I promised myself I would never tell. It matters little now if I do, secrets are made to be told, but where to start?
When I was a child of eight I dreamed I was an adult, in a time long ago, in a house I’ve never seen. In the house couples danced in a grand hall, a winding staircase rose to the shadows of the upper floor. I stood upon the steps, candle in hand watching the couples twirl about the floor in their elegant outfits of white trimmed in shimmering gold. They wanted me to join them, “Come” they called with beckoning hands and warm smiles but from the shadows of the upstairs hall, another voice called, one familiar to my heart.
I ignored the dancers hurrying up the stairs. The long hall before me with many doors on either side was cast in a dim gray light, a cold mist covered the floor encircling my feet, creeping up the walls and doors, seeking out the cracks and keyholes like hands of the blind. With a sudden chill up my spine I ran as fast as I could past the doors I knew to be locked not daring to look back, knowing what horror followed.
At the end of the hall a small table stood against the wall, above, a large portrait of bright yellow flowers against black velvet framed in gold, to its left, a door. I pulled open the door feeling the sweep of air by my shoulder as whatever followed me reached out to pull me away, but I was safe now, safe in this darkened room.
Closing my eyes I leaned against the door willing my heart to be still, upon opening my eyes, I found myself gazing to a doorway far across the blackness. A soft blue light shimmered from beyond warm and inviting, and then, he was there, standing in the doorway waiting for me to come. I could not see his face but I knew I would find safety in his arms, had felt that safety a thousand times before, and I knew in my heart I loved him. Stepping forward, eager to run to him, I fell forward through the darkness, into nothingness.
I told my mother I had to go to Europe. She never asked why, but if she had, I would have told her something was there, waiting for me to come, perhaps something I left behind a very long time ago. I carried within my soul the feeling of safety, the warmth of love.
My Grandmother once told me these were feelings from an angel, my guardian angel who would watch over me, I told her I believed her but in truth, I felt somewhere in this world there was someone whose energy was so strong, I could feel it, and that I had seen him in a dream, a silhouette in a doorway and one day I would find him. It comforted me further to believe that even if he were dead and the dream was a memory of another life, then upon my death he would be there, still waiting for me. I had the dream nearly every night for 17 years.
The years passed by with much turmoil, loss of faith, broken dreams, heartache. Never letting go of the feelings in my heart, I married, had children. No matter what hardships I faced, no matter the turmoil, I always had the feeling everything would be all right as if a voice whispered in my head reassuringly, his voice. I read stories of reincarnation, watched programs about those who have died and came back. I thought perhaps I recalled the memory of a love so strong, it’s energy lived on, through memories given to me so that it never be forgotten.
In the summer of my 25th year, all those feelings of safety, wamrth, comfort, were lost to me. I woke up at 3:15 a.m. to the sound of my name whispered on a warm breeze. The shifting of the air, an invisible solidity hovered over me whispering my name, then, like a shadow with sunset, it faded into darkness. The sudden emptiness was almost unbearable, it was as if I’d lost a loved one.
Eleven years passed by slowly and yet quicker then the changing of seasons. I likened myself to driftwood floating on a cold and empty sea, lost, with no land in sight.
A year ago I took a job at a local diner, a job I was not looking forward to because I never dealt well with people face to face, but it was small and coffee seemed to be the most people asked for.
My first day there, I stood at the counter waiting for customers as the rush hour had yet to come. My eyes shifted to the opening door, and as the sunlight beyond silhuetted the coming figure, my heart nearly stopped. Had I not seen that image a thousand times before, the shape, the breadth of shoulders, the height? I could barely look at him as he strode to the counter asking for his regular, which I had no idea what his regular was. (To be honest reader, at the time I had forgotten the dream, but the familiararity was there just as I had been so certain something waited for me in Europe).
A week passed by and I saw him every day, no big deal, I knew now I associated the dream to the image, surely it was not him, how could it be. Then, a day came when I was forced to work alone. My heart raced with panic, there seemed to be a thousand customers all waiting impatiently for me to wait on them.
I was so nervous I thought I might pass out from the stress, and then, a strange feeling fell over me, a calming of the air, a warmth relaxing me like the soft waves of the ocean. I looked up and and there he stood, a smile on his face and like the whisper in my head I heard him say, you’ll be fine, everything will be all right.
During the course of a year, I saw him every day. To my dismay, I had little time to talk to him for he seemed to come with the rush, the most we would say to each other is “Hi, how are you? Fine? Great, have a nice day.” but a smile would always follow.
Somedays, when he came before or just after the rush, we talked briefly, but longer then usual. I learned his name was John and that he made frequent visits to Europe as his job demanded. He had a wife, whom I’d met, a lovely wife with a wonderful smile and cheery tone, children, but the time passed too quickly, he’d leave.
As the days passed I found myself waiting for him to walk through the door. I didn’t have to talk to him, I just wanted to see him, see his smile, hear his voice, feel his presence as the air in the place ever changed with his arrival, he brought with him a calm, a warmth, one I felt no other place or time then when there with him.
I told myself I was being foolish, I knew there would never be anything between us, he had a wife, I had a husband, and there were children to think of, but it didn’t hurt to think about it, dream a little. When at last I felt myself consumed by thoughts of him, I forced myself to stop thinking about him, stop wondering about him.
For a long time it worked, I treated him as every other customer, had a moment to laugh with him as I did with other customers, grew to like him as a friend. Then one day, during a quiet moment, I stood at the counter looking through a magazine. Hearing the door open, I looked up. He came through the door as he’d done a thousand times before and then it happened, my heart flipped, literally palpitated upon seeing him and that smile. That was it, I knew I loved him.
After that day things grew difficult for me, I could never tell him how I felt but each time I saw him, each time he stood near, I could feel him in the air around me, longed for him to hold me, kiss me. I suffered, but I chose to suffer in silence for never would I break the hearts of people who cared so very much for us both. I came to write this poem I knew he would never read.
Someone’s Wife
I think about you every day,
Even though I know it’s wrong.
What I thought to be a passing fancy,
I never thought would last so long,
And now, each time I see you,
I want to tell you how it tears me apart
To know I will never be able to say,
How deeply you’ve captured my heart.
How somedays I catch my breath,
When I see your face, your smile.
The sound of your voice or laughter
Makes me wish you would stay a while,
But, you always leave so quickly,
With a “Take care, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t know how much longer I
Can hide this emptiness and sorrow.
And I know wishes are for fools,
And dreams never seem to come true,
There are no such things as miracles
for I’ll never be with you.
And everything I feel inside will
remain with me all the days of my life,
For you are someone’s happiness
and I am someone’s wife.
One day, four months ago, he did not come in. I noticed his absence but gave little thought to it until a week passed. I wanted to ask someone if they’d seen him, ask why he stopped coming in? I was affraid they would wonder why I asked, afraid they would find out my feelings for him. So the questions, the worry, filled my mind. Did he sense my feelings? Did he feel the same and left not wanting to hurt the people he loved? Did he know and the knowing made him uncomfortable? How could he leave without saying good bye?
A few days passed and I heard about him, found out where he’d been hiding himself. At first I was upset, then I grew angry, how could he do this to me, didn’t he understand how he made me feel, didn’t he understand how much his leaving hurt me?
By the end of the week I made up my mind to tell him everything, the dream, the simple pleasures his visits bring to me, all the things my heart felt for him. With the poem in hand I went to him.
At first I stood there silent, sorting through my thoughts trying to find just the right words wanting to shout at him angrily, wanting to hold him desperately, but the words seemed lost to me. I closed my eyes to still my heart and at last, with tears in my eyes I spoke the words I longed to aloud. “I love you.” I began simply. “I have loved you since the first day I saw you and I have loved you more and more every day since, I love, I will always love you.”
There were no tears of joy to follow, no echo of words uttered from his lips, no warm embrace, only the soft breeze scurrying the leaves across the browning grass. I wiped the tears from my eyes and using a stone as a weight, I placed the poem, unsigned, upon his grave.
***
There are no more dreams to dream, and nothing will ever fill this empty space in my heart. Just when we think everything is all right we end up back at the start. And there are no heroes to save the day, And love, our love, never seems to find a way. There are no more smiles to smile, happiness is nothing more then rainnbows in the mist, without the sun there is nothing left, but tears and a wish, that this path that we have travelled will soon come to an end, and I’ll find a place where this broken heart can mend. Where dreams and laughter will always be mine to keep. Where perhaps I will find peace at last In death’s eternal sleep, with you.
©1998 M.E. Greenwood. All rights reserved. Unspoken is based on the poem Someone’s Wife.
M.E. Greenwood is a 36-year old mother of three. She began writing poetry at age 13 as an outlet but in her 20’s decided she might be good enough to take it seriously. Her ultimate goal is to write fiction, a full length novel.