Faraway Laughter

Alia’s eyes glowed in the candlelight as she sat peacefully, motionless, twelve inches in front of his face. She rested her wrists on her knees with her hands palms up and touching the tips of her middle fingers to the tips of her thumbs. Jason looked into her eyes and, after a few moments, the rest of her face and body became blurry. He could see every detail in her eyes, beautiful blue, icy blue, with darker flecks near the center. After several minutes, her body faded away into obscurity and, as he stared at her eyes, a pinkish light glowed in his peripheral vision.

“You’re a nine,” she said so suddenly and quietly that it startled him out of the trance.

“I’m a nine?” he said, wondering if I heard her correctly.

“Nines always have a distinctive karmic agenda.”

“Are you saying nine, as in the number?”

“Yes.” She was quiet again for a moment. “A lot of times, I see extreme levels of self-hatred in nines. But you can make huge leaps in growth. It’s a real opportunity for the soul. But it’s a challenge. Your challenges in life started early.”

Tell me something I don’t know, he thought as his mother’s funeral popped into his mind. It was really never far away. He’d been seven, his sister ten. They were living in Dunwoody. Back then it was considered to be on the outskirts of Atlanta just like everything that was outside the Perimeter. His father was the minister at Presbyterian Providence. He had a large congregation and did the funeral himself, all dressed up in fancy church purple and a martyr’s mask, and accepted condolences as if they were birthday presents for him alone to open and savor.

It was the Everlasting Gobstopper of memories: his mind could chew on it forever and it never got any smaller. But, instead of a sweet tart like center, this little candy was filled with pain and resentment.

“Am I supposed to be doing something?” Jason asked, the bitter taste of the memory made fresh again.

“Just relax and try to open yourself up.”

He didn’t know what that meant and he was tired of staring at her so he closed his eyes and listened to the music, the chanting. Soon, thoughts were buzzing through his head, thoughts that he didn’t necessarily want any part of. He knew he should be looking for a new job. He knew he should be at home getting his life together. Money was running out and he had bills to pay, some of which he had been ignoring for a couple of months now. Collection notices wouldn’t be far off. If he didn’t do something about them soon, his utilities would start getting shut off. And he hadn’t even started looking. The thought of another computer support job made him physically sick, made him want to pull the hair right out of his head, but unemployment made him a worthless human being.

He opened his eyes and found Alia still staring at him. He could feel his face twitch.

“Your energy is like a thunderstorm. You’re just so… chaotic inside.”

Jason didn’t respond.

“Take a deep breath,” she said and breathed deeply expecting him to mirror her. After several deep inhales, she said, “Better. Now think of something you love. And picture it in your mind, don’t let it go. Don’t let any other thoughts keep you from it.”

He nodded and searched his mind. What did he love? His painting came to mind and he focused on it, saw it in his mind: the semi transparent face of the woman, stuck between crying and smiling, the demons that haunt her thoughts floating beneath her. But then that voice popped up inside his mind, that familiar voice that told him it was pointless. Pointless because no one would ever see it, ever appreciate it. It was a waste of time. It told him that he should be doing what everyone else does. That he should forget about painting and focus on working, on building a career, because he would never amount to anything as an artist. He was just fooling himself, distracting himself from the problems that tore his life apart.

Alia opened her eyes after what seemed like an eternity, a long series of numbers scribbled on her pad of paper, sighed, and smiled weakly at him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded.

She eyed him for a moment. “Your perception of yourself is always in accord with your experience.”

Jason, not knowing what to say, shrugged and said, “Thanks.” Then, “I think I’ll go out for a cigarette.”

Jason walked out of the barn into the wet darkness and lit a cigarette trying not to feel what the session with Alia had brought forth. Tears filled his eyes, the night around him turning streaked and blurry. He breathed in the smoke, gritted his teeth, and pushed his thoughts down under a thick layer of scar tissue, the feelings sinking into the pit of his stomach. They would grow roots there, in his stomach and in his soul. They would eat away at both. But at least that’d be later. And later was always good.

Smoke billowed up, filtered by the bare limbs of the trees that crowded the barn, and into the breeze where it was swept away into the slate black night. The air was cold but smelled good, smelled woody, smelled naked for some reason. He found himself listening to the forest’s sounds, the voice of the breeze, and soon it seemed to want to talk to him, to tell him something. He could guess what it would say and shook his head to clear his ears. He would not listen, no. He would not listen.