The Dark Secrets of a Possessed Soul

The Trained Tears of the Strong

"I dream about the death and pain of my friends and family, but never my enemies," I read off the sheet. He grimaces and stares at his feet. I slide the dirty blond hair across his head so I can see his eyes. The irises look purple in the subtle red light from the Memphis Busines ournal behind us. I can see the dark thoughts reflecting in his pupils, but I sense a softer view as well: a flow of emotion. A cry from the gentle heart of a mourning soul, one who hates to hurt the ones he loves. I enclose his hand gently in the two of mine and lean my head closer to his.

A tear hides in the lid of his eye, hoping not to fall from its delicate perch. He blinks it away. "I imagined all sorts of torture. Dying was the easiest way out for them. It started when I was seven. Seven! How sadistic is that?"

"Did you cry?"

"Cry?" He cocks an eyebrow and nervously blinks away the microscopic tears. "I guess I did, in my head... Well, in reality, too..."

"Then it's not sadistic at all. You cared that they were being hurt. You weren't imagining the torture because you planned to do that to them, you were preparing yourself for how to react and control your emotions if something like that ever happened."

"Why would a seven-year-old need to do that? I didn't even know what death meant back then. I learned that two years later..."

I lean my head on my arms and stare blankly ahead at the double doors into the brilliant hotel. "I don't know. But it's something I've always done. Whether it was the death of a brother or a fight with a sister or an argument with a lover, I was always preparing myself for an onslaught of emotional distress. I don't know what warned me, but something told me that if I was not prepared for these things to happen, I would never be able to handle it."

"Was it right? Did the planning make you stronger?"

I nodded slowly. "My brother had died years before. I hadn't understood it at the time, but with all my thoughts about it, I realized what it would have been to have him alive, and I realized how much of a sacrifice his death was. When I imagined arguing with siblings or friends, I taught myself to explain my point clearly and creatively. When my sister ended up going down the path I knew she would, I was ready for it. It was hard, and I still didn't know how to fix it, but I had seen it coming. I had already forgiven her for everything she would ever do to me to make my life difficult." I sigh and look back to my right at the handsome boy crying beside me.

"What about the lover? You said you argued with him."

"Oh, well I did more than argue. I learned to communicate in a romantic and thought-provoking way. I told him all of my ideas and plans, and I advised him on how to stay happy despite his troubles. Sadness only leads to depression, and depression leads to nothing. There is no purpose without hope. I learned how to help people, and more importantly, I learned how to love. Unconditionally."

He sets his hand on top of mine and caresses the tops of my fingers. He tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, "I did too."