Edge of Sanity

Dear Friend,

I hope you are reading still. I want you, or anyone for that matter, to know my story. I promise things will become clearer shortly; I can only hope. I’ll stop dilly-dallying. Onward march…

I arise. The area around me is cloudy and hard to make out. Journeys like these are odd because they always feel like I’m outside my body when I’m really in it. I am a dirty little voyeur that stands behind an imaginary window looking into an event that is transpiring, I think. It’s so hard understanding what’s going on because, it’s hard understanding if it really is going on. It matters none. It happens. No matter what thoughts seep through my brain, and no matter what clinks clank in my mind, it happens.

Two people sit at a breakfast table before me. One is a tall woman with long flowy hair, similar looking to the garden woman. The other person is a short, stocky bald man in a plaid shirt and tight jeans. Though they make the oddest pair, the look in their eyes says something to me. Honestly, they open their mouths, pull out a script, and start reading words to me. It doesn’t freak me out.

“Where’s Jasmin?” asks the woman. Her voice is as sweet as watermelons.

“Still playing with Herbert,” answers the gentleman. His voice was rough like sandpaper. Herbert?

“At times I think it’s odd how close they are.”

“Oh please, Celeste. Their both eight years old. They’re practically joined at the hip. They need some sort of companionship. Especially since their father is gone.” He takes a sip of his tea, “Besides, I remember a time where you were fine with their closeness and even scolded me for questioning it.”

The woman looks down at her hands and then up at the ceiling. I look up too.

“I do wonder what they do when they think we’re not paying attention,” she asks, squinting her eyes at the ceiling above her.

“It’s getting late. We need to get going,” he scoffs.

“Do you think I’m overbearing? It’s just, the amount of time they spend with each other and don’t you think it’s silly to let them share a room, a bed.” She drops her hands, “I mean it seemed normal at age four, but now they’re practically adults sleeping in bed together.”

“We don’t let them share a bed, they choose to, even after Jack and I built that beautiful princess bed. We can’t keep the two apart. At least they have each other.” He looks at his watch, “Look honey, are we going to bicker or are we going to get going?”

I wonder where they’re going. I want to come to. I’m sure they won’t let me; they can’t even see me for heaven’s sake but I want to go anywhere but here. Maybe even Mexico.

“Is the sitter even here yet? I hate to have to hire a sitter but since the accident, Herby requires so much attention.”

“Well, while you were pouting, the doorbell rang.”

“I wasn’t pouting I was asking questions that a Mother should ask. And as a father, you should worry too, I mean just even a little bit. This whole situation seems a bit awkward”

“Sweetie, I’m not their father. And please, after raising seven kids on my own I know a thing or two. Like, I know it’s okay for young twins to be unusually attached to each other regardless of the circumstance, especially with no father around anymore.”

They exchange awkward glances and shuffle around. The woman sighs and taps her left foot on the hard wood floor. She then scuffles through some indistinguishable papers on the countertop. I bang on the imaginary window. I can’t let them leave without me. But of course as I bang, the glass gets thicker and my vision gets cloudier. Shoot! I want to go with them, nowhere else.