Her Face

“The woman is running. Her back is to me, and I can’t see her face. The top of her head is covered with cloth, perhaps a turban, her loose shirt and pants flap with her stride, yet hide the color of her skin. She is neither fat nor thin -- ageless, sexless – but I know that it is a woman running, and though no longer young, still sprite enough to run with ease. I would guess forty, but knowing how ambiguous I am concerning my own age, she may be fifty or even sixty.

I follow her, walking, striding, not running but keeping pace with her and even catching up. Suddenly she stops and turns to face me. Her face is clear to me for an instant. A woman, yes, Caucasian, eyes intent and intelligent, but I can’t see their color. She knows me. And then…”

“And then?” my friend Gail asks.

“And then I block her out, deny her, erase her, like putting up a wall between us. It is after all my dream and I have the power to reject those faces that disturb me.”

“And does her face disturb you?”

“It’s more than that, although the familiarity of it does. I know her yet I do not recognize her,” I say. “Now I think of her too many times each day and regret that I did not speak to her. I’m still trying to explain to myself what happened when she faced me. I can say that I blocked her out, but that explanation doesn’t really describe it. More like I turned her off, as I would a disturbing movie. She haunts me.”

“God, Beth,” Gail says. “It was only a dream. You put too much stock into these things. Let it go.”

“Do I?” I say. “You may be right.” But to myself I wonder again how thin the veils are between the world we acknowledge and any others that may nudge against ours.
“Is this a fantasy I tell myself, an over active imagination, or am I simply going crazy? It runs in the family you know.”

Gail narrows her hazel eyes and grimaces. “Are you trying to freak me out?” she demands.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “No. No, I ‘m not. I’m exploring out loud. You know how I talk to myself.”

“Well, please don’t do it anymore. Right now let’s do something else, have a cup of tea, a glass of wine or maybe take a walk.”

“A walk,” I say. I pick up my cane, my keys and we walk out the door into the day. The sun is warm on my face. I don’t get out enough.

Gail is a few feet in front of me; I’ve stopped to lock the door. I walk faster to catch up with her but she only gets as far as the chain-link fence.

“Gail!” I cry.

She turns to face me, her back against the fence. “Oh Beth,” she says.

Then Dr. Brahmins hand is on my shoulder, a warmth. “Having another dream, Beth?” He says as he gently turns me and leads me back to my room.

“Oh no,” I tell him. “I’m just exploring out loud.” I try to turn to say good by to Gail but she is beyond the fence now, running. Running far too fast for me to catch up. “Oh Gail,” I whisper. “Oh Gail.”