Glen Pourciau
I heard Quinn’s voice in my left ear while browsing tables at the annual library book sale. She was a friend of a friend of my wife’s. I’d met her only twice before, both times at parties, and hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her. I’d noticed her tendency to openly stare at certain people and wondered what she was looking for in them.
“You look tired,” she said. “Trouble sleeping?” Glen Pourciau
I turned my head, surprised by the question. She seemed to be settling in next to me.
“I have nightmares,” she went on. “That’s one reason I ask.”
Bad dreams had kept me stirring, rolling over, but why should she need to know about it?
“Did you know your body carries trauma?” she asked, clutching my forearm. “In your sleep, the trauma comes alive, speaking in different images.”
She paused to let me reply. I did not. Glen Pourciau
“Have you made a list of possible causes? It might help to understand yourself better, maybe something from your past.”
She was leaning near me. I’d talked to a couple of friends about my history of nightmares. Had one of them spoken with Quinn? Why would the subject have come up? Had she led into it by saying nightmares had interfered for years with her sleep? Glen Pourciau
The night before, I remembered, I’d been trapped in a burning building and had climbed through a window to get out. As I grasped the façade, afraid to look down, bricks came off in my hands. I’d woken up just as the ledge collapsed under my feet.
Her eyes took me in. I pulled my arm away from her.
“I can see it in you,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so. I find it’s best to connect with people.”
What could she see? Was she saying that to provoke a response? I avoided relentless questioners because I had an aversion to explaining myself. Explanations were for rational people. My explanations often didn’t sound real to me.
I left without speaking. I walked down the stairs and out of the building, thinking of her smashing things inside me.
I regretted being distracted from my pursuit and the next day returned to the sale to continue browsing. I didn’t see her at first, but there she was at my side again. I jumped when I felt her hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are you afraid? I’m not the problem.”
“I don’t believe I’m answerable to you,” I said, catching my breath.
“Why be defensive? Don’t you want answers?”
“Have I shown an interest in answering you?”
“Not on the outside. Is that the whole story?”
“Please back away.” Glen Pourciau
She yanked her hand up, huffing into the space opening between us.
“Do you fear seeing me in your nightmares?”
Would she step toward me, arms raised, and grip my head? Would she whisper questions in my ear and not let me go until I answered?
I kept my thoughts to myself.
