Self Doubt

It was Friday at 2:45 PM when I walked in right on time. Another weekend of working evenings responding to codes, calls, and questions. I settled in at the reception desk comforted in knowing my son was with his father, driving out of the city towards the bright green country hills and going to be doing what they both loved to do, fish. I removed my book and thermos of hot tea from my backpack placing them on the left side of the console. As I sat back in my chair I took a slow deep breath, held it in for three seconds, and then released it slowly along with all the stress I had accumulated over the last five days. Only after this ritual would I be able to enjoy the short intervals of time over the next three evenings, if only to read just a few more pages of my book.

Once the change-of-shift report was completed, my co-worker Grace and I would share our events from the previous Friday. I briefly talked about my son adjusting to living with his father on weekends and then of his father, now after four years, getting just a little bit closer to accepting our separation. She proceeded to touch on everything from commuting on her scooter to her total weight loss in great detail. My thoughts regularly drifted. I would glimpse at my book, disheartened for having only read a third of the 900 pages in eighteen months, wondering if I would ever finish.

Grace never left on time. I would often listen and look at her in wonderment. How can someone speak so quickly and passionately without taking a breath? Every time I answered the phone, transferred a call, addressed someone approaching the reception desk, she was able to stop and start like pressing pause and play on the remote during a movie. I was similar in that my thoughts would drift but I would always return to them until I had come to a conclusion. I often complimented my dedication in trying to understand every page I read in my book, no matter how many times, and tirelessly finding a way to relate it to my life. It provided the economical therapy I needed in managing and understanding my emotions over having left my husband, breaking up our family, and being a single mother.

As she was putting on her coat to leave, she asked if I had heard of the teenage girl who went missing the previous night. Wide-eyed and tongue-tied, I shook my head slowly. She proceeded to describe the few details that were known at the time as she opened the door to leave. In hearing this, I was suddenly overcome with a tightening in my chest, shortness of breath, and a hollow feeling in my stomach. Her lips continued to move but my mind was replaying the events of last night when I had gone out. Suddenly the door closed behind her and I was redirected to the demands of the moment and responding as per my duty. As soon as the doctor’s offices closed it was suddenly quiet, allowing me to have a sip of hot tea, open the book cover and begin where I had left off.

While reading, my thoughts would often drift. It was visually obvious to me that the last four years had aged my appearance in dog years. Every day consisted of trying to maintain a rational and compassionate discussion with my son’s father, hoping the regularity of my routine would root my sanity deeper and support me to stand tall and strong. What little energy I had left after falling on my bed every night I stored, believing one day I would have the strength to raise my mainsail and move on to discover a new world of lightheartedness. Until then, my neighborhood was my nest and all the mothers, from my son’s circle of friends, were like branches of a Noble Fir Tree supporting us through our worst storms. We felt sheltered and loved, season after season.

The day my Chi came out of dormancy was when I came across my book. One day, a couple of moms insisted I accompany them to their hot yoga class. So, I did, I tried, but it wasn't for me. I was self-aware enough to know instantly that I was not comfortable with sweating sufficiently through my clothing long before anyone else and I certainly was not in denial over my graceless poses due to lack of flexibility. The following day I volunteered at my son's elementary school in preparation for the Spring Book Sale Fundraiser. I entered the auditorium feeling I had walked into a forest of boxes.

I had spent hours removing and sorting one donated book after another. All the parents worked in unison, one would replace the empty box behind me with a full one while another transferred the stacks of books I had sorted before me to the assigned table matching the category. The constant chatter was so deafening, that I thought I had completely lost my hearing because suddenly, the gymnasium fell silent as my surroundings dissolved around me. Before me, cradled in both hands, was a thick hardcover book colored light salmon pink with gold print and protected in a clear plastic binding titled, ‘The Synthesis of Yoga’ by Sri Aurobindo.

Saturday morning I woke up exhausted after going out again last night but I got up and proceeded with my routine. That afternoon, I went back to work and walked in right on time at 2:30 PM. The weekend shift was a little different because it was not considered a ‘business day’ so I was expected to arrive earlier. I never understood that concept but it was made clear to me that the day shift simply wanted to leave early. After all, it was the weekend. The change-of-shift report was also different in there wasn't one unless a patient was admitted to the emergency department with a police escort for psychiatric assessment or if a code was called for one of the nursing wards.

Carol worked every weekend as well and would always leave after exchanging pleasantries. We had known each other for years and being like-minded, were always able to share our personal thoughts. Although we were both open-minded and non-judgemental there was always a part of me that I was never able to share with anyone because I failed to understand it myself. After she asked if I had heard the news about the missing teenager and responded I hadn't, she proceeded to give me details of the new developments. When she finished, I knew it was time to talk about the dreams I had been having since the night of her disappearance. As I began to speak I felt my spirit brighten and the dark haze that had been surrounding me the last couple of days dispersed like a thick fog evaporating with the rising sun.

The night this young girl disappeared, there were no stars or moon to be seen above me, as though the sky had been draped in a black cloak. The air was still and my senses were free of any stimulation. I had found myself in an area I had never been. I was overlooking a new development being built in a farmer’s field and surrounded by a wooden fence with an opening leading to a walking path. This path followed the outer perimeter of the fence and on the other side of that path was a narrow field bordered by a dirt road. Across the fence opening meters away was a barn in which I sat looking out through the missing exterior door on the second floor. Suddenly, my attention turned to a couple walking on the path toward the opening in the fence.

Carol sat down next to me with a serene expression and a relaxed posture but it was her compassionate gaze that was hypnotizing and had a mirroring effect on me. I paused to break the connection and thought to myself, "Here I am thinking I’m open-minded and non-judgemental but it’s times like this that I question its verity because I know I'm not with myself." In taking that breath and thoughtful pause, I continued describing what I had seen in my dream.

A young woman had been following a man. From that distance, my vision had the acuity of a barn owl, I saw every detail. He was taller and walked with a heavy slouched posture with the curls from his head of hair partially covering his round boyish face. She was more agile in her smaller frame, with her head up, seemingly walking with purpose and a grin on her face. My intuition was not alarmed and I retired for the night.

I continued. After being informed on Friday of the girl's disappearance, I joined the many other people in the community in praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, my outing that night proved to be of greater cause for concern. I had found myself in a softly lit room, looking through a doorway that lead into a living room where the same young man was sitting on a couch with the TV on in the opposite corner. He was asleep with his head slumped over and his chin resting on his chest. Hanging on the wall to the left of the door frame was a long vertical mirror. As I turned my head to look in the mirror, I was looking at the young girl through her eyes, knowing she was looking back at me with a blank expression. Our limbs felt numb, unable and unwilling to move. Our confusion began to clear as we became saturated with serene thoughts of freedom from all responsibility and emotional feelings. I wanted to stay, understand and help but, that was all she wanted me to know. Having no control of it, I left.

Carol insisted and explained why I should call the police. She left me with the burden of making my own decision, after which, I wasn’t able to retain a single word during my attempts to read. I was consumed with doubt and spent the evening reflecting on my past, analyzing myself, and praying for the young girl hoping she would make her way back and go home. I got home at 11:30 PM and stayed in for the night unable to fall into a deep sleep.

When I woke up Sunday morning the news was on the radio, and the girl had been found. A walker and his dog came across her body. The police confirmed she was found on a popular walking trail and had not been there long. There were no signs of foul play and they had someone in custody. I got up, started my routine, and arrived at work right on time, but this time Carol had a report to give.

At 06:30 AM she started her day shift and someone had just been admitted to the emergency department for a psychiatric assessment but had two police escorts. Carol had also heard the news over the radio while driving to work. Both feeling mournful, we said a prayer for the girl's family and she left. I settled in at the reception desk placing my book and thermos of hot tea on the left side of the console. As I sat back in my chair with my eyes closed, I took in a long deep breath, held it for three seconds, and released it slowly thinking of the week ahead of me. I opened my eyes and before me stood a police officer, looking at me with an expression of ...