Engagements of the Rule (Hong Kong)

As the stitches began to take root in my scalp, I slept.

I fell asleep wearing the same bloody clothes I had when I was assaulted and went to the Emergency Room in.

And I dreamed.

I was flying through blue sky and clouds.

Then suddenly I was back in New Orleans – or a place in my mind that was a mix of New Orleans with a little of downtown Makati. I was walking through the streets and the people were in panic. They were racing down sidewalks and thrashing through stuck traffic – one man pushed me down and I felt my head pang.

But I quickly got up.

And suddenly the storefronts that reminded me of downtown Makati – changed to little wooden and brick houses side by side like on the outskirts of downtown New Orleans. I started going door to door – knocking and asking if they could hide me. Help me.

Some doors opened. Some doors didn’t. But regardless the answer was the same: no. And not knowing what the panic was – I was suddenly very afraid. Scared. Like when I was five and I would cry out to my parents – swearing there was an invisible monster under my bed. And the fear was not the monster – but the fear of being alone to face it.

And I kept knocking on doors – pleading, “Let me in! It’s coming! I need a place to hide!” But still not sure what ‘it’ was.

And then finally I turned a corner and I heard people say, “Don’t go there. I would rather die than ask them to help me.”

Looking down the street, it was a mix of Bourgeois Street and the Red Light District in Amsterdam. I left the people that were searching for a place to hide and knocked on the first door.

The door opened and two beautiful women answered. They smiled.

“I need to hide!”

They opened the door immediately and ushered me inside. Then the door shut. I found myself surrounded by scantily dressed women fussing about me – making sure I was okay. They were preparing a chair for me to sit and others were working on getting me something to drink. And I felt fortunate but strangely, I still felt alone.

Actually my loneliness went deeper this time – although in the company of so many women who genuinely seemed to care for me – I felt desolate.

And the women were all different types – Asian, European, and Latin American – and all were speaking words at me – but I heard nothing. I couldn’t comprehend what was being said.

Then suddenly, I felt a woman’s hand on my back.

It was like I recognized the touch – either from my past or my future.

I turned and saw her. It was the woman I dreamed about when I was five years old – who used to save me in my nightmares. I hadn’t seen her in thirty years. And now – instead of being the older woman who saved me – we were the same age. She smiled and made a joke. I laughed so hard – I think I laughed out loud in my sleep.

I felt safe. I was no longer alone. I had this feeling, she was mine. And I was hers. And her hand stayed on my back.

She leaned into me and I could smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her skin. “There is one rule to staying here. It is the rule.”

“There are always rules – right? This rule, a new rule…”

“No, it is the rule.” And we were looking at each other so close I thought we were going to kiss.

“What is it?” And I was watching her mouth.

Her lips opened to tell me.

Then I woke up.

It was the middle of the day. The previous night’s attack and the stitches came racing back and my dream was swallowed up by reality. My head was aching and the back of my head was tender.

I tried to go back – I closed my eyes to try and return. To remember her. To go back to her. I could no longer remember what she looked like.

But oddly I had this strange feeling I would see her again.

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