Hospital “Wind Chimes”

“I hear chimes in my head when I wake up and when I am falling asleep. A lot of people hear all sorts of things in their dreams, especially around here. Some people even hear things when they are awake, but those sort of people are normally the kind you wouldn't really want to talk to.

But I hear chimes in my head when I wake and go to sleep, and when I dream I hear them as well.

Wind chimes are said to be originally used to ward off evil spirits, but that is all just superstition. You would think that around here superstition would have meaning, but strangely, the people who live along Wellington Street are far less forgiving of baseless thoughts and traditions. Or more specifically, they have no interest in those things that don't work.

Candles in the windows during winter, or the burning of ash wood on the first day or fall. These things are unique to this place, but they work.

The chimes in my head don't work at all, because I can hear the things they are trying to drown out, and what I hear I can't escape from no matter how I try...

Chimes are a sound that causes me to feel dread, and I have stopped taking walks, as it is easier to stop walking then it is to tell people to take down their wind chimes. If I don't avoid the walks, if I let myself walk about at night, I know that eventually I will pass a house playing the tune with the wind.

First comes the nausea, then the panic, bubbling up inside of the quiet places, growing and growing until there is the sound of my heartbeat in my ears and my hands are shaking. I have tried not eating before the walks, but I have found the sensation of dry heaving is far worse than the feeling of vomiting.

If chimes are able to ward evil spirits, then the things within my dreams must not count, because the chimes do not seem to draw them away. Maybe it is drawing them in, or maybe it is the sound of the things, a calling card or a declaration of their approach and their retreat.

Whatever the reason, wind chimes cause a panic in me that no amount of medicine seems to help. I have been to therapists, but they all tell me it is in my head, but that just because it is in my head doesn't mean the feelings aren't real.

Of course the feelings are real. Anyone with a degree or even less can tell you that. But when I dream, I can see those things as clear as day, and I am certain that they are real too.

The chimes are ones only I can hear...

And they are calling out to the dead.”

The world needs dreams. It needs hope and desire in order for this whole damn thing to make sense. But without dreams, without rest, all the hope and desire means little, as the experiences we have are undercut by the pain of exhaustion.

I have been watching someone fade, the collision of the way someone was to the way they are now, and I have been hurting because of it. It doesn't hurt me like it used to. Months ago such exposure would leave me in nervous fits, struggling to leave the house and rest because of the constant fear that something would happen.

Now I am stronger, and that person who I watch is as strong as anyone I have ever known.

But they are still fading, and there is nothing that I can do.

I told you that she died because I thought it would be easier on myself. I told you the truth when I said her family wouldn't let me see her, but I lied when I said she died. What she did was get sick, and the rot that took hold in her went to a place in her brain that couldn't be lost easily. Blood can sour and a heart can stop.

Stranger things have happened.

But the brain isn't like that. And it gets worse every day.

She doesn't always remember me, and I think that it is for that reason that her family is okay with me coming by now. On the days when she does, she smiles and even requests I read to her.

We are far removed from the days when her and I would sit outside of the school and feel the joy that comes from sitting in silence with one another. And now I think I should be thankful that my friend isn't dead, that I get to spend time with her.

But she isn't the woman I knew, though I desperately wish she was, and I am so so sorry for telling you something different from the truth. But the truth was simply too hard, even for me.

Linda (Tracy?) was my best friend in the world, and I never got to make that phone call to tell her how I feel. And in all of that, I have transitioned myself as I have experienced pain, losses in weight, and a disconcerting amount of waking dreams.

I thought that of all the things, it would have taken that from me, but I guess there is something else more pressing. Something else that had to go away.

I try to visit her as often as I can safely, and often more than that.

But I am not visiting her really, and I wasn't truly lying when I said she was dead.

She is dead. I can smell it whenever I enter her room, and though her eyes are still bright, the clouding over of her gaze and the coldness of her hand in mine is something I won't soon forget.

They are going to be bringing her home soon, and it will be nice to sit on her porch, listening to wind and feeling the sun. Her mother collects wind chimes, and on days when the wind gets too much I have to muffle my ears to keep the shrill clanging out.

But I will sit with her all the same.

And if I can, I will stay with her till the end.