A Constant Fog

They were holding hands as they entered the fog. His grip was tight on her petite hand. We can do this, she thought. As long as we cling to one another we can do this. As she was allowing all of her doubt and insecurities pass, she noticed his grip loosening.

“Sweetheart, what is happening?” she asked.

“Nothing babe. I just heard something, I might need to check it out; see if everything is ok. Wait here.”

Before she could respond, his hand slipped away from hers. She had to stay still, to stay calm. He would be back any moment. Though the fog was thick and pressing, she noticed something standing a few feet ahead of her. She knew it wasn’t him, but for some reason it seemed to draw her near. She stepped toward the figure. “Stop!” Her mind screamed. With a deep breath, she ignored the impulse. He’ll be back any moment. It wont matter if I take a few steps ahead.  It appeared to be another person, another man. Maybe he knows the way out of the fog. Maybe he can help us.

“Hello,” she feigned confidence, but her voice reflected her unsure reality. The man extended his hand to hers. She reluctantly accepted his offer. Her mind immediately interjected, “What are you doing?? How will he find you if you’ve wandered? He is your protection. How can he protect you this way?” She silenced her thoughts by reminding herself that he walked away from her. His hand slipped away first.

There was something strange about the grip this man, this thing, held on her. She kept giving a little more, taking a few more steps. She kept silencing her mind until she could barely hear it screaming at her, until she could barely hear it at all. She continued to battle and justify, whispering things like, “he abandoned me, remember?”

Meanwhile, this figure kept leading her away, further and further from where she once stood. The fog has only become thicker, more dense. She can taste it. It is suffocating. Despite all of her attempts, the figure does not respond to her or her questions. It only continues to lead her deeper into what she cannot comprehend. She meant to find freedom and she is only more deeply entangled. Then the something stops. It drops her hand and simultaneously disappears.

At this point the fog is too heavy. She falls to the ground. “Where is he?” The sobs begin to rack her body as she realizes she is the problem.

If only he would speak. Then she could find him.

If only he would motivate himself to look, to search, to fight. Then he would find her.

If only he would cling to her as tight as he did when they entered the fog, then they could survive this; together.

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