The Compass
Every morning starts the same way. Every day unfolds pretty much the same way if I’m honest. The shrill beeping of the alarm yanks me out of my sleep, and I ungracefully untangle myself from the blankets and collapse on the floor, eyes still heavy with sleep and unrest. I don’t dream, not anymore, not since it happened.
This morning though, I feel something distinctively different when I wake up. For starters, I wake up before the alarm, feeling alert and rested. It did not happen in a while.
As I get up in the semi-darkness, I stumble on the furry shape of my cat, who lets me know with loud hissing and meowing that she is upset to have been disturbed uncharacteristically early and violently.
But I don’t really pay attention to the noise, busy as I am trying not to fall flat on my face after what seemed like a good start for once. I grab the bookcase in front of me and regain my balance, sending several items flying around me. A dusty box crash lands on my head as I curse under my breath.
My good mood has soured, and I reach for the light switch, then start picking up the books and trinkets.
As I reach for the box that fell on my face, I freeze. It is partly open, and I have not looked at it in years. In fact, I deliberately stuffed it behind a pile of books and forgot about it.
Just then, my alarm goes off, and I decide now is not the time to open the box, or I’ll be late.
I head to the bathroom, with a nagging feeling, a heaviness in the pit of my stomach. It has been too long, I cannot keep ignoring it, it’s not healthy.
I sigh and turn back to the box. By now the cat has started playing with the lid, and I can see the compass-shaped pendant neatly ensconced in the velvety box. I shoo her away as I kneel down.
I stare at the compass for a long time. It’s a gorgeous vintage piece, with a gilded frame, mounted on a long delicate gold chain. The face has a warm bronze patina and minute details, the cardinal points are etched in dark gold, the tiny needle spins and points straight at me, the rose is styled such as it looks like the sun…
“So you always remember the sunny days,” she had said.
After examining the compass so long that I almost commit every detail to memory, I hesitantly reach out and take it out of the box. It’s warm and pulsating in my palm, alive.
I feel myself basking in a pool of hot golden light.
I am sitting on a bench, a caramel ice cream cone in my hand. My favorite! It brings an eager smile on my lips, I raise the ice cream to my mouth, and I notice a movement from the corner of my eyes. The scene is hazy, with a grainy quality, like old movies.
I get off the bench and walk towards the dark carousel, and it lights up as I move closer, and starts slowly turning, to the sound of the child song I know so well.
It’s the old-fashioned carousel from the seaside fair, the one we went to every summer. I know it is, I remember the lights, the horses, the music. I loved this carousel, it was the most beautiful thing in my child’s eyes. There it is, my horse, the dark one with the red saddle and the gold ribbons in its mane. It looks almost garish now, but the familiar warm feeling grows in my belly, and I feel myself smiling widely. I am five years old again, and my horse is available. I hear myself begging:
“Oh, can I go? Can I go, please? It is my favorite horse in the whole wide world!”
“Fine, one more round, but then we need to go home”
And she’s right here, next to me, fifteen years old still. I grew up, she did not. I feel an intense sadness wash over me, but as if inhabited by my five-year-old self, I grab her hand and run to the horse.
She helps me up, although I don’t need it anymore, but I let her, it feels comforting. As I expect her to, she climbs on the horse to the right of mine, a white angelic-looking horse, with a blue saddle. As I did that day, I tell her:
“This is your horse! It looks like an angel, like you”
And she does, she wears the white flow, gauzy dress that I remember from that day, the one I chose for her to wear forever. Her dark hair flows in warm waves around her smiling, loving face.
“Listen now. I want you to always remember today, remember how happy you are right now.”
“Even though I have caramel ice cream all over my shirt?”
“Yes, even this,” she laughs, “every little detail. Close your eyes and remember, and now hold out your hand.”
I remember my outstretched hand and her dropping the velvet box into it.
“Open your eyes now.”
“What is it?” The impish glee and excitement I felt that day make my voice high-pitched.
“Well, why don’t you open it so we can find out?”
It is the compass pendant. Five year-old me gasps, and looks up at the older girl with stars in her eyes.
“It’s beautiful!! I love it? What is it for?”
“It indicates directions. This needle will always point towards what you love most, where you need to go. And this, it’s called the rose…”
“It looks like the sun” I cut in.
“So you always remember the sunny days.”
Five year-old me did not notice, but I do. Her voice cracks, she looks defeated.
There is a shift in the air, and, like an out-of-body experience, I am now on the sidelines, watching the scene, watching myself on that day at the fair.
“So it will point me towards you if I get lost?” The young girl asks.
“Where is it pointing now?”
“Towards me.”
“Exactly! Because you will always find me in here.” And she points at the little girl’s chest.
I am so absorbed that I almost jump out of my skin when a hand brushes my shoulder.
The same angelic dress, the same youthful face.
“You forgot me,” she reproaches.
“No… no, I think about you all the time, but it’s just… it’s too much.”
My cheeks are wet. I don’t cry, not since it happened.
“You are shutting everybody off. I promised I would look after you, but you don’t let anyone in. This is no way to live.”
“What do you know about living? You did not even fight to stay with us!” I am enraged, I know it’s not fair but the words are pouring out of me now. “They told me how you refused the treatment in the end. You chose to leave us, to leave me! Do you know what it’s like to be the surviving child? Do you have any idea how guilty you feel? I constantly feel like I don’t deserve to be here, so I don’t let myself be happy because how dare I?”
“This is all in your head. I don’t resent you. I want you to be happy, to live your life to the fullest. There is one thing I cannot forgive though, you let yourself forget me.”
“Your shadow is haunting my every step, how can you say I forgot you?”
“It’s your shadow, the shadow of all you could be. Remember where the needle points. ”
And she vanishes. I’m still clutching the pendant, I shake it slightly and the needle starts turning, then it stops.
The shrill sound again. I roll over and fall off the bed. I look around. No sign of fallen books. The box lies open on my bedside table, and I’m still holding the compass tightly.
I lied. I do dream.
