North Star

May, 5

Dearest,

I have been suffering from acute pain on the left side of my head so severe that I am unable to stand when the episode begins. I double over and fall to the ground, my vision blurs and my chest feels awfully tight. It happened the other day when I was out at the market and I found myself in a terribly embarrassing situation with people gaping open mouthed at the sight of me. That was the final straw and immediately after the episode I called up a physician who said he’d have a look at me.

The appointment was today and to be quite honest, though the news was alright from a physical standpoint, it did little to put me at ease. The doctor was a short, stalky man who reminded me of a bull dog. He poked and prodded, looked into my ears and eyes and asked me a couple of questions that I do not remember. He huffed as he wrote into his note pad and then began to ask me a few questions which I remember. “Do you live alone?” To which I said yes. “Do you work?” To which I said yes again, as an editor for the weekly gazette. “Do you enjoy your work?” I suppose. “Do you feel generally content and at peace with your life?”

That was the question that made me stop short. Not because of the answer but because of the person asking it. Is it not a little nosy for a doctor to be asking such a personal question? I suppose the doctor felt compelled by my hesitancy because he jotted something down in his notebook. He droned on with more questions that I couldn’t care to write down right now and then when he seemed to be satisfied, he shooed me out of the office with a piece of paper describing my symptoms.

That is what I wanted to talk to you about. As I sit here at my study with the paper in hand I am quite embarrassed by the verdict. The paper reads. “A generally nervous and uneven temperament. Paired with significant isolation. No physical symptoms found.

That is all. I thought it was the doctor’s job to cure these symptoms. But he has not so I have taken it upon myself to solve the mystery of my ailment.

May 8

Dearest,

Today was a bright and sunny Saturday. We do not get these very often so I went to the park to feed the birds. I have not had an episode yet. Currently, I am sitting at a park bench and watching a flock of crows. I have a loaf of bread that was beginning to turn stale and figured they would enjoy it. I am sprinkling crumbs on it for them so they flock close to me and peck viciously. It is great fun but I feel as though the people around me do not approve.

I like animals because their eyes do not possess the same feelings that humans do. When a human stares, I can see the feelings behind his eyes. Contempt, annoyance, hatred. But the eyes of animals are kind. They do not possess malice, but instead are just reactionary to their stimuli. They are simple and I like them. They like me.

***

It is later now and I am back home in my study. I meant to write more today while at the park but I will explain to you why that outing was unfortunately cut short.

As I sat feeding the birds, I found myself distracted by a man at the far end of the park who appeared to be begging. His clothes were tattered with a layer of gray dust caked to them. He looked older and his beard was a dusty gray. He sat on a folded piece of cardboard and shook an empty mug. Occasionally someone would drop some change and the mug would clack with the sound of metal and glass. The man would look up to them, hoping to catch their eye, and when that failed he looked down at the mug.

I sat and watched him for a period of time. Nobody paid him any mind. It was around this time that the tightness in my chest had begun again. I quickly began to pack up my things and walk away. And that was when the pain struck me. I remember seeing a flash of light ripple through my vision and my legs suddenly were unable to support the rest of me. I fell to the floor and pushed my palms against my temples, hoping that the pressure may ease the pain. I wish I could properly describe to you this pain but I cannot. It was the worst I had experienced thus far.

I'm unsure how long I laid there but after some time, as the ringing in my ears subsided and the pain turned to a dull throb I sat up on my knees. There were tears etched to my face, not something I’m happy to admit, but I wiped them and looked around me. Nobody seemed to mind. Except for him.

The grayish man, with his mug in one hand and my dried up loaf of bread in the other. He handed the loaf to me along with my hat which seemed to have rolled away in my hunched form. I looked into his eyes and I began to cry. I’m not quite sure why. It is upsetting to me even now as I write. I cried in such a way that I could not get a hold of myself. I wonder if you have had the chance of experiencing this though I hope you haven’t. I could barely catch my breath and every time I did, I lost it again. I do remember telling the man he could keep the loaf, and then I rushed home. It is getting late now and I must sleep but I am still unnerved by the events of today. As I hold this pen I find that my hands are trembling slightly. Sleep may do me some good.

May 9

Dearest,

I wish I could say that my sleep has cured me but it has not. My dreams kept me in a state that was not quite restful but not quite conscious either. Maybe if I describe my dream it will make you understand how miserable I have been. Sometimes I envy you for leaving when you did.

I had fallen into a deep and long pit in the dirt, landing into a wet puddle of mud. When I stood I found myself surrounded by bones, human bones etched into the dark earth. Skulls staring back at me. There was a ripple of noise, artillery fire, that rattled by my ear. I immediately lunged for the ground again. That is a sound and a reflex that never leaves you.

I crawled myself forward into another pit and this time fell again for what felt like eternity. I landed softly into another den of darkness and from where I lay I could see a figure. It was you. I ran to you and shook you awake. You laughed at me as though I had five heads and I laughed too. That is the only part I wish were real. You disappeared from my grip, into dust, and I haven’t seen you since. In the distance I saw another pair of eyes. Richie. Dressed all smart in his soldier garb. He was proud of those badges, he wore them on his uniform and adjusted them when they went crooked, wiped them down with a handkerchief anytime they touched the dirt. We joked that we didn’t need a north star, we just needed the glint of Richie’s ever polished badges. He was hard on us and god I hated him at the time but he kept me alive didn’t he?

I’m afraid that is all I remember. My hand is sore from writing although it is not much. I am tired constantly. But the day is bright and the birds continue to sing despite it all do they not? The birds sing and the children go to school and the sun rises and the waves wash into shore. I suppose I should be like them too. That is all I can do.

May 12th

Dearest,

I am breathless as I write to you today. My heart is pounding so deeply I can hear it through my ears! A surge of electricity has coursed through me. I know I have been quite dull until now and I apologize for that but today has changed that. Let me explain.

I had begun to realize that my episodes of pain often happen in recurring places. The bank, my home, my work place. So I decided I would go to the park once again and test my theory, since you know I had quite a terrible spell there just a few days ago. I made my way to the park, this time with a sleeve of biscuits instead of bread. I have managed to get through my loaf for the week. And I figured the crows would enjoy a new treat.

I sat in my spot on the bench in the center of the park, shaded by an oak tree. The weather was sunny once again though there was a breeze and a gentle chill. I began my usual routine of feeding. Of course the crows loved the biscuits, the flocked and circled me like a splotch of ink. There were disapproving looks from some park dwellers. Especially the parents who slowly goaded their children away from the crazy man in the park who talked to the crows. I suppose I would do the same had I been a parent.

I felt a bit uneasy with the looks. My skin began to clam up. I began to pack up my things when a finger tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up to find it was the beggar. He was holding a hand out to me so I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of change and placed it into his palm. But he shook his head, pointed to the biscuits. I handed him one, thinking he would eat it and perhaps ask me for another. But he took the biscuit and crushed it between his two hands. Two leathered, working hands. The biscuits pulverized instantly and he threw the dust into the air in a cyclone around us. Sure enough the crows lifted from the ground following the path of airborne crumbs. They twirled around us, in a void of black, cawing and singing and grazing us with their beaks. I found myself laughing. Raucous laughter. And the man was staring at me, laughing too. He was missing a tooth and it was the most beautiful smile I’d seen.

When the birds settled I turned to him. His smile had softened, his eyes were not the eyes of a beggar anymore. They were smart, confident eyes. His wiry hair felt cleaner somehow. He stood a bit taller. I found I was standing a bit taller too. In a way I hadn’t stood since I was a soldier.

There were tears in his eyes, despite his smile and he placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I remember the strength of his palm, the weight of it resting on me. I will not forget it.

“I’m glad you’re alright William,” he said. A thick, hoarse voice. He knew my name. I didn’t have the words to speak,though I wish I did. But as he walked away I saw it. The glint. The north star. Richie.