“Dr. K.R. Azey’s office, how may I direct your call?”
“I can’t believe I’m here.”
I look up at the documents proudly plastered to the walls of his office and think how ‘dark it is inside my mind’ when I think the light-bulb does not turn on…
The doctor tells me to relax, again i think, what really makes someone crazy like where is the line and qualifications like why would you choose to enter a profession where your only goal is to listen to crackpots and crazies rant about sweater-vests and dust-bunnies all day?
“My name is not important”
He already knows my name though I’m not sure what that has to do with me. I know my own name too it’s just not important for you. well not yet.
“When I was six years old I fell in love.” You would never understand this if I didn’t start there, believe me I have heard this story before. “I knew when I was very young. too young I was in love at six years old, he was my friend” I can’t get it right “no he was my soul and mate, soul-mate.” You understand now? “We were young together running around, aimlessly, out in rain, play for hours in the fields of daisies.” Fields of daisies? No that sounds cheesy; let’s step back a bit. “Can I start over?
“I want to get it right” for you.
“I want to start at the beginning. I was raised on the side of a highway in a doublewide trailer in a remote Albertan town. My mother was a stay at home ghost and my father” as they all do when we remember back at things we don’t remember, he “was never there. The fields were in empty RV lots and daisies” mostly weeds over grown in the backyard “they were tall enough we could hide and seek” in my memory they are more than weeds but you should understand. “My favorite room was the wood working shed” my father used his hands “I still recall the smell when I think about it” that’s not for this session you wouldn’t need to understand it stay on track. “His name was Timothy, he was my neighbor they’re always the neighbors” but this time it’s true, and well I think he was. “Was he? It’s why I’m here get to my memory ironed, if it was him at all that caused this” Just think it will all make sense soon… “ He was my first. We would explore the intricate beauties of being a child; things I never got to do” life’s gentle mysteries.
“Like holding hands.” Its almost like we were human. I make light “we were far too young to completely understand what was happening but” I knew “he was the warmth and beat I felt inside my heart. He was my heart.
One day in the dead of winter, shortly after my seventh birthday, I fell ill with a slightly contagious viral infection and he visited me in hospital. When he kissed my hand as he left, it was a much too grown up thing to do, I felt that warmth leave my body. I don’t ever remember seeing him again.
Although my mother could never recall ever seeing this boy, or having him over for dinner, he was with me all of the time. He wasn’t imaginary, he was warm, and he wasn’t a friend, we were too close, we were one individual, one soul split between two bodies, a part of me I think died that night, a part I will never get back. As I look back now, it’s not odd we never spoke; we couldn’t we felt too much.
My family moved me the spring after I fell ill, yet I never forgot about the boy we were or what we had.
Now grant you he may have been a figment of my imagination, a fantasy created deep with in my mind, but I feel he gave me life, I don’t care what he was, to me he was a part I can never get back, more than emotion.