Free Beast

by Suzanne Marine

  At home, after Danita has finally fallen asleep, I'm crestfallen, flattened and void. I think of the sorcery she tricked us with. The patina of concern and delight and friendship. All fake. How friendships were synthesized and used to find the buried string to the source. I am mystified, how could someone do this, what drives someone to betray the people they've formed relationships with. The equinox of my poles has shifted, upside down with no east-west bearings to detect.

  Where is Jamie. Where is Jamie. I imagine a decrepit, frigid cell, a shaky call to his parents. I'm sure they'll bail him out, use their connections to help him find his way. I hope. I hope. I hold my breath, close my eyes, feel the pressure. Hear pattering footsteps rush, and hollow buzzing bore into my thoughts. It's so loud in me, to the bone, to the earth shattering. And it is so chilling quiet outside, reactionless and neutral. Nature and the world are indifferent to pain, to the stunning and the fear.

  SHATTER INTO

  Lesson #6:

  During tough times, heal yourself and let the past go.

  After the tears have dried, rebuild yourself.

  Find what is missing and fill the void as best as you can, then move on with life. For example, if it's a missing mom or dad, mother yourself or father yourself. You know deep down what a mom or dad would say for certain situations - nurture yourself with that knowledge. If you don't know, find alternate sources like books, role models, or the parents of your friends, and think deeply about the kind of sane, common sense advice they would give. Good parents always give sane, common sense advice that is best for you. These things will never completely substitute what is missing, but they will help you rebuild yourself and help straighten what could've been a winding path to nowhere in life.

  Find what has been damaged and heal yourself, then move on with life. If it's low self-esteem, work on setting small goals and attaining them. The more you keep trying and meeting those goals, the more self-esteem you'll build. Long lasting self-esteem is not built on being the prettiest, the most competitive with others or having power over others. True, long lasting self-esteem is built on knowing you can set goals for yourself and meet most of them. It's based on a belief in your abilities and persistence regardless of what others do or don't do. If you've been abused, work on accepting yourself as you are. You are a beautiful human being with good and bad in you, just like everyone else. Treat yourself kindly and fairly. Rebuild your self-esteem. Never accept bad treatment from others on an ongoing basis – force yourself to do this even if it feels odd or scary.

  When life gets tough, always remember you can redraw yourself. You do the best you can to work with the tough situation and find a way to get out of it, then you move forward. That's when you can redraw and heal yourself.

  Moving on with life means living and learning as you go. Live your life as you work on accepting yourself and attaining those small goals. You'll make mistakes. Pick yourself up and keep going forward. Keep making the “right” decisions as much as possible, even if you're not used to doing that. It's about discipline and forcing yourself. For 99% of life's situations, we all know what the “right” decision is deep down in our hearts.

  Moving on with life means leaving the past behind. Whatever happened, it happened then and now you can move on. It doesn't mean denying it happened or forgetting it. It just means acknowledging that it happened to you and that it wasn't fair. You're not being punished for something. Life isn't always fair, that's just how it is. Now, look at your life going forward.

  Moving on with life means accepting that the past has damaged you in some way, but you now accept responsibility for making yourself better as best as you can. You can no longer blame your troubles and behavior on the past by saying something like “I was damaged so that's why I'm like this. I can't help it.” You no longer use the past as an excuse in your thirties and beyond. You actively work on bettering yourself and being aware of how the past makes you act and think in certain ways and how you can rebuild yourself.

  Rebuilding yourself means you reduce the harm you do to yourself and others in this life.

  I don't know how to tell him. That he will redraw himself without me. That this is the best decision for all involved. It is the “common sense” decision mother would give me if she couldn't be here to help me. It's hard to believe... that this is for the best. My heart is broken, cut up by glass corners. My head says it was a good run while it lasted. An odyssey of proportions and aspirations. That now has to end. Words escape me, I'm mute, just filled with a strained devastation that can't find shape within the shallow confines of words. How do you describe a last breath after you've exhaled it.

  On the way, I tell him he's going to a home for boys. That I love him but can no longer take care of him because there's no one to watch over him while I'm at work. He is stupefied silent, withdraws into his own world. His hand gone limp in mine as if he had died. I say that teachers will be there to take care of them until they find a good home for him. That he will have so much fun meeting other boys just like him.

  We arrive at the institution and walk into the old, drooping building. I've crossed many new thresholds this year, but this is the most frightening. My heart thrums hard, my fight or flight response hyper alerts. We hear the shouts and hoopla of boys and young men echoing through the feeble, crumbling hallways. A dark haired, portly woman, the social worker I spoke with earlier, meets us at a desk. Her voice is cream and vanilla, her black eyes steady and observant, cold and aloof. She's a study in distant professionalism in her fitted, maroon dress and heeled pumps. An emptiness resides in her eyes and persona, no gravity or basic carbon to generate life. When did she lose it? Her germ of carbon, her truth and humanity. How did it dissipate. She is all shell, only a shell. Her black hair and toffee-brown skin glisten as she tells me this is the last time, I can't visit. A beige, u-shaped water stain looms heavy on the white wall behind her, a giant tear drop waiting to roll.

  I want to cradle him like a baby. I hug him tightly, his arms clasp around me, never wanting to undo. Tears stream out of me, our foreheads touch. His skin is cold and clammy. I tell him that I love him and always will. That I will never forget him. That I packed his things in a backpack, especially the book of wisdom that is his forever. That one day he will read it and hopefully forgive me. That I'm doing this because I love him and want the best for him. I don't know if he understands fully. He knows he is sad and I am sad. That we are parting. That he will be with other boys. The woman takes his hand and leads him into the large, cinder block gymnasium filled with bunk beds, hard cement floors, boys and almost-men. I peek inside and see the lean, taut bodies of young men, geared up, tensed and ready to defend themselves. The young, small-boned boys, timid and waiting and watching. The musky scent of changing, maturing bodies permeating the old, threadbare bedding and stagnant, heavy air. I sense the onslaught of cutting remarks, turf wars fueled by hormones, alpha games of power, jokes gone awry. I worry about abuse - sexual, physical, emotional. All the nasty things humans do to each other when they don't feel safe and secure. The ugly, sulfurous turmoil within all of us.

  I see his small figure following her through the maze of beds, he looks back briefly then doesn't do it again. It's a zoo, full of barbarians and animalistic urges. He's going farther, closer to the point of no return. I feel the helplessness of an ether nothingness in my hands, which want to hold something, grab him back. An attendant closes the door as he walks deeper into the belly, jaws closing and slamming shut. I want to barge in, take him, run away, go into hiding. But it's impossible, my options are tied, locked into this.... brokenness, this abandonment. I don't know what... I walk away, my heart shattering into a million pieces every step I take.

  I was wrong. I shouldn't have done that. I should've found a way to make it work, some way, somehow. What is he doing now. Is he safe. Is he crying. Is his heart broken. Can he ever trust anyone again. Has he met a loyal friend. Or is he being run through the wringer. This will be one of the biggest reg
rets in my life. The guilt haunts me, devours, stuns me still in my gut and never lets go. I look in the mirror, see a serrated scar, the journey I've relinquished. Shame. Shame. Shame.

  MY LOVE

  I wrote him a letter on the front, inside pages.

  Danita,

  I am so sorry I had to give you to the orphanage. I am so very sorry. With all my heart.

  I found you on a street when you were about 4 years old. A protest group was walking away and your parents left you there. You were scared and sad and you didn't know your last name, but it was one of the best days of my life because it brought us together. I didn't go to the police because I didn't trust the system. I worried you would be lost in it. I wanted to raise you with my mother and Jamie but they are gone now. Mother has passed away and Jamie (my lover and best friend) was taken away by the government. And now I have no one to watch over you when I'm at work. And I don't earn enough to hire someone. Those are the cruel, hard facts I find myself in.

  I want you to know that you are loved. Truly, truly, truly loved. By me, my mother's spirit and Jamie. I think about you every day and hope, pray that you are safe, happy and growing as a person. I'm hoping and rooting for you. You are such a special person with so much to offer the world and others. Please never forget that. I know you will grow into a kind, quietly strong, noble man.

  This notebook was my grandmother's. I hope its wisdom helps you as you get older. As a child, you were quiet and observant. You loved hearing mother's stories and especially the stories of wisdom in this notebook.

  I don't know where you and I will end up or what life has in plan for us. If I'm able to get my life together and earn more soon, I will come back for you, I promise. But if we don't end up together for some reason, I hope we will find each other when you are an adult. You will find a friend for life, a home if you want one, someone who only wants the best for you.

  Never forget you are loved.

  Love,

  Eloisa Wing

  Lesson #7:

  Love.

  All of these are based on love.

  Love for ethics and the golden rule.

  Love for doing the right thing for yourself and others.

  Love for healing and rebuilding yourself as needed.

  Love for knowing and accepting yourself.

  Love for yourself and others.

  I want my love to stay with Danita, mother and Jamie. My love. A stubborn, unremovable residue. Memory that persists, stands the test of time. Grows rugged and durable as it's replayed and remembered. My love. An alloy of resilience and strength. I'll find you there, I'll meet you there. My love. In the sun, moon, in everything you wish for. In between life's episodes, when beliefs have left you, as you fill with hope or find it spilt and gone.

  In the air behind you as you find your way.

  Always.

  Ever.

  Always.

  DIP BETWEEN ETERNAL

  The line is dead, goes nowhere. A dead-end buzz, faltering and ringing. You know what that means as you drop it.

  I remember the shower. I remember crying, it was the only place I could do so in private without worrying Danita or Jamie. I stood there, hot water gliding over my head and curving around my shoulders, my body becoming flowstone. The salty mineral tears commingling, the pain of mourning made sharper by crying, loss evaporating into steam. My gut convulsing in grief, attempting to retch it out of me.

  He entered the room and I turned away so he couldn't see. I cowered into the stream to cover myself. He turned me around, saw my warm, flushed face contorted and swollen red with sorrow. All the heartache I couldn't share.

  We embraced under the fall, skin to skin. My head curled in his chest, my breasts nestled on his ribs. Our stomachs flaccid and squashed. Arms in circles with water flowing over us as we melted into one. My grief assimilated by him, the burden and pain accepted. We can take it all, the nevermore and forevermore.

  I remember thinking this was the first time our bodies weren't tree bark, in the way. The first time our bodies allowed our souls to feel each other in the physical world.

  I hear my name called. I wonder how I can console him, the way he did for me. I approach the uniformed man, who waits with a badge and gun under a jade green shade, the electrical sensors flickering and hilting as I walk through.

  I blink once. See Jamie laugh. Golden, cherubic, suffused with light and levity.

  Blink again. He shows me a beige birth mark in the valley of his elbow. On a cool, marble table.

  Blink again. His smiling face in the middle of the night, the soft pillow enveloping his head. Goodness emanating through the dark.

  Blink. My palm on his heart. Over his blue shirt, in the shallow dip between. Eternal.

  TO THE FINITE

  What went wrong. How did this traverse.

  He looks down at the table, spirit beaten. And I want to rush him, hold him, transfer strength. Rub the back of his neck, kiss him, hold him close. But we're told we can't touch each other. He looks up as I walk in and I see it all, the scabbed, bloodied scuff mark on his cheekbone, the turmoil and hope barely congealed into his nervous, tight smile. The crumbs of sleep in his eye.

  “Hi...” I say. I risk it and reach over to lovingly remove the sleep from his left eye. I want to take care of him. Be the one to sacrifice and take it for him.

  The officer starts, then steps back. The camera overhead and black mirror watch on with anticipation.

  “I don't know how it got to this.” His voice is wracked with despair, his sunshine sinks at the horizon's bladed edge. “It was just a fun thing...” He never imagined it would come to this, from a comic book to treason. “I thought... it would help...never imagined.” His voice shakes. It is the despair and paralysis that arrives before fear. I don't know how to console him. I must be steady, don't cry. “Who was it? Madlon or Jimmie.”

  “Madlon.”

  “Fuck.” He says softly, pausing, letting her sneaky game plan expose itself.

  Two breaths.

  Two heartbeats.

  “I love you Jamie. I always will.” My eyes tear, I want to touch his soft, folded hands. I told myself I wouldn't be emotional.

  He nods as he absorbs my words, heart squeezing and gripping.

  “Have you talked to my parents?”

  I slowly shake my head no. I want to tell the truth, but don't want to frighten him.

  “They must be talking to the lawyers. They must be. They'll come any day now. I know they will.”

  I don't know how to tell him. His parent's line is down and I assume this means they've been taken too. “Jamie... I tried calling but their phone is down.” I say it gently, quietly, under my breath.

  He takes it in, lets it sink in deeper and deeper as he uncovers the curled, burning edges of his future.

  “How is Danita?”

  “I took him to the orphanage because I didn't have anyone to watch him. I thought it would be best... but now... I'm a horrible person Jamie...” I look away, don't want to show my guilty face, my lack of strength and humanity. I'm gutless.

  “No, no... you aren't... I understand, I understand.” He consoles me, but I see the gloom begin to cloud his crystal blue eyes. The shame and sadness. The seed of fear opening, budding in the dark, in the back.

  We sit there. Me, trying to contain myself, be strong for him. Him, sitting slack, the storm clouds of reality gathering within him. The fear surfaces slowly, from the deep, murky nothing to the standing hair. Realized inch by inch. And I want to hug him, smell him, comfort him, love him. Wrap myself over him, be his warmth.

  He is engulfed now, electrified with emotion. On edge and charged with fear. I see it in the widened eye, prickled stiff back. The mute stillness inside that only you know. A man about to go into battle. A non-battling man. Only a civilian, a feather of a boy.

  His hand lays on the table, moves closer to mine, shaking, wanting to touch, but not able to.

  He takes a breath, holds it in to
calcify himself with courage. His look bores into me, intense and righteous. “I want you to know this. I will always hold a white rose for you in my heart.”

  What does this strange phrase mean. I search our fable, our moments dovetailing into now. Look for the amazing grace of soft, gorgeous petals when it hits me. The white rose resistance group against Hitler. He's telling me in code that he will never give me up. It dawns on me how beautiful and sad this is. How tainted, twisted and timeless.

  I have an inkling about his future. The torture and hopelessness, the raping of spirit. And perhaps death. Lost in the byzantine prison system deep in the earth's lava. Spit out on the other side a changed person, an animal-thing.

  An angel.

  His voice cracks, “I love you Eloisa. I love you.” It is humble and serious, full of the meaningful silence of an empty street after something devastating has touched you. I want to tell him you can take my love with you wherever you go.