The Soul has Bandaged moments –

Being introduced to Grief at a very young age, I became familiar with sweet nothings: I’m so sorry for your loss. It gets better. God needed them more than you did (which, by the way, is neither helpful, nor kind). Emily Dickinson was deeply familiar with death and loss, and I have found great comfort in her writing. In “The Soul has Bandaged moments –” she describes the deep emotions and pain involved in processing grief. Highlighting three kinds of moments —“bandaged moments,” “moments of escape,” and “retaken moments” — Dickinson tells the story of triumph in the face of a continuous cycle of pain:

The Soul has Bandaged moments–
When too appalled to stir–
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her–

Salute her, with long fingers–
Caress her freezing hair–
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover–hovered–o’er–
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme–so–fair-

The soul has moments of escape -
When bursting all the doors -
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings opon the Hours,

As do the Bee - delirious borne -
Long Dungeoned from his Rose -
Touch Liberty - then know no more -
But Noon, and Paradise

The Soul's retaken moments -
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the song,

The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue -

Dickinson personifies Fright and the Soul as regularly as people going through life. What I find most charming is that Fright is a lover to the Soul.

Why are the names of the dead inscribed on the hearts of those left behind? Many believe death is the only form of loss, but they aren’t exactly right about that. Loss is loss. Grief happens every day to everyday people. Dickinson describes the Soul meeting a Fright, who pauses to gently interact with her. She describes the Fright treating the Soul gently, although she also uses the word “Accost” as another perception of their interaction.

My mom died when I was five years old. My brother was just born, and we all expected the two of them to come home with us. Faintly I can picture my mom doubling over in pain—this could have been when she went into labor, but I didn’t understand that at the time—and the flashing lights coming from the driveway. Putting the details together now, I understand the lights were an ambulance.

Then again, I’m not sure what was real or a small child’s Nightmare.

I became familiar with the Fright which Dickinson wrote about. Growing up, I cared too much. I would tap the tiles on the hallway walls, step around the cracks in the floors, and count the steps and tiles. I swallowed air in second grade to make my stomach hurt so I could be excused to the nurse’s office. I was always a Frightful child; I can see this in hindsight, but it didn’t really begin impacting my life until seventh grade. As my body changed, so increased my dysphoria and anxiety. I couldn’t go upstairs alone without singing loudly, clapping, or stomping to scare away creatures that didn’t exist. The night became a time of Isolation and Terror. I remember the nightmares I would wake up from, frozen in place and shouting for my mom, years after she died. 

My moments of Escape were with my best friend. She loved purple–it was her favorite color–so obviously purple was my favorite color too. We played mermaids during recess. She was afraid of sharks when we were that young, petrified that there were sharks at the end of her bed that would bite her feet and drag her away. Obviously I was afraid of sharks too. In bed I would tuck my feet up close to my body for years. She, a stranger on the first day of pre-k, greeted me by saying, “Let’s be friends!” and I replied with, “Okay,” not knowing that she had recently watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, a movie I was yet to watch. She expected me to respond by quoting back, “Best friends!” I also didn’t know that she had her fingers crossed behind her back as per the Chocolate Factory character whose quote it was. We solidified our friendship shortly and my mother died that same year. I didn’t learn that her fingers were crossed that day until twelve years later.

My best friend would tell me her favorite horror stories from the book Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark—when it was just a book and not a movie. I became scared of the upstairs shower stall, terrified that I would find blood dripping from the showerhead or that a strange man would be standing just behind the door. 

As I got older, my fears matured. As I was further raised in the church, I realized that there were people of my faith who really believed in demons, that possession was real, and that Satan could come whispering in nightmares and drive you mad. I had no way of arguing with them; how was I to know that these were just another round of Scary Stories? 

Talking with my best friend, I learned more about the horrors of the world. I knew death happened all the time, and I knew that people dropped like flies, but casual acts of hatred? Our lives were so short and unpredictable as it was, why in the world would people hurt others? That scared me. When my cousin died by suicide a few years later, my sense of security shattered. I strongly did not want to go to hell, and life was seemingly populated by one Fright after the other. One night I sobbed in bed at the realization that I was no better than anyone else on Earth. By those standards, if everyone committed evil acts, I would most certainly go to hell. My dad came into the room and told me I wasn’t going to hell, and that I needed sleep. This did nothing to assuage my fears. This way I was taught that grief can be sourced from the hands of those who mean you well.

In Dickinson’s fourth stanza, Bee and Rose are a romantic plot line that emphasizes the softness between the Soul and Fright. The Soul’s escape is compared to a dungeoned Bee meeting his Rose; from that point on, knowing no more “But Noon, and Paradise,” they have a chance at achieving the bliss, freedom, and warmth that the Soul lacked with the Fright as her companion. But what if she doesn’t want the unfamiliar safety and warmth? Shifting from survival mode and into safety is not an easy transition. What happens when the Fright is more familiar? The moments of escape are only a brief triumph after all. When the Soul and Fright were acquainted they had a time of tenderness that was shown to do little good for the freezing and injured Soul, though no harm was intended. The Fright, unworthy may he be, must allow the Soul her moments of escape so she can have freedom and warmth. The Soul’s retaken moments are only when “Felon” has been shackled—Felon may be the kind and well-intentioned Fright. When the Soul reclaims her moments, Felon is captured, and the Soul once again encounters fear, but as a less kin “Horrors” now, rather than Fright.

I’ve heard of people turning to the horror genre to deal with their pain, but I never thought I would. I avoided scary stories, ghosts and zombies, and murder mysteries for years, only to be drawn to the familiarity of fear and pain in gothic literature and the macabre in the books and movies I choose as a young adult. From The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde to Frankenstein, I’ve fallen in love with horror.

Every time I read Dickinson’s works, I discover a new level of nuance. Emily Dickinson the person may remain largely mysterious to us, but to those who are friendly with Grief and amicable to Fright, she speaks to the soul.