Lying on my bed, not quite asleep, I saw Wayne kneeling by the bedside. I said his name out loud as I opened my eyes and looked to see him. He wasn't there, of course.
The brain tells us things very quickly. Mine told me, as I opened my eyes, that he wasn't really there but that I should look because he might be. It told me this moment, this vision, was significant and that if I would keep my eyes closed, perhaps he would say something to me.
I saw him, saw how he looked, what he was wearing. That's from the brain, isn't it?
And I had time. Time enough to reflect on why he would be wearing a plaid shirt, why he would be kneeling. All this in the time it took to open my eyes. I wish I had kept them closed a while longer.
Saying his name was immediate and seemed not to have been directed by my brain, although, no doubt, it was.
A strange, startling moment, and, of course, it seemed real.
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