by J.L. Munn
We open on what we think to be two women sitting in a warmly lit room, but we can’t be sure. We inch forward, hoping for some clarity. We are careful to not make noise. We think we do this out of courtesy, but we allow it could be something more nefarious.
We decide we are not afraid.
We hear soft sounds coming from what we think to be a kitchen. The tone and cadence make us think it’s the two women engaged in a conversation they are accustomed to having. Their voices harmonize eloquently into a thing unknowable to us, but pleasant still to our ears. We try to remember the last time we had such a conversation. We believe we have, but cannot easily bring an example to mind.
We do not find this odd.
We stop moving for a moment, and take a deep breath, stretching our arms over our head. It feels like it has been a while since we were able to do this in relative peace. We are unsure if that is true, but we are comforted by the sensation of the air in our lungs and the retreat of the tension in our neck and shoulders.
We consider that we might have been stagnant longer than we thought.
We take a second breath, pushing ourselves to try to reach the lowest parts of our lungs. We note the absence of scent in the air, but we are not concerned. We remember that this happens on occasion.
We can feel the air enter and exit our lungs and our mind decides that is enough for now.
Out of the corner of our eye, we think we see one of the two women getting up. We note a change in the tempo of their conversation.
We begin to realize that we do not yet know where we are, and are not certain that we know who these people are, or why we’re here.
It occurs to us that a swath of our time could be missing from memory, with it, many of the details we usually take for granted. We think that this is something that can happen on occasion.
We find ourselves unable to will ourselves to move. We remember that this too can sometimes happen. We do not recall ever enjoying the sensation.
We take a third breath. We decide we are not afraid.
We think to ourselves, if this were a movie, this is where we would have a meaningful thought or question that would advance the plot, but this is not a movie and our mind is pleasantly blank.
We return our gaze to the immense darkness from which we appear to be emerging.
We marvel at its familiarity to us, though we cannot name it. We are not sure that anyone really could. We let ourselves taste the edge of its shadow again, feeling the longing inside it, the emptiness of it. Its call grows louder. We feel the temptation to return to its cold embrace. We consider if we were to have a choice, would we return to it.
The sounds from the kitchen turn our attention before we can decide. We begin to feel the weight from behind us slipping through our fingers.
We are, as always, of two minds on how we feel about such a sudden shift.
«Eyes forward» we hear, from where we cannot say. We want to ask «Which way is forward?» But restrain ourselves. We are not entirely sure if it was meant for us and wouldn’t want to disturb someone else’s scene.
We think we do this out of courtesy, but allow that it could be something more nefarious.
We consider that we could be drawn to the apparent warmth between these strangers. We let ourselves imagine what a pleasure it would be to join them. We note the newness of the sensation.
We do not NOT enjoy the idea.
Our eyes attempt again to sharpen their focus, our nose to gather scents. We would like more details before we convince our body to move.
We remind ourselves it has likely been some time since we were out of the darkness. It is normal that our eyes have difficulty. We take in another deep breath. We decide we are not yet close enough for our senses to register properly. We decide it is normal.
We are still unable to move, but accept it will eventually happen. The liminal spaces are surprisingly comfortable if you know how to be in them, but their moments are always fleeting.
As we wait, we allow our mind to enjoy the unscented air of mystery that surrounds us. This too feels like something we have not been able to do for some time, if ever. Our mind begins to expand to possibility.
We see a bench out of the corner of our left eye and move towards it. We dust off and replace the cushions that have fallen to the side. We take a seat, enjoying the dichotomy of warmth to our left and coolness to our right. Two opposing halves made whole by our being.
We decide, at least for now, this could be contentment.
– ∞ –
