Harrison Kadem leaned back on the couch, closed his eyes and buried his face in the leather cushions. He took the pillows, placed them under his head and pressed his knees against his stomach. “Ah…that’s better.” He lay there for five minutes and then shifted until he lay on his back and was staring at the ceiling. He moved the pillows from underneath his head and put them against his face.
He thought about the pros and cons of his decision to be where he was. His mind raced with the negatives and positives and he wondered why it always had to be that way with him.
Pro: He was getting help. His research said the place was very good.
Con: But was he really? There were always ways to fudge research and manipulate stats.
Pro: He would be able to get more sleep.
Con: There would be more time for nightmares
Pro: Most of the cost was covered by his insurance
Con: His deductible would increase
He shook his head to make the mind musings stop.
“I don’t get it. Why does it have to be like this?”
Kendra quietly shut down the I-Pad and the social history faded as the screen went dark. She said nothing, and let the silence settle in. It filled the small room and pushed away the tension of having to provide an answer. Harrison felt a shift in the air and relaxed more.
“I mean. I know about fluctuations, but experiencing them is a totally different thing. It…it’s like the reality of the experience is much more than knowing about the thing. And words are….”
“Inadequate.” Kendra said.
“Yes. Words are not enough.” Harrison said. “…words...”
“What about them?” Kendra asked.
Harrison answered slowly.
“We use words to describe everything…events, people, places. But when you have an experience that you can’t find the words for….what do you do? Like feelings. How do you really define a feeling?”
She shook her head. “You can’t. Not really. We make attempts to sometimes describe what we feel when we have emotions…but that’s about as far as we can get.”
“Explain.” He said.
“We can describe anger by talking talking about how our hearts beat faster, hands clench, and how our faces get flushed. But does all that describe anger? “
“No. It doesn’t. “Harrison answered. “It doesn’t describe the loss of control, and the blindness of the ability to think that comes with it. It doesn’t describe the surge you get. It doesn’t describe the need to destroy or…the need to …hurt people…or ..or…”
“O.K., Mr. Kadeem, enough. I get your …”
“But see this is exactly what I’m talking about, doc. “ Harrison’s words flooded out. “This rush of words…this need to express…I feel this explosion building in me and I can’t stop it. Even talking about anger gets me charged. It’s energizing…it’s awesome. I like it. Harrison started to sit upright. His eyes were still closed and he felt a surge of energy and was going to jump off the couch and run around the room and break anything he could get his hands on.
But no. Her hands came over his eyes and he could feel the cool of her palms against his lids.
“Ssshhhh, “ she whispered. “Down.” A warm peace settled over him. He felt his body relax and go limp. He fell back into the couch.
“Now. Look at this.”
There was a rush of air and Harrison was transported. He felt himself being lifted up and flying. He felt her palms slip off his eyes and he looked up. The office was gone. He was outside in an open green field and he was ascending. The sky was a light blue. Sunlight was subdued yet it was there. He closed his eyes. The air was warm and comforting. He felt carried; enveloped in a warm lighted air bubble; a hot air balloon ride without the basket. The bubble faded and he opened his eyes again.
He was now attached to a parachute and descending. He felt a feeling in his stomach like when was six years old on a swing…going down…down…down…over a cluster of tall green trees. Then he was carried over a clear blue lake where he could see trout swimming and jumping….and finally he floated over the field and landed gently. The parachute disappeared and he was walking…walking…walking towards a small building. It was the baby building.
Harrison walked up the paved path and stopped in front of the doors. “Why here?” He turned back to look at the field he had walked though; the flowers, grass, trees. He took a breath and turned and entered the building.
He walked down the deserted hallway until he came to the big glass window. He looked through and there they were; babies. There were so many of them hooked up to life support machines. I.V. tubes, life monitors, all of it. Some were sleeping. Some were moving, such little hands and feet, so tiny. Some had the little wrist tags with full family names while others simply read “ Baby John or Baby Jane Doe..”
And then a feeling flooded him; indescribable. There was a rush of memories; his own abandonment, and memories of foster homes and state facilities that housed him. And all of them…all the people telling him he talked too much and… And finally, the Kadeem family adopted him when he was seven. They loved him and cared for him and were the kindest people in the world….
He felt grateful and thankful. He walked past the window and entered the room. He looked over the cribs that held them. In a far corner of the room there was a Jane. She was the only one who had one tube, a feeding tube. Harrison slowly lifted the baby girl and held her close to his chest. He stood there and rocked her gently. There was a reclined chair next to the crib. The I.V. was long enough. Harrison moved to it and carefully sat down. He rested Jane on his chest. She breathed evenly and her small body molded to his. He closed his eyes. He leaned back and felt a wave of comfort.
His eyes opened slowly. “Hmm…” He said. His throat felt parched. He looked away from her, and then, “So that’s where it started.”
“Yes. All of it.” She said.
“That’s why the fluctuations?”
“In part, yes.” She said. He was sharp. “It all started there.”
“And the words…the rush…that too…”
“That was more the foster homes. But we will talk more on that next time. There will be a next tme…?”
“Yes. Uh…maybe,” He said.
Diesen Beitrag empfehlen:
Mit eigenem Mail-Programm empfehlen
Die Rechte und die Verantwortlichkeit für diesen Beitrag liegen beim Autor (Joseph Trance).
Der Beitrag wurde von Joseph Trance auf e-Stories.de eingesendet.
Die Betreiber von e-Stories.de übernehmen keine Haftung für den Beitrag oder vom Autoren verlinkte Inhalte.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.de am 24.07.2014. - Infos zum Urheberrecht / Haftungsausschluss (Disclaimer).
- Jtrance91gmail.com (Spam-Schutz - Bitte eMail-Adresse per Hand eintippen!)
Joseph Trance als Lieblingsautor markieren
Bücher unserer Autoren:
von Dragos Ionel (Übersetzer Uwe David)
Die "Einfachen Gedichte" sind die Niederschrift von Momentaufnahmen, Impressionen, Gedanken und Erkenntnissen, die nach Dragos Ionels eigener Aussage keine besonderen Absichten verfolgen.
Die Texte kommen ihm einfach in den Sinn, und er wird zum Stift. Viele der Gedichte schrieb er nach der Lektüre von Rabindranath Tagores "Gitanjali" ("Sangesopfer").
Weitere Informationen zu dieser zweiten, leicht überarbeiteten Auflage mit neuen farbigen Abbildungen: http://www.einfache-gedichte.jimdo.com.
Möchtest Du Dein eigenes Buch hier vorstellen?