The trees cast their dark shadows on the pond’s surface, each branch stretching both towards the heavens and piercing my heart. Hushed. Harmony. Peace. The squirrels taunted me from their perches high above, squeaking and nibbling on nuts daintily. Here I could think, cool and collected like the world around me. Every puff of burning cold air illuminated my thoughts and my humanity. I felt vulnerable, irrationally angry, and distantly depressed. I began walking, began the numbness, my mind mulling until emotion faded, my legs stepping until my jeans rubbed away any trace of cold. He is gone. He left, but here I am, still walking, still living and breathing and my wheelchair still collecting dust back at my apartment. I imagined myself with a manly strut, like Mr. Darcy on his way to Elizabeth. I envied his confident and mysterious gait. I desired to be dominant and demanding like he, to for once in my life be in control of my surroundings rather than a helpless traveler lost with an upside-down map.
Soldiers in WWI had shell shock. I had Peter, Samuel, James, David, and Percy shock. All of them, shadows casting their glow upon my mind, bright in my memories yet blackening my soul. Black as the darkest stone. They were shadows of the has beens, the are nows, and will bes.
I remember looking into James’ bright blue eyes, his hand on my knee, intent upon knowing the depths of myself. My corset too tight to breathe, my lungs reluctant to break the moment. I see Samuel’s trench coat and fedora, his rapid and ridiculous whirl around to finally tell me I was “simply average” but that I might just make a good reporter yet. David’s glare when I spilled Guinness all over his lap in the pub, yet his smirk nonetheless. And Percy… Percy. Never once did he stop to realize he had me wrapped around his little finger, listening to his every word. He gave me myself back.
The sun began to set, the winding fingers of old oaks began to disappear from the water’s silky surface. My feet felt again. Cold. Icy. Looking down, I realized I was six inches deep in pond scum and frigid water. Not again. Squish squash squish squash I trudged home, attempting to once again join the numbness, but failing thanks to my uncomfortable boots. Life was moving in slow motion, I was unable to fast forward past the dusty construction, the speeding taxis with blaring horns, the men in drag, the women selling themselves hoping they too could fast forward to a new day. A day where he existed to rescue us from ourselves.