In my mind's eye, I see you.
You keep hiding, but I know you are there.
Long, dark grey trench coat with the popped collar and leather shoes and briefcase to match, I see you.
Your gold watch blinds me as the sunlight reflects off of it.
Go ahead, hide behind the drapes, if you want to.
I can still see you.
Nervously pacing the foyer, dragging your cigarette aggressively, I see you.
I can still see you pass me by in the foyer.
Why do you pace?
Why do you hide?
There is no reason to.
I can see you.
The tapping of your leather shoes on the staircase as you climb to the second story landing, sound like the tic tock of a clock.
His pacing resumes on the landing.
Why?
The obsessive pacing is a never-ending loop, stuck on repeat.
His arms are tightly crossed as he takes another drag of his cigarette.
His intense eyes stay focused on the floorboards.
A lock of dark brown hair hangs over his brow.
Smoke fills the landing and he disappears for a brief moment.
The dollhouse ancestors are a spunky bunch.
They like making their presence felt here.
Except for one.
The mysterious V. Steet.
V. Steet spends his time pacing and hiding,
always worried about something.
Endlessly, he runs from me.
He is bothered by the fact that I can see him.
I have yet to find any documented information on V. Steet, just the name and dates of ownership of the Dollhouse.
V. Steet lived at the Dollhouse during the 1920's and occupied the dollhouse for only seven years.
My friends with abilities in the unseen have gathered the same limited information as I have.
Trench coat
Hat
Leather shoes
Gold watch
Nervous, tall thin man.
He talks in a fast mumble.
He never looks you in the eye.
Sometimes you can hear the nervous shuffle of his leather shoes echoing from the foyer.
Sometimes you can see a soft glow of light appear from the darkness of night as he drags his cigarette.
Sometimes you can hear his rapid breathing and sighs.
The heavy energy of his stress can be felt.
I have to remind myself that it is not mine to feel or to carry.
V. Steet never relaxes.
Always pacing.
Is he waiting for someone?
Perhaps, love to come home?
Is he in danger?
Fearful and panicked?
I like to think that he is a genius,
pacing as his thoughts untangle themselves.
I like to imagine V. Steet on the verge of inventing or creating a masterpiece like Nikola Tesla or Albert Einstein.
The dollhouse ancestors get quite annoyed and unsettled by his pacing.
George cannot focus on the newspaper.
Cora cannot enjoy her jazz.
Miss Bessie, Octavia and Emily cannot joyfully decorate the dollhouse.
Roy's training is disrupted.
But to me,
just like the thunderous sound of the trains,
V. Steet's footsteps are comforting to me.
A reminder that someone is always there and that there is no place like home.
Comments