Plague Part 5
and there are victims, and it's up to us, so far as possible,
not to join forces with the pestilences.
― Albert Camus
I was embarrassed. Sarah Richardson, a work colleague, confided a secret and instead of being strong and silent, I practically fainted.
I had no idea what she must have been thinking—obviously, she made a wrong choice if she was seeking a man who could shelter and protect her.
What made it even more brutal was the fact I had been romantically attracted to her.
Well, after this display of weakness I was sure that dream was dead.
We were sitting in my front room before the fire. The sun had set and the room was lit only by the ruddy flames of the fireplace logs.
I offered to turn on the lamps but Sarah said she preferred to simply sit and stare into the flames—that it was soothing to her.
I didn’t object since the semi-darkness covered up my embarrassment—it certainly didn’t create a romantic ambiance—to be honest, any notions of that ilk seemed not even remotely possible now.
After several minutes Sarah seemed to come to a decision. She reached over and touched my arm reassuringly and said, “I want to ask about your reaction back there on the trail, that is, if you’re up to discussing it now.”
I dreaded this moment—having to open up and explain in a kind of apology for my life. But sometimes life demands something from you whether you can do it or not, and this was one of those times.
“I think what happened dredged up some bad memories from my past—it’s not your fault or anything you said really—it’s this business of the plague. It’s an emotional trigger for me.”
She tilted her head to one side and looked at me quizzically. I knew she had no idea what I was going through.
How could she be expected to know that this bloody plague dug up certain familiar emotions again?
“I was in a cult,” I said bluntly.
A look of profound compassion transformed her features. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Grant—that must have been a horrific ordeal.”
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
“It was horrendous,” I said flatly, “it threw me into a tailspin for a few years and resulted in a breakup with a girl I intended to marry. Ever since that time, I’ve been an avowed skeptic—perhaps even a cynic.”
“That kind of trauma will do that to you,” she commiserated .
She frowned for a moment and I could see something was still troubling her.
“What exactly triggered the flashbacks for you? You don’t have to answer if it’s too stressful.”
“No, it’s okay. I spent a few years in therapy and dealt with most of the wreckage. It was a major earthquake in my life at the time but what I felt today was akin to a few after-shocks. Nothing too brutal.”
“I’m glad what I said didn’t throw you too much but I am really intrigued by your reaction. What kind of a cult were you involved with and how is that related to the business of the plague?
This was the moment I dreaded. Sarah knew me as an easy-going kind of laid back individual, tolerant and not particularly partial to causes.
She wouldn’t have recognized me five years ago when I was deeply immersed in a fanatical sect.
But without knowing the kinds of extreme things I was involved in, my reaction to her discussing the plague wouldn’t have made any sense to her, and now I wasn’t sure if my explanation would clarify matters or add another dimension that would make things worse.