Not All Who Wander Are Lost

Marion is sitting in her mid-century aqua armchair in a five-hundred-square-feet warmly-lit room, drenched in cold sweat, feeling this heavy dread inside of her. It feels like there is this impending doom perforating every atom in the room, making the air oppressive and difficult to breathe in. Marion is directly facing this plush cognac colored velvet loveseat, with a walnut colored side table next to it. On it, there is a mug with an image of a black and shiny majestic Friesian horse galloping, with long and curly manes, powerful shoulders with a muscular physique. The mug begins to fill itself to the brim with prescription pills until they splatter onto the side table; then, blood begins filling up the mug, spilling onto everywhere: the table, hardwood floor, velvet couch. The blood doesn’t stop gushing, filling up the room rapidly with items beginning to float around. Marion, horrified, wide eyed, frozen in place, is stuck to the armchair, unable to mobilize. She looks down at her chest and notices that she is already halfway submerged in the blood that’s rising so furiously she will soon drown in it. With her heart tightening up, blood rising, she takes one last last gasp of air left inside of her. Completely immersed in an ocean of blood, she starts choking and suffocating, and as soon as her eyes being to close, she springs up in her bed, sweat soaked from this recurring nightmare–only this time, she finds herself in a waffle terry cloth robe at a hotel room in Portland, Maine, on this rare opportunity of a family vacation trip with her husband, Roan, and her eleven-year-old daughter Reya, a trip planned out of guilt.

After visiting Bar Harbour and Funtown Splashtown, they’re in Portland, their final destination. Marion, Roan and Reya decide to take the off-the-beaten path road, as they’ve always done and visit an art gallery, the Greenhut Galleries, Portland's oldest year-round gallery featuring a plethora of contemporary and local artists. They attend an opening reception of a painter showcasing his paintings of interesting perspectives of bridges, buildings, in the cities of Maine. The family trio is studying this impressionist-like painting of a graffiti mural. When Marion begins to move onto the next painting while still eying the current one, she bumps into a woman causing her to spill most of her white wine on the floor. Oh! I am so sorry! The porcelain-skinned woman, petite yet husky in stature, slightly younger than Marion–who is thirty-five years old–dresses all in black with a crop top with high-waisted jeans, an outfit that’s accentuated by her silky, dusty pink bandana with floral and paisley prints, hair neatly done up in a dutch crown braid and with her crimson red lip. Something about this woman sparks a natural ease, openness, inexplicable closeness within Marion that she has rarely experienced before. They exchange a few pleasantries before heading to the wine and hor d’oeuvre station. The woman starts talking about her family lineage, prompted by Marion’s interest in her last name. Ava Belisle, a second-generation French immigrant whose family lineage consists of nuns and priests–some even famous. Ava mentions that even if they are further down the family lineage from the religious family members, both her father and mother both are still quite devout, which stifles Ava’s relationship with her parents, to the point where issues are swept under the rug and serious ones–including her mental health–are not addressed appropriately. Marion listens intently and empathizes with Ava about not being heard. Marion feels strangely maternal toward Ava, albeit not in a patronizing way. And how funny, I can’t talk to my family about much but here I am, opening up to a complete stranger. Ava proceeds to ask Marion about her reason for visiting and her life back in Cincinnati, Ohio. Likewise, Marion begins revealing her struggles with balancing her demanding work life and family life, and still feeling as though she’s not doing enough. How about that: When are women going to stop feeling guilty about their successful careers? Marion continues: Even when I find the time to spend with my daughter, I avoid intimate moments of bonding, for the fear of what…I don’t know. I feel guilty all the time for being this way. After awhile, they both agree to exchange phone numbers.

Couple of days later, Marion, Roan and Reya decide to partake in a scavenger hunt walking tour as a fun, unique way to experience the city. They unexpectedly bump into Ava, who is the single person who needs to join a group. Oddly, Ava never responded to the texts that Marion sent her, despite having read them. After Ava has joined the group, they proceed with some awkward silences and introductions before getting on with the game. They were able to locate historic buildings’ emblems, paintings, antique furniture, and a specific lobster boat. The next clue pops up:

Play me a tune of Beethoven’s Moon Sonata (Piano Sonata No. 14, Op. 27) where the pin oak tree sways, blue herons, blackback gulls and snowy egret sing, and the water dances, waves bobbing up and down. 

As they walk along the cobblestone path in the Old Port district, Marion and Ava continue to carry on a painfully stunted conversation. Marion finally probes, asking if Ava is ok. Sensing a level of trust with Marion, Ava reveals she is in fact struggling with some mental health issues that are causing her manic mood swings. This revelation leads to a surge of energy and revival within Ava, prompting them to work studiously, figuring out the present clue, which is a piano. Upon arrival at the entrance of the Back Cove Trail, they begin strolling along the gravel trail where Linden trees mixed with Balsam Fir and Pin Oak trees line the path. As they walk further east, they finally spot the upright maple wood piano with baby pink primrose flowers and sky blue leaves painted on the fallboard and the sides in the meadow laying against a pin oak tree. When they reach the site, Roan hastily snaps a picture of the piano and uploads it onto the app, checking off the item found. As Roan and Reya begin to wander off, Marion and Ava approach the piano, inspecting it, feeling the smooth yet mildly rough texture of the wood with its slits and grooves, and the outline of the flowers. Did you know I know how to play this song by heart? I played this at a piano recital. Ava starts testing out the keys and showing Marion how to play it. As soon as their fingers brush each other’s by accident, both Ava and Marion suddenly experience a flashback of scarlet color blood gushing out of the bathtub with Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, No. 14, Op. 27, playing in the background, with the same black-horse mug on the ledge of the bathtub. They also feel a déjà vu, with this eerie sense of familiarity that they both have been in this similar situation before, where Marion is comforting her by caressing her back. They both step away from each other, startled and terrified. They stare into each other’s eyes to see if they could recognize each other somehow, like maybe they’ve known each other briefly in their childhood. Marion is also perturbed by the deluge of blood, which has been a similar recurrence in her and Ava’s dreams. Sorry, hmm, I am suddenly not feeling so well. Have a great rest of the trip, and it was really lovely meeting you all. Ava jogs away as she lazily waves goodbye to Roan and Reya who are on the trail. Why did I see a bathtub full of blood spewing out, similar to my dreams? Also, the black-horse mug! None of this makes sense. Why did I see this with Ava? Who is she? Why do I feel like I’ve known her my whole life?

On her last day in Portland, Marion decides to go souvenir shopping. Walking along the venetian red cobblestone paths lined with nineteenth century brick buildings, boutique shops, eateries packed in closely together, Marion feels a pull toward this new age shop called “Maya’s Den.” As soon as Marion walks in the store, she is overpowered by the pungent smell of earthy, piney, sweet fragrance. The shop is like a medieval apothecary with wooden ceiling beams, walls outfitted with rustic walnut wooden shelves, and the floor bearing antique black and white hexagonal mosaic tiles. The shelves are packed with every woo-woo and holistic item imaginable from essential oils, vitamins supplements, crystals and gems, Chinese Ayurvedic and Western herbs to natural soaps and shampoos. Wafting through a crowd of people in this tiny humid space, Marion reaches the centerpiece of the store, a round walnut table filled with this month’s hot items.

Then, suddenly, she sees Ava emerging from the crowd. Delighted, frightened, surprised at their chance encounter, they hesitantly broach the subject of the odd occurrence at Back Cove Trail and apologize about the strangeness of their meetups, but ultimately agree that they enjoy each other’s newfound friendship amidst the rubbles in their lives. They chalk up the incident as a coincidence of flashbacks they prefer to bury. The comforting familiarity is reborn within Marion and Ava. They both relinquish the stress that has been weighing on them and shift their gazes at the crystals and gems at the centerpiece table, especially this giant Herkimer crystal sitting on a triangular display stand, an extremely clear and sparkly quartz with anthraxolite inclusion. In awe, they proceed to touch its crevices. Upon making contact, flashbacks of the tub, blood, couch, mug, immediately flood their minds once again. They both retract and stare at each other intently so as to try to construe the meaning of such an occurrence. Ava steps back, takes a deep gulp and looks back at Marion, as if she’s trying to find the answer from her.

Determined, unwavering, stronger together, they decide to push through and resume laying their index fingers on different pointed edges of the crystal. This time, they close their eyes and linger despite the initial images storming their minds. Marion finds herself once again sitting in the same mid-century armchair in this compact, stifling room. For as long as she had been sitting here before, for once, nothing disastrous is happening. Aside from the black-horse mug, she surveys other objects in the room this time: the vintage mustard floral wallpaper; a legal pad notebook on her lap with inscrutable writings; behind her, a vintage walnut executive office desk styled with a mid-century brass lamp and forest green vintage leather swivel chair; a frame of her graduation certificate; and in the corner next to her desk, a bird of paradise plant in a rattan plant stand. When she finally turns her head back toward the sofa, she comes face to face with a younger, teenage Ava sitting on the couch, who is wearing her dark chocolate brown hair down in curls, dressed in an off-white shirred up collar buttoned up blouse under a green cable knit cardigan and a brown pleated wool skirt. Ava starts to wail in agony with her contorted somber expressions, and tries to talk but no sounds come out. Marion tries to leave her chair to console her but feels her legs shackled with sandbags. Ava then dashes out of the room, but Marion remains paralyzed. She then buries her head into both of her hands, sobbing.

Then suddenly, she feels something wet and slippery dripping down her thighs. It is blood gushing out of her wrists, but she sees no visible wound. She then looks up and finds herself in Ava’s bathroom, seeing her lifeless body in the bathtub, her hands slung over the edge with her wrists slit, pools of blood pouring out of the tub. Marion screams in horror.

Terror-stricken and letting out shrill cries, both Marion and Ava wake up from their trance, startling the customers in the shop. 

“Excuse me madams, is everything ok here?” A staff member–wearing a ruby red silk kaftan dress–asks. Marion and Ava nod their heads.

“You ladies don’t look ok…Something has greatly disturbed you. I noticed you were touching the Herkimer crystal, a powerful stone that…can provoke…clairvoyant or psychic vision abilities. ” She studies them both, “ I am Maya, the psychic in this store. May I interest you in a reading? On the house, might I add.” 

They enter a dimly lit room behind the shop with purple and red velvet tapestry draped on the walls and take their seats at the round table.

“Ok, Marion and Ava,” Marion and Ava look at each other in shock since they haven’t said their names, “Well, I am a clairvoyant. Anyway, this will be quite unconventional, as to how I normally conduct these sessions. Now, I am a psychic of all sorts, but as you already know, I possess clairvoyant abilities where I can look into past lives and help you uncover insights to help guide you on your journey. Between the two of you two, there is this heavy, heavy, dark energy I have not seen with my clients in quite awhile. I don’t even need any of my tools. Just looking at the both of you, it’s already taking the wind out of my sails, but I want to see this through.”

“I am sorry, see what through?” Marion asks.

“This stuck energy inside the both of you–whether it stems from your current or past lives–is unhealthy. It is wrecking your lives.”

“I am sorry, did you say past life?”

“Yes.”

“This is crazy.” Ava says.

“Be that as it may, I need to look into it and find out what’s going on. Because stuck past lives, stuck souls will continue screaming into your dreams every night. This agony, so fierce, so afflicted, has already spilled into your current waking life, and is eating you up day by day, when one day, you will wake up and realize you’re not living the life of your own–not the one you truly want.” Marion and Ava concede, knowing they have no choice but to continue.

“Now, my dears, give me both of your hands and join me in closing your eyes. I’ll need to take a few minutes or so, so please bear with me.” With both Marion and Ava’s hands burrowed in Maya’s, Maya takes a couple of deep breaths and sits in silence as her eyeballs begin to roll sideways, back and forth. About five minutes later, Maya lets out a grunt and recoils like she’s convulsing.

“Adelaide dear, it’s not your fault honey,” Maya begins to let out a long, yearning wail and sob with a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks, “You were a child who did not have a chance at life. You had a condition that doctors, psychologists couldn’t understand, diagnose and treat. Then, with that terrible incident, over and over again, nobody believed you. You had no choice. It’s not your fault, dear, it’s not your fault, you are loved eternally by the heavens and the Gods.”

Maya continues to cry. Then suddenly, her commotions stop. Marion and Ava open their eyes looking at each other in disbelief, then close their eyes once again as Maya begins to grip their hands tight again. She returns to her grunting and erratic breathing, “Dolores, you were a psychologist at a time where schizophrenia was not well-understood and treated. With Adelaide’s condition, how could you also have known for sure what was happening in her family home? You did your best with the resources you had; this was an unavoidable however tragic fate. Please do not blame yourself.” After a few deep breaths, Maya opens her eyes and lets their hands go.

“What was that? I don’t…quite understand what just happened. What does all of that have to do with…with…”

“With our recurring dreams, of the blood, the cup with the horse, the tub.” Ava interjects.

“You see, Marion…and Ava, as it turns out, you two were connected in your past lives, I believe in around the 1950’s. You two knew each other. Marion, you were Dolores Barnett…a psychologist treating Ava, who was Adelaide Reed. It turns out Ava, I mean Adelaide, was suffering from schizophrenia, a condition that Dolores misdiagnosed as multiple personality disorders and administered…the wrong drugs and treatment. Adelaide’s condition suffered, and while Adelaide was lucky her parents didn't just ship her off to an asylum, she was continually being treated by Dolores, a woman, might I say, ahead of her time, exploring the use of psychoanalysis, talk therapy. Unfortunately, shortly thereafter, Adelaide began talking about uncomfortable and scary nights she was sharing with her Uncle Jack, who was in fact sexually molesting her. Dolores thought this was another one of her delusions and didn’t pay heed until it was too late. Adelaide was so broken and destitute that she finally took her own life, leading her to slit her wrists in her bathtub. Dolores was irreparably heartbroken after. She blamed everything: the limits of the time when she was making headway and progressing into the study of schizophrenia only to be dismissed by her male boss and her peers, and mostly, she blamed herself for not seeing when Adelaide was suffering this traumatic incident. She blamed herself for not trying more, for not being there for Adelaide in the way she needed to be. Adelaide was only 13 years old. Overwhelmed by this guilt, Dolores eventually took her life. Now…I know this is a lot for both of you to process. And, I am not guaranteeing it will work, but the both of you…will need to start finding a way to forgive yourselves and each other, listen to yourself, listen to each other…truly listen in order…to appease the past souls of your former lives…to lessen the recurrence of your dreams…to lessen the pains in your current life…to release hopefully this lingering trauma.”