Dearest Rachel –
You think I was preparing to depart on this stop; I went to bed at a quarter to nine (according to my phone, which was running an hour behind Singapore time, so technically, it was a quarter to ten), and while I think my shore excursion call is at a quarter to nine this morning – and thus earlier than my last couple of excursions – it’s not that early, compared to some. I’ve had to get up at five or so, to meet a little after seven on (admittedly rare) occasion.
Still, it’s not like I had anything better to do last night; I don’t go to the theater, and, while I didn’t finish anything in terms of camp work or anything like that, I’d put in some time and take care of a fair number of transactions. So I thought I’d turn in early enough to be plenty rested and ready to go when we docked today in Singapore.
It didn’t work out as planned.
I woke up to pitch darkness, but given that I always make a point to close the blackout curtains, I wasn’t particularly bothered by this. But when I grabbed my phone from my nightstand, I wasn’t thrilled to see what it had to say; it was twelve forty-five (which, on Singapore time, meant one forty-five); I had gotten a mere four hours of sleep before my body decided it had had enough.
Of course, you’d think I could just shut my mind off a second time, and drift back to sleep between then and six-thirty, when I’d planned to wake up, take a shower, get dressed, and get on with the day. But having been roused from slumber by a body that felt it had gotten sufficient rest, it decided the time would be better served by reviewing all manner of things that I couldn’t do anything about in the moment. Had Daniel been able to find my replacement credit card, so I could resume my schedule of donations? How am I going to get myself (and my things) together when this disembarkation process is for real in Dubai? How am I going to get to the hotel? The airport? And what about that lady who I had a conversation with the other day who clearly, if she realized what I believed, would as soon have me clapped in irons in the name of ‘preserving democracy’? Heck, I’d like to explain that last one, but I’m afraid it might get back to someone like her, and so I’m going to have to watch my step on that – and I don’t mind telling you, I hate having that hanging over my head, but it’s where we are today, I think. In any event, I couldn’t seem to let myself fall back asleep for the longest time.
Eventually, however, I think I must have managed – it was probably after four (or would it have actually been five?) – because at some point, you were there with me, either lying beside me or just preparing to do so. You were certainly dressed for bed, in that thin pale nightgown with the red trim you would wear in the summer.
I have to assume it was all a dream, as you couldn’t possibly be here with me, apart from the few grains I carry with me in that spice shaker. And while I wasn’t able to sit up and speak directly to you, I couldn’t help but ask what you were doing here.
“I rode down here on a raindrop,” you said, “and I’m cold.”
The irony is that I could believe the former before I would the latter. I would assume your spirit could travel through any medium, no matter how small or insignificant – although I hadn’t seen or heard any indication of it raining just outside. But the idea of being cold, this close to the equator, even at night, seemed ridiculous. As I’d already dismissed the idea that you were really there, I just let it go rather than contest your assertion; this would dispel itself soon enough without my help. I turned onto my side and wordlessly offered to hold you in order to warm you up.
It would have be out of character for you to accept; you know this, honey. You were never much for being someone’s teddy bear. Even if you were cold, this would change that situation almost immediately to the opposite end of the spectrum. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of nights like that here, where the air conditioning is going full blast, but once I’m under all the covers, it gets almost unmanageably hot in that bed. My holding you would have just made things that much worse for you, I’ve no doubt.
I think I recall that you just got in and lay down beside me; I couldn’t see you very well, but then, it was dark, and I didn’t have my glasses on, so that was to be expected. But it felt like you were there, even as it felt like I was still awake the whole time. It was as if I was dreaming (because how else could you be there?) without sleeping.
I think my alarm skipped again, too, because the next thing I knew, it was past six, and I needed to get going. In fact, I’d read my ticket wrong, and I had to be downstairs in the theater by eight, not eight forty-five. But that’s a whole other story at this point.
For now, I just want to thank you for being there… sort of… and if you could keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, I’d appreciate it. I mean, I’m still going to need it for a while yet.
Letters to Rachel 