Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
There’s a monotony to my days, and I’ve come to find comfort in it. Mornings start with an hour of meditation. When I first began meditating, I lasted maybe ten minutes. Now I find peace in nourishing my mind, focusing on the part of myself that is so much greater than my physical body. We are so much more than the sum of our parts. For that hour I don’t see pain and suffering. I see joy and happiness for not only myself, but all life. Wayne Dyer said, “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”
I don’t think Wayne ever met Theodore Reed.
Nevertheless, the things I look at are changing. With each passing day, I feel less physical suffering and less emotional anxiety. I’m intrigued by the words I read. At university, I thought I knew everything. My grades were perfect. The world was mine, and I thought I had it all figured out.
Now, I question if I truly know anything. The assumption that a good education equates to intelligence is not necessarily true. A lot of highly-educated people have been told what to think, therefore, they think they know it all. The other segment of the population has to figure out how to think, therefore they question everything.
“You’re better—focused. Finding peace,” Yimin says as I finish my tea that now goes down without any gag reflex, not even a slight grimace of disgust.
“You think I’m in pain, like Nolan. That’s why you give me this tea and juice every day?”
“I think you’re navigating a difficult journey. Must nourish body on difficult journey.”
“Why do you think I’m in pain? Why do you think I’m on a difficult journey?”
Yimin sips his own tea. “Doesn’t matter. I see you in a better place. That’s all that matters. The mind is very powerful and so are words.”
“Yeah, well, I think my skin is orange.”
He laughs.
“I’m serious. Two liters of carrot juice a day for almost two months. I haven’t worn my glasses or contacts in weeks. I don’t need them.”
He nods. Nothing seems to surprise or shock Yimin. His belief in the unimaginable, the unbelievable—miracles—is something I envy.
“Do you think it’s working?” I ask. “Hypothetically, if I were in pain, do you think it’s working?”
I used to shy away from his gaze. Not anymore. He says so much to me without saying an actual word and when he does speak, it’s usually very few words with cryptic meaning that I’ve become quite good at deciphering.
“Does it matter?”
Wow. That’s a heartbreaking question. I’ve come a long way over the past seven weeks, but … am I ready to answer that question? Does my physical existence matter? Tears burn my eyes as the mental truth collides with the very real physical emotions I still possess.
“Don’t be afraid.” He rests his hand on mine.
The waves dive into the shore, holding back nothing, submitting to their fate. I envy them too. My lips roll between my teeth. I believe fear drives everyone—fear of suffering, fear of pain, fear of the unknown. At the very core of humanity is an innate intelligence that makes us work for shelter, steal for food, kill for that last breath. I’m not sure I can rise above that fear … at least not in this lifetime.
“Afraid of what?” I ask.
“Life.”
I nod.
*
What is Theodore Reed’s fear? He walks up the beach, water-matted hair dripping remnants of the ocean down his muscular form. What does he fear most? Life or death? Is he chasing an uncertain future or running from an unimaginable past?
Keeping a safe distance, I follow him to the house like I’ve done for the past seven weeks. Theo swims with the sharks every morning while I have breakfast with Yimin. He goes to work for Nolan, remodeling homes, while I read, enjoy long walks down the beach, and water my plants that now number twenty-seven. Maybe I need more oxygen to breathe than I ever did before. Maybe I don’t feel as lonely with so much life around me. This life—coexisting with someone who won’t even look at me on the few occasions we sit and eat at the same table—it’s lonely. I’d feel less lonely if I were actually alone.
I miss Oscar. I miss Daniel. I miss London. But more than anything … I miss the touch of love: a gentle hand wrapped around mine, an embrace to hold me together on the days I feel like I’m falling apart, lips ghosting along my skin, a whisper of forever, a smile signifying my presence makes another human feel happy.
Human. That’s it. I miss all the things that define the best part of humanity. I don’t want my biggest regret to be wasted time.
Today I make a detour from my routine and clean every inch of the house until Theo’s handiwork looks its best. Then I cook dinner for two, complete with candles and music from a radio. He actually has a plug-in radio. As I start to descend the stairs after a shower, wearing my hair down in long, ironed-straight black strands, and a touch of lip gloss, I hear a woman’s voice.