The Secret World of Maya Alexander

Chapter 19

The Monday morning proceeding the summer solstice marked the beginning of a new routine in the Alexander home. It was the onset of a silence between the couple that would be sustained like never before. In the past Maya would have always given in to her instincts to make good and repair their broken moments. But a whole new set of instincts had now set in, and retreat held tight in prime position. It nourished and nurtured Maya's soul amidst nightly flights where she existed with birds of every colour across landscapes of every season. It took her far away from the pain delivered to her in the company of the human world, deep into the beauty of nature where hope lived long and her environs buzzed sweetly 'you are home'.

The world Maya visited at night was brimming with life, and upon waking each day within the walls of her home she began to feel less alive. It was as though she awoke in her dreams and slept through life. On the weekends, she would lay long in her bed, closing her eyes and urging her mind to return her to the promised land. When that failed to take her to her destination, she would sit before the guest room mirror and wait for a buzzing bird to appear and fly upon its wings of fancy into the other world.

For the first few weekends, Stephen had been pained by his wife's distance. He had felt the loss of her unconditional love, which had always triumphed in the past. It had departed along with  her warmth and hopeful, positive regard, which would always reassure Stephen and bring him comfort, regardless of the errors of his ways. His first response to his loss was to grow in unease. Becoming agitated and angry. This response had served him well in the past. Maya had always been compelled to soothe any unease she encountered. But this time,  her eyes were empty as he shouted of her flaws. Her tears had dried up. She felt no guilt or shame. She would float out of the room as though she had never seen or heard or felt his wrath. The sounds of his need, threats, self-sorrow, insults and accusations about where she was disappearing to for hours on end, remained muffled by the peacefulness of birdsong faraway.

Maya no longer consumed his anxiety, excused his behaviours nor sought redemption. Her secret world had granted her immunity.

Stephen's next response was to take on the role of his wife. To demonstrate love, to offer reassurance and understanding with words he had heard Maya say in the past. Words like, 'I know this is hard for you right now baby. We have had tough times before. We will get through this'. He would leave her little notes. They too had always seemed effective in the past. A scrap of love tossed out at sufficient intervals to keep her believing in her marriage and hoping for her husband. The notes were no longer read. They would remain untouched in the very precise positions that Stephen had left them.

Often this would lead to further waves of anger. Stephen had never had to endure his wife's distance for this long before. He would revert to shouting, breaking things and threats. One night he tore into the guest room and grabbed his wife's face, showing her their wedding photograph and telling her how it meant nothing to her, spitting out that he finally agreed that their marriage meant nothing, before ripping the photograph into tiny pieces and scattering it like confetti over her head. Still she did not respond. 

That night he searched desperately for comfort between the clock on his wrist and his vacant wife's face. Three times. 00.00. 00.00. 00.00. Punctuated by the shredding of his arms sliced thrice as he searched for his serenity. He thought he saw a tear fall from the eye of his waxwork wife, but still she remained fixed to the spot in front of the mirror.

At first Stephen had taken some solace in the fact that his wife continued to rise for work each day. She dressed in the clothes which he continued to wash and iron for her. Though she never ate the breakfast he made. She took two gulps of stale tea before she left without saying a word, leaving the half empty mug to fester in whatever spot she had last placed it down. Searching for the festering mug and bleaching it three times had now become part of her husband's daily rituals. The comfort Stephen took from his wife's ability to continue to function in work, was soon replaced with anger and resentment. If things were so tough for Maya how could she switch so easily into work mode? Then switch back as soon as she walked through their door? Stephen demanded answers from his wife. She provided none.

Of course, everyone at work had noticed a change in Maya when she had returned to work after the summer solstice. Marge's previous concern for her colleague's frenzied determination to prove her competence had been replaced by an unsettling feeling that Maya had become more distant and distracted. She was no longer in the office early everyday. Instead she could be seen parked in her usual parking spot. Lingering in the car. Gazing across to the silver birches. Until she was late. She still initiated conversation with her colleagues but she did not seem to hold on to the information they were telling her and that feeling that her colleagues used to get, of being really listened to, well it had taken a vacation that summer.

Families came and went and no concerns had been raised regarding Maya's practice but Helen had noticed that Maya's usual efficiency with maintaining records had slipped. By early August Marge had taken the decision to reallocate some of Maya's work, suggest a reduction in hours and pair her up with a senior colleague on a more regular basis. She was worried how Maya may respond to this. Maya's passive acceptance of Marge's careful explanation about giving her more time for reflection and professional development only served to raise Marge's concerns further. The following supervision session she broached the idea or Maya returning to the counselling sessions for a review. Maya had taken the card calmly and said 'I think I have already  learned some good coping strategies to be honest, but I will think about it'. The card remained in her desk drawer

Do not wake the dreamer

Shhh!
Do not wake the dreamer!
Tread carefully, be aware
You think you see her in the garden?
Alas! She is not there!

Look!
Her eyes are open
She's as here as them and those
She is hanging out the washing now?
No no! Tis just Escapist's pose!

Listen!
She is speaking
Oh yes, but no one heard
Is she talking to herself?
I see! She's conversing with the bird!

Watch!
There is a commotion now!
Terror, anger, faces red
Surely that will wake her?
Too late? Too gone? Too
Dead?

Shhh!
No need to mourn the dreamer
Her cold blood and silent heart
You're right, she's in the garden
Nevermore! In worlds she plays no part