoulder and his arms wrapped
around my waist.  I wished that he would say something; I
wished I knew what to do to help him. 

I turned and curled myself into his chest
and started to doze off again.  I didn’t wake up again until
morning.  Michael was gone, the shoe was in the door and I was
in my bed.  Part of me wondered if it was all just a dream and
I almost panicked when I called and I didn’t hear an immediate
reply.  He didn’t say anything but after a few minutes I felt
as though he had reached out and touched my cheek. 

It was enough to satisfy me and I was so
relieved that I didn’t make any other attempts to connect with
him.  I got out of bed and went into my bathroom before making
my way to the kitchen.  My dad must have been getting ready
for work but my mom was there packing my lunch for school.

“Good morning honey, you look better.”

“I feel better.”

“Did you sleep well?” My father asked as he
came into the kitchen and gave each of us a good morning kiss.

“I think so,” I knew I didn’t sleep much at
all but Michael came to me and that had immensely improved my
spirits.

My mom finished putting my lunch bag
together and turned her attention to my breakfast.  She gave
me a glass of orange juice “Would you bring this to the table for
me?”

I put the juice on my placemat and went back
to the kitchen for my breakfast.  She was making a pot of
coffee and told me that when it was done she would come and sit
with me so we could chat while I ate.  I found that I was very
hungry and nearly devoured my breakfast before my mom took her seat
across from me.  “I see you’ve gotten your appetite back.”

I smiled and nodded over a mouthful of
scrambled eggs. 

“Good, I’m glad you are feeling
better.  Do you want to talk about what has been bothering
you?”

I shrugged and polished off what was left on
my plate. Thankfully my mother didn’t press me to answer. When I
was done I brought my dirty dishes to the kitchen and placed them
in the sink. My mom flashed a quick smile as I rounded the corner
and made my way to brush my teeth and get ready for school. She
helped when it is time to brush my hair and looked me over as
though she needed some assurance that I really was feeling
better.  She drove me to school and gave me a quick I
love you and Have a good day.  I waved as she pulled
from the carpool lane then headed into school.

The morning passed slowly and when I was not
too busy with my classwork I thought of Michael.  I wondered
if he was feeling better and when he would come see me next. 
I wondered if I should pull him back to me the way I did the
previous night or whether or not I could even do that again. 
I was very distracted and the teacher called on me more than once
to shake me from my daydreams.

“I know you have not been feeling well
Elayna but you need to try and stay focused,” the teacher said to
me as we lined up to go to the cafeteria. 

“Yes, I will,” was my simple reply.

After lunch I listened extra intently to my
lessons and avoided, as best I could, the temptation to think about
Michael.  The afternoon passed more quickly than I imagined it
would and before long I was in the carpool line waiting for my mom
to pick me up.  I was so relieved to be heading home and that
the school day was over.  I had been stifling yawns for the
past hour or so and felt like I could have nodded off at any
moment.

“Rough day?” my mom asked as I piled into
the car.

“I’m a little sleepy that’s all.”

“Do you have any homework; maybe you can
take a nap?”

Homework was an exception in third
grade.  We had some from time to time, never more than 15
minutes worth or so. 

“No, no homework,” I yawned mid-speech.

“Well, it’s up to you.  I won’t let you
sleep very long; otherwise you’ll be up all night.”

The idea of napping was never appealing to
me but when I heard the words up all night, it suddenly
sounded like a prize winning suggestion. 

“OK, but only if you promise to wake me up,”
I tried to sound reluctant to the idea and hoped that her
impression of too long was longer than not long enough. 

When we got home my mom suggested that I get
into some pajamas so I would be more comfortable and it would be
easier to fall asleep.  I quickly changed and called to her
when I was ready to take my nap.  She adjusted the blinds so
that the room was somewhat darkened.  I crawled under the
covers and said goodnight, “Good nap,” my mother corrected as she
fixed the shoe and turned the light out.