THE CHANGE

THE CHANGE

It was a pitch-black night, a night so dark that it forced her to walk slowly with one hand outstretched in a blindly desperate, breath-held search for obstacles or danger. It was the kind of night that required alertness and whispered of danger.

She was but a child, small and timid, a child so quiet as to be frequently forgotten, a silent observer in a world of chaos, for she saw what others could not, heard what others did not, witnessed things that no one around her could explain, should she have the courage to break her silence and ask.

In truth, there were a couple of precious moments when she gathered enough nerve to speak of her fears, of the things that haunted her and the things that they said; yet she was but a small thing, and those around her did not see her agony, did not see her fear, and could not name that which tortured her. In truth, she was easy to overlook, for she took great care to blend in, to not be noticed, to hide.

Every night she snuggled deep under her covers and placed her pillows firmly over her head, for shadows walked within her room and voices could be heard throughout the night; two voices arguing in a manner both angry and defiant, and one who called from the orchard. Tired and frightened, she would draw deeper into her covers and shut her eyes tightly, determined to hide from that which scared her, determined to ignore anything that could not be explained. 

That worked for a little while. Her cocoon of blankets, pillows, and exhaustion kept the noises at bay and allowed her to ignore the shadows that shifted through the room. It was the visit - that is the first visit - that drew her out of her sanctuary forever. It changed her in a way that was both profound and negligible, for although she was changed, no one noticed.

That night was like any other. She went to bed just as the shadows were gathering in the corner of her room. She hugged her mother with the kind of desperation that begged, silently as usual, that she not be left in the darkness, where she was never alone. Yet her mother left with kisses and whispers of love and safety. 

If the little one was safe, she did not feel it, for the world loomed large and dark before her, bearing things that only she could see. Although she buried herself deep within the blankets, she could not ignore the sound that bled through the blankets’ insulating comfort. It was the sound of someone – someone very young – crying in a most pitiful manner.

The little one was scared. She scrunched up her eyes and covered her ears with trembling hands. Yet she could still hear the crying – the crying of someone more vulnerable – the sound of someone in need – the sound of someone in the room.

At last, she could stand it no longer. Gathering every shred of courage from every fiber of her tiny being, she threw off her covers and came out from the safety of her pillows.

What she saw sent her back there with a small cry, shivering and praying, hoping that somehow when she looked again it would all be gone. Yet when she gathered her fragile strength and looked again, she saw that very thing that she hoped, with all of her heart, she would not see. 

Before her, in varying shades of gray and white mist, was the spirit of a child who could not rest.  

She screamed. Yet her scream went unnoticed, for her mother was a heavy sleeper and her father was rarely home. There were no comforting arms to hold her.  There was no avenging hero to protect her. Although she was just a child, this moment was hers to handle, for better or worse, despite her fear, despite her horror.

There was a child before her, smaller and obviously even more vulnerable, and though not of flesh and blood, a child afraid and in need.

An astounding thing happened, for at that moment, that part of the little girl that ached to be needed, that burned to make a difference, responded with passionate protectiveness, overcoming and indeed, overwhelming her fear. With a tumbling bounce, she found herself standing before the small spirit with her hand outstretched in friendship.

“Don’t be afraid”, she said with a quivering voice, though she couldn’t be sure if she was speaking to the little spirit or to herself, for she shook from head to toe.

The tiny spirit wailed even louder as it moved with a toddler’s awkward steps towards the little girl.  Despite her intent to be brave, to protect, she gasped and took one step back, placing her back against the wall.

“Don’t be afraid”, she said again in a whisper, although this time it was decidedly for herself.

She couldn’t help but notice that she could see her doll on a shelf behind the small spirit; that is, she could see the doll’s image through the translucent body of the spirit. She swallowed hard, unnerved by the image, by this verification of a transparent toddler, a spirit.

The spirit whimpered and moved closer still. 

The little girl gasped and then held her breath for a moment, as though somehow that would bring relief to her wildly beating heart.  Still, the spirit moved closer, with whimpering innocence, in obvious need. 

She stared at the little spirit with curiosity, compassion overcoming fear. 

“Why are you crying?” she asked softly

The little spirit stopped moving and appeared to stare back. Its features were revealed as shadows on a pale, gauzy face, moving to reflect emotions that ranged from fear to confusion.

“I miss my mama!” A little spirit wailed, in an echoing, otherworldly voice. “I can’t find my mama!” Again, a wail emanated from the traumatized toddler, a wail that pierced the little girl’s heart, for so desperate and frightened a wail it was.

She knelt down before the little spirit, “Don’t cry, I will help you find her.”

The little spirit stopped wailing and moved closer, “Do you know where she is?”

“I think so,” replied the little girl as resolve replaced fear. 

The little girl remembered a voice that she often heard calling in the wee hours of the morning, coming from the direction of the orchard.  It was the voice of a woman, calling in a pleading and desperate voice. Although she could never make out what the voice was saying, it all became crystal clear to her at that moment. She knew what to do.

“Follow me,” she said to the little spirit. “I think I know where to look.” 

Soon she was walking barefoot in the chill of pre-dawn, seeking yet another spirit to comfort the one that trailed behind her.

She began to hear the voice that she was seeking coming from the orchard, and more than that, she began to feel the desperation and sorrow that spirit bore. 

The little spirit flitted along behind her so quietly that she kept looking back to see if it followed at all.

           At last, they arrived at the orchard. Mist rose from the ground, illuminated by the first rays of dawn.  The little girl held her breath.  Although the sound of someone weeping could be heard, there was no sign of the little spirit’s mother.

The little girl turned to the tiny spirit, who stood in the middle of the orchard with an air of confusion. 

“Call your mama.” She said in a timid voice.

“Mama! Mama!” the little spirit called, “Mama, where are you? Mama, I’m lost!” The little spirit began to cry again, in deep tumultuous sobs. 

A figure formed at the end of the orchard, the figure of a portly woman standing with her hands on her hips.

“Rosalee! Rosalee!” a great sob could be heard. It was the sob of a mother whose sorrow was boundless; overwhelmed now by hope.

The tiny spirit turned towards the portly figure at the end of the orchard and cried out again, “Mama!”  

With an eerie swift grace, the two spirits came together. The little girl smiled as tears poured down her face, for she could feel their joy, their love. The spirits entwined and began to rise towards the sky. Finally, with one great burst of warmth and light, they were gone.

The little girl shivered in the cool mist of the morning, yet dawn had come, and with it, understanding of the gift that she had been graced with.  Courage and accomplishment brought strength to her tremulous heart. 

She went back to the house and into her mother’s room. Curling up next to her mother, she slept soundly for the first time in her life, having conquered the fear that bound her.