Nights on the Soul©

I’d had a very hard day at work the day after I met Dave. I was working for an insurance company at the time. Fairly mindless, fairly easy, fair enough pay. There had been a particularly difficult client. Fairly aggravating. He was giving me a hard time over the phone. My voice was shaking as I explained for the millionth time why his monthly payments were being increased. As I hung up, I reached for my cigarettes and noticed my hands were shaking. My boss also noticed my state of agitation. He took pity on my teary eyed explanation of the asshole on the phone and said I could leave early. It was Friday and I relished the thought of the long quiet weekend ahead.

When I got home, I dropped my work bag inside the door. I pulled off my confining work clothes, which also dropped in a heap upon the floor and pulled on baggy shorts and a happy tie-dye t-shirt. I noticed my blinking answering machine and in a split second I knew Dave’s voice would be recorded on the tape. It was as if I could see his face with every red blink. My heart started to beat fast as I hit play and heard his melodic voice telling me to call.

I bit my fingernail in nervousness as I thought about him. His extraordinary magnetism. His bizarre good looks. Him calling me. I lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing out the smoke thoughtfully. The luminous clouds affected my vision so that across the room I saw a fleeting flash of light. I sat dumbly, expecting something to happen, and when nothing did I picked up the telephone and dialed Dave’s number.

I was sitting on my biggest pillow on the floor, playing with its fringe when after about five rings he answered with a soft low hello.

“Um, hi, Dave … ? It’s Miranda.” God, I felt stupid, like a teenager.

“Hi,” he said. I can’t explain it but we must have sat there for a minute communicating, without a single word. It was like I could feel his thoughts, and he mine. It was very deep and it made my stomach hurt and I had to shake my head to get out of it and focus on the reality of holding a telephone in my hand and talking to another human being in words.

“Gosh,” I said breathlessly. That was weird. “I, um. You’re different, Dave.”

“So are you, Miranda.”

“So am I.”

I said this slowly, a definite pause in between each word.

“I’m home early from work. I did not have a good day.”

“That’s too bad,” was all he said.

“Anyway, I’m home now. I just don’t feel very well. My head’s all off, you know?”

“I suppose.”

“Sometimes I feel like it’s too much of an effort to live. I’d rather just be nothing.”

“I have this fantasy,” he said cautiously, “where I’m the wind. And I can go anywhere, to every height. And be powerful, yet calm if I want. I think to be the wind would be the most wonderful thing on earth.”

His tone of voice got me excited. I imagined being the wind with him, soaring over the mountains, dancing through fields of wildflowers. I closed my eyes and pictured a delicate breeze tickling my toes and it made me laugh.

“I did that,” he said.

“What?”

“I tickled you with my thoughts.”

“I believe you did,” I said. More deep silence, but not uncomfortable. The static on the phone lines was full of our thoughts. I could see him talking on the phone to me, as if he were in front of me, and we were looking at each other and it was so real I thought for a moment he was in my apartment. I shook my head clear again.

“I want to see you.”

“Yes, so do I.”

“Can I meet you somewhere? At Horizon Park? It’s close to the mall.”

“Yes. Eight thirty?”

“Fine, I’ll see you then.”

“Yes, I’ll see you then,” he spoke his words so definitely I could imagine them forming about his lips, expressing themselves specifically to be heard.

***