The cold grey of the blade hovers near my wrist. In my minds eye I see the cold edge push past my skin, grow warm with the blood flowing out. The steam rises from the hot water in the tub, condensing on the blade. My wet hair grows cold while I’m sitting in hot water, hesitating. The goose bumps on my arms are almost painful. The towel is fresh newly laundered cotton, within hands reach.
The warmth my submerged limbs and torso almost makes me feel like I have two bodies. Two lives. Two paths which I could take. I close my eyes, and imagine flying through the air, the wind flapping past ears as I sail down, past the building windows, smashing to freedom below. I almost wish for it, but the Memory is too new. Standing on the rooftop, the wind that seemed liberating in my thoughts uncomfortably cutting through my sweater and knifing my bones. Standing with curled toes hesitating on the edge, a far cry from the thumping run up and the leap to freedom, like some long jump athlete. The towel is within reach; I take it.
I’m drying my now frozen hair when the phone rings. I know who it is without picking up. The psychic radar all mothers seem to have as far as their children are concerned. I wait for three rings, willing her away. Then I sigh and steel myself for the platitudes of my charade.
************
My hair pleasantly warm post blow dry, and with contentment that only warm dry clothes can provide in winter, I sink into my squashy pink sofa and automatically reach for the TV remote. The memory of the cold grey on my wrist makes me pause though. I stare at the red ‘on’ button, wiling myself to press it and relax back into routine. To not think of the first fifteen minutes of the Will and Grace rerun I missed in my ruminations in the tub. The red button blurs, and I clench my teeth to prevent them from falling. I click on the TV, determined to avoid the dull weights that smother my chest.
************
The bells sear through my soul. My heart skips a couple of beats as I fumble under my pillow and don’t find reassuring cold steel, but then realize what the sound is, and cut the alarm off with relief. Thank God for snooze. My heart beat slows to normal, and I relieve an itch on my stomach. The delicious feel of the blanket keeping me toasted from the chill outside my bed, the pleasant stupor of stretching. Unwilling to get up and face another day, I lie there for a bit, staring at the clock ticking over my bed. Without my glasses, it’s a blur of white on an off-white wall, the tick tock unnaturally loud. I remember the dream, flickers at first, then the whole story. Laughing in the bed of a lover, sharing inexplicable tenderness and caring. I didn’t see his face. Will I recognize his soul if I ever meet him? The snooze startles me. I forget the dream and get ready for work.
I choose to walk up the 5 flights of stairs. On the way out, I always stick to the friendly lights and elevator staff though. I remember my first week in the building, with the air conditioning in the staircases turned off at 5, the unventilated air choking by the late hours of the evening. The sound of my breathing deafening, not being able to hear if someone was following. The innocent creak of some nighttime scuttler paralyzing my lungs.
I don’t use the stairs if I’m working late anymore.
************
I’m back in the tub. The steam wafts up, rolling through the cold that seems to be battling to freeze my exposed skin. The bathroom window in the improbable setting above the foot of the tub is steamed up. I can see the blurred orange street lights in the distance, hear the muffled whuzz of passing cars. I hold my breath and submerge my head, pushing myself to the floor so my feet stick out of the water at the other end. My toes curl in the abrupt cold. I hear the total underwater silence, the clanking of the metal chain of the drain plug sounding eerily foreign. I quickly open my eyes, reassuringly see the white tiles above my head through the stinging soapy water. But then I see the cheery green of the razor handle perched on the brink of the tub, blocking out all else. A bubble flies up past my nose, breaks on the surface. The silence becomes deafening. My lungs will start pleasantly burning soon, and I dispassionately wonder if its possible to drown oneself. Probably not; the survival instinct would take over. I whoosh out, the water streaming down my head, past my arm as I reach for the towel, puddling on the tiles below. I resolutely ignore the green double blade ‘safety’ razor, perched at the edge of the tub, as sinister as a radio or a hairdryer. The empty apartment beckons.
************
I fall asleep on the sofa watching TV, don’t hear my alarm faithfully sounding in the bedroom. Daylight, the Morning Show and habit, wake me up. Completely disoriented, I stare at the offensively pulled back curtains and floods of diffused light before realizing where I am. My eye are painfully trying to focus, then I realize my glasses are askew, and put them right. The dream, if somewhat explained by my location, still leaving a residue of chagrin, ill-used ness and general grumpiness.
I was seeing it through the someone else’s eyes, some long dead soul reaching into this realm and reliving its experiences though my body. A concept I woke up with one day, and haven’t been able to shake off since. I hate days of waking up remembering someone else’s memories, feeling used, feeling the eerie similarity between lives of people long dead and their loved ones, and my own world. Maybe things don’t really change a lot with time and its physical trappings. I was in a house, with my best friend and my sister, and having a seemingly normal dinner and conversation with a family we are visiting. Small unnatural undercurrents, a feeling of threat under the surface, a glance that doesn’t seem right, a background sound that doesn’t fit in slowly work their way into the theme. I am constantly looking over my shoulder, constantly in threat, constantly jumpy. This family is not all what they seem, not all what they should be. We are not safe, but we have no where to go.
Its not a pleasant dream.
I cant help feeling like I relived some poor girls last moments.
I shake off the uneasiness, for once eager to get outside, to get into contact with real, living, people.
************
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