Nightshift

Nightshift — 1,008 words

Walking through the art gallery, wondering why my co-worker, Joan, asked me to come here, I rounded the corner and stared at a pastel drawing … of myself. “Holy shit, that’s me!” It really was. In my favorite clothes, sitting on a bed with one hand extended in front, palm up, short, curly strawberry blonde hair, hollow-eyed profile…it was definitely me.

I hurried back across the street to the restaurant where Joan, a new employee from my office, was waiting for me. Sliding into the booth I looked at her quizzically as she asked, “Did you see it?”

“You mean the drawing of me? I saw it. I noticed the artist has the same first name as me and the same last name as you.”

“Yes, that’s my daughter, Jennifer.” Joan answered. “The first day I saw you at work I was amazed at the resemblance between you and that painting. Does the picture have any meaning to you?”

“Yeah, it has meaning. My grandmother was a healer…with her hands. I watched her do her magic many times when I was a kid. Once she healed my uncle when a friend ran over his face with his football cleats. That was nasty.” Now I watched Joan’s face, wondering if I shared more, how it would affect our relationship at work. I took the risk.

“A few years ago I was at some friends house up the mountain, picking blackberries. Roger got stung on the face by a bee. He was allergic and didn’t have his EpiPen. His wife ran back through the woods, hoping there was one in the car. There wasn’t. I stood watching him die, wishing there were something I could do. Then I heard my grandmother as though she was talking to me from the other world, ‘You can do this. I will help you.’ I did what she said, with my hands, my thoughts; feeling the energy roll through me like a burst of light, down through my head and out my hand. After a few minutes working on him the bump on his forehead went away. He got up like nothing had happened. His wife was so amazed she asked if I could do that to help her stop smoking! After that I helped people whenever I could. But I have never worked on your daughter. How did she know about me?”

Joan looked at me, deeply. “That’s her story to tell. I’ll ask her to come by at noon tomorrow.”

The next day I was eating lunch in the courtyard when Joan came out with her daughter.

“Oh my God! When mom told me you really exist I didn’t believe her,” and Jennifer gave me a hug.

“The point is how do I exist for you? Sit with me, have some tea, tell me your story.”

“One night I was closing the restaurant where I work and was assaulted by a customer who was hiding in the bathroom. Afterward I called the police and they took me to the hospital to be checked. Mom came and got me and took me back to her house.

“In bed, alone, crying, I wanted to die. I felt the bed shift. Thinking it was mom I rolled over and you were sitting there. This light came through the ceiling, filled you, and you started floating it over me with your hand. It calmed me completely, took away my pain. You worked on me for several minutes. Then you disappeared. I thought you were a ghost. I got up and did the pastel drawing right then so I wouldn’t forget.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I said, “This is bizarre! I do this kind of healing work when I’m awake but you are telling me I do it while I sleep and you can see me? I had no idea I do it while I sleep, too. How is that even possible? No wonder I wake up so tired some mornings. When did this happen?”

“About three years ago.”

Her answer shocked me. “The thing is…I didn’t live here in town then. I lived in the county on a farm. I had long red hair. It was during that time I began to do this healing work. But you saw me then, as I am now. Weird. I’d like to buy that drawing.”

“Oh it’s not for sale. I couldn’t part with it,” Jennifer said, firmly.

“Then you’d better take the price off, ” I told her.

“There is no price tag. It’s not for sale,” she said adamantly.

“All the other paintings have your beautiful business cards attached, but this one has a little white card, with the words, LOOKING FOR THE LIGHT $250. It looks like someone typed it on an old typewriter.”

Jennifer looked at me, stunned. “I’m going to the gallery to see. I’ll be back,” and she left.

A few minutes later Jennifer came with the drawing and gave it to me. “I did not put this card there. I’ve never seen it before. But $250 is exactly what I need to pay my bills right now and I don’t have it. I think you are supposed to have this. Thank you.”

I thanked her, wrote a check, took the drawing, and we hugged goodbye.

Later, hanging it on the wall in my bedroom, I attached a current photo of myself to the back, a testament to the truth of this extraordinary event.

In bed that night I watched the woman in the painting as if she might come alive, climb down off the wall, and head out of the house to look for people in need of her services.

Finally I shut off the lamp, closed my eyes, and drifted off, willing myself to remember what happened while I slept. But I didn’t. Totally and completely unaware of any escape my spirit might make into the world of the living, my body shut down into the death-like sleep that would keep me oblivious.