The Space Between Us: Where Are You

Part One

I was lying in bed, staring at the TV, but not really watching. The flickering images cast a soft glow across the room, their colors blending into a haze that mirrored the swirling chaos in my mind. My thoughts drifted through a labyrinth of memories and emotions, the TV just a distant hum meant to drown out the heavy silence that pressed against my chest. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, carrying the weight of everything I had been carrying. I glanced over at my phone on the bedside table, its screen dim and silent, like a forgotten relic of connection. Something inside nudged me to pick it up, a gut feeling I couldn’t ignore.

I turned my phone’s ringer back on, setting it down again, and let out a deep breath that felt like it could shatter the stillness. Within minutes, it rang, slicing through the silence like a lifeline. I stared at the screen, my heart racing as it skipped a beat. It was him—the only person alive I truly wanted to hear from. I answered, my voice shaking slightly as I said hello, the familiar sound wrapping around me like a warm embrace. We hadn’t spoken in weeks—he was off-limits. Before that, it had been nearly two decades since we’d truly talked. Hearing his voice brought a wave of relief, soothing the sadness and spiraling madness that had gripped me over the past week.

The conversation left me feeling a strange mix of hope and satisfaction, like a long-awaited answer finally had a chance to breathe. I let out a sigh, sinking back into my pillow, the tension in my body slowly easing, like a taut string finally released. For the first time in days, I felt a flicker of peace, a moment of bliss that settled my aching heart. And it was in that blissful state that I finally nodded off.

Everything around me blurred, the air shifting suddenly like a film being wiped clean. When it cleared, I found myself crouched on the far side of the bedroom, wedged between the bed and the wall. I was hiding, trembling as my teeth chattered in my sleep, the chill in the room creeping under my skin. This was about to become a nightmare; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn’t sure how, but I was caught somewhere between asleep and awake. I could sense the frigid air beyond my blanket, the warmth of the comforter a stark contrast to the cold reality looming just outside my makeshift fortress. From my hiding spot, I heard the unsettling sound of drawers being rummaged through in the room down the hall. My nerves were on high alert, each sound amplifying the anxiety coursing through me. I was in full-on bodyguard mode, trying to protect the little girl who was here with me, though ‘protect’ might be a bit generous. Kingston and Zuma’s friend, Ryan, was dangling off the side of the tall bed, staring down at me and completely giving away my hiding spot. Fantastic. I’m a terrible bodyguard, I realized. I should’ve been on the bed, and she should’ve been the one hiding. Clearly, I wasn’t cut out for this role.

Ryan didn’t seem too concerned, though. She crawled off the edge of the bed and dropped down beside me, like this was all part of some game she knew how to win. She knelt next to me, her eyes glimmering with that unnerving, all-knowing smile kids get when they’re about to mess with you. She leaned in close and whispered, “Do you know what’s about to happen?”

My heart pounded, an electrifying mix of excitement and fear swirling inside me, a thrilling cocktail of emotions that made my palms sweat. I nodded, though I didn’t have a clue. Her grin widened. “No, you don’t,” she teased. “Go on! Go, go!” She motioned toward the hallway, urging me into the unknown. Great. This was already shaping up to be another disaster, and I was the star of the show.

It had been 2 months and 4 days since he left this world, and somehow, everyone else had managed to dream of him at least once—everyone except me. Typical. The medium had warned me that I was blocking Kingston from visiting me in my dreams. Sounds about right. If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s getting in the way of my own happiness.

Not that it was entirely my fault. After talking to the medium, I’d been suffering for days, my head pounding like a 747 running military drills inside my skull, the dull thud echoing in my ears. The pain was so intense, my neck so rigid, that I knew I had to do something. I went back and forth, debating between booking a deep tissue massage or trying Reiki—a new experience that, according to Google, might “unblock my third eye” or whatever mystical nonsense was supposedly clogging things up. It didn’t sound like the worst idea I’d ever had.

By Thursday morning, I had reached the point of “get help or die.” I couldn’t take the pain or the nausea any longer; my stomach churned with anxiety, feeling like it could swallow me whole. I felt like I was going to fade away myself if I didn’t find relief. I had already downed enough ibuprofen and Imitrex to take out a horse’s liver, and yet the pounding persisted, like a relentless drumbeat in my mind. So that afternoon, I finally caved and made an appointment. Deep tissue massage it was.

Forcing myself to lie still for a full 60 minutes felt like its own kind of torture, each second stretching like an eternity, but I managed. The therapist’s hands worked like magic, my neck and back were stretched, pulled, and kneaded until every knot—especially the ones I didn’t even know existed—began to unravel. Slowly, the headache that had been jackhammering away in my skull started to back off, inch by inch, like the clouds finally giving way to sunlight. It was the first bit of relief I’d felt in days.

And let’s not forget the side effects of the ADHD meds I’ve been on for a decade. Those pills made REM sleep feel like a relic of ancient history, lost in the sands of time, and my never-ending anxiety about making rent just added to the chaos. I don’t usually get headaches for more than a day, let alone four days straight, but this one was relentless, a beast refusing to be tamed. And then there was grief—my not-so-friendly companion since Kingston faded away—eagerly stepping in to fill the gaping hole he left behind. Talk about a third wheel.

So, yeah, it’s no wonder Kingston’s spirit had trouble visiting me. I barely sleep as it is, let alone have the luxury of a dream. Even if he wanted to stop by, he’d probably have to take a number and wait in line behind my insomnia, anxiety, and whatever else my subconscious decides to throw at me.