The Moon Hid the Sun

March 2nd 1999

It was a grey day. The rain didn't fall but instead lingered; masses of tiny floating droplets, the kind that tickled the face and soaked clothing right through before you noticed. Toke sat motionless in the passenger seat of the old grey Vauxhall, his mother beside him in the drivers seat.  She turned the keys and the car chugged exhausted heaves that rumbled the engine and rattled the clinking exhaust. With each turn Sandra's hope faded and by the fourth attempt she stopped. She turned slightly to gaze through the rain dropped adorned window, tears brimming in her eyes. She felt the steady beating of her heart as she feared her body would lose control. With each beat her it appeared to be moving further up her throat. Inside herself she fought back with prayers, a great longing coming from an abyss deep within her, a desire to cure her son and bring back her happiness. The tears were few in number, but heavy as they lolled lazily down her cheeks, like equator rain drops. With one more attempt the car kick started into a stuttering, jerking action. Toke's mother quickly wiped her tears away, hoping that her son would not notice. She glanced across at him and she saw that he remained unmoved. As the car slowly pulled away from the curb and out onto the quiet road, her son's focus remained on the numerous rain drops sliding down the passenger window.

As she drove she thought back to times long gone, when things between her and her son were different. Times when he laughed, when he would embrace her warmth, when he would sing and tell her the new things that he had learned in the world, a time when his naivety was at its strongest; sometimes the death of naivety in an individual can be the saddest of things. Sandra's thoughts moved to Toke's father and his now notable absence. She thought of his presence the night they met, his soft hands as he held her face, his kiss, his promises in the night. Sandra felt the tears growing again, but this was an assault they would not win and she quickly pressed the radio, instantaneously filling the car with light-hearted pop music. For Toke the music gave the rain droplets something to dance to, their movements given a fresh meaning and reason.

The car continued on its journey through the afternoon's empty town roads. The doctors surgery was not a big building, and it stood quite hidden behind tall ever green trees. For the first time since the journey began Toke diverted his attention away from the window and stared at the brown brick building. He knew what would happen inside there; questions, questions and more questions. Toke now began the task of mentally preparing himself for such things, he was aware that if he spoke the truth it would lead him to a place he did not want to go; he was already conscious that he was crazy, that was one matter he had accepted, but for society to think it, that was another one entirely.

The surgeries waiting room was quiet, and neither Toke nor his mother broke the silence. Instead they sat, motionless, again both alone with their thoughts. Toke was now fully preparing himself for what was to follow. He remembered the promise he had made to himself in regards to his mother. He knew the pain and worry that his condition was causing her, and he had vowed to confront it at this appointment. Despite this he did not feel the time was right, would there ever be a right time? He pondered, probably never. Definitely not today though, today he could not open up. He had done so once before. He had told everything to a counselor, the secrets of his feelings, his view of the world, the spotlight that was shone upon him with no invite, the dreams and the visions. The counsellor had hidden his reaction well, but Toke had seen past this facade. He had seen the deep distrust and fear that his words had awoken in the counselors soul. It was a painful thing to witness, a person judging you to be a deviant from society's norms.

When it was time for Toke to see the doctor he moved slowly. The double doors of the reception opened to a long corridor with sterile white walls lined with various paintings of abstract art. Toke knew the room he would be going into, he had been there before, and he counted the doors he would have to pass until he arrived. Doctor Smithfield, said the small sign on the door; Toke didn't recognize the name. A male voice called from behind it, beckoning them to enter; a voice he had never heard before. Toke's mother opened the door first and the teenager followed her inside where he was greeted by familiar purple walls and plastic-like house plants that adorned the room. The tall, unfamiliar doctor stood smiling, his chiseled face, glowing with healthiness, sat upon a pair of broad shoulders. Toke found it hard to assess older peoples ages but with Doctor Smithfield he guessed him to be in his late thirties. Just from looking at him Toke felt envious. The teenager imagined the life the that the doctor led; nice house, fancy car, beautiful wife who, despite her progressive age, still processed more than enough attractiveness to make love to every night. There were probably a couple of adoring children too. Toke had already realized that this would be something he would achieve; it still hurt him to think of this, a lifetime alone, but the pain had dampened somewhat with the passing of time and now it was only a slight sting.

The Doctor, still smiling beaming white, beckoned for Toke to sit one of the rooms brown soft chairs. Toke did so and his mother followed suit. The Doctor sat opposite, his desk to his right, straightening his notes, he smiled again. 'Hello James, I don't believe we have met.' Doctor Smithfield held out a hand. Toke stared at it and then slowly shook his head.

'James doesn't like touching people,' Sandra said softly in some futile attempt to prevent Toke from hearing.

'It's true,' said Toke, in a tone even softer than his mothers.

'So I understand you have been experiencing some difficulties recently,' continued the doctor.

Toke shook his head, his eyes diverted to the ground. The carpet was a darkish purple, and he began to study the separate strands of the fabric; some worn, many long, numerous short. He wanted to escape to that synthetic forest.

'I have some of your notes in front of me James but I would like to hear your story from the beginning.'

Toke's gaze remained transfixed on that purple jungle. Toke heard rustling, and he briefly glanced to see his mother pulling a book from her hand bag. Her eyes were waterlogged and they feared to meet with his. His book passed from her traitorous hands and into the doctors, gentle but firm, they held all of the teenagers secrets. Toke felt an anger surge up inside of him, but like all of his emotions he buried it deep down. The forest, purple strands to hide your soul, if he could have metamorphosed he would have in an instant, envious of the insects he was now.