Who Are You?
Who are you?
I can hear you, a faint whisper floating out of the shadowy corner, mumbling words that I should be able to understand; words that prick at the edge of my consciousness ever so slightly, but never clear enough for me to grasp.
Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a fleeting glimpse, a movement in the gloom, just a shade darker than the grey shadows. But, when I turn to look, they fade away.
Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
No. I know you’re there.
I think if I sit very still – quiet and alert – you will finally let me see.
My eyes are not playing tricks on me. I have not lost my mind.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I know you are there.”
A murmuring sound like the wind scraping across the roof.
“I hear you,” I say. “But, I can’t understand. Why won’t you let me see you?”
More murmuring; then silence.
I resume my vigil.
Night follows day, and I sit staring into the dark corner, never leaving the room except to use the bathroom or to fix my meal of cucumber sandwich and tea. I no longer turn on the lights, and I’ve pulled the phone from the wall. I want nothing to distract me.
The boy from the corner store who delivers my groceries once a week thinks I’m a crazy old recluse, but, it doesn’t matter. I know you’re there, and I must know who you are.
If you were to ask me why it’s so important that I know, I could not answer. I don’t know myself; but it is important.
I will not leave until you reveal yourself to me.
“Who are you?” I ask the wavering, barely visible shadow in the gloom. “Why must you torment me this way?”
The murmuring continues, and I strain to catch a meaning, any kind of response, but nothing comes. No matter how hard I try, no meaning, no sense.
The shadows never coalesce into any recognizable shape. You continue to taunt me; I can no longer sleep through the night, for fear you will come and I will miss you.
So, I will continue to sit here waiting patiently until I know.
“Who are you?”