Her Thirties Part 92
I was trying to make sense of what Marilyn was saying—as near as I could figure she was telling me she was a walk-in—she was Marilyn Birnam who died in 1936 and came back and walked into Catherine Forrester’s body.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around it—she scared the hell out of me.
Marilyn was staring out the window trying to gather her thoughts. “I guess what I’m saying is when I lost my memory and my identity, there was a big hole on the inside of me Marilyn began to fill.”
“Then you made it up,” I argued, “—you filled in gaps in your knowledge of Marilyn, by making her into the kind of person you wanted her to be—or maybe, needed to be.”
“That sounds scientific and plausible, but it wasn’t like that. I’ll tell you what it was like. It was as if there were several empty rooms inside me and Marilyn just moved in. I didn’t have to invent her like a character in a book—she was already complete and whole—a real person, Scott.”
I knew what she was talking about—that’s how I felt about Joey. He was a separate entity—a soul unto himself.
“When I got in front of the band at the Palais Royale, I was scared—and then, all of a sudden, Marilyn elbowed past me and grabbed that mike. I was watching and admiring her just like everyone else in the room. It wasn’t me, Scott—believe me, it wasn’t me.”
“So now you’re planning to become her—to live your life as her—the life she didn’t get to live. Is that it?”
“I don’t think so. Somehow, in some strange way, I think I’m her replacement—just as you’re Joey’s.”
I felt an icy current run through my veins—what she said rang true—resonated with what I always dimly felt.
I’ve never believed in reincarnation—but this was something else. As close as I ever got to articulating it was to say we were all partners in time—everybody on earth right now sharing this era. We were all meant to be here.
“Tell me you don’t feel it too, Joey?”
“You’re right, Mar—I feel it. God help me—I don’t understand it—but I feel it.”
Her eyes shone. I put my arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’ll never, ever, leave you, Mar.”
I saw it in a flash. Joey didn’t leave her. He went to the top of Scarborough Bluffs and threw himself off. He dropped three hundred feet to the rocks and water below, so he could be with her.
I started shaking and she held me tight—she knew—somehow, she knew.
“You see? You’ve never left me, Joey. That’s why were here—we never went away.”
A sorrow more plaintive than the mournful song of the sea echoed through me—an ageless sorrow. We came from water—were born from water—and died in water.
I was the guardian who kept his watch and she was my slippery, silvery fish.
Now we were reunited again.
This is scary. So Scott believes he's Joey too? When I firsts started reading today I thought maybe Catherine was just schizophrenic, even when she talked about singing. It is possible you know. But Scott feeling it about himself. I don't know. More mystery to be solved another day!
that's a good hypothesis were it not for Scott's confirmation that he has always felt the same way too - and Abe and Harry to a degree - I think life is often more wondrous and mysterious than we think, or often want to admit :)
Nyce ... perfect and still a mystery to be solved. Great:)
thanks, Pryde
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Lovely story, I like it this writing. thanks for sharing life.......
I like your fiction
Very nice love
Thanks for sharing life
I appreciate your writing
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A sorrow more plaintive than the mournful song of the sea echoed through me—an ageless sorrow.
These lines touched the mind. I carefully read the whole writing, became a bit scary. A great writing.. thakns for sharing life,,,,,,
thank you!