Better Left Unsaid

Rick McCraw

Today, I wonder if the sky will fall. Yesterday, it was only if I'd pass my chemistry exam. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Maybe, if the sky doesn't fall today, I won't worry about anything tomorrow. Tomorrow might be the best day of my life. I might even have a great day tomorrow. One can hope. Though I don't remember tomorrow ever being very interesting. It might be. Hell, I might win the lottery, if I bought a ticket. But then I'd have to keep up with the numbers and worry about what I'd do with all the money. And besides, I'd have to leave the house to buy a ticket. Fat chance of that. I barely make it to my classes without freaking.

So today I got this phone call. It wasn't one I was expecting, I don't think. I answered and there was no one there. At least, that's what I thought at first. I could faintly hear breathing. I only said hello once and after no one said anything back, I just hung on for a while to… well, I really don't know why I hung on, but I did.  I listened for a long while then I said hello again. Still no reply. I don't know why, but I just started talking, like I knew there was somebody listening, interested in what I had to say. Like they were my oldest and dearest friend. I told them about my chemistry exam, I told them about how the sky might be falling, I told them about the lottery. I even told them about my fear. I've never told anyone about my fear. This was insane. I told them stuff about me that I'm not sure my parents even know.

How could I do that? What was I thinking? Once I got talking, there was no stopping me. I just went on and on. I told them about my childhood, the abuse, being afraid of the dark, my parents yelling all the time. I told them about how afraid I was that someone was stalking me, how I could feel someone watching me, always watching me. I told them about the therapist and his attempts to quiet the fears… and the voices. I even told them about the voices. The faint breathing on the other end of the line seemed to catch for a brief moment when I talked about the voices. Oh, and did I talk about the voices.

I told them all about the conversations I used to have with the voices. The conversations I used to have before the therapist rehabilitated me so that there were no more voices. And I told my listener, that if there were no voices, then what was I hearing? Someone was talking to me, listening to me, guiding me. And now they were gone. The therapist had sent them away. I told my listener how lost I was without the voices. How alone I was without the voices. How afraid I was without the voices.

It had been three years since my last conversation with the voices. Three lonely years since the therapist made me tell them all goodbye. Three long, lonely years since I told my mentors, my guides, my friends, that I didn't need them anymore. I told my listener how I cried. I told my listener how some of the voices cried, too. I swear I heard a sigh on the other end of the line. It's hard to tell because I was crying again. Just like I did when I said goodbye and emptied my soul.

There was never a reply, I didn't need one. I talked, and he listened. I say he…I suppose it could have been a female. But the faint breathing. It just… felt like a guy. I never addressed him directly, I felt like that would be an intrusion. It would be rude. So I yammered on about my life like he was really interested. It felt rather good, actually. Finally saying things that I've wanted to say for so long. Things that I've kept inside since I have no voices to talk to. Things that are of no importance to anyone but me. Private things. Things that could be taken wrong in therapy. Things that could keep me in therapy another six years.

Boy, I wonder what else a therapist could talk me out of in six years of digging through my fractured psyche. Probably talk me out of liking macaroni and cheese. Because it's not real. It's only something I invented to comfort me. It's just a crutch that keeps me from growing as a person. I'd be better off letting it go. Tell it goodbye. The real me doesn't need it. I guess banana fudgesicles would be next, although I've never had a conversation with either.

I really don't know how much time had passed from the time I began talking until I hung up the phone. And I really don't know when I began to realize what I had done. But I found myself straightening up my room and brushing my hair. As I looked in the mirror, it dawned on me that I had invited the caller over to my apartment. My God, I gave him my address! I'm straightening my apartment, brushing my hair, waiting for a breather! How could I have let this happen? All the years of therapy were supposed to prepare me for life, weren't they? The voices would never have let me do what I did. They would have set me straight and quick. They would have made me hang up the phone after the first hello. That's what they were there for. To guide. To lead. To protect.

What do I do now? I can't leave my apartment, God knows. Where would I go? He might see me leave and follow me. He might let himself in my apartment and wait for me to come back. And when would I come back?

God, I need answers!

Do I leave?

Do I stay?

I just won't answer the door.

But he knows I'm here!

What if he was on the phone at the corner? He would know I haven't left. He would know that I was in here.

And he knows my fear!

He knows what I'm afraid of! He could use that against me. Couldn't he?

Oh, I don't know! I don't know! What do I do?

Why did I ever empty out my soul? Why did I abandon my friends? My guides. My mentors. What was I thinking? I need them now more than ever. I need them to tell me what to do, what to do, what to do. My God, what have I done? What have I done?

"So, how long she been dead, Bill?"

"I'd say about twenty-four hours. Maybe less. No sign of foul play. Can't pinpoint the cause of death. I'll know better when we get her back to the morgue."

"Okay, thanks Bill. Can you tell if she put herself in that position, or was she posed?"

"Can't really tell. But usually when somebody's in the fetal position, it signifies either violent stomach pain or fear. My vote's on the pain. Can't see anything that would scare her."

"No. Windows and doors all locked. The neighbor says she heard voices like she had company yesterday, but couldn't really tell. Hadn't of been for the resident assistant making a routine room check this morning, no telling when we would have found her."