A giggling impish girl, just four years old, with beautiful long white-blonde hair and blue eyes, watches the play made by her big sisters.
In a carbon box, Raine and I glued trees and made snow from the cotton wools. The small house we built from the sticks glued together, sits in the middle of the carbon box theatre. We worked all day, creating this scene for our little sister, Aisha, who still believes in Christmas magic. We made even curtains in the front of the box, from the old velvety brown dress fabric with snowflakes stitched on it.
The magical winter wonderland, with snow and glitter, has fascinated the little munchkin, who impatiently waited for the story to begin. Small rubber animals that her big sisters always played with will become the major characters of the winter story they preparing for the family to see.
Clapping her small chubby hands, Aisha squeaks as we make the rubber bear attack a little rabbit. She shouts for the rabbit to run as the bear makes roaring sounds. In a very deep voice, the bear menacingly threatens the sweetest animals.
Then, Mummy rabbit comes to chastise the bear for threatening her bunny. She promises that the flu she caught is magical and kills all the animals in their sleep.
“If you remain here, I will unleash the deadly sneeze fury on you! Do not dare to harm my child, Bear, or I will allow the flu to run free and kill you!”
The big sisters watch the little munchkin, who bounces in excitement. The room is submerged in the darkness, with only the Christmas tree lights twinkling, and the table lamp illuminates the carbon box theatre for all the family to enjoy. The intimate and enchanted room fills up, pure joy burning in our chest.
The next memory washes away the enchanted one, with the little girl now running around the house, trying to catch her big sisters.
“Please wait, I want to go with you! Please, sisters, you can’t leave me alone!”
They’re both running to get away from her, as their friends are waiting at the park. No one wants to play with an annoying little sister who doesn’t understand the word privacy.
“Don’t leave us, Cassandra. Stay. Fight. Don’t give up. I have so many things to tell you. There are many mistakes I made, the wounds inflicted I want to make up for.”
The whooshing sound reaches me, as if some sequence is set. Her lips brush my knuckles as she cries silently, muffling the noise in the sheets.
“I want you to know that we were wrong to lock you up in that hospital. Instead, we should have worked harder to give you support. We were afraid. I never felt more helpless than when your kids died. The family was undone. I thought the time in the hospital would help you to cope with loss and pain, but we made things worse. I know that now.”
Confused, I listen to her voice floating around, bouncing off the walls and then reaching my heart.
“The hardest part is to admit that you’ve never trusted or let us in. Most of the time, you were hiding the issues from us. We were afraid that you might shut us down completely, as you have done with our parents. The person who emerged after their deaths wasn’t our sister. We had to get to know you. Hold on! Don’t leave the life you made here. I love you so much.”
Aisha.
That little munchkin is now a most beautiful, fierce, and protective woman. She kisses my hand, squeezing as if waiting for my motionless body to respond. A humming sound reaches my ears. The melody vibrating from her lungs reaches my ears, and I float into unconsciousness.
I wake up in the early morning, while it is still dark outside—or rather, bright, because of the snow. The shimmering white coldness can bring to a halt all the chaos and shroud the atmosphere in frozen serenity. The snow-covered tree branches make this frozen wonderland enchanting.
My little sister, Raine, and I are playing in our room. The fire burning in the old fireplace makes a whizzing sound as the logs she fed to it are licked with yellow-red flames. Her humming while she works associates with comfort and safety.
We are making our harbor from the throws and blankets. Huddled in the tent we’re building in the middle of our living room. Pillows and our toy animals are stacked around us. We had a torch inside to illuminate the darkening shelter, and Grandma always brings us treats.
I look at her short hair as she plays with her toys, creating disarray. For some reason, it makes my heart beat faster, and my palms begin to sweat, tingling with the need to put everything in order.
“Why is your house so untidy?” I demand, confused, as I play quietly, babbling the dialogs between the rubber animals. My animals love each other, but hers fight. She is weird.
“Why do your bunnies sit and do nothing? Let them play a little. Make a mess! How else they would have fun?” she asks me with her eyes wide, shaking her head at me as she lets out a little huff.
“They like being silent and tidy. You are very noisy, Rainy! And last time, you broke my doll’s legs because you wanted to see if she could do splits!”
“No, she got hurt when she was performing! Sometimes accidents happen!” Her lips start to quiver, making me upset as well.
I march from the harbor, straight to the argument my parents are having in the next room. As they shout and scream at each other, I stand there, frozen for the moment, but then I quickly hide under the table. I don’t want him to see me.
Our new dad is scary when mad. Raine walks in, and she tries to get our upset Mummy’s attention. She needs to pee. He pushes her away and uses his scary voice, making Raine cry.
When he is not looking, I pull her under the table with me, and we sit there, cuddling for some time. When Grandma comes back, she finds us both hiding.
“Poor little angels, don’t be afraid. I have few chocolates hidden, want some?”
We nod enthusiastically, forgetting our sorrows.
“Good, and Angels, smile through your tears, so heaven’s guardians will be able to help you! Got it?”
No, but Grandma always says things that don’t make sense. Angels won’t come to help us; we will have to do it on our own.
For the rest of the day, we spend our time in the tent, playing and shutting down the hostile world in our small built shelter. And in there, it no longer matters that she’s a messy or noisy sister. I feel safe with her next to me, away from the angry eyes of our new father.
She was always the bravest one, and I was the silent, awkward girl. Raine used to protect me from the mean boys at school.
“Sandra, if you hear me, you should know that all our lives, you’ve been my shelter in the middle of the living room, that we built together. I’ve had never needed a best friend because I had you. You’ve lived through every single experience, standing by my side. The tears we shed and laughs we shared are most precious to me. I always was so proud to have you as my freedom-finder and truth-seeker.
“Your pain is my pain, your joy is mine. When you lost your precious boys, I lost them too. The grief made me blind. I thought I had to fix you, but I’d forgotten that until you make a mess tidy and chaos into order, you stayed silent and lost in your own head. I broke your safe harbor. Instead, I should have pulled you underneath the table, or under the covers, and held you while you wept and broke apart. Forgive me, sister, that I deceived you, but never doubt that I love you.”
Raine.
In the white cushioned room, I open my eyes to find her sweet little face trying to make me laugh. At six years old, Raine is cute and boyish in her bold approach to life. My eyes tired, I reach up to caress her cheeky expression that tries to cheer me up.
“Why did you come here, little monkey? Go play somewhere else.”
The little girl’s persistently trying to figure out how to get me out. With tightly-pressed lips, she mulls over the puzzle presented in front of her. I feel nostalgic.
“I will find a way to get you out of here,” she whispers, grasping the taming shirt, unsuccessfully trying to free me. “Why doesn’t it work?”
Getting upset, my little sister’s eyes shine with tears, relentlessly looking for a way to help me
.
“That’s ok, Rainy. Go play outside, be happy, my little sister!”
Stubbornly, she shakes her head, plotting her next rebellious scheme.
“I’ll never leave you, and you won’t leave me either. I’ll ask Mummy to come. Wait here.”
And then she disappears. Tears run down my cheeks, and I close my eyes, letting the darkness lull me back to sleep.
The lullaby hums as I sleep, snuggled in her arms, close to her beating heart. I love her soft white sweater. Feeling warm and loved, I dream about the fairy tale she told me before my eyes became too droopy to stay open. She sings a beautiful song and her tender lips brush my head, as she carefully places me on the bed.
“Mama…” Her gentle hand strokes my hair and face with her fingertips, lulling me back to sleep before I have a chance to tell her my secrets.
A beeping sound pulls me back to the room. I lay, broken, tied to tubes and machines forcing me to live. The whooshing noise coming from the machine is pumping air into my lungs. Then her face blocks my view, causing my heart to jump in fear. Tearful, tired eyes look at me, smiling and kissing me, while I lay tied and helpless. I want to scream and fight.
The tube in my mouth prevents me from screaming.
The panic, so sharp and unexpected, locks my muscles in place, leaving one organ flying for the last chance at freedom. The medics run in and out of the room, shouting things I cannot make sense of. My mum stands there, shaking, watching, with tears running down her face.
Suddenly, my heart stops. The breath locks in my chest. I see medics attach the electrodes to my exposed body and the electric current shocks me back to life.
Beep… Beep… Beep… Whoosh… The brightest white fills my vision.
For days, or maybe years, I feel confused, trying to find my way back. As if I am imprisoned by darkness, I rest. I wait. Tired, I fall to my knees, resting my forehead on the ground that smells of grass. The warm and soothing breeze of summer brushes and strokes my skin.
I lift myself up to my knees and look around. The highest weeds and wildflowers, mixed in wheat, wave and dance to a silent melody, as crickets join the winds in this musical orchestra.
I stand up. The colorful blossoms are hidden in a beautiful bouquet of still-green wheat, along with their unripened berries. The butterflies’ most bright colors dance, like happy ballet dancers. The skies are so blue that cotton clouds look like they’re from the fairy tales where angels sleep and bounce. The wild grass is so tall, I barely can make out those painted white wooden house frames peeking out from the untamed jungle.
With keen intuition, I know this place overgrown with weeds. I walk towards the building that is obstructed by unkempt but soothing beauty. I raise my hand to touch the wooden house as a sense of familiarity fills my heart. I am at home.
Here, little Sandra grew up into a young woman. Here, little sister chased her two rascal big sisters around and cried not to be left behind. Through these windows, I watched the springs, summers, autumns, and winters tell their stories. Grandma was warming the house with the cracking and roaring fire.
I walk a little bit further, to the old apple trees, with a broken swing, half on the ground and half-hanging, forgotten in the green jungle. As I touch the old rope, the giggles and full belly laughs still echo with happy childhood memories etched in the decayed cord.
A soft, heart-gripping melody brought by the winds grabs my attention. Spellbound, I start walking towards the familiar voice. The singing voice clenches my wounded heart, the lullaby from my childhood drawing me closer to the sorrowful source.
The wind parts the way, as if knowing where I am going, helping me find the miserable siren lost in the sea of weeds. Ten meters from me, there she is. My mother, sitting on the old cut tree trunk, with wool on the ground and a small round thread spool she has made, in her hands.
I move closer to the woman. She’s lost her faith and joy. Sorrowfully, she sings the songs with haunting melody, speaking to the heavens. Her sunken eyes with dark circles, and chapped lips only moisturized by the tears she sheds. Silently, I sit in front of her, trying not to intrude on her prayers, as her haunting lullaby threads in my heart, awakening love for this woman.
“Mama,” I whisper softly, as I remember who she is. The memories are bounding and clashing in wretched agony. She lifts her head that’s full of grey hair, as her pale blue-green eyes look back at me. She gasps, her lips quivering and heart suspended in her chest, much like mine. So many wrinkles and lines around her eyes and mouth remind me of the old woman rather than my mother.
For some time, we watch each other, not sure what we’re supposed to do. Then my mum lets her tears fall freely.
“You came back home, Sandra.”
I whimper, and a warm smile appears on her face, as she returns to looping red threads in a ball. I relax and wait for her to talk. While she works, the thread breaks, making her stop, but then she coils the loop and continues her task.
“Mum, why I am here?”
“There are so many things we must talk about. There are so many things we must forgive for.”
Fascinated, I absorb how her spool gets bigger and bigger. When she has enough, she takes a green one and connects the ends, then she winds it around two fingers. Finally, she twists the rest, combining threads, crisscrossing them until it becomes a smooth ball. The dancing of the two wool balls on the ground becomes smaller and smaller, as the new one grows in size.
“You were such a bright kid, although stubborn. We always clashed. Sometimes it was hard to teach you, as you fought me all the way through. I was young and inexperienced.”
“You wanted control of me, and then you wouldn’t get close enough to know everything about my life. You would push and pull me until I gave you something. The screaming fights we had were because of you, Mother. I’ve learned to hide from you and put up defensive walls so you wouldn’t misbalance my peace with your hysterical fits about everything.”
Looking away, I try to regain my composure as the memories of countless arguments resurface, making my heart ache from the stress.
“Sandra, my child, there will be no peace if we keep reliving these hurts over and over again. I thought I was keeping you in line and protecting you from the young mistakes you might make.”
The mistakes are part of the deal. You must make and taste them, otherwise you won’t know who you are.
“We were drifting apart for ages, Mum. I haven’t confided in you for a long time. You found me broken with pain, and talked everyone into believing that I’d lost my sanity. The panic you caused in the house about my mental state was unbearable to deal with.”
I stand and start to pace, stressed about her tendency to march into my life without taking into consideration any boundaries I set.
“I tried to escape, hiding in my room under the covers. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to cry and be alone with the memories of my children. You would barge into my room and pull me out of my bed, tearing my clothes off so I would take a shower! Why the fuck would you do that! I felt violated every time, you know that, right?!”
“But I’m your mother. Why you would feel like that, Sandra? I have a right to look after you.” Her understanding of her rights astounds me sometimes.
How many times did I tell her that? I am not her property. My soul is free to make decisions, as well as mistakes. How many times did she manipulate me with her made-up stories, so I would have to defend myself?
“You know why.” I look at her meaningfully as she lowers her eyes, silently weeping for the mistakes she has made in the name of love.
Deliberating if this visit will lead us anywhere near reconciliation, I turn away from her, trying to look for the solution.
“I should have stopped him,” she whispers from behind me, while my hands coil tight into fists.
“No, you should have kicked him out. You should have chosen us!” I turn to look at her. “You’re pretending that you weren’t aware of what he was doing, b
ut you knew pretty well. So much energy you’ve put into a justification for his actions. You manipulated us into believing that it was normal. He’d hurt us, Mum, and you did nothing. So, when I started to push you away from me, you forced your way back in, trying to regain every inch you lost.”
I look into her remorseful eyes, noticing she finished the ball, and now connects yellow with green and red with blue threads. A cry escapes my mouth, as I realize she probably hasn’t listened at all, expecting me merely to forget and move on.
“I loved him so much, Sandra. I was ready to forgive and forget everything. And I didn’t realize what the cost would be for keeping him,” she tells me regretfully, her lips bleeding from her teeth bites.
Her summer dress with wildflowers printed on the bottom makes her look like the beautiful Moiré, who looks after the threads of fate.
“I didn’t think that leaving him would bring us a better life, so I made us all suffer his oppressing, degrading behavior. I was wrong, my love, so damn wrong. Forgive me, please.”
We both weep as she works on the new wool ball, and I join her. The wilderness of the tall weeds and wheat dance calmingly, brushing against our bodies, comforting our souls. After a while, she starts to hum the melody she used to sing to us when we were little. I close my eyes, letting it soothe me.
Two women, with their jaded hearts, sit in a middle of the overgrown field, humming the lullaby to their aching souls.
She finally weaves eight of them together into one ball. Gently, she gathers my hands in hers, and kisses them as she kneels in front of me, looking straight into my eyes. Unexpectedly, she twists a hidden dandelion from the tall grass and brings it to my face.
“It is time for you to go back,” and she blows the white dancers into my face, making me feel as weightless as the dandelion seed, until the white clouds shroud me into the pure softness. The light’s too bright for my eyes, and I close them in surrender as I float away.
Forgiven, I whisper into the air.
Groggily, I open my eyes. In the white cushioned room, my hands are still tied, and I whimper. Lifting my head to look around, I see the big woolen thread ball and my mother sitting next to it, waiting for me to wake up. Unsteadily, I wiggle into a sitting position, and then push myself backward until I reach the wall.
Entwined IN YOU (In You #2) Page 15
