Never Really Alone

Chapter Eight

When I opened my eyes I was lying on a bench in the train station and much to my surprise, Stephen was hovering over me instead of my mother.  I just naturally assumed my mother would have taken charge of me and excluded Stephen.  But here he was holding my hand and gently dabbing my forehead with his now-dampened handkerchief.  I tried to sit up but he would have none of it.  "Just lie still for a minute until you cool down a bit.  I think the heat was too much for you Sarah.  We should have waited inside."

Miranda Jean was standing right next to him and she had her hand on my shoulder.  "It's about time you opened up your eyes Sarah Jane!  I've only been waiting for about forever, y'know!  But you sure didn't have to faint, did you?"

I couldn't believe she was back and I had no idea what she meant about waiting for me, truth be told I really didn't care what she meant.  I was just elated that she was back.  Though I certainly couldn't let my folks know she was there.  So I decided to go with Stephen's theory and blame the whole incident on the heat.  "You're right, Stephen.  It's awfully warm out there, isn't it?  I'm so sorry everybody.  Mom and Dad, Sousa, this is Stephens Kilpatrick, my fiance'.  Stephen, this is..."

My father actually grinned.  "We already took care of that, Sarah Jane.  We kind of figured it out when we were carrying you inside.  Are you feeling strong enough to get up now?"

I sat up and kind of turned my head from side to side, kind of like a test run.  "Everything seems to be in working order.  I guess we better get your luggage over to Aggie's and get you all settled in, okay?"  It seemed to me that in any case, the best possible course of action would be normalcy.  Although how that was going to happen now that Miranda Jean was back was just a bit beyond my understanding.

Contrary to my rising panic, it wasn't difficult at all to maintain the illusion of the absence of Miranda Jean.  For some reason, and I have my theories, I found it easier now to hide her existence than I did when I was still living at home.  For one thing when I was back home, the atmosphere, for lack of a better word, was always tense.  My relationship with both of my parents was strained and edgy.  Some of the time I was on psychotropic medications and some of the time I wasn't, so the definitive line between reality and fantasy was not a constant for me.  It wasn't so much a feeling of walking about on eggshells as walking on the green sapling branch of a tree held over a thundering waterfall.  The branch wasn't strong enough to keep me from falling, but it was also too weak to hold me up so I could climb back to the bank.  Without malice or intent my parents, in the end, encouraged this state-of-mind.  Popping me to and fro like a ping-pong ball between home and Dr. Rudolph and his hospital of holy head-shrinkers.  Is it any wonder why I was unable to consistently cover up my twin's many visits?

In Arizona I had finally gotten a chance to completely 'wake-up' and find out who I really was, in a sense meet myself.  I learned who Sarah Jane Foster really was, and I was beginning to like her.  I was calmer and I liked to think things through before I acted.  I found out that I was funny and a good listener and I found out that I wasn't afraid anymore.  If Miranda Jean had never come back, I would have grieved for her and I doubt I ever would have healed completely.  But I also know I wouldn't be scared to be alone, I would be alright. 

So now that she was back, I could easily take her existence as a normal part of my life.  Or maybe I should re-phrase that and say she was a normal part of me, as if she were a part of my body or my soul.  Granted, most people don't go around talking to parts of their body or soul, most normal people that is, but what is normal?  At any rate, I found it much easier to pretend that she wasn't there when there were other people in the room. 

It wasn't until late that evening that she and I had a chance to be alone.  There had been the obligatory family dinner with my family, Jonah, Stephen and Aggie, and as those things go, it went pretty well.  My folks have that kind of cold, midwestern "We don't know you and don't care to" kind of reserve, but it didn't take long for Aggie and Jonah to draw them out and make them feel welcome.  Though Sousa and Aggie had become instant friends as soon as we arrived.  Sousa asked Aggie if she had any honey she might put in her coffee.  Putting honey in coffee was one of Aggie's secret vices that she believed nobody else in the world shared, and when she heard that, she began laughing and hugged Sousa so hard, I though her eyes might pop right out of her head.  After explaining the reason for the hug and dousing their coffee with generous helpings of that devil, honey, they also found out about some other shared habits and spent a good portion of the evening sharing cigarettes on the back porch.

Finally there we were, the two of us sitting there on my bed, door closed just like when we were small and we refused to sleep in our own beds.  We'd be all bathed, storied and tucked in nice and tight each in our separate, downy space, and two minutes wouldn't have passed before I had jumped into her bed or she into mine.  I don't think we ever slept alone, not even once right up until the day Miranda Jean died.  For a fleeting second the memory brought the trace of a tear to my eyes, but I swallowed hard and shook it off.  "Where have you been?  It's been months and months.  I've been trying to find you since before I left home."  Although the questions sounded stern, they issued forth from a smiling mouth and joyful eyes.  I was so elated that she was back in my life, her hands in mine.

She continued to hold my hands but the smile on her face showed concern.  Her eyes and the corners of her mouth turned downward and then I saw a shiny, wet tear slowly slide down her cheek and drip onto her sun-suit.  I let go her hands and wiped the wetness from her cheek.  As I did, she reached up and put her arms around my neck and squeezed me tightly for a moment.  "Sarah Jane, it's like before, it's like before only worse, way worse."

I didn't understand what she was saying.  I only knew she was upset and a feeling of sadness as deep as the sea was coming off her in waves.  It washed over me like an over-sized black, sticky spider web.  "Tell me what you're talking about, Miranda Jean, I don't understand.  What's happening to you?"

When she looked up at me she tried to smile, it was so clear that she was trying to overcome whatever it was that she feared.  "It's not me, it's you.  I've been here all along.  Every time you called me.  I answered and every time you looked for me, I was there.  I was there back home and I was there on the bus; I was even there that night in the tree-house.  I've been here in Arizona from the beginning.  But you just won't see me, Sarah Jane.  You just won't look at me.  What did I do?  Are you mad at me?  I don't mind about Stephen, honest I don't.  I think he's nice, I do, really."

I could feel my heart start to pound really, really fast and I felt hot all over and it had nothing to do with the weather.  She'd been there the whole time, she hadn't gone anywhere.  It was me.  I was the problem.  I hadn't seen her.  It was me.  What had I done?  Could it happen again?  Would I make her vanish again?  What if she went away forever?  It was me.  It was me.  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."  I put my arms around her and we rocked back and forth just a bit, until we both felt better, or at least until I did.  I couldn't be sure about Miranda Jean anymore.  I couldn't be sure about anything anymore.  I held my breath and took a stab at hope and the future.  "But you're here now and I can see you now and that's good.  Let's just hope you're here to stay.  But I do have one question, why were you on the train?"

"Well, you couldn't see me here by myself, so I went to the station with you and while you were waiting I decided to get on the train.  I thought maybe Mom or Dad or maybe Sousa might kind of feel me there.  But nothing happened, well kind of nothing.  I kept blowing in Sousa's face really hard, and after a few minutes she started kind of looking up and down and all around her, kind of funny-like.  I think she might have known I was there."  Her spirits, so to say, were rising and there was a smile on her face again.

"You could be right; Sousa always believed me.  She's the only one who ever did.  Did Mom do anything or see anything?"

"You know the answer to that, Sarah Jane."

I nodded.  "Yes, I guess I do.  I was just hoping."

"Like Sousa used to say, 'No point hoping for pebbles to turn into pennies', no point hoping for Mom to see me, is there? Except..."

"Except what?"

"Well, I was just fooling around and I said, 'BOO!' real loud right in front of her face, and she didn't jump or anything, but it seemed like her eyes got really big for a second.  No, probably just my imagination, don't you think so?"

"I think so, maybe you're the one who should go and see Dr. Rudolph."

"That's not funny, Sarah Jane."

"I'm sorry, I was just making a joke, I wasn't serious.  You know I didn't mean it."  I took hold of her hand and held it tightly.  She looked so stricken for a moment.

"I know," she said.  "It's just that I don't want to be where you can't find me again.  Okay?"

"Okay."  And we climbed under the covers and slept soundly until the alarm buzzed at five-thirty bringing a new day with its own set of challenges.

I hardly think I could have gotten through the next couple of days without Miranda Jean by my side.  It was obvious that she had to remain a secret, but she provided literally, the cool touch of reason amid the madness that leads up to a wedding.  One might ask how a child of seven could provide a sense of sanity to any situation and it would be a valid question.  But it wasn't so much her words or her actions, but more simply, just her presence that steadied me and gave me the peace I needed to get through those taxing wedding jitters and more. 

I had of course, told Stephen that she had returned at the first opportunity we had to be alone, and once again he had surprised me with his easy support and love.  In point of fact, he made me envious of the childhood he must have spent to have grown into the extraordinary man he had become, and I felt lucky that someday my children would have Jonah for a grandfather. 

It was Friday, the day before the wedding and I had taken time off from the diner to take care of last minute things and spend some time with my family.  But by the time I was up, dressed and downstairs with Miranda Jean in tow, I found all three of them sharing the paper on the back porch with what was obviously their second or third cups of coffee, post-breakfast.  When I offered to take them sight-seeing I was told by my father that they were quite fine right where they were and I was to just go about my business and pretend they weren't even there.  I got the message and went into the kitchen to pour myself a cup and check my list of things-to-do. 

It was then that Stephen showed up on the front porch, and before he could even knock, I was on my feet and ushering him inside.  Miranda Jean, obviously feeling a bit ignored, turned once again into the trickster she'd always been, and making herself nearly transparent, walked right through Stephen.  He of course didn't feel a thing, but my eyes went wide and I started giggling.

"What's so funny?  Have I put my shirt on inside out or something?"  He began to check his clothes and even went so far as to peer into the oval mirror that hung in the front hallway.  Seeing nothing odd, he smiled and said, "C'mon Sarah, I don't get it, give me a hint at least."

I put my arms around him and kissed him, and when I did I could feel Miranda Jean putting her small, seven-year-old arms around our legs, hugging both of us.  "It's not you, honey, really."

He tilted his head and looked at me.  "If it's not me and I doubt you're suddenly laughing at yourself, is there something you want to tell me?  Maybe something to do with why you fainted yesterday?"

Miranda Jean took hold of my hand and pulled on it.  I looked down at her surprised eyes and a smile that was quickly spreading across her face.  "Maybe we should sit down, or maybe you don't need to, since you already seem to know what I have to tell you.  She's come back Stephen.  Miranda Jean came back yesterday, at the station.  I saw her when they got off the train and I was so shocked, between the surprise and the heat I guess it was too much and I just lost it."

He put his arms around me and held me close for a moment without saying a word.  Then he leaned back, brushed my hair out of my eyes and said, "I'm so glad for you Sarah.  I know how you've been missing her.  I know how much she means to you."

Even though he had been understanding when I first told him about Miranda Jean.  I couldn't believe my ears.  I thought to myself, 'Did he really say what I think he said?'  It was impossible.  It felt as though the world had turned upside-down and inside-out.  As if, were I to go outside I would find dogs walking people and houses made of graham crackers.  "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I am.  Why wouldn't I be?  I trust you Sarah, you know that."

I looked down at Miranda Jean and back at Stephen and smiled.  "It just takes some getting used to, I guess.  Having people believe me, I mean.  It's kind of unnerving, you know?"

He laughed.  "I guess so."  He paused for a moment as if he was turning something over and over in his mind and it turned out he was.  "Sarah, is she here now?  Can you talk to her?  Can I talk to her?"

For the second time in the span of about one minute he had stunned me again.  Did the sun still rise in the east and set in the west?  I didn't think I would ever be able to breathe normally again.  Talk to her, he wanted to talk to her?  What next, would I be able to walk through the wall?  "Uhhm, sure, yes, she's here and I guess you can talk to her.  Just go ahead and talk and I'll tell you what she says."

"Where is she, Sarah?"

I needed to sit down and I needed some caffeine.  I poured a fresh cup and sat down hard in the nearest kitchen chair.  Miranda Jean stayed close, never moving more than a foot or so from me, she suddenly seemed quiet, almost shy, a trait I had never associated with my sister.  "She's right here next to me, Stephen."

"Oh," he said and looked intently to the right of me, while Miranda Jean stood at my left.  "Well, uh, Miranda Jean I know you don't know me or anything about me, but..."

"Stephen she's over here," and I indicated my left side, trying to suppress my smile.  Miranda Jean on the other hand wasn't even making the slightest effort to control her laughter, which by the way, is very infectious and hard to ignore.

"Oh, sorry.  Anyway, I just want you to know that I love your sister and I'll always take good care of her."

Miranda Jean looked up at me, stuck her tongue out and gave me her 'yucky' face.  The one we used when we saw Mom and Dad kissing.  "Is he gonna keep talking about all that icky love stuff?  'Cause if he is, I'm getting out of here.  Besides, doesn't he know that I like him?  If I didn't like him, he would have known by now, y'know?"

I couldn't help but giggle a bit.  "Well, what did she say?  Did she say anything?"

He had such a serious look on his face I almost felt sorry for him.  "Well, she said she likes you and she's glad we're getting married."

His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  "Really?  Is that what she said?  Are those her exact words?"

What could I say?  "Yeah, that's it, pretty much exactly."  I didn't think I could explain the inner workings of the mind of a seven-year old girl, who was just this side of being a tomboy.  The last thing she wanted to talk about were the thoughts and feelings of a groom the day before his wedding.  She would much rather pull Sousa's chair back just before she sat down, or remove all the silverware after the table had been set, or any number of other childish pranks her busy mind could create.  I think the thing that bothered her most was her fear that Stephen would take me away from her.

She didn't need to worry.  I knew that as self-confident as I may have felt in growing up and away from my parents, I would never be completely whole without Miranda Jean, or at least a part of her, in my life.  This was a fact of my life that could not be changed, diluted, moved or disputed, it just was what it was, a fact.

Later that night, after all the tissue-paper flowers had been made to decorate Stephen's car, all the sugared almonds had been wrapped in white netting and tied with satin ribbons, all the gardenia and camellia bouquets and boutonnieres had been picked up from the florist and carefully fit into Aggie's refrigerator, I was finally able to lay head to pillow with hopes of a deep and dreamless sleep.  Unfortunately Miranda Jean had other ideas and my sleep was not included among them.  She had been bored senseless by the pre-wedding chores of the evening, not having been able to participate or even to have been part of the conversation.  She had tried to make an impact with assorted jokes and tricks, but other than continuously hiding the scissors and replacing Aggie's sugar bowl with salt, she just didn't have much of an impact.  So now that I was ready to wind down and sleep, she was just getting ready to roll.

"Quit closing your eyes Sarah Jane!"  C'mon we haven't hardly talked all day.  Do you have a deck of cards?  Wanna play Crazy Eights?  How 'bout Checkers?"  She was sitting at the foot of my bed, literally bouncing up and down.

I raised myself up on one elbow and looked down at her.  "Miranda Jean, I'm exhausted and I'm getting married in the morning.  Please, come on up here and snuggle up and let me get some sleep.  I'm too tired to play right now."

"But I'm not tired at all and I don't want to go to sleep.  You didn't hardly talk to me all day, Sarah Jane, c'mon, get up.  How come you're so tired, anyway?"  And again she was bouncing up and down, over and over.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position and threw my pillow at her.  Since she was in solid form it knocked her backward and she rolled sideways, before she sat up and threw it back at me.  "I've been up since five-thirty this morning and it's nearly half past midnight now, that's why I'm tired.  You have too, why aren't you tired?"

"That's a really silly question," she said, and she smiled that devilish grin I knew so well.  "I kinda thought you would have noticed by now that since I'm well, since I'm, you know, not like you, I don't get sleepy.  I don't get hungry or eat either."

She was absolutely right, but I really had never thought about it.  "But what about all those times, especially in the hospital when you and I laid in bed and held hands 'til we fell asleep?  Correction, I guess it was 'til I fell asleep, wasn't it?  Did you stay there all night with me or did you go somewhere else?"

A look swept over her face that I didn't recognize. It was at once grown-up and chid-like at the same time and it occurred to me that though she had never physically aged, she had been present for the last eleven years and must surely have matured in other ways.  Her eyes looked to hold secrets deep and untold.  "It's hard to explain.  It's not important."

"But it is important, I can see that.  Were you with me all night or were you somewhere else?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it again.  Then tried once more, "when you first begin to fall asleep I start to feel lighter, like I'm floating.  And then, well...then, just nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?"

"Just what I said, nothing.  I'm gone, I'm not real anymore, not until you're awake again.  Then suddenly I'm there, as if I've always been and always will be, even when you don't see me.  If you call me I'm there, and when you sleep I'm not.  It's always been that way.  It's not a big deal, really it's not."

I reached out and pulled her to me and held her tight in my arms.  "I wish I could change things.  I wish I could go back and keep you from jumping into the river that day or maybe jump in with you, so we would both be moved onto wherever spirits move onto.  But I can't, I can't even keep you from vanishing for six to eight hours every night.  I'm so sorry Miranda Jean, I'm so very sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, really.  It's just a fact of life, or well...never mind.  And I'm sorry for trying to keep you up.  It wasn't fair of me.  I don't get tired and you've been up for a long, long time and after all, Sarah Jane, you are getting married in the morning.  So you go to sleep and I'll be right here when you wake up."

"I can't, not now, not when I know what happens to you when I sleep.  I'll be alright, I've gone without sleep before."

Sarah Jane Foster, I mean it, if you don't go to sleep, I won't be here in the morning." 

Her arms were folded across her chest and she was trying hard to look like Sousa.  It was so comical, I couldn't help but laugh.  "Okay, I'll make you a deal.  How about if I turn the radio on and we'll sing along for awhile, then if I do fall asleep, it won't be because I didn't try to stay awake, alright?"

She crawled under the blankets while I adjusted the radio until the static was gone.  Then we both got comfortable, singing along with the top forty until my voice faded and sleep took me.

The morning sun had barely lifted itself over the horizon, peeking through my bedroom curtains, glazing the room with a faint blush when I awoke with a start.  I felt like I was supposed to be somewhere or I was late for something or most certainly had forgotten something important.  I was sure that the mad pounding of my heart would wake the entire neighborhood.  But once I was able to clear the cobwebs from my head and open my eyes more than just a slit, my heart resumed its normal rhythm and I remembered that it was just my wedding day.

'Just my wedding day?  Was I crazy?'  I threw back the rose-edged quilt and literally leaped out of bed, unfortunately tripping over one white satin pump and landing knees and elbows on the hardwood floor.  Pushing myself back into a sitting position I examined the injured parties and determined that nothing was broken or sprained aside from my ego, I gingerly stood up and said a brief prayer of thanks and a plea for grace on this day of days.