My friend Jack believes the mysterious girl I met just before my near death experience is my soul mate.
He also thinks I'm a mystic simply because I've always pursued this girl—this mysterious enchantress I'm never able to meet, although I catch glimpses of her at various times throughout my life.
I'm touched by his offer to return the next day to drive me home from the hospital but frankly I'm confused by what he said.
After he leaves, I lie awake in bed—my dinner still untouched on the night table.
I can’t accept that he believes in soul mates. What’s happening to him—or, me for that matter? But, come to think of it, maybe Jack’s right—I’m certainly detached.
My mind drifts back to the last time I spent time in a hospital bed—I was nine and suffering with pneumonia.
I spent a week on intravenous drip and close observation in hospital, before being allowed home. But within days, I convinced my mother to allow me to go outside for short walks —around our block, in the depths of winter.
As Jack said, I’m hardheaded.
Suddenly, as I think about that time, a memory comes flooding back. I realize I saw a similar girl back then—when I was nine. She was just as striking as the girl I saw today, with the same honey-coloured hair and huge eyes.
And I remember I began following that girl too—followed her down the street and even left my block, although I promised my mother I wouldn’t.
Just as I caught up with her, the girl turned around, eyes wide with wonder, and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Following you,” I smiled.
“No you aren’t,” she said firmly, and grasped my hand and marched me home.
We stopped outside my door, and she leaned in and kissed me—softy on the cheek.
At that moment, Mother came out on the verandah and called me in.
“Will I see you again?” I whispered.
“Of course,” she smiled, “we’re soul mates.”
I never saw her again until today—today, when I got run over by a car desperately trying to seek her.
Seems about right, I muse—but why do I always end up losing what I really want to keep?
See? That's the problem with me. I’m desperate—distraught that nothing is working out and time is passing me by.
What’s worse, I don’t even know myself—I never know lately if I’m talking to myself, or to God inside my head.
Don’t worry, a familiar voice says.
I look around the room. It’s empty—there’s no one there, but I know who it is.
“I thought I just heard you in church, Lord.”
I know. That’s you, Stephen—always needing to set a mood—light a candle, ring a bell. Well, I don’t care about that stuff.
And Jack’s right, you can’t lose a soul mate. You also need to realize I’m in charge, and won’t let you go either.
I’m crying now—tears streaming down my face. I can’t talk, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone for now—said what he had to say.
There’s an old part of me that wants to grab a Bible and maybe recite some prayers—but the new guy who hears God—even in a hospital ward—isn’t having any part of that.
The new Stephen just wants to go to sleep, content he’s in good hands.
As for the girl, Jack’s right she’ll come back.
If I’ve learned one thing in my life it’s the fact that love always returns.
