I wish I could say that the waiting had settled me, that I had sunk into peace in the darkness. But I can’t. I didn’t. I was being driven crazy by my eyelids brushing against the inside of the blindfold. By the urge to tense and release my muscles; like trying not to swallow in the dentist’s chair, but a whole body experience. By wondering how much flexibility there was in the instruction to “clasp your hands together behind your back”. Did opening and closing them like robotic clamshells still constitute clasping? And where were you anyway? I could only assume you were watching me but I couldn’t hear you. I had only been in this flat, in this room, for a few minutes before you asked me if I would wear a blindfold, and now I was struggling to remember much of it. I had taken in the extensive bookshelves. But I had expected those; you were an academic after all. I felt thick carpet beneath my feet but couldn’t remember its colour. Was it even carpet? Was it a rug? How could I be this unobservant?
Squeeze and roll my shoulders; rock on my heels; arch my feet and toes.