She sat beside me, silent, for a very long time. It wasn’t until I was satisfied with a stopping place in my book that I turned my attention to her. She stared at me with unblinking determined eyes. After she ran a hand through her short hair, she asked, “Why are you ignoring me?”
“I was busy. I have a lot going on right now,” I answered.
Her face was like porcelain, hard and surreal; the face I see in my nightmares. “You’ve always had a lot ‘going on’. Now is no different from before. Put down the book and come with me.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to. Now it’s different. I’m different. Things are going really well and I plan on keeping it that way.”
“It always goes well — for a while… But everything will come crashing down as it always does. That’s why I’m here. I’m here to help. I’m here to make sure you survive.” Her face softened and she grinned. She seemed warm then, inviting, comforting.
I looked over her tight black outfit and many silver rings; an old brown sack of a bag rested beside her. She was an attractive, goth-inspired young woman. She seemed to go from emanating an aura of intimidation to an embracing warmth. She crossed her legs a couple times, fished a lighter from one pocket, a cigarette from another and sucked the flame into it. Even the smoke was inviting.
It was difficult, but I forced my gaze to the book in my hands. I wanted this woman to leave. I wanted her to disappear. But she didn’t. My peripheral vision saw her black form close in upon me. Her breath was hot on my neck. Into my ear, she whispered, “You need me. We’ll be happy and carefree. I’ll be here for you, taking care of you, like I always have. Live. Live again. With me. Through me.”
Part of me wanted to cry.
Most of me didn’t.
I sat up straight and pulled my long hair back, tying it in place with a band. I picked up my purse and looped the strap over my shoulder. I lifted the book from my lap and smoothed out my skirt. Little actions that build confidence. I stared into her unblinking eyes.
“I’m different. I’ve grown up. I have responsibilities now. Things really are going well and always will unless I give up; and I won’t give up. My life is right where I want it. I’m not content anymore — I’m happy. Really happy.” The nightmarish face on the woman was no longer smiling. “I don’t need you any longer. I don’t need to be young and carefree. I’m moving on. I’m done with you. I’m strong and can take care of myself.”
I rose and smoothed the back of my blouse and skirt and walked away from the empty bench.
