When you talk to someone and they don’t respond, what do you do?

 

Did they hear you? How do you know? Maybe you should visit . . .

 

 

Echo Island

 

     Sara stood in front of the kitchen sink glaring at Peter. Gazing out the window, he seemed oblivious to her presence.

     “Peter, I can’t take it any more.”

     “Huh?”

     “Aren’t you listening?”

     “What?”

     “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

     “What time is our show on tonight?”

     “Didn’t you hear me? We have to talk.”

     “We are talking, Sara. I asked you about the show we watch tonight.”

     “But I need you to listen to me. Our show is not on until later this evening.”

     “Never mind. I’ll just Google it.”

     Without saying another word, Peter left the kitchen and headed to his home office. Sara stood staring off into space. Her mind raced. We’ve been married for over thirty-five years and nothing has changed. The conversation always is one-sided.

     What am I going to do? she thought. I’m fifty-five years old. We’re empty nesters. Our three kids have families of their own. At least I used to be able to talk to them. But now . . .

     Peter screamed down the hallway, “Sara, what time’s dinner?”

     Sara glanced at the clock on the microwave above the stove. “Oh, my! I’ve been standing here for almost an hour. This is crazy,” she muttered.

     “Let’s eat at six,” she yelled. Silence. “Okay?” No response. “Did you hear me?” Still, no answer. “Oh, well,” she murmured.

     Amazingly, Peter appeared in the kitchen at exactly 6 p.m. and plopped himself down at the table. “I’m ready for a great dinner,” he chanted.

     Frustrated with her “wonderful” mate, Sara kept her mouth shut during the meal, while Peter rambled on and on about the show. Then, without acknowledging her, he got up and left the kitchen. Sara wanted to scream. But what good would it do? she thought.

     She cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped down the counter. Confused, she didn’t know what to think. And then . . .

     “Sara, are you coming? Our show is on.”

     Sara ambled into the living room and sat in the recliner, while Peter slouched on the couch staring at the TV. Throughout the game show, “Last Resort,” he yelled at the contestants on the show, telling them what to do, but didn’t pay any attention to her.

     At the end of the show, he got up, stretched and shouted, “Great show. Glad we both liked it. Good night.”

     Sara shook her head. “He never asked me what I thought of the show,” she mumbled. “He never listens to me—only to himself. Our marriage needs fixing. Something has to be done. We can’t go on this way. I need help.” 

     The man Sara believed she loved lived in world of his own, one in which she had become invisible. She was exhausted from the turmoil of the evening. Bed and a good night’s sleep was all she could think about—but not in the same bed with Peter. He won’t miss me, she thought, as she headed to the guest room for a night of peace and quiet.

     As she lay in bed, something weird happened. A stranger, in a flowing white gown, grasped her hand. Sara looked at her, confused. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

     The stranger murmured, “You said you needed help. I heard you, and I came. Trust me.”

     “Why should I?”

     “Look around you,” the woman said softly. “What do you see?”

     With her eyes closed, hoping to make this eerie person disappear, Sara responded, “I don’t have to. I’m in my guest room.”

     “Open your eyes and tell me what you see,” the woman reiterated.

     Sara shivered at the notion of what might be revealed. However, she was certain she was in the guest room bed in her home. She couldn’t be any place else. So, mustering up her courage, she opened her eyes.

     What she saw blew her away. She lay on a blanket on the grass in a beautiful garden. The smell of wonderful flowers enchanted her. She looked at the woman and asked, “Am I in paradise?”

     The woman smiled. “This is what you wanted—serenity. Now, your wish has been granted.”

     “This is a dream. Isn’t it?”

     “Maybe, but maybe not. It’s up to you to decide.”

     “All right, it’s real. Now tell me where I am.”

     “You’re on island that will help you get everything you’ve ever wanted in a marriage.”

     “What are you talking about? Are you saying I’ll meet the man of my dreams?”

     “Not exactly.”

     “Then what?”

     “You’ve already met him.”

     “I have? But where?”

     “At your eighteenth birthday party.”

     “But there was just one boy at the party who I wanted to get to know. And I . . .”

     “Go ahead, say it.”

     Sara shouted, “Married him.”

     “Married him, married him, married him, married . . .”

     “Why are you saying that over and over again?”

     “I’m not. You say it again and listen closely.”

     “All right. Married him . . .”

     “Married him, married him, married him, married . . .”

     “That’s my voice. Isn’t it?”

     “Yes, it is.”

     “But why?”

     “You don’t know?”

     “No.”

     “But you do.”

     “I do?”

     “I do, I do, I do, I . . .”

     “There it goes again—my voice repeating itself over and over again. But why?”

     “You tell me.”

     “Those were the words from my heart I said to the love of my life when I married him.”

     “And now, what does your heart say?”

     “That I still love him?”

     “Love him, love him, love him, love . . .”

     “Oh, my God! I do love him.”

     “Then let him hear those words,” the woman in white stated.

     “Yes, I will,” Sara murmured.

     “I must go now,” the woman said.

     “But you can’t. I don’t know where I am.”

     “You’re on a very special island—‘Echo Island’—where the ‘important words’ you utter will never ever leave you.”

     “How do I get home?”

     “Close your eyes.”

     “Okay.”

     “Now open them.”

     “Oh, my . . . Peter, I love you.”

     “I love you, too, Sara.”

 

 

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