Episode 8 : Settle

My feet hit the cement hard, echoing in the silence of the night. Each slap of rubber sending me on spirals of memory – to the slaps that so recently were made against my face. Tears burn as they run down my cheeks, settling into my lip, as broken as the rest of me. But still I run. I run because this is the only time I feel free.

Across town, into a small forest. My feet would know the way even if I lost my sight. The cold air greets my face as I enter the trees. I have my usual routes, but I’ve travelled them all. I close my eyes and let my feet decide our path. I veer to the left, though I can’t remember a path leading left this close to the opening. I open my eyes to see a freshly laid dirt path, barely even walked over. I allow my curiosity to take hold and follow the path – walking instead of running. I round a few bends of intense degrees, then see it.

A lantern. First I see the light, it seems incredibly bright, blinding almost. Enough so, it’s hard to see much behind or around it. Cautiously, I creep closer. A tent. The sides are stripped, a dark green that helps it hide among the trees, and a deep burgundy. Standing close enough to touch it, I see door flaps separated and open. I take only a step forward and hear a woman speaking from inside, “You have questions and troubles child. I hear them screaming out.”

Taking a look inside, I see an old woman sitting at a round table. Smiling, she beckons me to sit in the empty chair across from her. The cushion is hard and I shift my weight to try to get more comfortable. I look up to see the woman watching me, patiently, smiling, not saying a word. I force an awkward smile. Finally, her voice cuts the silence, “I know why you’re here Adaline. Do you?”

The air feels heavy. I open my mouth to say something nonchalant about being curious or this forest simply being a place I often frequented. Instead, I nod. I can feel millions of questions swarming like hungry sharks in my mind. “What do I do?” The tears cresting my eyes catch me by surprise as I wipe them away.

The cards look large in her fragil hands. With each shuffle her eyes cut further inside me, until suddenly she stops. The deck of cards sound heavy as they hit the table. “He won’t change. Ones like that never do, at least not for the better.” My breath is heavy. The air is thick, though the tent doors flap open in the wind forming outside. “We all have options in life. Some easier to see than others. Not everyone has the same options, mind you, but we all have some.”

The air escapes my lungs, just barely above a whisper I ask, “Show me.” The woman bows her head and spreads the cards out into a line. Gesturing to the face down cards, I pick one and turn it over.

“The three of swords. This is your fate, the destination of the path you’re currently on. You’ve known heartbreak, and you risk only becoming more familiar with it.” Her wrinkled finger wipes a tear falling silently down my cheek, “My dear, my dear. The best part of life is nothing is ever set in stone. Let’s take a look, shall we?” Before I finish nodding, the tent has gone dark, I touch my nose but fail to see my hand.

A wave of cold air and light washes over us both, revealing a bedroom I’ve never seen before, but feel oddly at ease in. The old woman places a finger over her lips and points to the door. As if on cue, a young woman enters the room talking on the phone. I blink a couple extra times, this couldn’t be... The young woman is: me. I watch in shock. Me and the old woman silently observing myself. A healthier, happier Adaline.

Like a movie, but immersive, we see Adaline getting ready for work, talking and making plans with a friend on the phone. I can’t remember the last time I saw this Adaline in the mirror. A beautiful stranger from who I am now. We see her living her beautiful life. We watch as she bravely builds new relationships and rises to occasions at work and home. Then comes night. Adaline stands at her living-room window, lights off, curtains mostly drawn. I see myself in her eyes now. She scans the street, rolling her necklace between her fingertips. I feel her unease and glance out the window myself. Far in the distance, although I can’t see him, I can feel he’s there.  

The morning comes, and with it another day for the new Adaline. However now, I see it, I see him. In the background and on the edges of her days. I see Adaline at ease and unaware. I look to the old woman and she sullenly looks down. Darkness encircles us again, breaking into dim light from the lantern at the edge of the tent. “His hold on you is severe.”

I bow my head. Watching myself be happy was harder than it should have been. “How do you know these things? How can you show me this? What’s the point?” I hear myself, but it sounds like a frantic stranger. Agitated and defeated. Not even close to the happier Adaline. “If leaving won’t work then why try? You say I have choices, but are they even choices if it all leads to the same place?” I can feel her eye on me while I stare at my hands. My eyes blur from tears building, but I refuse to see a look of pity staring back at me. “I shouldn’t have even hoped. I can deal with it, I’ve done it this long. Why bother giving me hope?”

The old woman places her hand on the table gently, “Sometimes we have to try more than once to succeed my child.” The woman picks up a card and places it on the table, “The Devil doesn’t bargain my dear. It takes what it wants, never less.” The tent grows dark again, this time a thick stale air lingers and presses heavily down on my chest and shoulders. Though the light filters into view, the air remains unchanged.

My living-room. My stomach drops, heavy and low as we walk further into the room. There I see myself, on the floor surrounded by candid photos. Adaline is arranging and creating a scrapbook. A beautiful lie to showcase their love. I let out a laugh when I recognise it as such. I had gathered the pictures the other day. But looking at Adaline sort and organise the scrapbook became quickly disheartening. Heat began to rise from my depths, throwing my breathing into overdrive. This was the present. Guilt, fear, shame, disappointment, all rage through me without hesitation. I want to scream to Adaline, warn her to make it neater. Yell for her to just tidy up and move on, but nothing but air escapes me.

I see him on the top of the stairs. At the creak of his first step, I see Adaline’s back stiffen. Helplessness freezes my body in place. The creaks of the staircase float down like thunder. I watch as Adaline tries to tidy what she can before he enters the room, slowly scanning everything. “Busy?” The tone cut with his tongue is enough to know how this interaction will go. His lip curls on one side as he looks down on the pictures, “Looking through memories?”

Adaline nods, walking the delicate line of not ‘too happy’ that’s landed her in trouble before. “I’m working on a scrapbook of the last couple years. We have so many forgotten pictures.” She doesn’t turn to see his face, she doesn’t need to. I watch as his muscles clench and he places his hand on Adaline’s head.

Black.

The old woman and I sit again, across from each other at the round table. She’s shifting uncomfortably in her plush chair, her wrinkles exaggerated by the strained expression, “We both know where that was headed. No reason to watch.” She waved her hand, as if the vision was a fly.

“So is there no hope? Do I just pick whichever cruel fate I’ll subscribe to?” I’m gasping. My neck feels too weak to hold my heavy head. Every ounce of strength I have is being used to look up at the old woman.

Her face is casting a shadow now. What once looked genial now seems menacing. My heart pounds furiously, but my breath slows. “We all have options Adaline. I’ve shown you two, but I offer you a third.” Out of the corner of my eye I see fog, creeping into the edges of the tent. “I told you not everyone gets the same options and as such this is not given freely to most, so listen closely.” The fog dances across the floor towards the table, hypnotically to the distant music I can barely hear. The woman’s fragile hand reaches out for mine and instinctively I place mine in hers. Her bony fingers wrap around my hand, squeezing it tightly. “How badly do you want to be free?” The woman pulls me in closer. Her eyes boring into me. “Think carefully but quick. Only one answer is needed. How badly do you want to be free?”

The music slowly grows louder. The fog thickens around the feet of my chair. My body feels calm but below the surface is panic. A growing rumble of emotion and pain. I open my mouth and the world pauses for my answer. Silence splits my soul and allows only the faintest of voice to reply, “Badly.” A cold wind breaks through the tent, giving the fog it’s cue to rise up. The old woman’s face darkens more still, before being engulfed by the thick fog entirely. Pulling my hand away, I cover my face as the fog blankets my eyes.

I lower my hand cautiously, looking around. Still in my chair, I sit alone in the forest. The music  and fog are no more, and the tent is gone without a trace. I rub my palms against the arms of the chair assuring myself it hadn’t been an illusion. My hand still showing the indents from the old woman’s nails. I stand up slowly and notice the lightness of my body. My muscles relaxed and loose, move freely without hesitation or struggle. The air now soft on my skin, no longer thick and heavy on me.

I slowly make my way home, running through the recent events in my mind. The cards, the old woman, the visions... the visions. I stop at my door, key in the lock but frozen. The visions. What if I was walking into... no. Tomorrow I go. Tomorrow I go. I open the door and feel a calmness throughout the apartment. I look around and notice something immediately. He’s gone – or – he never was? Pictures, no him. Closet, none of his clothes. Kitchen, none of his restrictive notes.

I drop onto my couch, closing my eyes and breathing freely for the first time in a very long time.