If You Had Been Here

The following story took place during the most chaotic time of my life.  I was overwhelmed at work, and my home life was equally challenging.

Everyday, something weird happened.  All I could do, was try to write it down so that I wouldn’t forget it.

Or, so I could get it out of my head so I could go back to work the next day – fairly clear-minded.

These were challenging years for me.  I was working for the military, during a war.  There were signs all over the base, urging airmen to “report suspicious activity.”

My whole existence, at that time, was suspicious.  But, I had to keep my head straight, and drive through those gates everyday – with guns dangling from the hips of agitated soldiers.  It’s amazing I lasted 15 years, while my house had been overtaken by something I couldn’t even admit – to anyone.

I wrote Confessions of a Mystic, during those years.  It was an effort to purge.

This story is about asking my husband for a pair of elusive, warm socks.  We had a spare room, with a dresser in it.  I used to keep extra socks in that dresser, and had asked my husband to get me a pair – down our long hallway – at the other end of the house.

After he went back and forth, with the wrong pair, I finally followed him down the hall – so I could get them – myself.

I don’t know if writing all these events down helped me – or hurt me.  Some of these things were best forgotten, perhaps.

But, on the other hand, I felt like I needed to remember them.

After several years, I stopped writing them down – as I couldn’t keep up with them.  I decided that I had become my experiences, in an effort to keep up the pace that I had become a part of.

Read this conversation slowly, and you will notice something that would have bothered anyone – if they had been here:

 

 

 

Me: Can you get me those socks from the dresser in the spare room?

Him: Okay

(Leaves and quickly returns)

Him: They’re not in there.

Me: Yes, they are. Try again?

(Leaves and returns with one blue sock)

Him: How about this? I can’t find the other ones.

Me:  Don’t make me come in there… (getting annoyed, following him down the hall to the spare room.)

Him:  See?  I told you they weren’t there.  (showing me the opened drawer in attempt to prove it)

Me:  Daggone it. (returning to bedroom)

As I enter the room I am startled and stop in my tracks.  My dresser drawer in my bedroom has been opened while both of us were down the hall – exposing a large pile of long-forgotten socks.

Me: Who opened that drawer?

Him: I didn’t, and you followed me out.

Me: Did I open it before I followed you down the hall?

Him: No (he shook his head and started smiling)

Me: Who opened that drawer?

Him: (silence)

Me: Please check that drawer for those socks? (trembling, still wondering who opened it)

Him: Yep. Here they are…(handing them to me)

Me: But………….who opened that drawer??

Him: (silence)

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