Page 9

Part D

“Taking Over Me”

April

The faceless one walked with me through the streets of Paris; the tuxedo she wore perfectly hugging her curves. We wandered into the Musée de l'Orangerie where Monet’s Water Lilies surrounded us . Suddenly, we were outside in the dark, but the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower illuminated our promenade through the Champ-de-Mars. I kept trying to catch a glimpse of some feature on her face, but as always, there was nothing…

* * *

“You doing okay after the biopsy and everything? I mean, I know it was all okay, but sometimes it can still be traumatic.” Isaac asks me as we take the stairs to the upper balcony of Meymandi Concert Hall on Saturday night.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I nod. “Thanks, but I’m really okay.” I raise my index finger and say meaningfully, “I don’t want to have to go through that again anytime soon—or ever, if I’m wishing for stuff—but I’m good right now.”

“That’s good to hear.” Isaac keeps his arm around my shoulder, guiding me into the seating area. Even though I’ve walked these halls dozens of times since my parents died, I still find it hard sometimes to come to the symphony without my dad. This was our special time each month, and I miss him so much each time I’m here without him. Isaac knows all this and keeps his arm around me as we walk in.

“Excuse us,” Isaac says, walking down the row to our seats: 205 and 206. “Here we are. You want your usual seat, right?”

“Yes, please.”

“I forgot to tell you how nice you look this evening. The color of that blouse really sets off your red hair.” Isaac smiles at me then opens his program.

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling this intense sensation of déjà vu. This is really weird. But, maybe he’s said that to me at another symphony concert. “You look nice too.”

I try to dispel the strangeness and open my program as well, but the only thing that happens is I start thinking about the faceless person…woman dreams. I’m staring down at the words on the page about Beethoven and Mozart—two of my favorite composers—however my mind is saying, Is it Abby or Suz? Or someone else? Why now? Are Mom and Dad sending me these dreams? I set the program down on my lap and rub my eyes. It doesn’t help as the thoughts keep swirling around my head on a loop.

Isaac pulls me out of my downward spiral by leaning over and whispering, “Guess what?”

Out of absolutely nowhere, I finish his thought, “You remembered your binoculars this time.”

“I…uh…how did you know?” he asks, tentatively holding up the binoculars in question.

How did I know? Am I psychic now? “Lucky guess?” I say, though it comes out as a question.

Isaac shrugs and hands them to me as the symphony starts tuning. I start with the first chair violin as he leads everyone in the tuning process and scan the string section. I love seeing how the men are all in tuxes and the women are all in black dresses, but there are so many shades of black and different styles of dresses out there when you look closer. Right when I get to the cello section, I hear applause as the conductor comes out, and Isaac is nudging me to get the binoculars back, but I can’t tear my eyes away from one particular cello player. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was that guy I saw out on the street outside Suz’s apartment the other night. The night after I got my biopsy results back and had the first of the faceless person dreams that showed them specifically as a woman.

So, what is it about this guy? I’ve probably seen him countless times before at concerts, if he’s been with the symphony for any length of time. Not needing to stare at this guy anymore, I pass the binoculars back to Isaac so he can ogle the conductor. I close my eyes and try to just get lost in Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7. In my head, though, all I can see is the faceless one morphing from a genderless person into the cello guy, into Suz, then into Abby. This happens over and over like someone pressing rewind and fast forward on a video, until it finally settles on Abby.

When I open my eyes, I’m having trouble catching my breath and I see Isaac looking at me with concern. I can’t hear anything but the thoughts swirling around my head and my pounding heart. Add to that the feeling that this has all happened before and I’m in a full-blown panic attack.

I stand up and press my way through the legs and feet of the people next to me, desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible. I push through the double doors into the relative quiet of the lobby. I see a bench on the landing and rush toward it, feeling I could collapse at any moment as my breathing comes in a staccato rhythm—not unlike the “Poco sostenuto – Vivace” movement the symphony is playing now—and my head starts spinning. As soon as I sit down, I fold forward and let my head fall between my legs.

“Clare? Clare? Are you alright?” Isaac asks frantically. I shake my head. Although I can’t see him, I can feel that he’s kneeling in front of me. He gently rubs my back as I try desperately to control my breathing and my rapidly pounding heart. “It’s going to be okay,” he adds in his soothing baritone.

Gradually, I start to feel better, and I very slowly start to lift back upright. Isaac comes to sit beside me and continues rubbing my back while my breathing comes back to normal. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your evening,” I manage in a hoarse whisper.

He gives me a soothing hug. “Don’t worry about me. I’m worried about you. Are you okay? Was this something to do with your dad? His favorite piece or something?”

I could lie and just tell him that was all it was. But I so want to confide in someone about what’s been happening with the déjà vu, the dreams and everything. Abby is the only one who knows about the dreams, but I don’t feel like I can talk to her about them anymore. Not now. Now when I suspect she’s the one they’re pointing me toward.

I look in Isaac’s kind eyes. “Do you mind if we blow off the symphony tonight? Maybe we could get dessert or something and talk?”

He nods. “Sure. Whatever you need.” Then, tentatively, “Should we get Nate and Abby to meet us?”

I know I don’t hide the look of anxiety on my face when he mentions Abby.

“Got it. I’ll take that as a no then.”

We decide to go to the coffee house across the street from my old building since it’s within walking distance and would still be open for a while. When we stand up, I realize I left my purse in the concert hall. “I’ll just go back and get it.”

“No need,” he says, holding up my purse that was apparently sitting beside him on the floor this whole time.

“Thanks,” I reply, blowing out a sigh of relief and taking the bag from him, leading the way down the stairs to the warm spring air outside.

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Isaac begins as he sets his cup of coffee down on the table. He holds his right hand up and starts ticking things off on his fingers. “You’ve been having dreams of some romantic, faceless person since your parents died. You feel like they might be from your parents pointing you toward the person you’re supposed to be with. Recently, the faceless person has started looking more feminine. You think that person might be Abby. And, you’ve been having episodes of déjà vu. Does that about cover it?”

I swallow a bite of the chocolate chip scone I got to go with my chai latte. “Yep, pretty much.” I nod. “You think I’ve lost my mind, right?”

He shakes his head rather noncommittally. “Not entirely. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around some of the more out-there aspects. You know me. I’m probably the most practically minded of all of us.” Then quickly, he adds, “Not that I don’t think you’re having these dreams or feelings, or that they are any less legitimate.”

I chuckle. “I know. If I weren’t the one this was happening to, I would be struggling to believe it too. It’s a lot to take in.”

He takes a sip of his cappuccino and continues to hold the cup in both hands, pondering.

“Have you mentioned any of this to Abby?”

“She knows about the original dreams, but not about the latest ones, and definitely not that I think it could be her.”

“What has she said in response to them before?” he asks, finally setting down his cup.

I shrug. “I dunno. She kinda had the same reaction you did, at first, but the more of them I had, the more she started to think they could be pointing me toward my future partner. But she never believed they were pointing me to Suz.”

Isaac smirks. “I’d have to agree with her there.”

“Yeah, well,” I sigh. “That’s over now, if it ever was anything to begin with.” I savor the warmth of my latte, soothed by both the spices and the cream.

“Hang on,” he begins, interrupting my pity party over the Suz breakup. “You never told me what precipitated your panic attack tonight. Was there something specific at the concert that triggered all this?”

How do I explain I was experiencing déjà vu already, then saw some guy I’ve never met before with Isaac’s binoculars, and for whatever reason, that set off a feeling like either he or Abby could be the one in my dreams? Is it déjà vu if it’s more than seeing something again but reliving the same activity? I don’t remember much of my high school French, but maybe something like “déjà faire” or “déjà fait” or something? Regardless, just thinking about all of this again is making my breath come quicker, and if I don’t watch it, I’m going to be in the midst of another full-blown panic attack.

“I…I…can’t explain it,” I stammer, breath coming in short gasps.

Isaac comes around the table and rubs my back. “Then don’t. I believe you. Just take deep breaths for me.” He takes in an audible breath through his nose, then blows out heavily through his mouth. He does this a couple more times as I try to mimic him. “There. That’s good.” He moves back to his side of the table but holds onto my hand.

I start to calm back down and my pulse rate slowly starts to return to normal. “I’m so sorry. It’s just—”

He puts up his other hand. “Nope. Say no more. I don’t want you hyperventilating on me for the third time tonight.”

I sigh. “Thanks. And thank you for believing me.”

“Always, Clare. I will always believe you and believe in you. You are my best friend, aside from Nate. But he’s my fiancé, so that hardly counts.” We both laugh.

“I have a piece of advice I don’t think you’re going to want to hear right now,” he says, “but I’m going to give it anyway. You ready?”

I nod almost imperceptibly.

“You should tell Abby everything.” At my immediate look of disagreement, he continues, “I know. I said you weren’t going to like it, but I’m telling you anyway. You should tell her. She’ll understand—probably even better than I—and even if her feelings aren’t the same, you’ll feel better for having gotten it off your chest.”

“I doubt that,” I mutter.

“Maybe not right away, but it will be better than it causing panic attacks, right?”

“I guess you’re right,” I relent. “But I still think she’s going to think I’m as crazy as I feel.”

He shakes his head. “She loves you, even if just as a best friend, and she already knows about the dreams, so I don’t think this will be as big of a leap for her.”

“How about this: I’ll think about it. Will that work for you?” I offer.

He nods. “That’s as good a plan as any.”

“Oh, and would you mind keeping this a secret from Nate? At least until I figure out what I’m going to do about Abby.”

“I’ll do my best,” he agrees.

I take the last bite of my scone and wonder how I will ever face my best friend and roommate again.