The Voice

I awake to the sound of the phone.  I swallow convulsively, not only to swallow the bile rising up in my throat, but also to swallow a scream that threatens to take my breath and awaken the neighborhood.  The voice on the phone is distinctively male, and it sounds vaguely familiar, but I cannot immediately place it. 

The fear rises again, sharper and clearer than ever before.  I struggle to breathe, my chest constricting tighter and tighter as my lungs feel swollen from lack of oxygen.  I feel myself sweating again, yet I shiver as though covered by the ice over the lake. 

Finally, the words overtake the voice and I realize it is the voice of a friend, not the enemy.  I nearly sigh with relief.  The hour passes as quickly as a mouse in a room of sleeping cats, and too soon it is time to leave his voice behind once more, in a dream.  Time slows to a crawl slower than the molasses taps in the giant oaks as fall gleans way to winter when he is not near, yet when we speak there is no time.  It passes in a blink, and is gone.  His voice, his words, his thoughts; they all work together to calm and sustain my insane mind.  His is the voice of an angel.  His are the words of a soldier.  And his is the heart of a friend, confidant, lover and guide. 

He is the epiphany my life, my mind, my insanity has been reaching for since time indefinite, and he is a breath of life while I strangle, he is a lifeline as I find myself mired in a muddy squire of quicksand.