By Carol Teal
A button on her sweater was undone. I reached to button it. She slapped my hand away. As if to say, I’m not a child, you can’t touch me without asking.
She hadn’t spoken for almost a year, and usually, she was quiet, passive, eyes closed. Was the world too much? Was she on another plane? Waiting for her bus to arrive?
Her protest evidenced she was with us, tethered to this world. Was it reflex? Protection against attack?
Her speech was undone. Wires rattle in their cage making sporadic contact. A momentary spark, a slap.
She’s here. She’s gone again.
Love this scene. I especially like the comparison of her awareness to electric wires making intermittent contact. And the last line, so powerful. Well done!
Very descriptive and, unfortunately, sad as well.
poignant.
They are hiding behind their psychic door. Open it and let them tell you what they see.
Thank you.