Ruth Writes Stories

Meet Aya

“Aya, take Dr. Harrison’s hand. It won’t hurt, I promise you.”

Grandfather spoke with his gentle voice, the one he used when trying to get me to do something. Even at five years old I’d already learned not to trust his minor kindnesses.

Grandfather hovered over me, while Mother leaned against the door so I wouldn’t run. Dr. Harrison and I sat next to each other, a narrow table between us. The air was still, as if they were all waiting for me to scream or cry or collapse on the floor. But I wouldn’t. 

Mother rolled her eyes, pushed away from the door and knelt beside me. She stroked my hair, fingers brushed my cheek. It’s alright. She can’t hurt you. If you see anything that scares you, it’s harmless. Just like in a dream. Then you will wake up, and like a dream it will be gone. Okay? Just try. Her voice was reassuring in my head. I checked, Dr. Harrison is safe. Nothing scary there at all.

Is this what you do for Grandfather? I asked Mother. I already knew the answer. 

She kissed the top of my head. Yes. I’ve done it since I was your age.

As Mother moved back to the door, the words popped out of my mouth without thinking. “Is it ever enough?”

Grandfather looked startled. I sometimes forgot that he couldn’t hear us. “What?” He looked from me to Mother. She waved him off.

Dr. Harrison smiled at me. “Do you like horses?”

I’d never been near a horse. I didn’t know how to answer.

“I’ll think about horses. They were my best friends when I was growing up. I think you’ll like them, too.” She smiled even wider, and I felt drawn into her happiness. Suddenly I wanted to see her horses. I reached out and put my hand on top of hers. At first all I noticed was how dry and scratchy her skin felt, followed by the sensation of falling backwards into a deep pool of water, being pulled into a current I couldn’t move against. I thrashed about, looking for something to hold onto, and fell out of my chair.

Mother picked me up off the floor and held me close. Don’t try to swim against it, just let it take you. It’s okay, you can do this. Remember what I taught you. Go with the flow and you’ll be fine.

I shook my head and leaned into her shoulder. I did not like the sensation of drowning.

There’s nothing in there that can hurt you.

I pulled myself in tighter. Not even the water?

Mother rocked me against her chest. It’s there to guide you. If you fight it—

I got a sense of something unnerving, but she shut it out before it could fully form in my mind. The broken thought was replaced by the gentle, calming buzz of honey bees in flowers. The day before we had watched them dance around the garden as we lay on the grass, drowsy in the sunshine. We are gentle with the bees, and they are gentle with us. Remember?

I nodded. Mother pulled away and returned to her spot against the door.

I looked up at Dr. Harrison. Her face was kind, but worried. She turned to Grandfather. “Dr. Safir, Are you sure—”

Grandfather cut her off. “Aya, be a good girl and get on with this. You’re wasting time.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I wouldn’t cry in front of him. Dr. Harrison moved her hand from the table between us and held it out to me, palm up. “Let’s go ride some horses,” she said, her smile gentle and kind. I took her hand as if we were going for a walk together, and found myself falling backwards again into the stream. I remembered to not struggle, just float.

Soon I felt earth beneath my feet, and with it, the vibration of hooves hitting the ground. I was lifted up and put on a saddle, worn leather reins placed in my hands. Not my hands, I reminded myself, Dr. Harrison’s hands. Hers were bigger than mine, but not by much. I felt someone holding my back, keeping me in the saddle, and I watched as my older sister rode in figure eights around the ring. My horse walked slowly around the edge, out of the way as my sister prepared to jump hurdles.

There was a sense of excitement, doing something new and challenging, along with the awareness that I was safe. The hand on my back was reassuring, the warmth and security of Dad guiding the horse as I held the reins. The hat on my head was loose, a hand-me-down from my sister. I gasped as the wind picked up and the hat flew off, then burst into giggles as Dad caught it in mid-air.

Various smells caught my attention: fresh manure, sagebrush, piñon pine, and alfalfa, all carried on that warm, dry wind. I was at once at home, and someplace I’d never been. When I thought about it, it was disorienting. When I let go and settled into it, the details softened and felt natural.

“Okay, kiddo, time to hand you back to your mama,” Dad said as he lifted me up off the saddle and set me back down on the ground. “Go tell her you had fun. I bet she’ll be surprised.” He grinned, knowing Mama was a city girl who couldn’t ride a horse without falling off. But I could.

I turned to walk back to the house, but instead felt the current moving me away from the scene. The light shifted, sounds faded, and the smells dissipated as I followed the flow up and back into my own body. I opened my eyes in a claustrophobic room with pale yellow walls, while I grasped for one last scent of that clean, clear high desert air.

Mother lifted my hand from Dr. Harrison’s and rested it in my lap. She touched her finger to the tip of my nose. How was it?

“I rode a horse! It was so big! And Dad held onto me so I wouldn’t fall.”

The smile on Mother’s face faltered.

“Aya, those are Dr. Harrison’s memories, not yours. You need to learn to separate your experiences from those of others,” Grandfather snapped.

I know that. Why does he talk to me like I’m a baby?

Mother stroked my hands in hers. He can’t see what we see, Aya. But he is right, separating your memories from the people you Read is important. We’ll work on it together.

“We’re done.” Grandfather rose from his chair, took his notes, and left.

I’m proud of you. This is an important step in our research. You’re helping. The smile on Mother’s face was warm, but hollow.

She didn’t trust Grandfather any more than I did.    

---