PILLOWTALK - SOULS

“Edwin... are you asleep?”

“Of course not, I've been waiting for your question.”

“Oh, you're so mean!”

“What's on your mind, tonight?”

“I need you to be serious.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Do you think I have a soul?”

“What do you think?”

“It feels like there's more to me than just a body of meat walking around... as if all of that is a house for the real me and I live in it and it takes me places and does what I want it to do but it's not the actual me… or not all of me.”

“I guess that's the way everyone feels about themselves if they take time to ponder it.”

“But I'm not like everyone, I wasn't born like actual humans or even actual cats are born. Doesn’t it make a difference?”

“That's a fair question and I can't answer it directly but I can tell you this: I've seen you cry, I've seen you happy, I've seen how much caring you can have for others. I can't tell any difference between you and people born naturally. Well, actually I can, but only in that you're more humane than some people. If they all have souls, I infer that you have one as well. Is that a good enough answer?”

“I guess so.”

“What got you to thinking about that?”

“Everyone says that a soul is what lives on after a body dies. A body can't last forever but a soul does. And if... you died and I died... I'd want to always be able to go wherever you go, too.”

“Well, if we can't be there, wherever ‘there’ is, together, I'll speak to the management.”

“You promised to be serious.”

“I did, didn't I? I'm sorry. But no one knows what it will be like if there's a life to live after we die here. Sleep well.”

She stared at his back and longed for when she felt happy and safe pressed against him. “He's pushing me away softly again,” she thought. “His feelings are so jumbled up and I’m such a mess… I can’t read him anymore. Kat said she believed he would be impervious to hints. He didn’t take this one. I may have to take the lead, she said. But I’ve messed it up again.”

Solitary early morning walks gave him an excuse for skipping the usually noisy and crowded breakfasts. Just now, he'd pretended not to see Katsandra; lest she inquire into his repeated absence. He just wanted to be alone, to reflect on happy times, feel sorry for himself, and to meditate on why the dream was pursuing him.

The dream of dying in an empty house seemed to be getting more vivid, more detailed, and certainly it was more frequent. Four times in seven days it had come to him, and every night for the last three. Three days ago, he'd realized that the room he was dying in was in this house. Why had he not noticed before? Was his mind simply incorporating bits of his surroundings into the dream? Or had it always been that room and the increased clarity of the dream had finally revealed it?

And then there was this morning. As he'd wandered through the dim, quiet house getting ready to slip out before others were about, he looked into the room. Someone had recently brought in a chair that matched the dream. He might have explained that to himself, too, but the effect was to remind him of a not-too-distant relative who'd spent a large part of his life inside institutions that were gently called 'hospitals.'

Next: Part 21 / 25, “Stalking”