Where is Cassandra

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Hello, my sweet Jan, said the voice in a sweet female tone. How are you doing?

“I’m good,” I responded. Though putting a smile on my face was hard for me, I managed to do it.

That’s nice, the voice had referred to my smile. I love to watch you do that.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You don’t know what this means to me. It means the whole world and much more. I’m so glad that you are starting to get on the right path. I’m sure you can now see you have nothing in your marriage. I tried my best to let you understand it from the start. But you could not see it.

“How was I to know it would lead me to the mess I am today?”

Don’t worry about anything, Jan. Your dark days are over. What is meant to be never arrives late. I’ve been waiting for you. Our time has come, just like it was destined from the beginning of time.

“I don’t understand,” I said to The Voice. Behind my question was a developing urge to know more about my invisible companion and to comprehend what it was telling me. Its presence and what it spoke of, unlike in the past, were starting be a soothing balm on my tortured heart, a glimmer of hope for a better life away from my misery. The length and breadth of it all was that I started to develop interest in the companionship of hope its presence kept exuding.

You don’t have to understand it now. It’s a journey.

“Who are you?” I asked.

I have told you before. Do you remember?

“No I don’t,” I answered. Though The Voice had told me a bunch of things in the past, they were things I took with a grain of salt and thought to be straight stupid, and were just a bunch of rambling bullshit that truly had nothing to do with me.

I will never be ashamed to say it again and again. I am for you and you are for me. I’m the one waiting for you. You’re always in my heart.

“That is so thoughtful of you,” I said. “I’m itching to have someone tell me more of things like that.”

I know.

“So what’s your name? What can I call you?”

You will know when the time comes.

“That’s strange, isn’t it?”

It’s strange only because you want to get ahead of time. When was the last time she bought you roses? Took you to the movies? Treated you like a king? Told you you’re as sweet as lollypop?

I knew whom the voice was referring to. Stefi of course!

“I don’t know…!” I said, not feeling pleased that Stefi had to be brought up when I was already immersed in the sweet feeling the voice had bestowed on me. It suddenly felt like replacing honey on my taste bud with vinegar. Yuck! “I don’t remember,” I went ahead to say.

I’m set to do all the nice things she didn’t…

“Oh… you sound so sweet….”

When was the last time she asked you for a dance and took your hands?

“Ages past.”

When was the last time she massaged your feet when you said they hurt?

“I don’t know.”

What kind of woman will not open the car door for her man?

“My wife.”

What sort of woman will always speak and act to break her husband’s heart?

“Stefi….,” I said.

What sort of woman will treat you like you’re nothing when you’re worth more than gold?

“The one who likes me no more. You know who I’m talking about. Stefi. She thinks I’m crazy. The cops think I’m crazy, the judge who made me come here thinks I’m crazy. The people who work here think I’m out of my mind and need help. What about you? How do you see me? Are you like them?”

You are sweet, Jan. You’re a king. No woman should treat you like you’re filled with dirt.

“Thanks. You’re one in a million.”

I love to live my life in making you happy, okay?


You’re a gem no woman should ever take for granted.

“Thanks. I long lost hope that anyone will ever have the time to fill me with nice words like you do. Words that caress my nerves and make me feel like a real man once again.”

Loving you and making you happy is my job, Jan. It is just what I must do.


I just have no choice.

“Thanks.” I laughed aloud, and briefly.

That was nice and romantic, Jan.


I love to hear you crack it off like that...

“I don’t get it.”

I love to hear you laugh.

“I’m dying to meet with you, see your face, touch it, see the way you’re.”

It will happen.

“So when do I meet you?”

Let’s talk another time.

“What?” I asked, but got no response from the voice who was already gone by the time the door to my room started to be opened by a staff at York-Dee. It was only my second day there, and I did not need to be told the staff, a young man of Asian descent, had come to tell me time had come for me to attend a counselling session. Did I start to think that would be a complete waste of my precious time? Yes, I did. It could not just compare with the fun I had discovered from having The Voice around me. When are you coming again? That was the question in my mind for the voice, when I left my room for my York-Dee session. Don’t leave me alone now, I continued to yearn.

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