but I do know that you’re being affected mentally, spiritually and physically. You’re confused and afraid of what this dream means. The last part is especially compelling.”
She stopped for a moment. Monson watched her take a deep breath.
“Who is this man that you’re so scared of, Monson? Is he really you? I think that’s the source of your fear. I think you believe that this man you hate so much - and yes, you do hate him - is in fact you, or at least a part of you. Even I don’t know what all that means. But what I do know is that this is a strug gle you don’t think you can win.”
He felt like vomiting. He needed to stop this, now.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Cyann. That dream - ”
She cut him off and again started to speak, this time as if she were on stage. He stared at her, transfixed.
“ I strike this man.
But come to know...
I will not prevail, nor overcome,
As this man...is me.
“You’re afraid of the real you, Monson Grey. Which means you lost him along the way somewhere. I wish you would tell me how.”
“OK. I get it. You got me.” Monson quietly held up his hands in surrender. “You can read me. Are you happy?” He did his best to smile.
“No, I’m not.” Her eyes strayed to the curl of his lips. “Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.”
Monson’s discomfort gave way to bafflement. “What you mean you don’t understand? You sounded pretty sure yourself just a second ago.”
“I am sure of myself. That has nothing to do with understanding. I can listen and deduce, sometimes I can even feel and I can see…oh, can I see…but seeing and feeling aren’t the same as understanding.”
He again made eye contact with her and received a shock as her guarded expression crumbled into one desperate and distraught. “I still don’t know why it’s you…why you have such a profound and overwhelming effect.”
It no longer seemed like she was speaking to him.
“Cyann, stay with me, you aren’t making any sense. What is it about me you don’t understand?”
“Why…why you act the way you do. Why you pretend to be fine when you obviously aren’t.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not acting like I’m OK! I’m obviously - ”
Cyann again interrupted him, her tone forceful. “Yes, right now you’re showing something of the horror that you’ve experienced, but what about day in and day out? I’ve watched you, you know. Why aren’t you angry or hateful? How can you laugh and joke as if nothing happened?”
Monson hesitated, overwhelmed by an enormous realization. This inquiry and concern was not about him…it was about her .
“What happened to you, Cyann?”
“What do you mean?” He could hear the emotion in her voice. He may have caught her off guard, but only slightly.
He took a step towards her. “Just what I asked. I think we stopped talking about me a while ago. You asked me why I wasn’t angry or hateful? And I’m asking, why are you angry and hateful? Why can’t you smile or laugh, Cyann? What are you running from?”
“Don’t try and turn this around! We’re talking about you right now. I’m trying to understand you.”
He sighed and turned his back to her. “Someone who demands honesty but won’t provide it is the worst kind of hypocrite, Cyann.”
He laughed at the irony in his own words.
“Not that I’m one to talk.” He paused. “The truth is, even if you wanted to understand me, you couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Her one-word reply drove into him like an ice pick.
“Because I don’t even understand myself. I’m a broken vessel, Ms. Harrison. A shadowy figment of a person who was once Monson Grey, but now is someone - something - else. This new Monson sees and hears things that both disturb and shake him. Screaming voices, bloodied and mangled bodies, ungodly noises that assault him in his sleep and in quiet moments, making him dangerous and unstable. He doesn’t know if these are memories,
She stopped for a moment. Monson watched her take a deep breath.
“Who is this man that you’re so scared of, Monson? Is he really you? I think that’s the source of your fear. I think you believe that this man you hate so much - and yes, you do hate him - is in fact you, or at least a part of you. Even I don’t know what all that means. But what I do know is that this is a strug gle you don’t think you can win.”
He felt like vomiting. He needed to stop this, now.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Cyann. That dream - ”
She cut him off and again started to speak, this time as if she were on stage. He stared at her, transfixed.
“ I strike this man.
But come to know...
I will not prevail, nor overcome,
As this man...is me.
“You’re afraid of the real you, Monson Grey. Which means you lost him along the way somewhere. I wish you would tell me how.”
“OK. I get it. You got me.” Monson quietly held up his hands in surrender. “You can read me. Are you happy?” He did his best to smile.
“No, I’m not.” Her eyes strayed to the curl of his lips. “Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.”
Monson’s discomfort gave way to bafflement. “What you mean you don’t understand? You sounded pretty sure yourself just a second ago.”
“I am sure of myself. That has nothing to do with understanding. I can listen and deduce, sometimes I can even feel and I can see…oh, can I see…but seeing and feeling aren’t the same as understanding.”
He again made eye contact with her and received a shock as her guarded expression crumbled into one desperate and distraught. “I still don’t know why it’s you…why you have such a profound and overwhelming effect.”
It no longer seemed like she was speaking to him.
“Cyann, stay with me, you aren’t making any sense. What is it about me you don’t understand?”
“Why…why you act the way you do. Why you pretend to be fine when you obviously aren’t.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not acting like I’m OK! I’m obviously - ”
Cyann again interrupted him, her tone forceful. “Yes, right now you’re showing something of the horror that you’ve experienced, but what about day in and day out? I’ve watched you, you know. Why aren’t you angry or hateful? How can you laugh and joke as if nothing happened?”
Monson hesitated, overwhelmed by an enormous realization. This inquiry and concern was not about him…it was about her .
“What happened to you, Cyann?”
“What do you mean?” He could hear the emotion in her voice. He may have caught her off guard, but only slightly.
He took a step towards her. “Just what I asked. I think we stopped talking about me a while ago. You asked me why I wasn’t angry or hateful? And I’m asking, why are you angry and hateful? Why can’t you smile or laugh, Cyann? What are you running from?”
“Don’t try and turn this around! We’re talking about you right now. I’m trying to understand you.”
He sighed and turned his back to her. “Someone who demands honesty but won’t provide it is the worst kind of hypocrite, Cyann.”
He laughed at the irony in his own words.
“Not that I’m one to talk.” He paused. “The truth is, even if you wanted to understand me, you couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Her one-word reply drove into him like an ice pick.
“Because I don’t even understand myself. I’m a broken vessel, Ms. Harrison. A shadowy figment of a person who was once Monson Grey, but now is someone - something - else. This new Monson sees and hears things that both disturb and shake him. Screaming voices, bloodied and mangled bodies, ungodly noises that assault him in his sleep and in quiet moments, making him dangerous and unstable. He doesn’t know if these are memories,
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