By Rob Goss
Taka would wake up. Sometimes with a sudden jerk that left him sitting upright gasping for breath, hands tugging at a damp tee shirt. Sometimes with a jolt big enough for him to find himself out of bed, momentarily clutching at air.
On the worst nights, he’d be several paces down the hallway before the panic began to abate, hands still tremoring as he’d pour a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Water.
“A few sips of water will help to reset you,” his counselor had told him.
Water. No—Taka had already had enough. The tsunami had taken everything.
Brilliant. Taka’s night terrors jumps off the page. How insignificant and ineffectual are the words of counsellors in such circumstances. Wonderful writing.
“You may think you are finished with the past but the past is never finished with you.” I think that is in “Magnolia” but it seems apt here.