Voices from the Universe

 

I am getting better at it: multitasking. A friend rings and I find I can listen to her and write several emails at the same time. I can talk to my parents and Skype to the ex-teenager at the same time. I can even retune the TV to the new digital settings and continue chatting to the ex-teenager on Skype.

Having done all this I want just a little time solely to myself. The plan had been to listen to The Archers and then to watch the programme about dinosaurs, but my friend had rung just as The Archers was starting and my TV needed retuning during The Dinosaurs so I ended up missing both.

Once all was quiet I idly flipped through the channels.

It seemed I now had 700. When only one really good one would have been enough for me.

I found a programme that looked interesting and settled back to watch it. It was nine o’clock and I was ready to be entertained.

Suddenly the phone rang I picked it up just as the music on the tele reached a particular scary sound.

It was from a woman I’d worked with many years ago and with whom I’d not spoken to for over twenty-five years. She was about to go on a theatre trip and had somehow been reminded of me. She was getting in touch with people who had been helpful to her in the past.

This set all my alarm bells ringing.

I switched off the computer and unplugged the television to give her my full attention.

Sometimes our wheels travel too close to the precipice.

She said she heard voices from the universe. That there were patterns. Connections.

Inwardly, I sighed for I do not believe in such things, seeing such synchronicity only as happenstance and coincidence; but I did not disillusion her.

She was picking over old wounds of which I knew nothing. I did not ask for the details, as I didn’t want to open these wounds afresh; and also as it was obvious that she had gone over these past problems in great detail with many others, over many, many years, before she’d picked up the phone to me.

It was a long call.

Towards the end of the call I said, “I’d like to be one of your voices from the universe.”

She stopped talking, and listened.

“Each time your brain signals an unhappy memory, try saying, “Thanks for that brain. You’ve reminded me about that before. And I don’t need to be reminded of it again. Thanks all the same. Is there anything more cheering you can remember instead?”

“Oh, she said. “So that this means that the wound has a chance to heal and that you no longer pick at the scab.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s just a suggestion, but it works for me.”

 

Who knows if these words were of any help, but I felt she was now driving towards safer ground.

All I really knew was that towards the end of the call I was multitasking once again, and had somehow clambered into my pyjamas.

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