I woke up thinking her hand was in mine. I said to her “You’re joking, you’re not really dead.”
“Yes I am,” she said, “You’ve known this for a long time.” All the sudden this became difficult to accept. I don’t know what state I was in or why she was laying next to me holding my hand. I heard my roommate rustling around the room looking for her things – we were sharing the same room and she was getting ready for work, I was still lying down. She kept saying sorry. She thought she was waking me. I thought I was already awake.
When I told her I didn’t believe she was dead it was simply because it didn’t make sense having her there and all. I was holding her hand, she seemed to be alive. I didn’t get it. I wondered, later on, if reading Jane Erye had encouraged this thought. Perhaps I was remembering the scene between Jane and Helen.
But I’d never felt so close to her before, not since the last time we’d held hands which must have been years ago. I think it was a figment of my imagination but it was terrifically real. You might have thought I was scared, but I was not. I was rather laid back lying there with her, her condition was a minor confusion rather than a matter of distress. And this was not the case at all until she informed me that I must surly know that she is only returning from the dead.
After my eyes opened and I saw my roommate I was sure if I closed my eyes and continued to sleep she would come back again. I lay in bed for another hour, but she did not come back.
I wasn’t sad or terrified, and eventually I wasn’t all that confused either. I didn’t want for anything, nor did I feel cheated by the experience. What exactly happened is still not clear to me, though I think I should cherish whatever it is I had. Whatever it was, it was blissful as could be.
