A clinical hypnotist noted in his journal the curious case of Annelle Pendleton. She had been referred to him by Doctor Alton, at the clinic where they specialized in sleep disorders. Ms. Pendleton not only slept 24 hours a day, she was a sleep walker for twelve of those hours. She was able to do what most waking people do, while sleep walking. she got up in the morning, had breakfast, brushed her teeth, and went to work, and yet, she was still asleep. At work, she was noted as a reliable person, who got things done, and was even Employee of the Month three times. The thing about Annelle Pendleton, was that she did all this while asleep, and sleep-walking. What follows, is the account of Doctor James Moltan, regarding his work with Annelle.
CASE # 379, ANNELLE PENDLETON
This recorded transcription is an accurate account of my use of hypnotherapy to both explore and understand, the
characteristics of Annelle Pendleton's unique presentation of an unusual sleep disorder syndrome not seen or written about before in the literature of the field.
Jan, 8, 2010. Initial Session with Annelle Pendleton. (Notes)
In my first meeting with Annelle, I was impressed at how perfectly normal she appeared. How awake she appeared. Her eyes did not display the kind of blank glassiness so typical of sleep walkers, nor was there any slurring or slowness of speech, as one might expect, and even predict, as typical of the common and classical form of the disorder. She was, in fact, quite articulate in describing to me her experience of her unique condition. She had been asleep now for three years. During that time, little about her life had changed. She still kept a tidy house, went shopping, maintained her excellent standing in the work place, went to bed at a normal hour and got up as usual in the morning. The only thing that really changed for her was an inner awareness, that, while it seemed she was getting out of bed, getting dressed for work, having breakfast over the morning news, and so on, she knew she hadn't awakened at all. She was still asleep, but going about her usual life. Being aware of this led her, in a misguided self help sort of way, to try to wake herself up. In our next session, we will review some of these efforts.
Jan 15, 2010. Session 2
Annelle, recounted her determination to wake herself up. She had tried purchasing a loud alarm clock. Then multiple alarm clocks. She says, as of this date, she has well over a dozen. None of them seemed to shake her from her endless sleep. Several of them were so loud and annoying, her neighbors in the next apartment had complained about them. Then she spoke of a day when, she was standing in the kitchen, and she suddenly walked angrily straight into the refrigerator, and knocked herself out. When she came back around moments later on the kitchen floor, she was disappointed to discover that she was still asleep. She reported that the collision she had attempted, did little more than than to create a slight red goose egg on her forehead encircled by a pale halo of bruising light blue..She said that she realized in that moment, picking herself up from the floor in tears, and rubbing her throbbing forehead with her palm, that she needed help. That she was getting increasingly desperate to wake up. She had thoughts of hurting herself into wakefulness, even if only to awaken screaming in pain. Or stepping out in front of a fast-moving car to her death, if just to have a moment of waking clarity before dying. "So, that is why I am here today, doctor" she said, finally raising her head from her fixed gaze down at the floral pattern of her dress across her legs. She swept her palms over her thighs several times, as though smoothing it, as she looked into my eyes. I nodded, looking at her, her eyes revealing nothing but an urgent dark question mark.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. "In our next session, Annelle, I'd like for you to take me further back in your life, so I can begin to better understand your inner dynaics." "What do you mean when you say my inner dynamics?" she said, standing to leave. "Well," I replied, "It means basically the stuff you are made of; the stuff that moves one purposefully through life. We'll walk through it together next time, Annelle. We'll take it slow and easy, and perhaps we both will get to understand you more in time. You see, we have no predictabilityy about life, without first understanding it. And without predictability, there is no possibility of control. It all starts with understanding. Do you understand?" I opened the door for her. "Yes, doctor. I understand." she said, waving goodbye as she walked toward the stairs.
Jan 27, 2010 Session Three
Annelle sat on the red leather arm chair by the window, as usual. She stared out the window, looking down at the busy street thick with city buses, and yellow cabs. People rushing along the city sidewalks, in all directions. "You know what's funny, doctor?" she said. " People are always wishing they could live in a dream. If only they knew what it was really like. "Are you living in a dream, Annelle?" I asked. "Mm hmm," she replied. "A very long dream." "I'd like for you to take me back, Annelle. Back to when your very long dream first began. Can you do that?" She nodded, "I will try. It was in the Winter of 2006. There was a lot of snow that year. I was 23 in the Spring of 2007. That's when it all went out the window." I leaned back in my swivel chair, looking at her as she fell into silence, and simply stared out the window. I knew from her records, that long before 2007, she had been seen by clinicians for narcoleptic seizures, that were brief, but with a sudden onset. These had begun when she was about 10 years old. "That's when what all went out the window?" I asked quietly. She turned her head to look at me with a startled expression. "I'm sorry, doctor. What did you ask me?" "You just said 'that's when it all went out the window' ." "I did?" she said. I don't remember saying that. "Annelle, I'd like for you to think back even further. To 1987. You were 10 years old that year. Do you remember? " She nodded. "I wish I could forget it. Doctor, I really need to leave early today." she said, wringing her hands. "Can we do all this another time?" I nodded, "Sure." I said, sensing her discomfort. We had touched, even if only on the murky surface, upon two periods of her life. Periods of time that were deeply significant in some way."
Sessions Four and Five, Summary of notes.
Over the next two sessions, we were able to identify the co-incidence of the emergence of various symptoms of sleep disorder, with times in her past where she had experienced great loss. At the age of 10, and, in fact, on the very day of her 10th birthday, her father did not come home. He had been tragically killed in a commuter train wreck, on his way home from work. By the time the news reached her that evening, she was dancing and having fun with a living room full of girls her age, celebrating her birthday. In the years that immediately followed, her life went reeling off-balance. She was having bouts of insomnia, wetting the bed, and having sudden narcoleptic episodes. These symptoms seemed causally tied to the trauma of her father's death. While things improved through high school and college, it could have been predicted even back then, that what happened years later in 2007, could have thrown her into the dark hole of endless sleep and dream, where she remains today.
Session 6
Annelle laid down on the couch and rested her head on the pillow. "Comfortable?" I asked, as I pulled my chair up near the couch, just out of her field of vision. "Yes" she replied. "I want you to feel comfortable and relaxed. You have been sleep walking through our sessions, haven't you? I said in a soft voice. "Yes." she replied. "Just as you have been sleep walking through the last three years of your life." I said. "Yes." she replied. "And you are wishing and wanting so much to actually wake up." I added. "Yes." she replied. " I want you to do something, Annelle. I want you to close your eyes and take a long deep breath....10... I want you now, in your present state of constant sleep, to imagine or dream, that you are not really asleep at all....9.....that you are actually awake....8.....Are you awake, now, Annelle?" "Yes" she said with a yawn, as she began to slip into a trance state. "Good. Awake and relaxed....7.....now, I would like you to close your eyes.....6....and go to sleep....5....very peacefully sleeping...4......peacefully sleeping......deeper and deeper asleep....3.....and when you hear me softly call your name....2.....you will awaken from your long dream....1....
I got up quietly and walked into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. What happened to Annelle in 2007 involved a man who hurt her deeply. So deeply, that she had retreated into an extreme state of emotional insulation. A state of mind and feeling that no longer allowed the world with all it's shock and pain, to touch her. She became so removed, that the real world didn't seem real at all, but more like more like a long dream. And sleep for her became the only possible reality. Over time, she came to actually believe that life really was a dream. Finally, she awoke one morning, but without really waking up. She had begun to believe she was sleep walking, rather than actually getting out of bed. Her protective detachment, and insulation had engulfed her. Swallowed her. She was not living a dream at this point, the dream was living her. And so, for the past three years she has been sleep walking through a world in her mind, a world that was but a dream. A dream that possessed her. I made a few notes before continuing with the procedure.
"The procedure I used, to, in effect hypnotize her in her own self induced trance, is relatively new. Whether, it has worked here with Annelle or not, remains to be seen. In asking her, in her sleep walking state, to pretend or imagine she was awake, I was hoping that I had, in effect, entranced, her own hypnotic trance. When she answered that yes, she was awake, she was , in fact really awake for the first time in three years. It was as though I had psychically flipped her delusion like a pancake, and put reality face up once again. When I asked her to return to sleep again, I was basically putting this conversion of her state of mind into a normal sleep-wake cycle. Finally then, as she returned to sleeping, I gave her the suggestion that when I called her name next, she would awaken into reality."
I returned to my seat and looked at her. She was breathing slow, deep, calm breaths, peacefully asleep. "Annelle?" I called quietly. "Yes." she mumbled sleepily. "Are you waking up now,?" "Mm hmm," she said. I watched as she turned onto her side and snuggled the pillow beneath her head. She blinked her eyes several times, then rubbed them with her fist. "I guess I fell asleep." she said, with a yawn. "Yes, I guess you did." I answered with a smile. She pushed herself up on one elbow, and then slowly sat up. She gave a funny laugh and said, "I had the craziest dream." "Really? Tell me." I said. "Uh huh, it was so crazy. I dreamed that I had gone to sleep, and slept for three years! It was like I was Rip Van Winkle, or something. So crazy." I smiled. "So, how are you feeling now, Annelle?" "Happy" she said. "Happy it was just a dream. A long, long, bad dream." "Yes, Annelle. A long dream. But it ended, didn't it?" "Yes", she nodded. "I am awake now."
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Against All Odds
This is the opening of a story. Maybe about the uncanny, although I'm not sure if that's the right word, or if there are other words that best describe it. I had met the young woman at a social gathering. A rather boring affair, we agreed. As we strolled outside, and into the garden to get away from the mindless chatter, she began to tell me of a very fascinating chapter of her history. So fascinating, I asked her if she would mind if I tried to write her story down. She agreed, on the condition that I let her read it first, before publishing it. It was a story of someone she met not too long ago. What follows, is basically the story as she told it to me that night, although I did call her twice to ask her for some further details. For now, I am calling the story, Against All Odds
They had met along the Italian Riviera, each had been strolling through the little coastal villages of the Cinque Terre, taking photos of the jagged limestone cliffs, and the Mediterranean blue waters sloshing with a timeless hypnotic rhythm far below. The harbored boats rocking gently about. The ancient buildings that appeared to lean out precariously over the sea, and which had held their seemingly fragile stand there for ages. It was in the village of Vernazza, to be exact, where they literally bumped into each other, backed into each other, in fact, while framing shots in their cameras. The result was a simultaneous exchange of polite apologies. " I am so sorry." "No, really, it was my fault." "I wasn't paying attention." and "Neither was I."
"Are you from the states?" she asked. "Yes, Arizona, actually; in the high desert. And you?" he asked. "Chicago, well, the 'burbs, actually." "So, what brought you here, to Cinque Terre?" he asked, thinking, as he looked at her, that he wanted to keep the conversation going. "Well, I sorta fell in love with a picture of Vernazza that I saw in a library book, and decided I just had to come here. How about you?" He smiled at her, somewhat entranced by her eyes. "Well," he laughed, "I think I came here to find you." She responded with a smirk and a giggle. It seemed obvious to her it was a clever pick-up line. Yet, it seemed to work. "Oh, you are really something, aren't you?. You don't even know me." she said. He shrugged. "I know, that's true. But I knew how to find you, regardless. Would you like to have a glass of wine, or something like that? I just saw a nice little place back that way." he said, pointing back to the narrow street he had just come down. "Sure, why not? I was just thinking of going up that way, anyway." So, this is how they met. And they soon knew each other's names, and a little about each other. His name was Enzio, named after his great-grandfather, who had immigrated from Italy to the states long ago. Her name was Candyce, named after a mother she never knew, who had died upon delivering her daughter into the world. Neither had a clue about where they might each wander next across Europe before returning to the states. And neither, suspected as they emptied their glasses and parted company, the mysterious chain of events that had just been put in motion.
Candyce awoke early that next morning and packed her bags. She ate a light breakfast in the Hotel's wonderfully aromatic cafe, and looked at her maps. Enzio had said he might walk the trail from Riomaggiore to Manarolo, or catch a train up to Rome, but he wasn't sure. She had told him she might go to Paris, or maybe not. She studied the map of the French Riviera. She was not sure about Nice. She liked the quiet villages better. Her eyes fell upon a little town tucked back into the mountains, some 15 miles from Nice. The village of Sospel. She could take a train to Nice, and then a local bus to Sospel. She grabbed her bags and headed to the train station. She thought about Enzio as she stared out the train window. Maybe it would have been nice to travel with him awhile, he seemed like a nice guy. She left her seat and strolled the length of the three passenger cars, thinking he might have actually gotten on too. But, no. "He's probably walking the trails back in Cinque Terre." she thought to herself, as she returned to her seat. She sat down and looked out the window again with a certain sense of regret.
Sospel was a sleepy little place. Off the tourist track, and with little to do. She had a glass of wine at the little tavern by the bridge. The bartender chatted with her. He encouraged her to take a winding trail that went to the top of the nearby mountains. At the top was the remains of a German sniper's nest, and from atop that one could look down the other side at the Cote d' Azur, and the bustling cities of Nice, and Monaco. The mountainsides are abloom with many flowers. " You will like it", he said.
It was a pleasant gradual uphill hike, and as the bartender had suggested, quite beautiful. She stopped to pick some flowers and suddenly felt very alone. It was a strange mix of 'how nice, to be alone," and "how scary". She neared the top, and could see the ruins of the concrete bunker the bartender had mentioned. It disappeared from view momentarily as the trail took a bend around a large rock formation. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. There was the bunker. And there, on top of it sat Enzio.
"Enzio?" she called. He turned to look at her. "Oh, there you are!" he said, "I was beginning to think I had it wrong." She walked toward him, and climbed up onto the top of the bunker. She sat down next to him. "Had what wrong?" she asked, looking at him. He shrugged. "I don't know, I just had this feeling that I would see you again." "Are you following me, Enzio?" she asked, feeling the strangeness of the moment. He laughed, and shook his head. "No, believe me. I took this trip to be alone. To just be an anonymous nobody in particular, wandering through places I'd never been. Yesterday, I was thinking I would stay on in Cinque Terre for a few days. But, I had a sudden feeling after meeting you, that I might see you again. And that, it would only happen if I kept moving. If I kept moving, I would find you. And so, here we are. I had no idea that I would come here. I was sitting here for over two hours, and was just deciding to leave, when you suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I don't know how to explain it." Candyce stared out at the sea. "So, I wonder whether it is that you found me, or I that found you?"
They walked back down the trail together, holding hands at times. And then Enzio would run off over the hillside and return with handfuls of flowers for her. So many flowers, she finally had to pull up the hem of her dress to make a basket of sorts to hold them. About half-way down they passed a cistern fashioned of rock and mortar, or perhaps, more properly an artesian well. They splashed off over it, cooling their faces, and drinking the cool mountain water. Candyce could only use one hand to splash her face, since she had to hold onto her dress, bunched about her waist, and full of flowers. She threw her head back laughing at how good it felt, and tasted. And that was when he kissed her. Back down to sleepy Sospel, they promised to meet the next morning for breakfast. He walked away down the street to the Hostel. She stepped into the hotel lobby and walked passed several staff there, ignoring their glances at her and her dress full of flowers. Before going to bed that night, she sat for at least an hour laying flowers, one by one into the pages of her journal.
The next morning, she waited over a cup of espresso at the cafe. Enzio didn't appear. She walked down to the Hostel and asked about him. He had left just before dawn. He had left a note for her. "Candyce, I am not sure where we will meet again, but I know we will. I don't know why I know, but I know. It's strange, I know. But it doesn't matter whether you find me, or I find you. It's just going to happen again. I know. See you then. Enzio." She tucked the note into her bag. She felt a tangle of emotions. Some of them were so, so, sweet. Others were so, so, scary.
And as Enzio predicted, they did meet again. And again. Almost every day, and in different cities, different countries. Neither of them ever asked the other where they were going next. And they both seemed to have the same idea of traveling. Get on a train, with a destination in mind, then decide to hop off in strange places. Then wind up at last in some place, not planned, and there would be the other. Candyce came to understand that he was not somehow following her. Sometimes, she would arrive in a city to find that he had already been there for two days. The last time she saw him was in Copenhagen. She was torn to see him on one of the walking streets with another woman. But when he saw her, he turned to the woman and said something, and then came running to her. They hugged. They strolled about the walking streets going in and out of little shoppes. He bought her a floral patterned pair of black nylons in a lingerie shoppe. She bought him a hand knit woolen sweater.
Enzio never got to see Candyce in her racy hosiery. Candyce never got to see Enzio in the handsome warm sweater. For some odd and unknown reason the synchronous, uncanny interweaving of their lives simply stopped. She waited three days in Paris wandering around to all the sights, but never caught a glimpse of him. On the flight back to Chicago via New York, she mostly slept, but sometimes quietly wept, and sometimes wrote in her journal full of pressed flowers, of her sadness. She wandered Manhattan for several days, still hoping she might see him again. At last she returned home, and returned to her internship as a nurse at Chicago Lakeshore Hospital.
I called Candyce to tell her I had finished writing her story. "I finished your story, Candyce. It's sad, of course, but..." No! No!" Candyce said. "It's not finished. I don't want it ever to be finished. If it is finished, then I will have no hope. I won't be able to go on, if it's finished." She began to cry into the phone. So, of course, I consented to her wishes, her desperate hope, and put the story aside.
As it turns out, Candyce was right. It was not finished. I got a call from her a few days later. She sounded out of breath, and excited. "I found him! I found him!" "That's incredible!" I replied. "Tell me, Candyce." I heard her take a deep breath. "OK, OK, I went to the hospital this morning to make my rounds with the doctor. Wait a minute, I have to sit down, my legs are so shaky. OK, so, we were making the rounds and I was taking notes, and we walked into this room, and there he was!" "Amazing!" I said. "Yes, yes, I know, I took one look at him, and fainted on the spot! I woke up with the doctor over me. The first thing I said was 'Is he going to be ok?' " The doctor said he would be fine. He has a concussion, a broken collar bone, and a broken leg, but he will be fine." "Oh, my!" I said. "What happened?" Candyce was beginning to sound out of breath again. "Well, he was on his way home to Arizona, and had a lay-over in Chicago, and he was walking around downtown along Michigan Avenue, and went to cross the street to the Art Institute, and got hit by a cab that had run the light." Unbelievable!" I said. "I know, but it's true. He's here! And I am never going to let him out of my sites again. Not ever!"
So, the story goes on. I got a call from her two weeks later. She was in the high deserts in Northern Arizona with Enzio. They were staying at his father's ranch. His father had given her a young Arabian stallion, and she was learning to ride. Enzio was still on crutches, but healing up nicely. She said I could tell you this story, but to never call it finished. I agreed.
They had met along the Italian Riviera, each had been strolling through the little coastal villages of the Cinque Terre, taking photos of the jagged limestone cliffs, and the Mediterranean blue waters sloshing with a timeless hypnotic rhythm far below. The harbored boats rocking gently about. The ancient buildings that appeared to lean out precariously over the sea, and which had held their seemingly fragile stand there for ages. It was in the village of Vernazza, to be exact, where they literally bumped into each other, backed into each other, in fact, while framing shots in their cameras. The result was a simultaneous exchange of polite apologies. " I am so sorry." "No, really, it was my fault." "I wasn't paying attention." and "Neither was I."
"Are you from the states?" she asked. "Yes, Arizona, actually; in the high desert. And you?" he asked. "Chicago, well, the 'burbs, actually." "So, what brought you here, to Cinque Terre?" he asked, thinking, as he looked at her, that he wanted to keep the conversation going. "Well, I sorta fell in love with a picture of Vernazza that I saw in a library book, and decided I just had to come here. How about you?" He smiled at her, somewhat entranced by her eyes. "Well," he laughed, "I think I came here to find you." She responded with a smirk and a giggle. It seemed obvious to her it was a clever pick-up line. Yet, it seemed to work. "Oh, you are really something, aren't you?. You don't even know me." she said. He shrugged. "I know, that's true. But I knew how to find you, regardless. Would you like to have a glass of wine, or something like that? I just saw a nice little place back that way." he said, pointing back to the narrow street he had just come down. "Sure, why not? I was just thinking of going up that way, anyway." So, this is how they met. And they soon knew each other's names, and a little about each other. His name was Enzio, named after his great-grandfather, who had immigrated from Italy to the states long ago. Her name was Candyce, named after a mother she never knew, who had died upon delivering her daughter into the world. Neither had a clue about where they might each wander next across Europe before returning to the states. And neither, suspected as they emptied their glasses and parted company, the mysterious chain of events that had just been put in motion.
Candyce awoke early that next morning and packed her bags. She ate a light breakfast in the Hotel's wonderfully aromatic cafe, and looked at her maps. Enzio had said he might walk the trail from Riomaggiore to Manarolo, or catch a train up to Rome, but he wasn't sure. She had told him she might go to Paris, or maybe not. She studied the map of the French Riviera. She was not sure about Nice. She liked the quiet villages better. Her eyes fell upon a little town tucked back into the mountains, some 15 miles from Nice. The village of Sospel. She could take a train to Nice, and then a local bus to Sospel. She grabbed her bags and headed to the train station. She thought about Enzio as she stared out the train window. Maybe it would have been nice to travel with him awhile, he seemed like a nice guy. She left her seat and strolled the length of the three passenger cars, thinking he might have actually gotten on too. But, no. "He's probably walking the trails back in Cinque Terre." she thought to herself, as she returned to her seat. She sat down and looked out the window again with a certain sense of regret.
Sospel was a sleepy little place. Off the tourist track, and with little to do. She had a glass of wine at the little tavern by the bridge. The bartender chatted with her. He encouraged her to take a winding trail that went to the top of the nearby mountains. At the top was the remains of a German sniper's nest, and from atop that one could look down the other side at the Cote d' Azur, and the bustling cities of Nice, and Monaco. The mountainsides are abloom with many flowers. " You will like it", he said.
It was a pleasant gradual uphill hike, and as the bartender had suggested, quite beautiful. She stopped to pick some flowers and suddenly felt very alone. It was a strange mix of 'how nice, to be alone," and "how scary". She neared the top, and could see the ruins of the concrete bunker the bartender had mentioned. It disappeared from view momentarily as the trail took a bend around a large rock formation. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. There was the bunker. And there, on top of it sat Enzio.
"Enzio?" she called. He turned to look at her. "Oh, there you are!" he said, "I was beginning to think I had it wrong." She walked toward him, and climbed up onto the top of the bunker. She sat down next to him. "Had what wrong?" she asked, looking at him. He shrugged. "I don't know, I just had this feeling that I would see you again." "Are you following me, Enzio?" she asked, feeling the strangeness of the moment. He laughed, and shook his head. "No, believe me. I took this trip to be alone. To just be an anonymous nobody in particular, wandering through places I'd never been. Yesterday, I was thinking I would stay on in Cinque Terre for a few days. But, I had a sudden feeling after meeting you, that I might see you again. And that, it would only happen if I kept moving. If I kept moving, I would find you. And so, here we are. I had no idea that I would come here. I was sitting here for over two hours, and was just deciding to leave, when you suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I don't know how to explain it." Candyce stared out at the sea. "So, I wonder whether it is that you found me, or I that found you?"
They walked back down the trail together, holding hands at times. And then Enzio would run off over the hillside and return with handfuls of flowers for her. So many flowers, she finally had to pull up the hem of her dress to make a basket of sorts to hold them. About half-way down they passed a cistern fashioned of rock and mortar, or perhaps, more properly an artesian well. They splashed off over it, cooling their faces, and drinking the cool mountain water. Candyce could only use one hand to splash her face, since she had to hold onto her dress, bunched about her waist, and full of flowers. She threw her head back laughing at how good it felt, and tasted. And that was when he kissed her. Back down to sleepy Sospel, they promised to meet the next morning for breakfast. He walked away down the street to the Hostel. She stepped into the hotel lobby and walked passed several staff there, ignoring their glances at her and her dress full of flowers. Before going to bed that night, she sat for at least an hour laying flowers, one by one into the pages of her journal.
The next morning, she waited over a cup of espresso at the cafe. Enzio didn't appear. She walked down to the Hostel and asked about him. He had left just before dawn. He had left a note for her. "Candyce, I am not sure where we will meet again, but I know we will. I don't know why I know, but I know. It's strange, I know. But it doesn't matter whether you find me, or I find you. It's just going to happen again. I know. See you then. Enzio." She tucked the note into her bag. She felt a tangle of emotions. Some of them were so, so, sweet. Others were so, so, scary.
And as Enzio predicted, they did meet again. And again. Almost every day, and in different cities, different countries. Neither of them ever asked the other where they were going next. And they both seemed to have the same idea of traveling. Get on a train, with a destination in mind, then decide to hop off in strange places. Then wind up at last in some place, not planned, and there would be the other. Candyce came to understand that he was not somehow following her. Sometimes, she would arrive in a city to find that he had already been there for two days. The last time she saw him was in Copenhagen. She was torn to see him on one of the walking streets with another woman. But when he saw her, he turned to the woman and said something, and then came running to her. They hugged. They strolled about the walking streets going in and out of little shoppes. He bought her a floral patterned pair of black nylons in a lingerie shoppe. She bought him a hand knit woolen sweater.
Enzio never got to see Candyce in her racy hosiery. Candyce never got to see Enzio in the handsome warm sweater. For some odd and unknown reason the synchronous, uncanny interweaving of their lives simply stopped. She waited three days in Paris wandering around to all the sights, but never caught a glimpse of him. On the flight back to Chicago via New York, she mostly slept, but sometimes quietly wept, and sometimes wrote in her journal full of pressed flowers, of her sadness. She wandered Manhattan for several days, still hoping she might see him again. At last she returned home, and returned to her internship as a nurse at Chicago Lakeshore Hospital.
I called Candyce to tell her I had finished writing her story. "I finished your story, Candyce. It's sad, of course, but..." No! No!" Candyce said. "It's not finished. I don't want it ever to be finished. If it is finished, then I will have no hope. I won't be able to go on, if it's finished." She began to cry into the phone. So, of course, I consented to her wishes, her desperate hope, and put the story aside.
As it turns out, Candyce was right. It was not finished. I got a call from her a few days later. She sounded out of breath, and excited. "I found him! I found him!" "That's incredible!" I replied. "Tell me, Candyce." I heard her take a deep breath. "OK, OK, I went to the hospital this morning to make my rounds with the doctor. Wait a minute, I have to sit down, my legs are so shaky. OK, so, we were making the rounds and I was taking notes, and we walked into this room, and there he was!" "Amazing!" I said. "Yes, yes, I know, I took one look at him, and fainted on the spot! I woke up with the doctor over me. The first thing I said was 'Is he going to be ok?' " The doctor said he would be fine. He has a concussion, a broken collar bone, and a broken leg, but he will be fine." "Oh, my!" I said. "What happened?" Candyce was beginning to sound out of breath again. "Well, he was on his way home to Arizona, and had a lay-over in Chicago, and he was walking around downtown along Michigan Avenue, and went to cross the street to the Art Institute, and got hit by a cab that had run the light." Unbelievable!" I said. "I know, but it's true. He's here! And I am never going to let him out of my sites again. Not ever!"
So, the story goes on. I got a call from her two weeks later. She was in the high deserts in Northern Arizona with Enzio. They were staying at his father's ranch. His father had given her a young Arabian stallion, and she was learning to ride. Enzio was still on crutches, but healing up nicely. She said I could tell you this story, but to never call it finished. I agreed.
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