Part 6: Carries a secret

How do you weigh a moment? Time passes, but not equally. The word "time" is merely a placeholder, which if you break it down, describes little and illuminates less. Einstein, when speaking on the principals of relativity, explained that time moves differently depending on the situation or our relative experience.

Have you ever lived a moment when time ceased and became aware of every second and every heartbeat? There are two memorable points in my life when I felt time's wheels grind to a halt. The first time occurred with Zadie who despised her name, except whenever I would whisper it in her ears.

"Yes" was the word she replied and repeated it twice. I saw yes escape her lips which rose slowly as she drew in a long breath. I returned her smile and looked deep into recesses of her soft gray eyes which, for the first time in my life, I knew there was no place I would rather be than with her, in that moment, with her yes repeated as a deft soliloquy. For the first time in my life I felt the vulnerability of love, knowing I had something to lose if the cinder house shot aflame. Though that moment happened many years ago, I have no doubt it will be one of my final visions as I breathe my last breath.

The second time happened after I felt the impact of my car as it landed in the ditch. There was no pain, no pressure, just silence.

In dreams, you can live an entire life before the first ray of sunshine breaks through the darkness of the room. In dreams time doesn't exist, and I can only explain what follows as a dream, because there is no other word which aptly fits. But even as I pen this narrative, I can still recall every detail of the dream as though I'm revisiting it now:

When I opened my eyes I was no longer in the car. In fact I was literally nowhere. The space had no defining features -- not even a seam in the wall could be distinguished from the floor. Everything was connected by a dull gray veneer which gathered light rather than refracted it. I walked for what seemed a great distance, but I could not be sure. The color infected my mind and with each passing step, and I became more claustrophobic. Eventually I surrendered. Placing my head against the ground, I stared deep into the gray as though to confront it. It stared back at me, with unblinking dullness. I continued to stare until becoming lost in the banality of the moment. I gave up and closed my eyes.

There were no sounds, no breeze nor any movement. I thought of black holes and the absence of matter. Was I lost in a strange temporal shift or perhaps an interdimensional void? Perhaps I was dead, I thought, and what I am seeing is the last burst of energy between synapses before my brain shuts down. Fearful, I opened my eyes again and saw a transparent desk with a chair on each side.

I felt the edges of the desk as though to ensure myself it was real. With ease, I pulled the chair from under the desk and sat in anticipation. Whatever vision or reality, it required two people. While turning my head to survey the distance, I heard a voice.

"Why are you here?"

When I turned around I found Laura Spencer in the opposite chair. She wore the same white dress and veil the night of her performance at the Kennedy Theatre.

She repeated her question.

"I don't know."

"You're not supposed to be here."

Looking around and seeing the same landscape as before, I returned my gaze to Laura's veil, trying to penetrate it and responded, "Well, it looks like I am here. Before you ask, I have no idea how I got here and I am not sure how to leave. But, I have been looking for you since the theatre."

"When I played the piano?"

"Yes."

"That was years ago, when I first arrived."

"That was three days ago."

With trepidation, she sat up stiffly in her chair and became more rigid.

"Three days?"

"From my perspective..."

"I see." After a pause, "Why are you looking for me?"

I thought about the circumstances which led me to this point, this conversation -- the Ambassador, the woods, and finally the address. The series of events appeared to me so circumstantial I allowed for the first time the possibility of design.

"It seems I have little choice in the matter."

"Fated?"

"I don't like that word."

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"Shakespeare."

"I was Juliet in our high school production," Gently, she removed her veil. All my doubts disappeared as I saw the same face which was featured above the fold in headlines dating back for five years in the Mulberry Free Press. She hadn't aged and her countenance conveyed a youthful vigor which bore an intelligence verging on precociousness. Her severity lightened as a small semblance of a smile appeared as she continued, "I had a boxed windowsill in my bedroom which was big enough for one person. My mom gave me the room after my grandfather died. My mom said she couldn't bear the thought of having that room become vacant.

"After dinner, I would spend most nights with a worn-out play-book of Romeo and Juliet on my lap. I would read the same lines until I couldn't separate the character's thoughts from my own. Every so often when my eyes began to strain, I would gaze outside my window which overlooked our backyard. Even now I can recall the background in its every detail. There was a playground set with a slide directly below my bedroom. About three feet to the right was an old maple tree, which had an old tire swing on one of the low branches. I remember the expansive corn field which would extend to the horizon and the howl of coyotes at night.

Laura gave a laugh before continuing, "It is kind of funny the scenarios I played out in my mind. Many nights I would wish and as foolish as it may sound, even pray for that cinematic moment for a rock to lightly hit my window. In case you haven't guessed, my favorite scene is the balcony scene. I must have read that scene over and over again until I couldn't separate the character from myself."

"Did you ever get your wish?"

"In a way," she frowned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"He's why I am here."

"Who?"

I saw Laura's mouth begin to form a word. Was it a "b" or "d" which started to roll off her tongue? This was a question which consumed me for quite a long time, because at that moment, when she tried to respond to my question, my surroundings tilted. I saw the gray corridor conform in odd shapes, as though it was gaining life. All sounds went mute before the I heard the rushing of feet and whiffed the faint smell of gasoline. Suddenly, Laura appeared as though she were a mile away and continued away from me with increasing speed. The faster I rushed towards her, the more resistance was pushed against me. It was if my legs were caught in a deep mud, and I was starting to sink. Before I could yell, I saw the colors change before and became flooded with a deep set blue. As I opened my eyes, the words, "he's alive," rang in my ears and has been ringing ever since.