the more it tells you the less you know.
― Diane Arbus
I was enjoying high tea with Sylvia Lightbourne and spending a pleasant afternoon admiring her gardens from the shade of her screened-in lanai.
Sylvia had planned the tea down to the smallest detail and seemed to have chosen every food I liked and that extended to her choice of a creamed Earl Grey tea that was even superior to the blend I imported from England. I know, it seems decadent and privileged, but I have discerning taste when It comes to tea and it's one of the few luxuries I allow myself.
Well, that's my apologia pro vita mea, and for those who might question my fastidiousness, it does seem to be my infirmity but as for its source, it's typical of the rest of my life―I'm in the dark because of my memory loss.
I could attribute Sylvia's knowledge of my tastes to an almost prescient intuition, but I suspected she knew more about me than I did myself, and it caused me to feel off-balance and unsure of where I stood.
But she did ask me to high tea for a reason and so I determined to play along with her charade and see where it eventually took me.
I did not have to wait long.
"I asked you over today so I could get to know you better, Marcus, but I must confess I had an ulterior motive. I hope you'll forgive my subterfuge but West Harbour is a small town and people do talk."
I nodded gravely, "I understand, Sylvia and am only too aware of small town gossip."
"Yes, I know you are aware and Arthur Reid has mentioned to Clay and me how concerned you are about your family's reputation. I know about your unfortunate accident and memory loss and can identify with your struggle because Clay and I have to cope with a similar challenge."
Her remark astonished me, partly because I was unaware she and Clay were acquainted with Arthur Reid, my family's lawyer and partly because I was unaware of either of them experiencing memory loss like me.
"You're probably wondering what I'm talking about when I say we can identify with your struggle, but I'm not referring to us per se, but to our daughter, Clare.
"I was unaware you had a daughter, Sylvia."
"We have a beautiful daughter, about your age, Marcus, who suffered a traumatic brain injury as a result of a skiing accident two years ago. She's been in a coma ever since."
"I am sorry to hear about this tragedy, Sylvia. It must be very painful for you and Clay to endure."
Sylvia's eyes filled with tears and it grieved me to see her pain.
"I suppose its a case of commiseration on our part, Marcus, in the sense of, one writ with me in sour misfortune's book."
Her allusion to the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet was poignant and heart rending and explained the pall that seemed to overshadow the Lightbourne's lives. It seemed Clare's spirit hovered over the Lightbourne estate like a familial spirit, depressing Clay and his wife Sylvia.
"Where is your daughter now, in a convalescent hospital or hospice?" I asked.
Sylvia shook her head sadly. "No, Clay and I couldn't bear to be separated from her. She's here in an upstairs wing of the house Clay and I renovated and turned into a functioning hospital ward. She has excellent round the clock care and the finest doctors and nurses available."
"It must be very difficult for both of you," I consoled her. "I noticed when Clay took me on a tour, there were no family pictures throughout the house."
"Too sad," Sylvia lamented, "seeing them constantly would be like opening a fresh wound. But I keep a photo with me at all times, nonetheless, just to feel her presence close to me."
She brought out a creased photo from a pocket of her blouse and showed me.
The sight of the girl in the photo caused an explosion of light in my brain and the recognition coursed through every artery of my body.
It was the girl in my dreams―the girl I could never meet―the apparition that stood at the foot of my bed.