The Visitor

Three years ago, I was going about my life when an unexpected visitor came knocking at my door. The visitor didn't avail himself when I was in a bad mood or was going through a rough time. (In fact, the days prior to his arrival were filled with joy and promise.) This visitor however, carried chaos in his wake. I opened the door at his friendly knock, and he stood there with a coat under his arm and a smile on his face.

"Hello." he said "Nice to meet you. My name is Anger. Can we talk a moment?"

I must have looked confused, so he said "Terribly sorry, you seem a bit dazed. If you'll just put on this coat, it will become more clear."

I took the jacket from him, and saw a strange tag sewn under the collar. In bright red letters, it read "Blame."

I donned the jacket, and I must say, it fit perfectly. In fact, at that moment, you would have had to wrestle me to the ground if you wanted me to part with it.

Anger said "Goodness me, what a perfect fit...but just look at me, I've completely forgotten to show you it's accessories."

He reached into a carpet bag, and produced a muffler that looked so plush and warm. It matched the jacket perfectly. It looked to be hand-knitted from the finest wool, and woven into the longest end was a single word: "Regret". Anger wrapped it around my neck (a bit tightly for my taste), but truly this was a match like no other in men's fashion.

Anger then took off his own gloves, and said "Can't let you go without these, now can I?" I pulled their supple leather onto my hands, and the warmth and softness was like the deepest luxury a man could experience. Glancing at the stitching along the wrists, I could just make out the name of the manufacturer:  "Mourning".

"That's strange." I said out loud. "Has someone passed away?"

"Oh, quite not." Anger said. "Mourning does not require a death to take place. All it takes is a deep, personal loss. Sometimes, one can even mourn the person they themselves were before the loss took place."

"I see." I said "Well, these are quite nice. All of it is, but I can't afford a wardrobe like this."

Anger smiled and said "Oh, these are complimentary, Sir. I must warn you though, you'll never take them off." and with that, Anger tipped his hat as though he was about to depart. Suddenly, he said "You know, you could definitely use this hat as well."

He took off his hat, and handed it to me. Sewn into the brim was his own name "Anger".

I put the hat on, and a powerful flood of emotions swept over me. I wanted to let out a primal scream of pain, but instead, I hung my head low, turned back inward, and locked the door to the world outside. I was completely under Anger's control.

As the years went on, the coat, scarf, gloves and hat grew heavier and heavier, but I always kept my best face on for those around me as I wore them. Only my closest family saw the weight I was carrying. I pretended to smile when I encountered others, and always did my best to seem happy and full of joy, (as I always had been before Anger's visit), but something new was in my heart now. It lived in me every day.

Anger. Blame. Regret. Mourning.

I didn't like people anymore. Especially adults, like myself. I felt like everyone was waiting to throw another coat over my shoulders, or a scarf around my neck. I didn't trust anyone. Children were the only ones I really let in, because you never have to guess where you stand with a child.

Every night, as I lay down to sleep, I would think about the coat and scarf and gloves and hat. They hung at my bedside, and as soon as dawn broke and the sun rose, I would put them on again.

And thus it has been for three years.

Three long years.

It's a long time to wear this heavy, wearisome set of coordinates, and I would have worn it for who knows how much longer, with no hope of their release in sight.

It took a set of Windchimes to make me realize where the healing must begin.

To be continued...