CHAPTER ONE
PAGE ONE OF FIVE
1958
It's another morning.
Wendy Roberts is wide awake in the glow of an early dawn. She lies on her back staring at the ceiling, her eyes unblinking before the slow illumination that streams in through the partially opened blinds of the Master Bedroom. Dust motes rise and tumble against the beams of light that cascade above her wide awake, staring eyes. Wide awake and waiting. With an echo of forgotten dreams, that old world of sleep, already faded and gone from her mind... Waiting to think. Waiting with a sort of simmering tension, dreading the first thoughts, but not really thinking, not just yet.
She has gotten better at this – making her mind blank, just staring upwards, her blond hair spilling out onto the pillow beneath her as she lays flat on her back, hands gripping the covers pulled up to her neck. She can stay this way for several minutes, watching the room slowly brighten into the day. Clinging to the non thought of the blank memory lost era from which she has emerged, she floats within a vacuum point that turns ever deeper, inside and inside. But then, an eventual single word has to emerge, as always. from within these inner thoughtless depths, and now it begins to echo, over and over, rising to a peak that sustains and stretches across the landscape of her mind, and then, slowly, gradually the word begins to recede away. Wendy has to let this word fade, lying here like this, she has to wait for the echoes to recede and for the word to stop saying what it says, over and over. And eventually it does, drying up like a water stain in the sun, and now she can begin to think clearly for the rest of the day.
Now Wendy is able to rise to her elbows and look over to her husband, laying in the bed next to her. Desmond remains asleep, a breathing lump curled up beneath the covers. As Wendy regards Desmond she feels that familiar anxiety tightening in her chest, nothing like how she'd feel if she hadn't lain awake and stared at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, but there just the same. She frowns against the feeling, pushes it down. Then she rises from the bed, takes a deep breath, and wills her expression into a bright smile.
"Good Morning Desmond! Rise and shine!"
Wendy walks smartly around the base of the bed. Desmond begins to stir beneath the covers. She lowers her voice ever so slightly, having learned from experience the push and pull of these morning exercises with Desmond.
"C'mon Honey. Time to get up!"
Desmond snuffles and pulls the covers down from his face. He blinks dazedly and lifts his head, hair plastered against his pillow wrinkled cheek.
Desmond looks around himself with the wide, lazy eyed expression of someone whose mind has ceased to function in the manner of an ordinary adult. His mouth widens into a blank and drooling smile as he sort of looks over at his wife.
Wendy pulls a wheelchair out from the corner and wheels it over to the bed. She can feel herself settling into the routine and realizes that this is becoming normal to her, now. This is their life together.
It's another morning.
Wendy Roberts is wide awake in the glow of an early dawn. She lies on her back staring at the ceiling, her eyes unblinking before the slow illumination that streams in through the partially opened blinds of the Master Bedroom. Dust motes rise and tumble against the beams of light that cascade above her wide awake, staring eyes. Wide awake and waiting. With an echo of forgotten dreams, that old world of sleep, already faded and gone from her mind... Waiting to think. Waiting with a sort of simmering tension, dreading the first thoughts, but not really thinking, not just yet.
She has gotten better at this – making her mind blank, just staring upwards, her blond hair spilling out onto the pillow beneath her as she lays flat on her back, hands gripping the covers pulled up to her neck. She can stay this way for several minutes, watching the room slowly brighten into the day. Clinging to the non thought of the blank memory lost era from which she has emerged, she floats within a vacuum point that turns ever deeper, inside and inside. But then, an eventual single word has to emerge, as always. from within these inner thoughtless depths, and now it begins to echo, over and over, rising to a peak that sustains and stretches across the landscape of her mind, and then, slowly, gradually the word begins to recede away. Wendy has to let this word fade, lying here like this, she has to wait for the echoes to recede and for the word to stop saying what it says, over and over. And eventually it does, drying up like a water stain in the sun, and now she can begin to think clearly for the rest of the day.
Now Wendy is able to rise to her elbows and look over to her husband, laying in the bed next to her. Desmond remains asleep, a breathing lump curled up beneath the covers. As Wendy regards Desmond she feels that familiar anxiety tightening in her chest, nothing like how she'd feel if she hadn't lain awake and stared at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, but there just the same. She frowns against the feeling, pushes it down. Then she rises from the bed, takes a deep breath, and wills her expression into a bright smile.
"Good Morning Desmond! Rise and shine!"
Wendy walks smartly around the base of the bed. Desmond begins to stir beneath the covers. She lowers her voice ever so slightly, having learned from experience the push and pull of these morning exercises with Desmond.
"C'mon Honey. Time to get up!"
Desmond snuffles and pulls the covers down from his face. He blinks dazedly and lifts his head, hair plastered against his pillow wrinkled cheek.
Desmond looks around himself with the wide, lazy eyed expression of someone whose mind has ceased to function in the manner of an ordinary adult. His mouth widens into a blank and drooling smile as he sort of looks over at his wife.
Wendy pulls a wheelchair out from the corner and wheels it over to the bed. She can feel herself settling into the routine and realizes that this is becoming normal to her, now. This is their life together.
DESMOND CHAPTER ONE