Visit from a Stranger

“Visit from a stranger”



Story by: Jeffrey Scott Baxter



I lounged in my apartment, listening to the chatter in the hall. My idea of quiet is anywhere others aren’t. Quiet can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Spending these last few days alone, I realized just how much I miss the company of others.
The clock on my wall read ‘8:44 pm’, but it felt like later in the day. I spent the last three days living on Ramon noodles and crackers. Surviving isn’t the difficult part. Surviving alone is. My health tosses me back and forth through this retched dystopian domain. Between my blood sugar bouncing up and down to my asthma deciding when it wants to inconvenience me, it’s a race to a non-existent finish line.
We’re born, we live, and we die. The question I kept asking myself though, why am I still here? I stare at the razor. I look inside that pill bottle. I wonder if my outside balcony is high enough to make that jump. Should I stay or should I go?
My phone had been out if service for two days but what does it matter? When you’re alone, it’s easier to not care. It’s easier to slice that blade across your wrist or ingest those pills. And to take that jump? Still easy. Staring at the pill bottle, I came to the theory that the pills are the easiest escape.
No mess. No panic. No one would know for days. When the putrid smell of my rotting corpse sickens enough residents passing by my door, that’s when it will become a noticeable mess. Should I leave a note? Should I call a friend? Wait, what friend? The thoughts ran circles around my head like a hamster on a wheel.
I opened a bottle of water. I poured half the bottle into a glass. I popped the lid off the pill bottle. I didn’t bother to count them. One? Two? Six? Fourteen? Popping them into my mouth, I thought about the decision I was halfway through making. The questions burned in my mind. Is there a reason I shouldn’t do this? Is there a reason I should care?
Those people who don’t understand those who don’t care and those people who believe there are other exits out of this bottomless pit of despair, they don’t understand. There’s no one here to stop me. There’s no one here to care. There’s no one here to say, “Don’t do this. You are loved.”
If there was, would it matter? Maybe. Possibly. But I will never know. Am I deserving of love? Am I deserving of happiness? The answer is an obvious no. If the answer was yes or anything close to yes, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now choosing how I want to leave this corrupted chaotic world behind. These are the thoughts that burned in my mind.
I took a sip of water and downed the handful of pills. The question I asked though, did I take enough? The problem with society is no one wants to hear about that dark place. No one wants to see the disturbed that lies in a person. No one wants to think about death.
“You’re just being stupid”. “Nothing is worth killing yourself over”. “You should care.”
They don’t have a clue. They say they know pain, but if they did, they’d understand. The abuse I faced as a child followed me, embedding its nightmares into my brain. Belts, spoons, lumber, fists, anything my father could get a hold of would make its way to my body. Cuts, scraps, and bruises to my skin. No limit.
I tried finding the right words. I tried writing my last thoughts. I tried writing my last feelings. Tears flooded my eyes, staining those last thoughts and those last words on the paper. No, a note is too melodramatic. A memory visited me. A memory of my grandmother telling me a bedtime story. A story of a young boy staring at the moon outside his window before bed. When the young boy drifts off to sleep, he visits the sky and flies across the moon with the angels.
If only my mother would have cared enough to tuck me in at night, to tell me she loved me, instead of abandoning me. I didn’t want to shed tears, I didn’t want to remember the past. It only makes for a painful present.
A light shined through my window. A bright light. “I’m six stories up”, I thought to myself. “It’s too bright to be a streetlight.”
The light shined brighter and came closer to the glass balcony door. The light blinded me. I didn’t feel scared, but curious. When the glass door slid open and the wind blew through my hair, my curiosity got the best of me, and a frightened feeling entered.
My heart jumped back and forth, up and down, side to side, and diagonal. The light dimmed but what I saw next, I wasn’t sure I believed it. A beautiful young woman appeared. Her hair, black. Her eyes, blue. Her voice, comforting to the ears. “Hello,” she spoke with a warm smile and a soft voice.
Her bare feet walked across my cement floor. Her black dress complimented her pale, but extravagant skin. The thoughts. Oh, the thoughts. Is this an illusion brought on by my secluded life? Is my brain conjuring this person up because I’m lonely? Is this my body’s way of filling the empty void?
“Hi,” is all I could say.
“Please don’t be frightened,” she spoke.
“Can I ask who you are?” I asked.
She had my mind racing with thoughts and my heart racing with fear. Curiosity and fear.
“My name is Lovelia. I’m here to watch over you.”
“Watch over me? I think you’re a little late for that, but thanks anyway.”
I turned my back, expecting I push her away like everyone else. Even these last few years, I tried to keep my friends close, but by then it was too late. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around.
“Even if you tell me you want to be alone, I know in your heart you don’t,” she said.
It was as if she read my thoughts. It freaked me out just a little, but my curiosity told me not to turn her away just yet.
“There’s something you want from me, right?” I asked. “There has to be. The only time people usually come around me is when they want something.”
“No,” she replied.
“OK, you want me to do something for you, right?”
“No.”
There had to be some hidden agenda. There always is. I told myself I was going to find it.
“There has to be something. No one comes to me unless they need something, want something, or want me to do something. It’s OK, be honest,” I said.
She stared at me with her eyes of blue. Her eyes looked sad, but honest. Something told me to listen to her.
“Your eyes look sad and that saddens me,” she said.
That explained why her eyes looked so sad, but even if that were true, I wasn’t about to admit it to her. I just smiled and said, “Oh, it’s just been a long day.”
“You don’t have to conceal your feelings from me. Your sadness, your heartbreak, and your desperate need for companionship. I can see inside your spirit.”
Oh great, now I’m a pathetic human being. A sad loser who can’t even hide my feelings. Did I feel ashamed of these feelings? Actually, yes. I have a motto. If I convey emotions, it can present itself as a weakness and I am staying away from that avenue.
“I’m OK, really.” I wondered, “Did I convince her?”
“The pain you feel, I feel. The sadness you possess, I possess. I see not one ounce of happiness in your heart. I see eyes that could cry at any moment. I see a heart that is broken. I see a young man afraid of his own feelings. Afraid if he cries, he’ll never stop. Afraid if he opens himself up, he’ll never be able to close himself off again.”
I admit what she said was spot on. What she said to me touched my heart, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Why do you think that?” she asked, glancing into my eyes, and waiting for me to answer with those sad eyes of hers.
“I just do,” I said. “So, what are you? An angel?”
“No, no,” she laughed. I asked a serious question. She didn’t have to laugh at me. “I am your spiritual protector.”
“I don’t need any protection but thank you for the offer.”
Of course, she didn’t take the hint. This girl was like allergies. No matter what kind of medicine you take or how much, you just can’t shake them.
“You’re not safe,” she said. “I know you don’t want to live to see another day. I know you don’t want to shed another tear. Do you know that you are loved though?”
“By whom? God?” I laughed. “Look, not mocking religion or anything, but down here that means a lot less than it does up there.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” she said, staring back into my eyes with her sad ones. “I love you.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I know you mean that in an ‘I love you as another human being’ type of way, but you can’t love someone you don’t know or someone who doesn’t know you.”
This began to make me feel uncomfortable. I mean, who was she to tell me that she loves me? I’m not exactly the nicest person in the world. At times, I can be mean like everyone else. I’ve made my share of enemies. Especially the ones that called me friends at one time and then used me. I especially made enemies out of them.
“I’ve been watching over you your whole life,” she said.
“OK,” I said, feeling frustrated. “Where were you when my parents were abusing me? Where were you when I got sick and stayed in the hospital, and needed someone by my side? And where were you when I became homeless and didn’t know where my next meal was coming from? Watch over me? I have to hear this one. Where were you, huh?” I asked, with my eyes tearing up. “Where?”
“Shh, don’t cry,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “
“I’m not crying,” I said. “I’m just upset!”
I felt a little embarrassed but by this time, I stopped caring.
“It’s OK,” she said, putting her arms around me. I tried to pull away, but she had some type of power over me, keeping me in her arms. “It’s OK to cry. Shh, I’m here now. I won’t leave you, I promise. I’m so sorry.”
I admit, I went from a little embarrassed to a lot embarrassed. I had never cried like this in front of another person. I kept wondering what was wrong with me. When she finally let me out of her arms, I asked her,
“So, you’re sorry you weren’t there for me when I needed you?”
It was a legitimate question. One that deserved an answer. My whole life I felt like a freak but never cared. This girl comes through my door and says she’s here to watch over me. I had to hear this excuse.
“But honey, you always thought you could handle it by yourself. This time I’m here because you can no longer live with that lie. You can no longer handle it by yourself.”
“I was doing fine without you,” I said to her with a firm look.
“But you wanted to die.”
“Why did you come here anyway? I mean, what made you decide to come, huh?” I asked. Another legitimate question. One which deserves a legitimate answer.
“Your tears spoke to me,” she answered. “And your broken heart can no longer cry without shedding tears for days. You’re no longer gradually falling into the arms of sadness. Your falling faster.”
I knew she was right. Every word she spoke to me contained truth. I had to pretend I was fine. I felt I didn’t deserve her protection, so I politely said to her,
“I’ll be OK, I promise. I don’t need anyone to look out for me or watch over me. This will all go away, It always does, just give it time.”
I figured this was the best way to tell her I didn’t need her, but she wasn’t buying it and said,
“Everyone needs to be loved. You feel that you don’t deserve love. You feel that this loneliness is your fault. You can’t keep pretending you’re OK. You’re not OK. You’re hurting and you’re scared. You’re afraid that no one is ever going to love you again. You’ve given up on everything. Your tears tell the truth.”
“I’m fine,” I said, with my eyes flooding with tears again.
I admit, she was correct about ninety-nine percent of what she said. OK, a hundred percent, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“You’re crying,” she said, with her sad eyes. “You’re not fine. Stop saying that,” she said, with her eyes now filling with tears.
Now I felt like a jerk. Now that I had her crying, I felt like a horrible person. I hated making people cry. Something always felt wrong about it.
“I’m sorry I made you cry,” I said.
“No, honey, you have nothing to be sorry for. Whenever you are happy, I’m happy. Whenever you are excited, I’m excited. Whenever you feel sad, I feel sad. Whenever you feel pain, I feel pain. I possess this power so I can understand your feelings, but I have to admit, you’re the saddest person I’ve ever encountered.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning my head away. “That must be horrible having a power like that. I feel like a jerk.”
She grabbed me by the chin and looked into my eyes and said,
“No, it’s a beautiful thing, and you’re not a jerk.”
“How could that be a beautiful thing?” I asked.
If I had a power like that, I’d probably lock myself in a tower until I grow old enough not to care anymore. I really wanted to know how she could call this beautiful, let alone even think about it being beautiful.
“Think about it like this,” she said, wiping my tears with both hands. “If you did cry around others, they may understand your sadness, but whether you cry around me or not around me, I understand because I still feel it. I’m connected to it.”
“So, you’re telling me you feel whatever I feel, regardless?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling you,” she answered. “Are you ready to hear the reason I’m here?”
“I thought it was to watch over me,” I said.
Now I felt beyond confused. It felt as if a jigsaw puzzle sat in front of me and there were a million pieces, and just when I thought I had the pieces together, there were more pieces inside the box.
“That’s what I’m supposed to be doing,” she said. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to take you home.”
“Home?” I laughed. “I am home.”
“Do you really consider this place to be home?”
“Sure I do,” I said. “It might not be much with the whole apartment being one room. And sure, cockroaches come out of the walls and walk across the floor when the lights are off, the power goes out every other day, I only have hot water half the time, and I’m always running out of food, but this is the home I deserve.”
And I really wasn’t trying to make her feel sorry for me. I did this to myself. Maybe if I would have worked harder. Maybe if I would have cared about more people. Maybe if I would have tried harder. Just maybe I wouldn’t have ended up out in the street when I did.
“You believe you deserve to live like this?” she asked, staring into my eyes.
“I can’t complain now. I live in an apartment building for people with little to no income. It’s a roof over my head. It’s a home. Something is better than nothing,” I said.
“I want to show you something,” she said.
A light beam broke through my window from bright a star shining in the eastern sky. The light blinded me for a moment but then I could not believe my eyes. An old friend appeared in the spotlight next to the window. Her name was Jules. She died in a car accident at sixteen.
“Kabe,” she spoke. I rubbed my eyes and opened and closed them a couple times to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. “No, you’re not dreaming,” she laughed.
“Jules?” I said. “You’re not really here.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, coming closer. “You’ve put out so much love into the world and received so little back.”
“Yeah, well, people make mistakes,” I laughed.
I never told her this but I used to fancy her. Her personality was awesome and her heart, pure gold. I could have told her I killed someone and the type of friend she is, she would have helped me bury the body, no questions asked. This type of friend usually only exist in a perfect world.
“No, it’s not a mistake,” she said. “You are who you are. A person that loves no matter how bad he is treated.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I’ve changed now.”
“No, you never lose a quality like that. You just drift away from it.”
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Why am I seeing you?”
“I have someone else who wants to see you,” she smiled. “Then I’ll answer your question.”
Walking out from behind her legs was my little dog, Prince, who was a Yorkshire Terrier. He weighed about five pounds, but thought he was a large dog. Someone broke into my home and stole him a year ago.
“Prince?” I asked, walking over and staring. He stared at me with those black eyes and those pointy ears sticking up. His tail wagged and his behind was shaking.
“It’s OK, you can pet him,” she said.
I reached down and stroked his black and silver hair across his ears. I forgot how much I missed him.
“He died a couple months after he was taken from you,” said Jules.
“Oh, that’s sad,” I said. “I loved this dog,” I said, continuing to pet him.
“After he left you, he stopped eating, stopped playing, and slept all the time,” she said.
“He wasn’t taken care of?”
“No, he was,” she said. “But without you around, he was sad and terrified. You were the owner he knew. You were the one that took care of him, just as he took care of you when you were lonely.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, with tears forming in my eyes.
I swear, this was one emotional day. I just wanted it to be over.
“You are important, Kabe,” she said. “This dog loves you and so do I.”
I admit when my dog came up missing, I felt beyond upset. I wanted to die. He meant the world to me. I used to take him to the park, and he’d chase the ducks by the lake. When other people were walking their dogs, he’d run up, bark at them for a second, and run behind my back.
“I appreciate that, I really do, but that doesn’t mean much now,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘That doesn’t mean much now’?” she asked, growing angry.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I just meant that I’m all alone now and my past is my past. It’s over and it’s time to move on.”
“That’s why we’re here,” she said.
“Are you here to ‘Take me home’ also?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. She circled around me twice, making me feel a little uncomfortable. “Lovelia called me here because she knew you would listen to me.”
“OK, yes, you have me there,” I said. “You’ve always given great advice.”
Staring into my eyes, she circled around me once more. The look on her face was a cross between serious and depressed.
“Before she takes you home, you need to know that it’s OK to be different. It’s OK to be a freak. It’s OK to open your heart to others. They may not always listen and the ones that don’t are the ones not worth wasting your breath on.”
“I know,” I said.
“You matter to me, to Lovelia, and to your little dog here,” she said, giving me a warm smile. “Home is where you belong.”
“Um, thanks, but where is home exactly?” I asked. “Heaven? The promised land? Another world?”
“Home is where you are loved,” she answered. “Home is where you are looked after, taken care of, loved by others, and never abandoned.”
“I’ve never lived in a place like that,” I said.
“Awe, come here,” she said, putting her arms around me.
While she hugged me like her teddy bear, Lovelia also put her arms around me. Something felt strange. Something felt unfamiliar. I could feel their love entering my heart. It felt astonishing. It felt magical. I could feel my body being lifted. I felt like I was flying. A beautiful song played. Have you ever heard that one song you fell in love with? That one song that sounded amazing and touched your soul? Every single note lifted my spirit.
When they pulled away from hugging me, I discovered I was no longer in my apartment, but an unfamiliar place. Flowers were spread out in green grassy meadows. Sunflowers, tulips, wild orchids, daisies, lilies, and hundreds of others. The skies were a clear blue. Not one cloud. Not one area of gray. The sun shined down bright.
Clear water flowed from a brook. Water so clear, I could see the pebbles on the bottom. The air smelled fresh. No fumes. No toxins. No pollution of any kind. A rainbow formed across the sky. Even though no rain had fallen, the rainbow lit up the sky.
“What is this place?” I asked, feeling confused, but mesmerized.
“The world your tears built,” Lovelia answered.
“My tears?” I asked.
“Yes, tears are the purist form of love. Tears come from those who love and those who are caring.”
“Oh, well, this place is amazing.”
“I must be going. Jules will be with you, to look after you, take care of you, and fill you with love.”
Little Prince barked. I didn’t know he came along. I was happy he did though.
“Will I ever see you again?” I asked.
“I’ll always be with you,” she smiled. “Lovelia is the long version of my name. The short version is Love.”
“Love?”
“I cannot exist in a world without sadness. I’m needed everywhere but wanted even more. I’m the healer of sorrow. Only I can mend a heart made broken. Tears prove my existence. Those who cry believe in me. Those who care to keep me alive.”
“Oh, wow, you’re serious,” I said.
“Yes, you will forever be loved,” she said, forming into a beam of light and vanishing.
“Now that you’re here,” said Jules. “You can speak any words you want, dream any dream your heart desires, dance any dance you feel like conjuring up, and feel free to be who you want.”
She grabbed my hand, and we walked through the grassy green fields. Little prince followed behind wagging his tail. My heartfelt content and my mind at ease. Peace found me and love welcomed me. No more anxiety. No more worrying. Just eternal peace and a welcoming love.