CHOOSE.

Chapter 1:

All I can hear is his voice ringing in my ears; and all I can see is his figure fading to black. His words are a swirl of confusion in my head, but now they’re becoming more clear and distinct. There are two words that stand out among the rest, and the two objects in his hands are blurring my sight of everything else.

“Which one,” he asks, “Which one?” Again and again, he says those same words. He’s fading into the darkness behind him, yet his arms are reaching closer to me, offering me two objects. “Which one,” he asks again; and then his voice fades into the darkness, as well.

I’m surrounded by emptiness, and I find myself calling out to the distant, mysterious figure. I can feel that he’s gone, and it sends me into a spiral of chaos. I whip my head in one direction, and then the other. Where am I? Which way is up? What am I standing on? Am I even standing, or am I falling? There’s nothing to grab onto, and I’m questioning my own existence. Suddenly, I feel my face fall into my hands, and my elbows press into my knees. I feel a tear glide down my cheek, and a strand of hair brush across my shoulder. I can feel my breath, and my heartbeat, and now the soothing sensation of being immersed in water.

My eyes are opening and are presented with darkness, but it’s a darkness that’s no longer empty. I am surrounded by water, with rays of light piercing the surface. I grasp onto this sudden sense of direction and lift myself towards the light and back into the breath of day.

I’m breaking through the barrier, and the sensation of wet skin and hair greeting a warm breeze is like nothing I have ever felt before. Without a thought, I pull myself through the pool to where the water’s edge meets the land. I bring my hands up to meet the silky grass, root my fingers into the ground and pull my body out of the water.

The sun is beating down; nearly blinding me from observing my surroundings. I feel like I am home, but as the sun returns my sight to me, I realize nothing could be farther from the truth. Where is my home; my simple townhouse in the suburbs? This place is far too grand and luxurious. Where is my car; with the seats in the back for the kids? That car isn’t meant for children. Where is my husband, and my dog? Where is my life? This isn’t it.

With all of these questions playing tennis in my mind, and being surrounded by an unfamiliar life, I’m back into a state of chaos. It feels like I’m falling down a spiral staircase, and whenever I grab onto something real and safe, it disappears from within my grasp and sends me falling down even faster.

Suddenly, all sound is gone from the world, and the blurry life I see before me is settling. Something vaguely familiar comes back into my view, and I slowly approach a table where two objects are displayed.

Chapter 2:

I can’t see him anywhere, but his voice is ringing in my ears again, “Which one? Which one? Which… One…” The foreign, yet familiar objects are on the table in front of me, and I can see them clearer than ever.

One of the objects is shining brightly, reflecting the sun’s rays across the yard; sending shimmers through the air, the water, my eyes. Its smooth, metal surface is calling to me, promising a cool touch on a hot day. It’s a briefcase, something that wouldn’t normally speak to me, but now it’s screaming; begging me to open its clasps and reveal its contents.

The other object is simple; soaking in the heat of the sun with its black surface. It seems so dull next to its counterpart, yet there is something that intrigues me. Its cracked leather cover rests effortlessly on the table, and almost seems to sink into the marble. This leather wrapping can barely contain the collection of rough pages within, held together by thin elastic of pure black. Maybe it’s the contrast of black leather containing white paper, or the way an old, battered pen clings to the band; but I can’t take my eyes off of it. It’s whispering to me now, calling to me in a subtle, gentle way.

The briefcase is screaming, the notebook is whispering, and the faded voice of a distant figure is ringing in my ears, “Which one?” Just as those two words start to feel comfortable and familiar, the sense of question drops from his tone and I collapse to my knees as he suddenly shouts, “CHOOSE!”

I’m on the ground now; my knees digging into the soft, wet grass. The table is in front of me, and as I stretch my neck to look up at the objects resting on top, the marble seems to bend and retreat away from me. The table is growing taller, but as I pull my feet back underneath me, I rise to meet the objects. I slap a hand down onto each of the surfaces and take in a calm breath of clarity and control. It’s time to make a choice…

Chapter 3:

Each breath I pull in feels like an entirely new sensation, and my body releases its weightless feeling and grounds into the grass below. My toes are curling into the Earth, water is dripping from my hair and my hands still rest on the choice I am about to make. My eyelids rise to meet the sun as I release another breath from my lungs. The sun slowly returns my sight to me again, and I am presented with a figure that no longer feels distant.

He’s standing behind the table, once again presenting me with the same two objects: a silver briefcase and a little black book. His voice is calmer as he speaks to me this time, and I don’t retreat in fear when his sounds reach my ears, “choose…”

A new swirl of questions starts spinning in my mind, and just as I am about to release the words from my lips, he’s already offering answers to questions I haven’t spoken. His voice is in my head, yet nowhere at all; and he can hear my voice without me speaking a word.

“Choose…” he says again, and I know that it is time.

All this time, I’ve known what object to choose. The briefcase may be screaming in my head, but the notebook is whispering to my heart, and I feel something playful pulling me towards it. All other sounds and sights start to fade from the world, and all I can see is a dull, old notebook that now seems to be glowing. My feet are taking small steps through the wet grass, and my hands are reaching for the warm, leather book. I can already feel the heat of the cover on my fingertips, and it’s tugging me away from the rest of the world.

I am completely enthralled by this object, and the force that seems to be pulling me in and pushing me towards, all at the same time. My heart has chosen that this is the object for me, and I hear it whisper softly to my heart, “The secrets to life…” It was a breathy voice, like the pages of the book rustled in such a way as to tell me of its contents.

My mystic connection to this object is severed abruptly when another voice booms into my awareness. It’s shouting indistinctly, invading all of my senses and overwhelming my thoughts. As the tornado of shouting spins in my mind, I reach out to grab one word, and the rest fall away.

“Money.”

I realize now that the briefcase was never calling to me, it was always the contents bouncing off the walls of its container and frantically yelling to be set free. My heart is still pulling me towards the battered book of mysteries, yet my hands and feet start reaching for the case.

As I pull myself from the path to the book and begin approaching its counterpart, the metal case suddenly becomes less shiny and enticing. Its dull surface is pulling me away from the book, and I surrender to the force pushing me the other direction. My hands are shaking as my fingertips reach for the metal, and I feel a chill rush through my body as I fumble for the clasps.

My hands are trembling and my body is shaking so hard I feel like I’m drilling into the ground, but my fingers keep moving and the clasps are opening at my hand.

Chapter 4:

As the top of the case rises and falls back onto the marble table top, I’m blinded by a rainbow of colours –blue, purple, green, red and brown. They look like pieces of paper, but they feel like plastic, and I’m surprised that they’re not reflecting the light of the sun.

My hands are immersed in these plastic leaflets, as if I’m washing my hands in a bowl of money. I feel them talking to me, softly yelling the words, “Twenty thousand dollars,” and suddenly, I feel empty. There’s something missing inside me, and I’m longing for the playful whisper of the notebook. I want to turn my gaze to that beautiful black book resting on the cool marble, but my head won’t seem to turn. I want my hands to open the book and riffle through its pages. I want to hold the pen between my fingers, and leave my mark on an object that has left something on me. I want to reach for the object that has been calling to me, but instead, my hands pick up the briefcase.

I’m closing the lid shut, tucking it under my arm and racing back towards the pool. I’m crying out for my feet to turn back, for my hands to drop the metal case, and embrace that magical book. I want so badly to undo the rash decision I just made, but I know that it’s too late.

As my feet reach the water’s edge, I’m able to turn back for one last look. The figure is gone, and everything else is fading away; all that’s left is a marble table and a whispering book. Now, I’m drifting backwards; I’m immersed in water; I’m falling; I’m drowning.

I’m home.