Remedy for a Stumbler

"Come here, come hither, little boy,
and I will sing you a lullaby.
You're tired now, you lost your toy.
Hush now baby, sleep, don't cry."

I wake up to a white ceiling. Did I lose the trail again? Did I lose myself in the moment and forgot how to breathe? I must have. There is a blur in my recollection of yesterday afternoon, and all the other telltale signs are there. Vague recollections of a cold panic in my chest, of tears, of a brass key smelling of teak oil. And sex. Oh yes, mind-blowing, draining acrobatics between two writhing shapes and a soaked sheet, Emily's favourite remedy to my predicament. Just too bad it's only a pleasant dream image for me.

Emily is up already, out the door, never wasting an hour of daylight, my little hyperactive sunshine. She said she wanted to tread every pavement of Prague before she felt she was done with the city. I'll have to thank her later. My love, my lifeline, my link to a sane existence. Thank her for being so patient. But then again, I get the feeling she likes this way too much.

My name is Jonah. I know that now. I live a blessed life, with purposes and plans, and a brave and beautiful soulmate by my side. An angel with dyed black hair, freckles on her cheeks and dimples when she smiles. But I hide a secret, a flaw, a deviation from the mould of mental stability. Sometimes my grip of things slips, that's the best way I can describe it. All my identity, but a blank sheet of consciousness, glides though my fingers and down to the bottom of me, where I cannot willingly follow.

If you ever see me frozen, perplexed in a moving crowd, stumbling out of tune with the world, don't be afraid. I am quite harmless. In a pocket, or in a wallet, you will find a note with instructions and a number. Call it, call Emily, my wife. She will always guide me home.