― Graham Greene
Night Terror
I've always been sensitive, aware of subtle changes in mood, unspoken thoughts that charge the atmosphere in a room.
I consider it a form of synesthesia when a myriad of disparate things suddenly coalesce into a palpable feeling and with me, it's usually akin to sensing an impending storm, in nature or society.
Obviously there must be subliminal tells that trigger that response in me, but what they are I have no idea and the experience, although very real, seems cloaked in an aura of mystery.
The nearest I can express is to picture the fabric of space-time as a newly-made bed with crisp, white sheets neatly folded that suddenly becomes rumpled and twisted telling me something terrible is about to happen.
"Such a dramatic way of saying you've got your drawers in a knot, my friend."
I was sitting in Art Tucker's thirty-third floor office relating my angst and staring at clouds out the window.
"That's mature, Art. You sure you've got a degree in Jungian psychology and didn't end up as you intended in college, as a writer for South Park?"
"Aw c'mon, Zach―I was only trying to cheer you up with some dark, surreal humour."
"I think my Basilisk nightmare accomplished that―a darkly ironic twist of fate, seeing I never experience night terrors. Yeah, I figure God up in heaven must be having a good laugh at my expense."
I know I'm being a little hard on Art, but his lame attempt at humour as usual has fallen flat―I don't know why he even bothers trying to change his image.
The guy's the same intellectual nerd he was in college, but still brilliant, which is why I'm here hoping he can make sense out of what's going on inside me.
His face has shifted from that of a prankish sophomore to a sincere expression of compassion. "Hey Man, this is really upsetting you, isn't it?"
I nod assent. "I just can't explain it, Art―there's this overwhelming feeling of doom. It's actually got me worried."
I have to hand it to the man―he transitions quickly into doctor mode. “How’s your overall health—any issues lately?”
“It’s fine—I’m fine, physically.”
“How’s your social life? A little abrasive I gather by how you interact with me.”
“Fine too, everything’s fine.”
“How about your romantic life—dating anyone?”
I give him a baleful stare. I know where this is going.
“I saw Brooke the other day—Man, that girl is lovely.”
I roll my eyes.
“I’m not doing that dance again, Art—I know Nancy thinks we’d be perfect, but unfortunately, Little Miss Perfect is holding out for something better.”
He shrugs, but I know it’s not the end of it.
Art means well—he’s happily married and he and Nance are great but their choice in friends is…well, let’s say apart from me, severely lacking.
But good old Art isn’t done with me yet. I can see him gearing up for round two and I dread it.
“Look Zach, Nance and I are having a small get together tonight at The Harbourfront. You should come. There will be several celebs there and it will help to distract you from your angst.”
“I suppose Ms. Henderson will be one of the guests?”
“One among many, Zach—there will be people from the arts, several beautiful starlets and of course, Angelica Sara who’s causing quite a controversy.”
“Angelica Sara will be there?” I ask incredulously.
“In all her radiant glory, my friend. She could teach those starlets how to burn bright.”
“I’ll be there.”
His jaw drops. “You will? Nance will be delighted.”
“Just do me one favour, Art— tell Nance not to push too hard with Brooke—she’s simply not interested. Right now I have enough frustration in my life without her added drama.”
“I’ll tell her, Zach, but can’t promise she’ll listen.”
I’m already planning what to wear—I can’t believe my luck, or what Jung might call synchronicity—a meaningful coincidence―Angela Sara served up for me without my having to beg for an interview.
Yeah, Ben Church would be proud and especially if I spare him some expenses—but a clairvoyant, when I’m lost in the cave of my psyche?
Probably not the best timing.
Well done.
thank you!
nice and great painting
Thanks :)
yes you are friends🙏