Underneath the Sheaths

I didn’t see him enter the room, didn’t even hear his footsteps as he crossed the short distance from the door to my bed where I was lying, trying to get a much needed sleep. My eyes were shut, but somehow I felt that someone was staring at me. I opened my eyes, and there he was, standing right beside me, his gaze intent upon my face.

I was shocked. I knew he’d be here. But still, his presence surprised me. I didn’t know how to react. And I couldn’t; I was already imprisoned in his gaze. Our eyes locked. He didn’t say anything. He simply stared at me, his gaze penetrating my being. I felt as though he was trying to read through me; to dive into the pool of secrets I kept inside. He held my gaze, willing me to obey his unspoken command. His eyes so powerful, I lost the will to look away.

Then he moved his gaze to gently touch my cheeks, lingering there for a while, then moved down to caress my body, sending tremors to every nerve fiber of my being. I watched him undress me with his eyes. I saw him clear up the protective layers I had carefully, meticulously wrapped around myself. One by one, he yanked the sheaths, examining them carefully, searching for whatever it was he needed to see. I saw layers upon layers of sheaths pile up before me. First went the bedcover of anguish and sorrow. Next came my nightdress of hatred and bitterness followed by my underwear of loneliness and pain. One by one, he tore them into pieces, making sure there was nothing left for me to put around myself after he had finished. He didn’t stop until everything was gone, until I was lying there, unclothed, exposed to his penetrating gaze. I was worse than a slut stripped off her dress; I was a soul devoid of everything. Bared. Naked. Defenseless.

He knelt down to examine me further. His gaze transcended the thin layer of skin that was my last protective covering. His eyes followed the direction of the blood pulsing through my veins and saw my determination and guts—the only outstanding traits I have left — blinking like neon lights against the darkness of the night; like ants walking in file, each carrying life support system for my whole being.

He kept searching until, at last, he found my shattered heart, beating rather erratically under his intense stare. I saw his brows furrow upon seeing the scars covering it, the stains marking every drop of blood that oozed out of it, and the wounds that were barely healing.

His face darkened. I moved closer to him so I could fathom his emotion. I saw glittering crystals forming in his eyes. I momentarily stopped breathing, confused. Tears! But…were they for me?

I followed the direction of his gaze. Then my heart seemed to have missed a thousand beats. There, etched in furious red at the very core of my battered heart was his name. Flashing. Dancing.

Quickly I returned my gaze back to his face just in time to see a smile flicker across his countenance. How beautiful his smile was! But it lingered only for a fleeting moment. Because just when he was about to succumb to the compelling force that suddenly overwhelmed him, just before he could acknowledge the heart-warming feeling that lifted his spirit, just as he had realized how much it meant to him to see his name where he wished it would be, a thought suddenly snapped him back to reality.

Wrong.

He smartened up. I saw him lift his hand to caress the newly opened wound where before his name flashed brightly; his fingers trembling. I felt his hand touch my heart softly as if to heal it magically.

Then I saw tears roll down his cheeks, down to his hand, through the gaps between his fingers, then down to my exposed heart, soothing it. Reluctantly, I dragged my gaze from his hand around my heart back to his face.

I saw his eyes deaden. I noticed his muscles twitch. I saw him fight himself. I watched him struggle against whatever outside force was shackling him. He almost won. Just almost. Eventually, his struggle faltered, until he was consumed.

Never had I seen him sadder before. His eyes searched mine. Again, our gazes met. I didn’t see him open his mouth, maybe it was his eyes talking to me, but I heard him whisper: Ann, let go.

I closed my eyes, not minding the tears that started to roll down my cheeks. He cupped my face with both his hands, his thumbs drying up my tears. He willed me to open my eyes. I did, how could I not follow his bid?

I looked up directly into his now hurt-filled eyes talking to me softly, begging me to understand.

"I can’t," my heart protested but I ignored it. I nodded, imitating a smile but managed to produce only a caricature version of it.

He smiled his gratitude.

Then, from his insides, he produced a thin, crystal-like, satin-soft sheath of love with which to cover me, replacing all the negative layers that had, for sometime, enveloped me. His gazed still fixed upon me, he gently wrapped the sheath all over my naked body.

Then he started to leave without turning his back on me. His feet moved backward; slowly, reluctantly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I started to panic, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I thought I saw him smile just before he completely faded. I grasped the sheath now securely covering me and clutched it closer to my body.

He was gone.

And I woke up. Then I started to cry, because now I know he knew that which I never told him. I loved him. Deeply.

I reached for his framed picture lying on top of the bedside table. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I stared at his smiling face. I ran my trembling fingers across his cheeks. His brows. His eyes. His nose. His lips. Then I whispered: "Rest in peace, Eric."


[seb/29Apr2004]