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irwinwe

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I woke in my bed at some point in the middle of the night.  For just a moment, I lay there in a peaceful abyss of oblivion, until my realities caught up with me and blinded me, much as headlights rudely do as they interrupt the pitch dark.  My eyes opened fully, and I sat up so that my legs dangled off the bed and touched the floor.  Someone stirred from the other side of my bed, and I slowly and distractedly turned my head to view the occupant.  It was Rachel, curled up into a comfortable ball.  I suppose I had fallen asleep in Iain’s lap on the way back.  The exhaustion had been enough, but the bad news regarding my father had made me nearly delirious.  Perhaps he had carried me up to my room, and after explaining my situation to Rachel, she had felt the need to watch over me as I slept.  I tried to smile at the notion through my armor of grief, but my body felt frozen.  Instead I just turned slowly back around, and stared at the red digital numbers on the clock across the room.  It was 1:06 am. 

And as if a survival instinct had suddenly gone off from within my body, my mind began reeling recklessly.  I needed to get home.  That meant I needed to get online and buy a plane ticket.  What if I couldn’t find a plane ticket to get me home on time?  Did I need to cancel my mail?  Did I need to call and cancel my apartment contract for the entire summer?  Did I need to cancel my contract for the following fall, when classes would start again?  Would I be coming back to St. Andrews, or would I be leaving forever?  Was this it?  Just like that?  My tuition money, which had already been turned in for the following year, could I get it back?  What about Kane?  What about Rachel?  What about Andy and Vic?  What about Iain?  Why did I even care about Iain?  Did I care about Iain?  Why was I even thinking about my man situation when my father was sick?  Was my father actually as sick as they said he was?  He had always seemed so alive and strong to me, like a steady and fertile patch of earth, and so I found it very hard to believe he would really be that sick or that weak.  But what if he really was?  Would I be able to handle it?  What if the nurse really hadn’t been joking?  What had her name been?  Shannon?  I hated that name.  I would never name my child Shannon and I would never like anyone named Shannon.  What if he died?  Would my mom go crazy? 

I shot up from my bed, eyes still focused on the red digital numbers, the conduit between me and the clock as immovable as two objects super-glued.  I felt like a zombie.  I needed to get out.  I needed to go for a run.  Then I would be better.  Then I would take care of everything, like the plane tickets, and calling people and canceling contracts.  I would do everything in the morning.  But right now I would go running.  I didn’t care how late it was.  I couldn’t stay here.  I tore my gaze from the clock, squinting my eyes and taking a few short breaths.  I didn’t want to wake Rachel, because she would only prevent me from going.  The dresser was only a few strides away, but I failed to see my tennis shoes on the floor and tripped over them, landing with a loud thud.  I heard the bed creak, as if she had awakened, and I quickly came to my feet. 

“Ellen?” came Rachel’s voice.  I quickly picked up my shoes and headed for the door, making sure to pick up my feet so that I didn’t fall.  I was still wearing my jeans and t-shirt, but they would just have to do as running attire.  It was either entrapment or uncomfortable freedom, and I surmised that uncomfortable freedom would be better than none at all.  “Ellen wha’ are ye doin, lass?  Ye doona think to go out runnin’ at this hour do ye?”

I reached the door, swung it open, and quickly slipped outside into the living room.  “Ellen, stop, ye arena in the right state of mind!  Ye need tae rest!”

I can’t let myself rest, I said to myself as I slipped on my tennis shoes and kept walking forward towards the door.  I slipped out into the hallway, letting the door slam behind me.  And how would you know what I need, anyway? 

Rain was crashing harshly against the windows as I made my way down the stairs, but the violent and somber power of it appealed to my senses.  I wanted to feel something.  And physical pain would be better than the frozen inner nothingness I had been feeling, so I would welcome the stinging droplets. 

I heard Rachel call for me from the top of the stairs, but I was certain I wasn’t going back, so she no longer concerned me.  I thought for a moment that I heard a male voice with her, but I was too on edge to think of who it may have been, or if it had even been there at all.  The hallway did have an eerie tendency to echo unrealistically when the rain fell. 

I charged out into the rain, fearless, insatiable.  My jeans quickly became wet and began to chafe at my thighs, trying to weigh me down and impede my flight, but it only made me press on more determinedly as I breathed in loud gasps behind clenched teeth.  I realized then that I had begun to fall.  Not literally, but figuratively.  I was at the edge of the ravine, and I was slipping down in slippery mud, quickly approaching the bottom.  Why couldn’t there be a stick that I could reach out for, or an immoveable object that I could grasp before I reached rock bottom with a fatal thud?  Rachel had been right, I had to let go eventually, whether it was by my own choice or by fate’s choice.  I suppose this was fate’s choice.  And I hated it.  Right then, I hated fate.  I hadn’t been ready to let go, and I was not flying, but falling because of it.  My black pearl bracelet caught my eye as it contrasted with my pale white skin.  The sight of it flooded me with memories of my father, the night he had given it to me before I left for Scotland, the time he had told me to follow my dreams, and the laughs we had shared.  He had always been the only one that understood me.  And now he was going to leave me.  I became blind to all but blurred tears and rain, and I sobbed out loud as I ran forward. 

Someone called my name from behind me, but I didn’t know if it was a real voice or if it had been a product of my cruel mind.  I saw a bench before me, and I stumbled on the gravel road and fell on it, clutching it as if it was the very thing keeping me alive.  I didn’t know what I was doing more; shivering or sobbing.  The rain was just as cold as it was stinging, and the warm streak had disappeared with the coming of this night. 

Suddenly, a set of arms came around me and pulled me upright, and in surprise I struggled against them, fighting to be free.  “Doona run from me, lass, let me hold you” came a familiar voice, and then I became aware of the familiar feel of the arms as well, a set of arms that I was sure I could recognize through any storm, and through nearly any pain, even if it was in delirium.  He turned me to face him, and I did not even have to look at his face to know it was Kane, as I had memorized the contours of his body.  He pulled me hard against him, and I clutched at his back in return, needing the rough comfort, as any other would not have reached me.

“Rachel woke me” he began, his voice choked and nearly a whisper, “I am so sorry, Ellen.  I doona know if he will live or die, but I can tell you tha’ I know how it feels to ‘ave someone you love torn from you.  You arena alone, whatever happens.  You arena alone.”

“If he dies” I said in a shattered voice, “I will lose my best friend.  If he dies he won’t ever get to walk his daughter down the aisle.  He won’t ever get to see me graduate with my Ph.D., or publish my book, or achieve my dreams.  He’ll never even meet my husband.  I wanted them to be good friends, to go fishing together.  And he’ll never get to see his grandchildren.  He always talked about that, about how much he couldn’t wait to hold them…”

I paused there, letting a stabbing pain subside before I continued my pathetic rant.  But there was really nothing more I could say.  “I just don’t want my daddy to go” I concluded, collapsing against the strong figure the held me. 

“I’ll see to it that you write tha’ book, and get it published” he told me softly, rocking me as he talked.  “And ye canna be certain tha’ your father has not already met your future husband” he added, even more softly. 

I grew silent in his arms.  The statement he had just made was such a powerful one that it was able to stop the flow of my tears, if but only for a moment.  Was he suggesting that he wanted to…well I didn’t want to even admit it…but was he suggesting it? 

“You are your father’s daughter” he continued softly, “I saw it immediately when I met him.  Ye ‘ave his soul, his gentle yet spirited way.  So even if he goes, he will never leave you.” 

Kane had a strange way of making me feel stronger even when he entrapped me.  I looked slowly up into his eyes, then, silently thanking him for saving me from my fall, and perhaps silently telling him something even deeper.  Neither of us was ready to admit it, but I believed we both felt it, and that was good enough for now. 

His hand came up to cradle my face, and he opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something important, but then he shut it firmly, his jaw twitching as evidence for his indecision, or self-control.  “Let me take ye back” he said, when he did speak.