A little whimper

Her softest blanket was wrapped tightly around her entire body and as she gradually woke up, she focused on that physical sensation… the blanket, its texture against her skin. Its warmth. She considered opening her eyes to check the time… all she knew was that it was still dark, but it could be almost any time. In the Estonian winter, it could be 9am, with the sun only just starting to rise, if there was any sun to be seen. Or it could be 3pm, with the sun nearly gone. When had she fallen asleep? She had no idea; it could have been 7pm the night before, it could have been midnight.

The softness of the blanket.. the only touch she had felt for months. The therapist had suggested a soft blanket, a warm bath, a warm sauna even… anything soft, gentle, or warm, to replicate the human touch that was in fact inimitable. But being impossible to imitate wasn’t the same as being needed, she had argued. The therapist wanted to coax her back into having a relationship someday. Some friends, then a date perhaps, then someday, a relationship again. She wasn’t so sure she needed any of those things, or that she really even wanted any of those things.. they were too risky, too fleeting.

She shifted her focus to sound, going through each sense – another therapist-proposed idea meant to settle her mind. Sound… there was no sound. She was taken back briefly to the farm in the states where she had been raised, where roosters crowed each morning, by 6am, even this time of year. Here, there were no roosters, just forest, and the forest was silent, most of the time. Estonian birds slept a lot in winter, she guessed.

She forced herself to roll over, to open her eyes, to unwrap from the blanket, to actually check the time – it was nearly 8am. The depression told her “get back into bed, don’t bother.” The therapist’s voice in her head told her, “keep going.”

Sight – she lit one small, solitary candle. A pine-scented candle, as though it was needed in the forest. A little gift scent over to Estonia by a relative in the States, the only one who seemed to remember she existed. Hadn’t she wanted it that way, though?

But suddenly, she thought she heard something… a vague sound, a scratching from just outside the door.  And a little whimper – could it have been? Was she hallucinating?

Again, a scratching sound. Her whole body tensed, feeling sudden danger at the unexpectedness. She began to tremble, as she did at anything unexpected, her body feeling automatically threatened.

Flicking on the torch on her phone, she listened at the door. A small whimper again – an animal whimper. She cracked open the door to find that dawn was just breaking, and on her doorstep lay a tiny basket. Fresh footsteps in the snow receded away from the door.

In the basket was a blanket. And wriggling out of the blanket was a tiny, fluffy puppy. He couldn’t be older than a month, looking like a little puff ball with his fur covering his tiny eyes. He whimpered at her, and she picked him up, perplexed, bemused. He licked her hand, and for the first time in months, she felt the warmth that comes from real touch.