My Dear Stranger

by Sarah Ann Walker

  He wasn’t there again. Like every other day and night of the last year, He wasn’t there, and yet I waited. I waited and cried, and begged, and agonized over His absence. But again, just like every other day and night for the last year, He wasn’t there.

  When I was able, I remember struggling to take my shower. I remember having to lift my legs over the tub and nearly crashing onto the floor. I remember pumping the anti-bacterial disinfecting soap all over my face and hands and body. I remember scrubbing under my nails and between my legs. I remember reaching slowly for my shampoo. I remember using soap and lather to wash away the smell of my death. I struggled, but after an hour at least, I was finally sitting on the edge of the tub clean as the water poured down my head and face.

  I was clean, finally. I was no longer crying and I could breathe deeply. I think the hour of steam even helped my breathing even out.

  And when I was able, I made my way, slowly, unsteadily out of the shower and bathroom, grasping my towel, and using my other hand against walls as my guide, forcing my way to my bedroom. I fought and struggled, but eventually I made it to my bed.

  I made it and then I collapsed. And I remember the exhaustion was so great, and the pain in my entire body so intense, and the throbbing in my head so powerful, my body could do little more than collapse. And so I landed in my towel, pulled my blankets over myself and collapsed into the exhaustion that was my life.

  When I woke a few hours later, my body felt the same. I remember feeling all the aches and pains, while the throbbing of my skull seemed unbearable. I had the worst hangover head I had ever known, almost like I could actually feel my brain move independently of my skull.

  But I was alive.

  With a strength I couldn’t believe, I slowly made my way to my kitchen, and nearly collapsing again, I leaned against the cabinet next to the fridge as I found some apple juice.

  Gulping the juice, I forced myself to stop. Waiting, I held my stomach and breathed deeply through the growing nausea. Waiting, I held on as the juice settled. And as I forced my body to slowly live, I also forced all thoughts out of my head. I pushed each thought of Him out while I struggled to just live.

  After the juice, I grabbed a whole box of Melba toast, a bowl, my apple juice and a bottle of water. Making my way to my living room I refused to think. I settled myself in an inclined laying position on my couch and I slowly fed my body the nourishment it needed to survive this round of mistakes. And though I still vomited here and there, eventually I felt myself slowly become stronger.

  And I survived.

  10 hours later I was well enough to attempt plain toast, and a few hours after that a grilled cheese. I spent 2 full days recovering, which was pretty amazing to me, and pretty shocking too. But I did survive.

  And by the third day, I lit my first smoke and finally allowed myself to think.

  So I thought of my stranger. I thought of nothing but my stranger. I thought of the years my stranger had visited, and I thought of the years my stranger had NOT visited.

  And for the first time ever I found myself growing angry with my stranger. I felt betrayed by His absences and hurt by His neglect. I was angry for all the years I had spent waiting on His visits.

  I was angry, but just as quickly as the anger surfaced it left me with a hollow sadness in its wake.

  And I WAS sad.

  I cried heavily and often when I thought of Him. I cried for all the years wasted. I cried for all the life not lived. I cried because even in that moment of anger, I missed Him so much my heart broke again and again, but I couldn’t change that.

  I loved Him. I remembered loving Him. I remembered the depth of the love I had felt and I remembered the struggle to love Him. He had made Himself everything to me, so without Him I had nothing, even though I was nothing with Him as well.

  He was the beginning and the end of my days. He was my every thought and my every feeling. He was all I had, and all I was. My stranger was all I had ever known of love and I ached for Him.

  Yet even as He was a ghost in my life, I realized I was the one who floated from one day to the next, empty and yearning. I waded through the murky depths of my despair as I waited for Him to come to me. I was alone but always waiting for more. I was alone and lifeless because He wasn’t with me. I was lifeless and alone because He hadn’t come back to me in a year.

  A year I spent with constant trial and upset. I spent a year alone. I spent a year with mistake after mistake. I spent a year with pain after pain. I spent a year filled with misery and upset and loneliness and betrayal. I spent a year alone. A fucking year!

  *****

  5 days after my accidental overdose my phone finally rang. And even though I knew who it was, and I did think of him from time to time, he was not who I loved. I loved my stranger. Plain and simple. I was in love with my ghostly stranger.

  And over the course of my waiting I'll admit some moments were spent regretting my love for Him. Moments came and went when I resented the love I had. Moments washed over me in a tide of hostility, loneliness, and regret.

  But then the other moments came. The moments when I remembered our passion and beauty. The moments I remembered us filled with love and hope. The moments I remembered He and I spent together loving each other wholly.

  And so my days continued.

  I didn't call Alexander back, and I waited for my stranger. I waited, as I always had.

  Eventually, I came up with a plan of action- a test, if you will. A groundwork for how I would proceed with my stranger. And suddenly I felt stronger.

  I felt like I had the upper hand though it was still me waiting. I knew I was waiting which was essentially a weakness, but it was a weakness wrapped in a new found strength. I knew what I was going to do. And I knew what I was waiting for.

  I wasn't sitting back waiting aimlessly anymore. I had a plan and ultimately I had a decision to make based on my plan.

  But it was still in His hands at that moment. He still had to come to me. I still had to wait for Him. But once I knew what I was waiting for, I felt remarkably better. I felt stronger. I felt less lost. And so I waited.

  With the sadness I had always known, I waited. With the sadness that consumed every part of me, I waited. With the sadness that had defined my entire life to that point in time, I waited for my stranger.

  Inevitably, my sadness bounced from soul-consuming to numbing.

  I would walk about my apartment in a trance of pain and craving. I would watch television blindly. I would listen to music with deaf ears. I was a zombie walking in a state of misery, waiting day and night for His arrival.

  I left my apartment twice during those weeks I spent waiting. I walked 2 doors down to the convenience store to purchase a few cartons of smokes, and some food. I didn't eat much then, but I found myself truly without anything edible. My cupboards were bare and my fridge was a graveyard given only to housing liquors and the accompanying mixes. I had no cans of soup, nor boxes of Kraft Dinner. There was nothing left, and so I walked 2 doors down and struggled to carry back 6 bags of supplies twice in 5 weeks.

  I even called a local taxi service who picked up liquor for customers so I didn't have to leave my apartment again. And I waited.

  I had enough soup, alcohol, coffee, and smokes to live. I had everything I needed to sustain myself until He came to me. And so I waited.

  Every single day I dressed and ate and made myself live. I went through the motions of living, even though I was nearly dead.

  And I knew it. I knew I was a corpse merely filling out clothing. I knew I was lifeless and I looked it. But I waited every single night for Him anyway.

  Every time I saw myself in a mirror I saw the lifelessness I had become. I was sallow and grey, and thin, and haggard-looking. I wasn't attractive anymore, and I wasn't pretty. I was a hundred pounds of lifelessness. I was a ghost of my former self, even as I waited for my ghostly stranger. But I continued to wait anyway.

  Every single night I performed my ri
tual still. I showered and prepped my body for Him. I dressed in my nicest nightgowns. I made sure my body was ready for Him. I did everything I had always done for Him. And I waited.

  I waited, but I had a plan. I knew what I needed. I knew what He needed to do. I knew what He needed to say, and I knew what He needed to be.

  I had a plan, and it was that plan that kept me sane and made me continue living. I had a plan. And I waited.

  And then 36 days after Alex had kissed me, 15 weeks after our smile, 5 ½ months after Patrick’s betrayal, 9 months after the miscarriage, and 13 ½ months after His last visit, finally my dear stranger came to me.

  CHAPTER 17

  My Dear Stranger XIX

  Last night, my dear stranger finally came to me.

  I had not seen, nor touched my stranger in over a year. I had not been seen nor touched in over a year. A year I was alone. I had spent an entire year alone and waiting.

  Last night as dreams came and went, I slept and woke in misery. In my dreams horrors crept and peace faded as I slept and woke in desperation. My nights are filled with nothing but this- my nights are spent alone and waiting.

  For over a year life had passed lonely and desperate. For over a year filled with sadness I had swallowed my heartache and hopelessness. For over a year I had endured an emptiness sheltered by pain and endless trial. For over a year I had suffered hollow energy mixed with the exhaustion of my loneliness. And I have waited through it all, alone.

  Life has passed me by. I have met people at school. I met a man I couldn't befriend. I have had opportunity I did nothing with, because I am meant to be alone and waiting.

  Last night I slept and I woke, just as I had for over a year. I woke as usual. I woke battered and betrayed by unseen nightmares and endless fear. I woke scared and unsure. I woke filled with pain and loneliness. I woke alone and waiting.

  Last night I woke in the bathroom, sitting on the side of my tub utterly confused in my sleep-walkers trance. Looking around, I soon realized I had run a bath in my sleep. Placing myself back into my surroundings, I realized I had had a plan. Maybe my unconscious needed to cleanse myself of the nightmares, or maybe my body simply needed to be cleansed. I don't know, but I rarely understood my intentions when I woke from my sleep-walking trances.

  Undressing, I eased into the hot water and relaxed. Aware of this most simple pleasure, I closed my eyes and allowed the heat to engulf me. I waited for the heat to warm the coldness inside me. I waited in the silence as peace settled in and I found myself falling back asleep.

  When I woke seemingly minutes later, I was cold and shaking as hours had escaped me while I slept. My chest once again felt the curious weight which burdens me through each of my days, until suddenly I saw movement. Suddenly I was not alone and waiting. Suddenly... with a scream and a jump I saw Him. Sitting casually with a towel across His knees, He seemed to wait for my comprehension. And I did comprehend.

  I looked at Him. I looked to Him. I looked, but I felt nothing but confusion in that moment.

  Who was this man who sat with me? Who was He to be so still beside me? Who was He to me? And I knew...

  Horribly aware of my nudity, I tried to cover my body from Him. Searching His face for answers, I tried to cover my exhaustion of Him. And slowly His smile faded. Slowly, He held the towel out to me. Slowly He moved, aware of my trepidation.

  Seeing me still, covered by my desperate hands and unsure of Him, He turned His body from me and slowly He inhaled.

  With a movement so fast and so full of purpose I escaped the water. Clothing myself in the towel I stood beside Him, waiting. But no sound came. No movement came. No acknowledgment flowed between us. There was just nothing left.

  When I stood in front of Him, as He sat so still, I wanted to weep. I wanted to hit Him. I wanted to love Him. I wanted to hate Him. But there was nothing.

  What had become of us? What had passed between us? What had survived, and what had died within us?

  Finally, I gently touched His shoulder as He shuddered and turned back toward me. Catching the look in my eyes, the stranger grabbed me so quick and intense, my body threatened to break under the strain of His embrace. With His arms wrapped around me and His face buried deep into my chest, I heard Him slowly exhale against me.

  But in that moment I didn't know what to do. Unsure of what I felt, and unsure of the stranger holding me tight, I attempted to leave the room. And though He held me for seconds too long, gently He released me from His grip.

  Walking to my bedroom I waited on my bed. Walking to my bedroom, the stranger stood at the door waiting for my cue.

  Unsure of my desires, I made a gesture so deliberate and forgotten over this past year, the stranger immediately walked to me and sat next to me on my bed. Turning from Him I laid down on my bed. Turning to me the stranger laid down beside me.

  And I was confused. I loved Him and I hated Him. I was alive, but I felt dead. I was warmed but I was empty. Unsure of my desires, I waited. Unsure of my desires, He waited. Waiting, I eventually turned my back to Him as I lay on my side.

  Engulfing me in His arms the stranger lay beside me, holding me so tight, breathing into my neck as we waited.

  Waiting, I realized over a year had passed for me alone. Over a year had passed for me sad and only half alive. Over a year I had waited to tell Him our secrets. Over a year I had waited for Him to come to me.

  So closing my eyes, I began to weep. Tears streamed down my face as misery flooded my chest. The weight of my soul felt heavy and destructive as my tears continued to flow from my body. Trembling, I had no more control. I felt nothing but sadness as He held me tightly in His arms until the exhaustion and sadness pulled me back to sleep.

  When I woke this morning my sight was blurred and my body ached. I felt no release or peace. I felt only misery which I desperately didn't want to feel anymore.

  And He still held me tightly in His arms. He held me in a way that used to bring me peace, but now only felt like a heavy weight on my body crushing my chest.

  When I turned to Him, He smiled at me in such a way as to make me almost forget the waiting. Almost. But then I suddenly remembered the year I had spent alone.

  Who was this man who came to me with delicate smiles and hands? Was He a guardian angel or friend? Or was He the man born to destroy me finally?

  I didn’t know, and He didn’t explain our love or even His absence. Again, He gave me nothing as excuse or explanation. Again, He gave me nothing.

  Unaware of what I wanted or craved, and unaware of my feelings and beliefs I lay in silence. I was unaware of my life and my love, until I slowly raised my face again to the stranger. And in a whisper so sad, I asked Him to leave me forever.

  I asked Him to leave me. I asked Him to rise and walk away. I asked Him to leave my room and my home. I asked Him to please leave me forever alone.

  And pausing for mere moments, with eyes so beautiful swimming in tears He looked to me. But before He could look through me, I turned from Him and us.

  Eventually, I heard His soft cries as His body left my bed. I felt His warmth ease from my skin. He turned the music off and He left my world in silence. I felt Him leave me physically though I could no longer really feel the absence of warmth for the surety of my decision.

  But I did feel the weight which threatened to crush my chest. I felt my loneliness and sadness. I felt my misery and pain. I felt, but I no longer waited.

  “I’ll be back for you because you were born for me to love,” I heard Him whisper as He left my room.

  And so I cry as I write these words. I am living half alive. I am still alone, but I'm no longer waiting for His return.

  My life is here, wrapped in these sheets, barely able to breathe, alone and desperate, though my heart no longer waits.

  I am here now, half alive but alive. I am no longer waiting for the world outside to let me live, slow and sure, as I finally learn how to breathe alone.

  August 27 2003

  23
years old

  *****

  And that was our end. There was no big drama, nor dramatics. We didn't make love as a final act of unnecessary suffering. We didn't kiss goodbye. We did nothing. That was our end. That was the simple ending that has haunted me for almost 9 years.

  I am haunted by the complete absence of anything. After nearly 7 years together I feel like we deserved more. I feel like a grandiose gesture was required. I feel like the almost 7 years we spent together needed the dramatic ending which the relationship itself had strived on.

  Our entire existence was based on our drama, and the end was based on the words 'please leave me' followed by the leaving of me. I was left after living for Him for nearly 7 years of my young life. I was left as quickly as He had come to me in the night.

  And I have been haunted.

  Years have passed with Him always there. Each milestone, each accomplishment, each everything I have done in the last 8 years are secretly wrapped up in Him.

  Maybe not every single day, but certainly every few days I have remembered Him. I have been caught unaware and He has assaulted me. I have smelled a flower and He came to my mind. I have made my bed and remembered Him soiling my sheets with my virginity. I have even taken the dishes from the dishwasher and remembered a glass of water He once placed at my bedside.

  8 years I have waited, which is really unfair to my husband and son. Well, maybe not my son because he has all the love I could possibly give him. But for my husband? I'm not sure. I think I hold back. Actually, I know I do. I love him, and he's a good man, but I still hold back part of myself from him.