For awhile we just sat there.
I could only guess what Amy’s thoughts were, but my brain was racing along at something like a thousand miles per hour.
Trouble was, it wasn’t getting anywhere.
What next? I wasn’t any kind of expert therapist or anything. For that matter, I seriously doubted that there were any therapists whose expertise included girls who are being haunted by their dead mothers
It was starting to hit me that Amy and I were pretty well on our own.
Suddenly a really stupid line popped into my head: What would Freud do? It sounded like one of Dad’s lame jokes.
On the other hand…Sigmund Freud, was the inventor of psychotherapy, and weren’t those guys always analyzing their patients’ dreams? At least that’s what they do in all the movies. It wouldn’t hurt to ask…
“Amy, tell me about your dream.”
She looked up. “My dream?”
“You were talking about how you kept having this recurring dream.”
She looked away. “Yeah, sort of. It’s not always exactly the same…I don’t know…”
She took a deep breath. “It always starts different…I don’t really remember everything. But there’s always a feeling like…like I need to see Mama. I need her, and I’m calling to her, and then…it’s like I know she’s there. I don’t see her or anything; I just know. She’s behind me, I can tell, and I want to turn around but…”
She was starting to get agitated. I looked at her hands. It looked like her right hand was trying to rub all the skin off her left wrist.
She took another breath and went on. “But then I’m thinking: ‘Oh God, she’s dead. She’s dead and she’s probably horrible.’ You know that story, The Monkey’s Paw?”
I did.
She looked at me earnestly. “…where those people wish their son would come back from the dead, and then there’s a knock on the door, but they’re afraid to open it because he got all mangled in a machine when he died?”
I nodded.
“That’s not it exactly. I guess I don’t think she’ll look all mangled and stuff, but…but it feels like that. I said those things to her! She’s dead because of it! I’m afraid to turn around, but I know she’s right there behind me. I don’t know what to do! So then I start to run, but I can feel her right behind me, and I’ve got to hide. But where? And then…”
She ran out of words.
I stepped in. “And then you woke up.”
Amy smiled ruefully. “And it was only a dream…”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I said.
She looked at me. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know for certain, but that dream sounds a lot like what I keep seeing in English class.”
“English class?”
“The ghost, your mom, when I see her, it’s like she hears you call her. She stops, looks around, then she takes off running. It’s like she’s calling out, searching, but she can’t find you.”
I continued. “It’s like you described it in your dream. You call out to her, but then you get scared and hide.”
Amy started to tear up again. “But I don’t! I don’t call out to her. I won’t let myself do that!”
I remembered a quote from Eugnosis of Alexandria that Dad had read to us one evening:
Fools think they can will away
Thoughts they find unpleasant.
But all they do is will away
Awareness of those self-same thoughts.
And so, dormant as dreams they lie,
Hidden in their inner mind,
Like molten earth of Vulcan’s realm.
The fools forget: mountains erupt.
Okay, I didn’t remember it word-for-word. I went back later and looked it up.
But, sitting there with Amy, I did remember the gist of it, the meaning: You can pretend that you aren’t thinking about stuff that bothers you, but those thoughts don’t just disappear. They hide inside you where you may not even know they exist. Then they start to gnaw away at your peace of mind, and well, “mountains erupt.”
“You know,” I said, “you could be calling out to your mother without even knowing it.”
“You mean subconsciously?”
“Right, subconsciously.”
She let that sink in.
“Look,” I continued, “when your mother died, there were all these…misunderstandings. You said those things to each other; hard things, and then before you could clear them up…”
“She drove her car into the river.” Amy’s face was hard.
“But you don’t know what happened.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “I told her to drop dead. She liked the idea so much she got drunk and did it.”
“You don’t know that!”
“They said she didn’t even slow down!”
I sighed. “You two need to talk.”
Amy shook her head sadly, looking at a spot on the floor. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
“I’m not so sure.”
She looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
“Look, she’s here, isn’t she? She’s searching for you…”
Amy spun around wildly.
“Relax,” I said, “I don’t mean right now. But she hasn’t…well…passed on.”
“Passed on?”
“Look,” I said, “I don’t know everything about the afterlife, but I do know a thing or two about ghosts. Most people don’t become ghosts when they die; they…pass on.”
“To the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns…”
“Say what?”
Amy smiled. “Hamlet. It’s part of the To be or not to be speech.”
“Yeah, I know. I just didn’t expect to hear it just now. I’m impressed. The girl does her homework.”
She shrugged. “Not really. But Hamlet…well, it’s kind of my favorite.”
“Mine too. Something we have in common, I guess.”
“Fits in nicely with our mutual fixation on the dead, I guess.”
I laughed. “Whatever. Morbid or not, we both seem to be living with ghosts.”
Amy gave a small shudder and hugged her arms.
I continued. “I’m thinking it’s like what I said in class about Hamlet’s father. Your mom hasn’t passed on because she chose not to. There’s something she needs to do first.”
“I hope it’s not to revenge her most foul and unnatural murder.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I said. “And you can lay off the Hamlet quotes. I hereby give you an ‘A’ for the class.”
Amy smiled. I went on. “I think your mom wants to tell you something. No doubt you have stuff to say to her too.”
Amy shivered again and sat still for a moment staring at a spot on the floor. Then she looked up at me. “Okay, that all makes sense. Well, actually it sounds totally crazy, but that’s me all over—living la vita loco. So what do we do exactly? Hold a séance?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I told you I’m not an expert.”
“Great.”
“But listen, I have an idea.” I took a breath. “You know how in your dream…you call your mom; then you freak out and hide.”
“That’s not how I put it.”
“Right. Sorry. But what if you just go there…go to that feeling, like when you’re having that dream? You call out to your mother, only this time you don’t run. This time you face her.”
She shook her head. “You want me to sit here in your living room calling ‘Mama’?”
“No, no. I don’t think you have to say anything. Just imagine it…like in your dream.”
Amy looked doubtful. “I don’t know. It sounds pretty stupid.”
I shrugged. “Probably… but what do you lose by trying?”
Amy gave me a long look. Then she slumped back into the couch and sighed. “Okay, what do I do? Do I close my eyes? Aren’t you going to wave a watch in my face or something?”
“I’m not hypnotizing you. I don’t know what you do; it’s your dream.”
“All right,” she gave another sigh. “Just don’t stare at me. You’re making me self-conscious.”
I threw up my hands. “I’m not staring. I’m just sitting here.”
She gave me another look; then seemed to come to some kind of decision. She sat back and closed her eyes.
A few seconds later her mother’s ghost was floating just behind her.
I touched her hand. “Amy…”
Her eyes flew open. “Amy, it’s okay. Just turn around.”
She looked scared, but did as I said. “I don’t see anything..”
I looked hard at the ghosts face. Clearly she could see her daughter.
Then I heard the ghost’s voice. “Amy!”
“She’s here,” I said. “I think she knows you’re here. She just said your name.”
Amy looked around the room wildly.
“Right in front of that poster.” I pointed out a framed Picasso reproduction on the wall. She looked anxiously into the empty space. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Try talking to her.”
“Mama…” she said, hesitating, “… Mama, are you there?”
“Oh, yes, baby…Oh yes, Amy, I’m here.”
It was becoming clear that I was going to have to be the translator in this conversation.
That sucked. I’m not the kind of guy who says things like, “Oh yes baby” as a rule and It was apparent that this was likely to turn into an intensely emotional conversation.
I don’t do intensely emotional; (remember, I come from a family of stoics), but I did that afternoon. I tried not to look at Amy, standing next to me looking terrified, eyes filling with tears. No way I could handle that. I just focused on the ghost and said my lines.
“Talk to her Amy. She can hear you. Tell her what you want to say.”
“Mama? Can you hear me?”
“Oh yes baby. I can hear you. Oh, it’s so good to see you, you don’t know…”
“Oh Mama I’m so sorry,” Amy sobbed. “What I said…I didn’t mean it! Please don’t think I did.”
“I know, baby, I never thought you did,” I translated—word for word. Just shut my brain off and said the words. “You were angry and you should have been angry. You didn’t want me to go, and I shouldn’t have gone it’s just that…I was angry at you. I was angry at Fred… about what my life had become…”
“Oh Mama…why? Why did you have to…”
Amy broke down into sobs.
Then her mother began to explain.
It was an accident. She’d had a few drinks at the party. She said she wasn’t drunk, but then she probably shouldn’t have been driving either. There was a really thick fog down by the river. The police hadn’t said anything about that; it was gone when they found her. She was driving too fast. She didn’t even see the turn. She was mad. She’d caught Fred making a pass at someone, someone else from work. Another woman from her office had tried to warn her about him, what a dog he was, and then she saw him making that pass. She stormed out of the party and into her car.
When the car hit the river, it knocked her unconscious, but then the frigid water woke her up. By then the car was completely submerged and the interior was filling up fast. She couldn’t get out...her seatbelt was stuck. The air pocket around her head grew smaller and smaller until finally there was no air left at all.
Only water.
Then suddenly she found herself floating above the river, looking desperately down on the sinking car. It was then that she remembered how she had left things with Amy, that last conversation. But just then she felt herself racing down a dark tunnel towards that impossibly bright light thinking, “No! I have to go back! I’ve got to tell Amy…what I said...I didn’t mean it!”
And so she did.
That conversation was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’d found myself in the middle of these peoples lives…well technically one person’s life and another’s afterlife… Anyway, it was not something I was in any way prepared to deal with.
When Amy’s mother asked forgiveness for leaving her, I could barely get the words out. The lump in my throat turned my words into a weak croak.
But I said them.
And I said more after that.
I asked if Amy understood what she was saying. She did. I asked if Amy was okay, she was. I asked where she was living, about her grandparents, school, friends.
Amy wasn’t telling her mother everything, which was probably just as well, but as she spoke, I began to notice that the ghost was getting fainter, fading.
Finally she said, “Amy, I’m so glad you’re alright. I know you’ll be okay. You’re in good hands, you know. Your grandparents will love you as much as I ever could, maybe even more.”
“Oh Mama…”
“I’ve got to go, baby. I’ve got to go, but it’s okay. It’s what’s supposed to be…you understand?. I love you, baby. You know that too don’t you? That part is forever.”
The ghost had all but faded away when Amy cried out, “I love you Mama.”
She broke into sobs and that’s when I turned away from wall and put my arms around her.
Eventually, Amy’s crying stopped. She pulled her face from my shoulder. “Oh God, I completely soaked your shirt! I’m so sorry! Oh jeez…”
The girl needed a Kleenex. Bad. For that matter so did I. “It’s okay, I’ve got more shirts. I better get us some tissue.” I jumped up and returned with the whole box.
She grabbed a handful and snorted mightily, while I tried to clear my eyes.
“Oh God,” she said, “I must look awful…all snot and blotches. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Please do,” I responded gallantly. After she got up, I went into the kitchen and splashed my face with cold water.
I felt drained—like an empty bottle.
A few minutes later Amy emerged from the bathroom, her face flushed from her own scrubbing. She must have found a hairbrush in her backpack, because I could actually see her whole face.
I didn’t realize that I was staring, but Amy did.
“Sorry,” she said self-consciously, “that’s the best I can do, given what I’ve got to work with.”
Now I was the one who felt self-conscious. Truth was, now that I took the time to look closely, I realized that the best she could do looked really good.
“I’m sorry about losing it there,” she said. “It’s just that it’s so sad.”
“Well, yeah, losing your mother…”
“That, sure, but I’ve never seen it from her side before. It’s like…oh God I’m going to lose it all over again…” she grabbed for the tissue and wiped something from her eye. “…no, I’ll be okay.”
I took hold of her hand, didn’t think about it, I just did it.
Then suddenly she turned and took my other hand and looked into my eyes. “Thank you.”
Once, when I was about ten years old my family was driving to…well, I don’t even remember which move it was. Anyway, our route took us through Yellowstone National Park.
There’s a pool there, a hot spring, you’ve probably seen the picture. It’s pretty famous. If you haven’t seen it, imagine a hole in the ground that looks like it goes all the way to the center of the earth. Now fill that hole with water of the purest blue color you can imagine.
I remember how it looked to me, like you could dive into that pool and just fall forever through pure, blue infinity.
Looking into Amy’s eyes at that moment felt just like that – like falling through pure, blue infinity.
Truth be told… I’m still falling.