Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
May 27, 1979
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
One of the earliest verses he could remember having drummed into his head; a mass of lilting, centered type-face without cadence or poetry, delivered at break-neck speed lest he forget a word during a dramatic pause. It wasn’t evil he feared, anyway. He let his mind wander over the passage, stretching out the verses and converting them to lines and music in his head. If it worked, it would be beautiful and calming, but tonight the syllables swirled in a rapid torrent similar to the long-ago Sunday school recitation.
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me…
Imagine a grown man of almost thirty clutching stuffed toys as he slept. Kermit in one arm, Hank the Cow Dog in the other, and Lion standing guard near his head, Ray didn’t feel much more comforted than if he had been empty-handed. Stuffies were all very fine, they filled the empty space, but they did it only so well.
Yes, even as the watchman awaits for the dawn…
The hall light cast a dim shadow of light into his darkened room, the street lamp also projected little yellow squares of light onto the wall. Once it had frightened him, now it was something to cling to. The darkness seemed oppressive with only him to fill it. Yes, he could hear Dan shift next door from time to time, and the bed creak as Alex turned across the hall, but it wasn’t the same. They weren’t right there anymore. Out of contact and therefore out of reach, no longer could he simply stretch with his thoughts and touch them as they slept. Now visiting required the very physical and very mechanical complications of getting up, struggling into the wheelchair, and rolling out the door and down the hall to closed doors and groggy roommates. And he’d disturbed them enough just by being in the house.
Attention-whore. Wuss. Cry-baby. What’s the matter with you?
The only voice left in his head seemed to be that of his parents. An endless litany of scolding and admonition haunted him, but no amount of self-derision could ease the choking sensation in his throat. Indeed, it only made it worse, and he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to cry. Not this time. What did he have to cry about, really?
Stupid brain. Shut up. Go to sleep.
But sleep was no closer despite the pain medication for the lingering ache of stitches and surgery. In a way he was glad for the minor discomfort, even for the maddening pins-and-needles feeling that started in his hips and extended to his knees before dwindling into numbness and then nothing at all. It meant he was still there, still whole if not wholly functional. That would come. He hoped.
Lo, I am with you always…
Except- and this brought a fair amount of guilt- it sometimes didn’t seem like it. It was always at night that everything caught up to him; that all the emotional baggage gathered and pounced. Not until he was alone, the room dark and the moon looking in at him through the window would the specters of his own doubts and fears come creeping in to prey upon him. If asked, he couldn’t have even said why he was so upset or what was bothering him. He only knew he was frightened, nervous; something amping up his heart-rate in preparation to run for his life if only he could move his legs.
Swallowing hard, Ray felt tiny needles prick behind his eyes. Dammit, he was not going to cry. Except he could feel hot trails of salt water slipping down his cheeks. This brought some minor relief, and he therefore resolved that if he must cry, he would do so silently. They guys had enough to bother about with him; he didn’t need to wake anyone up for groundless theatrics.
Stop it. Pull yourself together.
Consider it pure joy my brothers…
Oh FUCK this.
Turning his head, he did his best to hide his face in Kermit’s nappy plush. Tears staining the worn felt, Ray did his best to remain silent. Something in his chest ached, his very heart feeling sore and cold. There were no monsters under the bed or in the closet, but the feeling reminded him of a time when he wore cowboy pajamas and felt safe on his father’s lap.
God, he just wanted to be held.
Except that would mean imposing on Alex or Dan, and he’d done that too much already. It would mean awkwardness, and nervousness about coming off wrong or implying things he didn’t mean to. Even Eddy, who took his hand on a near daily basis, did not extend the touch beyond that. It helped, but it never seemed to be enough. Perhaps that was why.
Oh for godsake go to SLEEP!
Even medication wasn’t going to help him tonight.
Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
One of the earliest verses he could remember having drummed into his head; a mass of lilting, centered type-face without cadence or poetry, delivered at break-neck speed lest he forget a word during a dramatic pause. It wasn’t evil he feared, anyway. He let his mind wander over the passage, stretching out the verses and converting them to lines and music in his head. If it worked, it would be beautiful and calming, but tonight the syllables swirled in a rapid torrent similar to the long-ago Sunday school recitation.
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me…
Imagine a grown man of almost thirty clutching stuffed toys as he slept. Kermit in one arm, Hank the Cow Dog in the other, and Lion standing guard near his head, Ray didn’t feel much more comforted than if he had been empty-handed. Stuffies were all very fine, they filled the empty space, but they did it only so well.
Yes, even as the watchman awaits for the dawn…
The hall light cast a dim shadow of light into his darkened room, the street lamp also projected little yellow squares of light onto the wall. Once it had frightened him, now it was something to cling to. The darkness seemed oppressive with only him to fill it. Yes, he could hear Dan shift next door from time to time, and the bed creak as Alex turned across the hall, but it wasn’t the same. They weren’t right there anymore. Out of contact and therefore out of reach, no longer could he simply stretch with his thoughts and touch them as they slept. Now visiting required the very physical and very mechanical complications of getting up, struggling into the wheelchair, and rolling out the door and down the hall to closed doors and groggy roommates. And he’d disturbed them enough just by being in the house.
Attention-whore. Wuss. Cry-baby. What’s the matter with you?
The only voice left in his head seemed to be that of his parents. An endless litany of scolding and admonition haunted him, but no amount of self-derision could ease the choking sensation in his throat. Indeed, it only made it worse, and he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to cry. Not this time. What did he have to cry about, really?
Stupid brain. Shut up. Go to sleep.
But sleep was no closer despite the pain medication for the lingering ache of stitches and surgery. In a way he was glad for the minor discomfort, even for the maddening pins-and-needles feeling that started in his hips and extended to his knees before dwindling into numbness and then nothing at all. It meant he was still there, still whole if not wholly functional. That would come. He hoped.
Lo, I am with you always…
Except- and this brought a fair amount of guilt- it sometimes didn’t seem like it. It was always at night that everything caught up to him; that all the emotional baggage gathered and pounced. Not until he was alone, the room dark and the moon looking in at him through the window would the specters of his own doubts and fears come creeping in to prey upon him. If asked, he couldn’t have even said why he was so upset or what was bothering him. He only knew he was frightened, nervous; something amping up his heart-rate in preparation to run for his life if only he could move his legs.
Swallowing hard, Ray felt tiny needles prick behind his eyes. Dammit, he was not going to cry. Except he could feel hot trails of salt water slipping down his cheeks. This brought some minor relief, and he therefore resolved that if he must cry, he would do so silently. They guys had enough to bother about with him; he didn’t need to wake anyone up for groundless theatrics.
Stop it. Pull yourself together.
Consider it pure joy my brothers…
Oh FUCK this.
Turning his head, he did his best to hide his face in Kermit’s nappy plush. Tears staining the worn felt, Ray did his best to remain silent. Something in his chest ached, his very heart feeling sore and cold. There were no monsters under the bed or in the closet, but the feeling reminded him of a time when he wore cowboy pajamas and felt safe on his father’s lap.
God, he just wanted to be held.
Except that would mean imposing on Alex or Dan, and he’d done that too much already. It would mean awkwardness, and nervousness about coming off wrong or implying things he didn’t mean to. Even Eddy, who took his hand on a near daily basis, did not extend the touch beyond that. It helped, but it never seemed to be enough. Perhaps that was why.
Oh for godsake go to SLEEP!
Even medication wasn’t going to help him tonight.
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