when the dust settles

.

reconstruction and working through

as time goes on and you are able to be more functional

your mind will start to work a bit more like it did (...) and yes,

the sorrow and sadness will likely still be there. But you will be able to

move in the right direction towards the last stage, acceptance

- on 7 stages of grief, stage 6

All the lights in the building are turned off as I sit at the bottom of the third flight of stairs, just fifteen cold steps from my flat. I sit in the dark and don’t even know what time it is, rather oblivious to my surroundings, the memories that I saw in my dreams shaking my already unstable foundation. Why did I see all of that? I mean, I saw Clair’s memories before, but they were just glimpses that happened while I was fully awake. These new visions came to me when I was half asleep, drifting into my dreams, tracing, and invading my mind. I had no idea what to think about all of this. With Charlie, I acted cool and composed, or at least that’s how I hoped it looked because he kept sending me odd stares whenever my mind would unexpectedly wander off back to the things that I have seen. So perhaps I wasn’t actually doing such a good job as I thought. Then again, he always seemed to look at me in a peculiar way.

My eyes close in the dark, fingers massaging strained temples, mind doing overtime. I didn’t want to bother him with my heavy thoughts, there were too many of them, and I didn’t want to interrupt his positive state. He seemed so happy and relieved that the worst was over for now. And when I managed to control my facial expressions and smile genuinely at him, I couldn’t stop my heart slightly jumping as he smiled wide back at me. It was not often that I saw him in such a good mood, more like small moments when everything seemed alright. He sat around with me in the cafeteria sharing his lunch... and then buying a new one just for me, as I seemed to be always hungry these days when my mind wasn’t occupied with moans and threats of the ones I could not see, just feel. My head shakes, brain amused with a thought. Hearing voices must have really worked wonders for a girl’s appetite, though I suspected it was doing too well, my clothes still more loose than I would have wanted it.

After his shift ended, he walked me off to my flat, ignoring my faint protests, as he probably realized that in truth, I had nothing in mind, actually relieved with the company. Lately, my very low skills at socializing had moved up, and to be honest, sometimes I even enjoyed the presence of other human beings. Sometimes. My smile slowly disappears as I ponder about the things that brought me here, sitting quietly in the dark, lost in fading out dreams.

The unexpected visions. The memories that came to me, making me a silent witness to such intensity of feelings and emotions I was not ready for. Some of them were so tender, that I didn’t know what to do with myself, no longer use to such care and softness - I feel my lungs start to move faster as the images start to fill my mind. There was the other side to this as well, it showed memories that cried of such sadness and loneliness that I could not help but relate. And then, there was the last vision. Dirt spread over a wooden box, a silent goodbye to a person that meant the most.

I rub my temples with more force, my whole body shaking. Something inside me twisting and breaking. I hold in the sob that was surely on its way and clench my fists. My body was tired of tears and pain, and this sorrow would not get out tonight.

Mangled thoughts drift until I think of my mother and what my actions did to her; as if she, herself had actually lost a child in a way because of how much I pushed myself away from her, from my family. Though I doubt that my father had felt the same about the situation, maybe he felt relieved that he no longer had to deal with the problem - I inhale deeper. Or maybe there was some sadness, under all of the disappointment that he surely felt towards me. We never got along much, and with each year, our paths grew more apart. Perhaps if I was the son that he always wanted, the one my mother had lost before me.

My hand hits the cold, stone step below me, and the pain shoots out throughout my entire arm, causing my teeth to ring out loudly. I take it as a bit of bliss because it makes me focus more on other things. I think of the closed bedroom in my house that no one visits, except my mother sometimes in the night. I think of the baby clothes put in the attic, making a place amongst other things that no one wanted to look at, making friends with the ghosts of the past. My heart aches for a sibling I would never meet but then I quickly make myself come back from unnecessary feelings, my mind moving to someone else that lost their child as well. It makes me think that my family stretched out farther than I cared to admit. I think about the woman that was the mother to the man I loved so much, to a person that I used to call my mum.

It’s been so long.

I think of loss, about what it does to a defeated heart, and finally make up my mind, doing a thing I should have a long time ago. My body moves up and legs lead me back to my place, my steps surprisingly strong at this late hour. The door closes behind me and I stare at the clock on the old desk in the living room, where all my work clutter is. Cameras, lenses, envelopes, and photographs, and countless junk that covered the wooden surface. I stare at the red digits, eyes straining to read them, the lack of sleep and vivid dreams draining me out.

Just barely five in the morning.

She might be up as she hardly ever sleeps at nights, taking on late shifts and preferring to sleep in the day when the nightmares are less suffocating. Or at least that’s what she used to do. I haven’t spoken to her in over a year, even before the worst happened. Though I saw her that day, dressed all in black, staring at one point in the distance, not really seeing anything. Her expression hard and almost ruthless, as if she wasn’t going to allow any more bad news to strike her, as if she was done with all of this. Two beloved men in her life already gone, taken away from her when she still had so many days ahead of her. I saw her then, even with the pain that I covered in numbness, the world around me so unreal, so plastic. My eyes caught hers, my brain memorizing every sound, smell, and feeling, every picture frame in between blinking eyelids. I was detached from the world, but that memory I took with me, as everything else moved around in blurry, useless moments.

My hand slowly picks up the battered-up receiver as I dial the number from memory, my fingers wrapping themselves around the phone’s plastic exterior. I start to slowly pace the length of my living room, back and forth, the long cable of the phone making rustling sounds against the wooden boards and carpet as I move around without ever really stopping, my body twitching. Finally, someone picks up and my body becomes frighteningly still.

Hey, it’s me.

A long moment of silence and cracks on the line as if the person on the other side was deciding if they should hang up.

I was wondering if I would ever hear your voice again.

It’s been a while.

More, then a while. Almost a year.

I cringe from the words.

You have been counting as well, I see.

Every day.

My hands start to tremble a bit, but I ignore it, pushing the words that needed to get out. Surprisingly, my voice seems calm as I start to speak, my mind accepting the truths without any resistance.

I can’t even apologize to you, because it would have been like an insult.

You weren’t responsible for his choices, Elle.

I was one of the factors, I didn’t stop him at the right time, not noticing until it was too late, and I saw what shape he was in, I saw the mess that he had become.

Then you noticed more then I did, child. He fooled me every time he said things were alright, that they would get better. I wanted to believe him.

The silence stretches as I feel my chest sink in, my whole body slowly deflating like a balloon. Maybe I shouldn’t have called.

I never meant to hurt you.

Something faintly shifts in the background; she’s sitting down on her kitchen stool. I remember her place with details, even though we haven’t been there too often, always something else distracting us. Life, daily responsibilities, problems, me and him together, two volcanos burning alive but always coming for more.

You weren’t the one that shot my son.

Her tone is stern as to grab my attention, but I hardly hear it, a strange pain starting to spread in my chest - as if I got a bullet that day, not him.

But it might as well have been me.

Eleonore, we both lost him, and both of us feel that loss every single moment.

The wound spreads, and I feel the blood that isn’t there sink into my shirt, the stain always there.

Mum... I mean, Gloria. I shouldn’t be calling you like that anymore, I’m sorry.

You can call me whatever you want, hun. It’s good to still hear that word and the sound that it makes.

The blood drips all over my clothes, it stains the floor. My lungs hurt so much, the hole in my chest expanding. So, I make myself focus before this body collapses to the ground, before the blood sinks into the walls.

Thank you, even if I don’t deserve it, I just wanted to see how you were and if you...

Were in the same pain as you? It’s unquestionable.

I grab a shelf near me and stare at the book titles that I don’t see.

No, if you needed anything. If I could help with anything, although I avoided you for months and don’t really have the right to even make this call in the first place.

I get it, Elle, and you know that. I have been through worse in my lifetime, this isn’t the first time that I wear black to breakfast and dinner.

Silence fills my brain, as eyes focus on the words in front of me. “Little Women” by Louisa May Alcott - got the book at a flea market but never found the time to read it. “Green Fried Tomatoes” made me cry like a lost baby in the night, spitting my soul out. My eyelids blink as I hold the tears at this moment too. Focus, focus, focus. Deep breaths. But I can’t seem to find my voice, the receiver in my hand starting to slide down as a weak grip loosens even more. I hear another faint shift, but it’s more decisive this time.

Don’t you dare hang up on me, Eleonore Walton, do you hear me? Not now, when you are finally waking up.

I feel my pupils widen as my hold tightens.

I’m sorry, Gloria. I... I almost lost it there.

My other hand rubs my face while I think a slap would work much better, but maybe her words were much more powerful in these circumstances.

That’s better, child. We all have our hell to walk through, no point in letting it win all the time. No fun in that, just a lot of taxes.

There is strength somewhere at the edge of me that I haven’t felt in a long time, strange lightness wanting to break loose.

I know, thank you.

Don’t waste your time on the ‘thank yous’, just live.

I called you to make amends and to fix some things between us, but apparently, you’re doing all the work.

What can I say, child? I always enjoyed having the last word, one of the few good things in my life.

Additionally, being tough like a rock?

And heavy on the mouth.

I think I can relate.

The only reason I liked you. Well, that and the love you had for my boy, in all the ways possible, even in the ways that he didn’t always deserve to take.

I don’t say anything for a while, staring first at the floor and then at my shirt. There was no blood anymore, even if the hole would always be there, a part of me.

I miss him, mum.

The words are barely audible, all the tones in my voice fragile beyond anything I had ever felt before, but I know that she heard them loud and clear.

The conversation wouldn’t be worth the while if you didn’t. It’s alright, Elle. We both loved him, and we are both going to make it through. Somehow, even if it seems like there is nothing more to live for.

Mum.

No, let me finish.

There is silence for a while, and I nod slowly as if she could actually see me.

The hole that you feel there...

She trails off and I clutch onto my shirt, looking for leaks, pulling on the fabric, touching my chest with urgency. But there is nothing there, except a dull pain that is always present, sticking to me like old paint, crumbling under my layers. I try to focus on her words as she begins again, putting soft pressure on them.

The hole that you feel there will never disappear, but it’s no longer threatening to kill you like it used to. Elle... you’re are no longer bleeding out. You’re going to make it.

My lungs start to move rapidly as a single gasp escapes my throat. Everything that she said breaks through me and all my defenses, familiar words slipping in. We cried ourselves a hurricane. And that’s exactly how I feel as we both - a faint smile spreads on my lips -my other mum and me, had cried ourselves a hurricane and the worst had finally passed.

Even though the damages will stay there forever.

I speak in a murmur as my hand grabs on to the phone, a strange calm once again spreading over my chest. As if warm honey poured over sharp edges of broken glass. Slow healing, but with so much more work on this road ahead of me.

Yes, child. But that’s just one of the things we all must go in life. It’s inevitable, and we just have to go through it the best way that we can.

Were you always that wise or did it come with age lately?

Mmm, I see some things never change, Eleonore. That dry sense of humor of yours still alive and kicking.

What can I say, I had a good role model, Gloria.

If you choose to believe that, and I think you know how to call me after all these years.

Yes, I do.

Good, that must mean some of your grey cells are still functioning.

I saved a few just for you, mum.

And that’s when I hear it, music that I thought was lost... her laugh. A bit throaty from the cigarettes that she smoked in her hard life and with something warm just on the edges. I thought I would never hear it again. Never. My usually hollow chest fills out slowly. A sound that reminded me of him. Different but similar in so many ways, familiar. It didn’t get lost.

Take care of yourself, Elle.

I will try my best.

That’s all I’m asking, child. That and a phone call not counted by another year.

That’s a promise.

I hang up and feel it. A weight lifting off my chest, another tiny part of me slowly moving back into place. That was something, I tell myself. That was something.

____

https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses (chapter 1 )

Previous 3 chapters :

24. https://theprose.com/post/318322/measured-truths-approach

25. https://theprose.com/post/326382/the-ones-that-shape-us

26. https://theprose.com/post/335596/finding-steady-footing

And thank you, to everyone that keeps up with the story, it’s a long process, and the inspiration muse comes to me when she wants to ;)