Night Stranger by Torger Vedeler

“Mommy! Mommy!”

As the summer sun neared the horizon on this longest day, the heat of late June only fading slowly, Ann drew fingers through her dark hair, trying to work out the beginnings of a tangle. I should just cut it short, she thought. Everyone else my age does.

These two words seemed to echo: My age. The beginnings of lines across her face from stress or sun or even just time, these she saw. But truth be told, Ann still liked her hair long. It had always been long and maybe this reflected a desire to keep the youth that drew farther away every day, every new year of her 30s, with 40 bearing down like a tsunami. You’re not a girl anymore, she now had to admit while she fought with the strands in front of the mirror and remembered how it had once felt to spend time with each languid stroke of the brush.

Who was that girl with the long dark hair? Who am I?

“Mommy!”

The twins were wiggling and struggling with one another as Ann stepped into the crowded mess of toys and clothes and other knickknacks that marked their bedroom, a place she had long since given up trying to keep tidy; it was work enough to just keep things off the floor. Lizzie had her own dark hair, Jan blonde like her father. And now they were fighting over something, some stuffed toy or other.

“What is it?” Ann asked them.

“Jan took Mr. Boggie!”

“Did not!” Jan held the stuffed pink elephant close. “He’s mine!”

“Is not!”

They certainly could argue, her daughters could. They were at that age and their brother, three years older, had taught them how to do it well. A bigger place, Ann had said more than once to Richard. We need a bigger place.

Her husband shook his head. “We can’t afford it. You know that. Not unless you go back to work.”

“Daycare for three kids would cost more than I could make. And you know that. You need to tell that son of a bitch Freeman to give you a raise.”

“I tried.”

“Try again.”

Richard had looked at her. It would be another fight, or maybe an unfinished one from before. He had that look in his eyes and she was sure she did too. Money, always about that goddamned money. We agreed on one kid and now we’ve got three. Fucking useless pills. Fucking broken condoms.

Tie your tubes. Tell him to get a vasectomy.

Ouch. We’re both cowards, Ann thought. Always afraid to burn bridges. Now she looked at her two daughters.

My beautiful girls, she thought. Those two little wiggling, crying beautiful things in my arms, still wet with the afterbirth. I love you so much. Your daddy loves you. Your big brother loves you.

“Mommy! Lizzie took Mr. Boggie!”

Sundown, finally. Night. Ann closed the bedroom door, holding her breath for a few seconds just in case the noise woke one of the three. Nothing. Good.

Richard was in bed already. He had a way he looked there, with his glasses perched on the point of his nose, reading something, probably something from work. Sixty hours a week and it’s still not enough; fucking Freeman.

I want my husband back.

She parted her robe. Richard didn’t look up. She dropped it to the floor.

“Hi.”

He still didn’t look up. The tiny pink lace babydoll, the little matching panties that peeked out below. You could at least look, for Christ’s sake.

“Richard?”

Finally, a glance. A smile.

“You like it?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Ann smiled back, stepping to the bed, leaning over him to kiss him, running her hand over his chest and trying to release one of the buttons of his pajamas.

“Mommy!” Lizzie’s voice called. “Jan took Mr. Boggie!”

She finally got back, tossing the stuffed toy to the floor. Nobody gets Mr. Boggie tonight. That announcement had set off a pair of tantrums and finally her own harsh words and eventually a sullen quiet when she told them both that Mr. Boggie was tired of the fighting and the noise and he was going to sleep with Mommy and Daddy, so be quiet, be quiet, and go to sleep.

Little monsters. I love you so much, so now shut the hell up.

Christ, are they going to tell this all to a therapist someday? Ann wondered. My mean bitch of a mother, they’ll say. Look at what she did to me.

Only when she got back to the master bedroom did Ann realize that she had forgotten to put on her robe. So your daughters saw you in some “fuck me” lingerie? More things for them to tell the hypothetical future therapist.

Christ, Christ, Christ….

Richard didn’t look up this time, didn’t move or react as she tried to strike a pose, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. Ann held the position for a few seconds, then just stood there. He had taken off his glasses, at least, but hadn’t even been able to lie back or turn off the light by the bed. As she got him more comfortable Ann looked down at herself and shook her head.

You’re dressed like a whore and even that isn’t enough, she thought. You’ve got stretch marks and your ass is big. Your tits sag. You’re getting old. How long before he sees some cute secretary with perky boobs and leaves you? The tears came then, the quiet sobs. What the hell happened to me? she thought to the empty air. Who the hell am I anymore?

Finally, her own exhaustion claimed her. At least it was warm tonight.

*

A flower, a doll.

You.

These lie in darkness, and yet you can see. Look now, and wonder. Is there light outside, Ann? Somewhere?

Where am I?

She rose slowly from the place she reclined, rose and walked to the window. The air itself felt rich, felt full. Thin curtains blocked the view, but they were not so thick that she could not see.

Look. Hear the rhythm in the air. Look for it; darkness and light, both there. Do you see now? Do you hear? Like a heartbeat it comes, moving through you. Music and a voice that is a whisper, rising and falling in crescendo. The night hides all, reveals all. Truth is in the darkness, the truth you seek.

Go.

Through a door, and now you are outside. Walk, Ann. Walk and seek what you are, what you need.

Do you see him too?

He faced her now, and in the shadow of his robes, she looked up, trying to read his eyes. But these were there and not there, staring and yet impenetrable. Watch me, they said. You cannot look away. You cannot run and there is nowhere you can go.

Nowhere to hide.

Others appeared, dancing, moving in the dream that is no dream, that is you and me and everyone. You are not alone and yet you are, Ann. The strangers say nothing, but they touch you, don’t they? Fingers and palms, intimate over your flanks, your face, teasing through your perfect hair. For you are beautiful and you are desirable and you are perfect. But these strangers still say nothing, only moving in that slow, intimate dance.

She turned.

And saw him again.

The mask, the eyes, the stare. His hand comes up, extended in a command and an invitation.

Take it, Ann. Come with me.

To the dance, the eternal dance. Do you see the men there, the women, the ones who are both and neither? Do you see their masks also? They too are hidden, but they know you. They know every thought, every desire, every need you have and have ever had.

Who is this stranger, the one whose hand beckons? Who is the one who is frightening but who you cannot resist? Your own eyes are dark now, in shadow, for you have left the light behind. The sun and its glory have abandoned Ann and become Ann.

Who is she, the one who steps forward now?

Go.

Follow him. Follow him forever. He may vanish but he will always reappear, and you are bound now, have gone too far to ever escape.

A hallway, and she walked. Steps in her heels, the impossible, intimate sensation of her thighs, just brushing together as she moved, the feel of the silk stockings that sheathed them, the feel of a dress impossibly thin. The passing of air in her nose, her lungs, always hungering for him, for this stranger, this man in a mask whose eyes could see but who could not be seen.

Dance now, Ann, a multitude. Hands caressing, each face hidden, faces you will not remember but that you can never forget. She moved into them, into the hands, felt their soft touches, their caresses.

Who are you, Ann? Who are they? Are you the same?

The stranger again, there.

Touch me, he says without words. Look. Your eyes are all.

He took her hand and led her.

And now her last resistance crumbled. She was his, fully, totally. And still no word from him, only his touch, his command, his caress. Follow me, Ann. Obey me and feel. Obey me and know who you really are, behind the façades we all erect, that are what we show the world. You may lie to them, Ann, to that world, but you can never lie to me.

I am the stranger. I am night.

The hands then, caressing her, all of them. Touching as she had so long begged to be touched, filling her deepest needs, bringing her into the darkness she so desired but dared not admit, all under the gaze of the stranger.

Give in. Let go.

Become.

And now, the final act. The others had gone, vanishing into the mists of her desire. Only the stranger remained, and she gasped in fear and desire as he gripped her hair, as he drew her head back, raising her face to look into the mask, into the nothingness that was everything.

Pain and desire together, helpless. His broad chest, bare and male and perfect, his strength pulling her to her back.

Please…. Please…. Take me….

Forever. Ecstasy and helplessness.

And then he stood over her, and then he walked away, disappearing into the light and the shadows of morning.

*

Lips on hers as her eyes fluttered open. The familiar face, the gentle smile.

“Richard?” she asked.

“Hi. You okay? You cried out.”

The haze began to clear. Her husband’s hand moved down, over the skin of her flank. Before she could answer he leaned in to kiss her again.

“You know,” he said, “you’re beautiful when you wake up. I always love that.” His hand moved to her thigh. “And I think the kids are still sleeping. We have some time.”

Torger Vedeler

Image – Pixabay.com – a picture of an unmade bed with white bedding.