― Jim Morrison
I'm fine, really
My covert meeting with Ember left me shaken, not simply because it turned into a romantic rendezvous, but because of other elements about the situation that disturbed me.
She alluded to experiencing time shifts and she lives in an apartment that seems mired in the Thirties as if it were anchored to another time.
And there was something odd, yet familiar about being there, but it didn't make me feel comforted, but gave me the sensation things were slightly off.
In short, it reminded me of the way I felt after Marnie and I almost died on the highway that day. I dread that feeling because I can't shake the thought we really did die and we're now in an alternate reality.
I'm driving in my car reliving these moments and trembling at the sensation of silent thunder rumbling through me.
I know it seems an oxymoron and makes no sense unless, of course, you experience it and then you'll know what I mean.
I should be heading to the newspaper office but I'm heading home, frankly because I won't be able to hold it together around other people and I need to be alone.
I think this whole business is so upsetting because it's the first time I've actually entertained the prospect of being dead instead of shutting it out from my mind.
But I don't actually shut it out completely, because it surfaces sometimes in sleep and becomes a night terror for me.
I can't talk about it with Marnie because she's in denial about what happened that day and won't even directly admit it or confront it.
At best, she'll simply allude to it as, the unfortunate incident and then shut down all discussion.
So I'm stuck in a purgatory where I suffer alone and it's a bloody helpless feeling.
Sometimes, in desperation, I try to break through the walls Marnie's put up her and tell her she needs to talk.
I'm fine, really, she tells me, but I sense a quiet desperation in her that betrays her assurances.
She's like Alice who has gone through the looking-glass and emerged, not in Wonderland but a reasonable facsimile of reality―a parallel world that allows her to carry on as if nothing happened, when it did.
But what's all this got to do with Ember? Well, everything and nothing. Has she had the same experience as us? No way.
But there's something about her that's peculiar and she senses it in me as well. She thinks we can help each other―and she may be right, except for one little fact...
She's a high tension wire and if I grab hold of her, I won't be able to let go but end up burnt.
Maybe I should do as the mystic poet says, Sell my cleverness and buy bewilderment―just let go and follow my intuition.
It sounds so profound, yet it scares me to death, but if I'm already dead, what does it matter?