mystery visitor

It’s not that she didn’t want to speak. She could speak. Nothing was wrong with her ability to verbalise thoughts out loud.

Yet, there was nothing she could say or felt that she wanted to say that involved the use of her vocal cords.

All day long and well into her sleep state words were there. Both day and night words beckoned her attention. However, getting words to travel from her brain to her mouth, well, that seemed a bit far-fetched.

There was a time when her words seemed like enough. They seemed to mean something, and they mattered to her but over time her words were whittled down.

She didn’t know anymore which words belonged to her and which words belonged to other people. How did she know that she wasn’t holding on to words of people she passed by each day on the street?

If she should ever glance up, she might even see the look on a stranger’s face at which point she then might know how they felt. She might see sadness or doubt, worry, confusion or disconnect on their faces and somehow, no matter how much she worked against it, their feelings would flood her belly, her mind and her heart.

Their feelings would pulse through her veins and become her feelings, which would inevitably become words unspoken. Their words would fuse with her words and she wouldn’t know what was hers anymore and what was theirs. So grew a pile of words.

She held on to many words that weren’t hers. She held on to words from those around her; words that seemed to fly awake so quickly or words that fell through the floor and down somewhere beyond where she couldn’t reach, but could still feel.

The vastness of words wasn’t the issue. Neither was the plethora of people which to whom gave her those words. She had more words than she knew what to do with.

Knowing how to organise the words and how to make them look pretty was often the difficulty. She would prefer to be mistaken for a mute than transcribe the wellspring of feelings that seemed to fuse their very beings on to the walls of her soul. She didn’t know how to bring forth the thoughts in her head and give them a nudge to come out her mouth and not scare people with stark realities. She was used to dark things. But other people weren’t or didn’t want to talk about it. They didn’t want to hear heavy words or sad thoughts. They wanted light and pleasant. Neither of which defined Lily. Lily didn’t have a life she could easily speak about and feared that she may never be relatable to anyone. Lily’s mind wandered into more philosophical issues. She felt so different as those around her could discuss something other than philosophical topics, whilst her mind seemed saturated with a philosophical environment. She was beset with issues that weren’t easily solved. And she feared that they never would be. How does one begin to converse over such complications?

No, Lily wasn’t simple. She pondered. She thought. Similarly, she mulled.

Lily also wandered. And on this particular day she wandered aimlessly as the snow fell from the sky. On these days the world seemed so still. No one was outside. Everyone stayed in to gather warmth from their homes. Lily didn’t belong to a home, and she certainly didn’t feel she belonged to anyone as much as she belonged to the earth. There weren’t enough coats in the world to keep Lily warm but the sparkling white landscape and the emptiness of people allowed her reprieve from endless thought cycles. In this moment Lily was aware that only her ruminating thoughts circulated and nothing echoed back.

In the distance Lily could make out the figure of an elderly woman. Now it was the sound of crunching footsteps that drew up Lily’s attention. The woman didn’t seem to fuss about on a day like today. The woman was purposeful and direct as she made her way to a nearby park bench. Once there the woman cleaned off the snow and sat down.

Lily felt curious about this woman. Why was she here? Lily had no idea. Just as Lily began to ruminate it’s as if a megaphone were blasting her thoughts out to the strange newcomer. Inevitably the stare of the elderly woman fell upon Lily’s face. The woman held Lily’s gaze so directly that Lily felt slightly overwhelmed at the somewhat sudden invasion of space. Lily’s breath was a bit more of an effort now and she became uncomfortably aware of herself as she tried to decide what this invasive gaze meant. What did this woman want? Did she not understand the seriousness of Lily’s moody rapport with herself? To what did Lily owe this mysterious visit from a woman whom she had never met before now. Yet, the woman seemed to know Lily somehow. There was something familiar about the way in which the elderly woman gazed at Lily and Lily could not completely decide how she felt about it. Years seemed to meld between the two and Lily felt like she needed to make a decision; stay and investigate or leave. Resolutely, Lily decided that curiosity seemed the best option at the moment. Lily needed to bridge the questions and so she made her way to the bench, cleaning off snow and sitting down. The woman’s eyes had followed Lily through her movements and thought processes. The unknown mood and slight uncomfortably seemed to fade with an acceptance of the moment. Both Lily and her new acquaintance silently agreed to focus forward and not necessarily at any one particular point but more of a general looking out into the world. Lily was getting tired and the day was winding down. As before the woman turned her attention back to Lily. This time the woman’s eyes seemed more a surety as she reached down and revealed to Lily a small black leather book weathered and worn. Lily looked at the woman and sensed sadness. A weight. Heaviness. But, why? Was all this intensity due to a book? In that moment the woman’s head fell. So tired she was. So ready for rest. The elderly woman opened the book to the first page. It said LILY. Lily saw that her name was written there and felt a bit astonished. How did her name get there? And just as quickly as the elderly woman had come, she left much in the same fashion. With a mysterious air but now lighter it seemed after having left the book with its rightful owner. The space around Lily opened up and felt far vaster. She could breathe again. She could think again. She could be fully herself again. But, the book. It sat there on the bench. The colour alone made it stand out. There was a sharp contrast between this winter day and a book shrouded in darkness. Lily picked up the book and it was soft and cold. This book has seen better days. It smelled like old things. A smell that Lily didn’t recognise but a smell that she felt deep within her spirit.

Lily closed her eyes. Why can’t things just be normal? Nothing can ever be simple. Yet, nothing was ever boring. Maybe boring was good. But right now, Lily didn’t have boring. Lily had interesting. She had a strange encounter that left her with ever yet more questions than answers. Why couldn’t someone deliver answers instead of more of what Lily already had; the ever-accumulating questions that swirled endlessly. With weighted eye lids Lily looked at the book like a tired mother looks at her energetic toddler; with love but in urgent need of a most restful sleep.

Lily opened the book to page 1…it was empty. No words were there. Out of sheer frustration Lily threw the book into the snow. She sat there for some time feeling quite hopeless. Slowly, Lily made her way up from the bench and walked over to the book. It had fallen open after she threw it with the book very clearly stating her name on page 1 just under a pile of wet snow. Lily picked up the book and wiped off the snow…. was she able to see the name because the page was wet? To test her theory Lily picked up a small scoop of snow and put it on the second page. The words appeared…. this book belongs to only you. Slightly frozen herself Lily tried to comprehend how this had all come about. But she couldn’t and it felt too challenging to take this apart and analyse it piece by piece. It could be done. But Lily made a little promise to herself….to enjoy something that finally belonged to her. A thing all her own. Just because her name was Lily and just because she was the girl standing in the snow after a visit from fate. Lily never really seemed to matter to anyone much less to herself. She was the kind of girl that always had her nose buried in a book and she didn’t like crowds much. Lily was too aware to be in crowded spaces and spaces that made her feel like she had to fight to get noticed. Lily didn’t need the attention but in moments like this she felt a gentle warmth in her belly. A kind of gratitude. A thank you sent out into the ether saying that she needed this. Lily needed to know that in some way her particular existence mattered in the way that she could give it. Not in the way the world perceived her. Not in the way the world wanted her to be the prettiest girl in the room or someone that didn’t mull things over the way she did. Did the world want her to be less thoughtful, less of someone who paid attention? Lily again had no answers for those questions. But here she stood with not a person around and she mattered. She mattered to something from the past and she matters now, in this moment. There was a kind of joy that made Lily’s toes wiggle in her woollen socks and a tiny little smile escaped from the ends of her hair. Lily was so busy enjoying the moment she almost forgot that there were more than 2 pages in the book. The words in the book so far weren’t necessarily the most flattering of words but Lily only needed belonging not flattery. She needed acceptance not vain compliments. A deep breath escaped into the evening air. Lily was surprised that it came from her. The worry that often-occupied square feet in Lily’s mind seemed at the moment, quite unmeasured and happy to drift aimlessly. Lily was quite content to turn to page three. So, Lily did just that. She turned to page three and what she found was that there was no page three only a carved-out space where pages once were. Lily felt a bit astonished…was this a secret compartment? Lily saw that inside this compartment was a letter and money. Lily left the money in the compartment but clumsily opened the letter. It started…dearest girl…. that alone brough involuntary tears to Lily’s eyes. Tears that swam down Lily’s cheeks. Completely overwhelmed with emotion…the words in this book were powerful and clear. Someone had written them just for her. Why? Lily let the feeling settle as the temperature continued to drop. Lily felt warmth and caring all around her. Standing like a statue Lily didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t dare let the feeling go. Instead sobs overtook her small frame. Sobs tore Lily’s armour open. Lily felt seen. Is this what it’s meant to feel like; whole and sad? One thing remained clear; Lily had been appointed an angel and the burden of waiting too long to let Lily feel this love clearly took its toll on the elderly woman who came with a delivery long overdue.