All's Well(92)

I think of the toe tapping of the three men. And I look into my rearview mirror, just to check. Just to see if anyone’s behind me, back there on the road, following me. I’m doing that lately. Just checking, just looking behind me. Nothing ever back there. Nothing back there now. Just some dark dawn. That’s good. Because lately there’s been this feeling, along with the noise, along with the hum inside, I feel it on the back of my neck, raising the small hairs there. Of eyes. Of watching. Being watched. Who’s watching me? Never anyone when I turn my head. Never anyone even when I turn all the way round. Again and again and again.

Professor Fitch, did you lose something? they ask me when I do this in rehearsal.

Lose? I say. I haven’t lost.

Professor Fitch, are you looking for something?

Nothing. No one.

The only problem with this feeling, the feeling of eyes watching me, following me, dogging me, is that no sound can drown it out. Not even Judy cranked all the way up. It’s always there. On the nape of my neck. Making the hairs stand on end, the skin prickle. Making me drive a little faster now. My foot pressing down on the pedal. My hands gripping the wheel.

Look at that, I’ve driven past my house. I’m heading somewhere. Where am I heading? Only my hands and my feet know. Where? I ask them. But they just keep driving, driving. I can feel the wound smiling on my shin. I open my window to feel the spring night on my face. So lovely. To hear the roar of the cold wind.

It appears that I’m driving to the ocean. Right to the water’s edge. To the cliff’s edge. Of course I came here. To hear and see the waves, which surely along with Judy’s joy will drown the sound right out. No one will follow me here. I leave the car door open, I leave the music on, my feet walk me right into the cold crashing water. I gasp, dress billowing. Not with pain. Sorry, Goldfish. Sorry, Hugo. Only pleasure here. So sharp I shudder with it. Because the cold is so delicious on my skin. The wound sings from the salt. It doesn’t burn, it sings. I skim the water with my fingers. How long has it been, really, since I’ve gone for a swim? Been in the ocean? I watch the red poppies swell all around me in the dark water. The crashing ocean looks to me like a field of flowers. A scent rises up. You’d think what with the black waves and the blowing wind, and Judy’s voice floating to me from the open car door, that the hum would be gone. But the hum is now a roar. Just the waves, I tell myself. The black waves. And no eyes on me here, though I feel them still. On the back of my neck. Although where could there be eyes here? I turn around and around and around to be sure. No eyes.

And then something fizzes and bubbles around me like champagne. A shimmer of brightly colored lights like a flash on the water. By the light of the moon, I see what looks like pine needles, twigs, flowers, floating around me in the white hissing foam. A sweet, earthy scent rises up from the waves. Botanical. Familiar. Thick. Like a million essential oils mixed. Like suddenly there’s a boreal forest in the ocean. In the ocean? How could that be?

I look at the tiny needles and petals floating around me under the bright moon, my eyes beginning to close. Close on the flashing waves, close on the black sky. Like I might actually sleep here. Sleep hasn’t come easily these days. Hasn’t come at all, really. What comes is the night, then the day, then the night again. And my eyes always wide open. Taking in all the light, all the dark, never closing.

But here, now, with my hands in the cold, rocking sea, these flowers blooming all around me, my eyes close at last. Black sky. Bright stars…

And then blue. Blue so bright it hurts my eyes.

I’m lying on the rocks in a heap like I fell from the sky. My body on black sharp stones fuzzed with green. But I feel no pain at all. Sorry, Goldfish. No tears for you. I feel gorgeous. My open hands are full of sand. My hair is filled with seaweed and small flowers. My poppy dress, I see, is dripping, crusted with salt. I’ve lost a shoe, it seems. Judy’s still playing from the open car door. Still “Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart.”

The caw of crows and the caw of gulls circling above me in the blue, blue sky. One crow perched on a rock nearby. Not three. See? No one’s watching me.

Then two more fly down to join the one. Each black crow on his own black rock.

Something is ringing in the sand. My phone somewhere, must be.

Opening night tonight, I remember. And look, I’m all dressed. I’m ready.





CHAPTER 27


OPENING NIGHT. USUALLY it’s a shit show. Usually I’m drunk on the floor in my office smoking and staring at the ceiling until the ceiling becomes a stage upon which I replay certain former glories. I’m Perdita in pastoral exile singing prettily to my flowers. I’m Lady M ablaze with dark ambition, pleading for the night to fall thick, That my keen knife see not the wound it makes. I’m Helen in my long red dress, lamenting my love for Bertram under a bright Scottish sky. The sweet smell of spring wafts in through my open office window. Making me so full of life, so aware of my living death, I could weep. The window carries their inane conversations up to me. About lighting. About sound. About Places, everyone, places. Grace’s managerial voice. Fauve’s shrill laughter. Briana’s whine. The floor trembles with their boundless animal energy. Usually I can’t go down there, won’t go down there. Can’t watch them run. Can’t watch the excitement, the jittery energy I used to live for. Can’t watch Briana’s glee nor Ellie’s quiet death. It will all literally kill me. Do it without me this year, please, I always think. I’m good up here. I’m Helen on my imagined ceiling stage. I haven’t fallen off the stage yet. My life is still ahead of me, not behind. The sun is still in its zenith. My hip still in its socket, labrum untorn, my spine a supple S. And look, there’s Paul at the edge of the stage with flowers. He doesn’t love or hate me yet. Hasn’t even met me yet. He’s just a handsome man without a name, holding a bouquet of spring flowers. For you. I so enjoyed your performance.