pushing forward
me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody
we need some kind of tomorrow
Toni Morrison, Beloved
Few days pass as I’m trying to navigate this new strange life of mine in the best way that I can. Strange because even though so many things are crumbling in it and tearing me down to my last resources, I’m here. Struggling but managing to grab scraps of reality and simple mundane moments. Untying the knots of my past and making things better. Even if the scale isn’t remarkable or breathtaking, it still lets me hope. Having faith that I can make some things right.
My stare falls pass the glass surface of the window and into the grey streets, arms crossed, mind analyzing the situation as November finally settles itself into the scenery. Considering matters that I still needed to take care of, and those that I wouldn’t be able to change as time speeds ever so mercilessly. But it’s hard because, in truth, I had no clue how much of it I still had. Weeks, days, hours? I quickly shake my head. No, there was still some time to spare. After a moment, I slowly stretch out the fingers, that have by now turned white from straining for too long. Fix what’s damaged, make the scars smaller. Leave yourself a few breaths that won’t hurt your lungs anymore. Make yourself deserve those calm breaths.
I inhale and watch my faded-out reflection in the dirty glass. A lot of things have changed since I began this painful journey, another exhausting chapter to my story, each darker than the one before. Yet, I was still here, moving slowly forward and finding some meaning to it all. Peculiar, I never believed I would get an opportunity like this. To smooth out the edges of my complicated and worn out existence, to extract something good out of my mistakes, and to even influence the lives of people I have only just met. For the longest time, I didn’t think there was anything in me worth saving. With everything that I have done and the damage that I have caused not only to others but myself as well. Why would I deserve a chance to make something better for the person that I have become? And still, even I was able to fight for my redemption. Letting others know that this heart was still working, the dark, thick paint not covering it entirely. Bits of light and good still shimmering in the right light. Well, if anyone was still willing to have a look. And surprisingly, some actually were.
This week ran rather fast, images and people pretty much blurring into one, not much sticking. But a smile slowly creeps on my lips as I remember the day of our little picnic with Charlie, and then the conversation with Morgan. That was a moment that stood out, leaving delicate bursts of colors in my tired core. And it would always stay with me, no matter what happened next. However, the days that came after- my head shakes again - I could not put them in any logical order even if I wanted to. I think the only reason why I noticed it was Halloween the next day was because of the extra tips at the bar. Handed me by a lot of drunken witches, sluty nurses, and Taylor Swift lookalikes - though I’m not sure if the last one was intentional. Mmm, that, plus men that didn’t even need costumes to take over the role of over-eager casanovas and daredevils. A date like any other, just with more makeup and glitter everywhere, and even fewer clothes to be found seen.
I gaze again through the window, taking my time and watching the people below busy with their mundane lives and their rushed ways. One more breath and I turn around swiftly, grabbing the keys from the kitchen counter, stepping out of the flat, and running down the stairs. Before I could change my mind, again.
She was waiting, I could feel it.
______
I knock on the brown door that’s a bit battered but still looks nice and decent, the gold, metallic number nine seeming to blind me by just being there. I don’t even have enough courage to ring the bell, afraid of how loud it might be while all I want is to sink into the floorboards under my feet. After a while, I hear noises, hushed voices, and then the silence that seems to stretch out limitlessly, making me believe that everything will just stay like this, with me trapped at this moment for eternity. But eventually, the lock in the door turns, the chain shifting back. I watch fascinated as the knob turns in slow motion, the door finally opening. A woman behind it glaring at me, her body almost motionless as her eyes burrow into mine. Cara. Her name bounces in my head as I walk in hesitantly, passing her and then turning around.
Hey there, sunlight.
I say in a weak voice, my stomach already turning inside out as I stare at her shyly, feeling very out of place. We were all always more defenseless around those who meant the most to us, at some point in our lives.
I can tell from your... expression that you got my voice message.
I stare at her, the straight blond her barely reaching her shoulders; they were once down to her waist and always braided. I sigh, not being able to even remember the last time we saw each other. Finally, I shake out of my state, smiling weakly at her, and the child nested on her hip. It’s a little girl, about 2-years-old, a spitting image of her mother. I watch as she slowly puts the child down on the ground, her arms crossing as if she needs a moment to think the situation through, not sure yet if her words would be pleasant or not.
My gaze lowers down to the child dressed all in pinks and purples, with small smudges of chocolate covering her face. She looks as indecisive as her mother but with vivid curiosity sparkling in a set of beautiful, deep blue eyes. She slowly walks over to me, one hand holding her skirt as if for protection and the other one already slipping into mine. I feel the soft touch and intense warmth coming from the little body. I frown surprised, any buzzing that was going around in my head seems to subside slightly, not a single bad emotions in a hundred yards - or that’s how it feels. My head moves to the side as she pulls me to a little wooden table.
I look at Cara if she has something against this, but she just stares back at me, the look in her eyes mimicking the ones of her daughter from a moment ago. I am made to sit at a small, plastic chair while shown a bunch of drawings as her hand still lays in mine. My eyes follow her bobbing head while she shows off all the fairylands and magical worlds that she created. Just a lot of colorful lines and small drawings really, but holding more things inside than any grown-up could ever imagine. I smile at her and listen to a delicate voice that is the only thing that stops this scene from being awkward and spent in silence.
Small kids. No vile thoughts, with pure not yet shaped minds. Opened to acceptance and the wonder of it all. I feel my mind slow down, with no painful or rushed thoughts digging into my head, my senses on standby yet clearer than ever. I slowly get up, letting go of the little hand while the girl is already busy with her crayons, starting a brand new adventure. I turn around and stare at Cara, and then I walk over, knowing that some things needed to be said.
I’m sorry. For everything. For turning my back on you when you wanted to help, for not answering your calls, for saying all those things that I never meant. Back then, I just wanted to be left alone. Nothing more.
She gazes at me and then at her daughter, thinking and calculating. Trying to decide on something.
And you got what you wanted.
It isn’t a question. The words dig deep into my flesh, but finally hearing her voice makes it unimportant. I nod.
Yes. I got all the alone time I could ask for and a lot more. So much more.
But you left much earlier than that; before the worst even happened.
I know. I fell into him too deep and changed. I couldn’t control it back then and made bad choices, choices that hurt the people that I care about most in this world. People like you, Cara.
It’s been over 2 years, El.
I can see it now.
My stare falls to the girl that looks so much like her mother.
I remember the invite to the baby shower that you sent me, and I ignored it for reasons that I can’t even explain. And then that invitation to her first birthday party. I didn’t throw it away, and I still have it, but I just couldn’t face all of that...
I gulp hard, and my throat tightens.
All of that happiness, not then.
I feel my eyes start to water, and a flood breaks lose, something new shattering into tiny pieces under my lungs. It’s heavy, and it wants to get out.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m a terrible person. All I meant was...
My voice starts to break, and my fists tighten. I close my eyes and try to breathe calmer, voices in my head waking up from their temporary slumber. Poking under my skull, greedy and desperate for the attention. I focus on not screaming and ignoring everything that was going on inside my head, teeth clenched, and with a promise of a migraine coming my way. Just calm down, it’s only a buzz, nothing you haven’t dealt with before. But my heart starts to hammer and crash against my ribcage, the pulse rhythmically exploding in my ears, it feels like I’m going to faint. I start to count to ten and back, trying to control the situation when I feel a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tightly. The panic begins to slowly subside as the touch calms me down, just like it always had. Cara’s strong reminder that I could resurface from the deepest waters if just pulled myself together. I look up at her, tears in her eyes as well. She pulls me into a tight embrace, and my body automatically returns it. No hesitance, as if on autopilot of knowing someone so long, trusting the other person with your life.
I’m so sorry, I really mean it. I’m not lying, not this time, just wanted you to know that... I promise not to bother you anymore and just leave you alone.
I say, trying to pull away, but she holds me tight, and I feel my body start to relax again and melt into hers. Someone still wants you in their lives. The thought breaks through all the darkness, and I cling to it like a lost child in need of comfort.
You’re not going to get away so easily out of this, you’re going to have to earn it this time.
I nod my head, bumping into her shoulder. We were almost the same hight.
Anything you want, just tell me, and it’s yours.
You will regret saying that.
Nothing new, get it on. I’ve been through worse than your questionable attitude.
I laugh out, surprising me, and her. Feeling both of our bodies shake from the vibrations. Feeling a small part of me returning to its rightful place. Less broken but still a huge mess.
You should be careful of what you wish for.
She lets me go slowly and walks up to the table, lifting her daughter up in her arms, and then putting the delicate little body into mine.
Emily, this is aunt El. She will play with you as long as you want, she’s got plenty of time, and I have to make dinner.
I watch her move to the small kitchen area while the child seems to be lost in all the glory of my dark hair, pulling it and stroking it with obvious delight. I swallow and look at my friend, wondering if I heard her right.
You named her Emily?
Yes, it must have been a while since you read those invitations that I send you... or you just glided over the title. Do you have a problem with that?
She asks in a mock voice, putting a hand on the side of her slim waist and sending me a hard stare, then she puts on some water for the pasta that lays next to her. I notice tomato sous in the pan next to it. My lips curl up into a smirk; spaghetti Thursdays, some things never change.
No problem in the slightest, just surprised that you named your child after the devil.
You overestimate your powers, El. You could be a second level demon at best.
I shift the child to my hip like she did before and move to a square wooden table, sitting and getting more comfortable. Two other chairs that match the table, keeping me company. A look to the side and notice a pretty, painted yellow, high chair standing in the corner of her cozy kitchen.
So, can I stay for a bit?
Cara turns around to see me better and lifts her eyebrow.
You already seem very at home, from the looks of it.
You know me, the vision of free food makes me stand through all the torture possible, even the pure horror of babysitting.
Some things never change, honeysuckle.
It’s my chance to look at her funny.
Why do you insist on still calling me that?
Because people always looked weird at me when I used to shout in the streets: “Hey you, dirty honeysuckle love, come over here”. So, I worked around it.
I look down at her daughter and put her on the ground, staring into those blue eyes. I speak deliberately slow to make my point, for everyone in the room to hear.
Emily, your mother, is a monster, don’t ever forget it.
The child looks at me in a patronizing way, as if I said something extremely absurd.
Mummy’s not a monster.
She shakes her head and returns to her little table, not fussing too long with the grown-ups. Not very surprising, I could never stand them either. My eyes wander to the stove and gaze as the pasta falls into the big metal pot. Then at Cara and the corners of her lips that were slightly lifted now.
Did you enjoy the show that you just caused?
I ask in a dry tone, and her smile widens just a bit.
Let’s just say I am slowly catching up after all this time. After all, you might disappear at any moment now for another couple of years.
My facial expression drops, and I feel as if a hot iron had just penetrated my skin, piercing deep into my organs. Guilt. The one part of the emotional spectrum that I did not miss while living in my own torture bubble.
I know, two years. Ask anything you want.
Are you sure? You were never the one for confession nights unless you were really drunk, and even then, it was like pulling a tooth out.
I stare at her for a moment, the only person who never nagged or urged me to confide if I didn’t want to. Just calmly asking me and then judging my responses. Gently pushing if the mood was right but never insisting as everyone else seemed to in my life - including Charlie himself. Even with an introvert soul as my own, I still told her things that I didn’t tell other people. Sometimes she didn’t even had to ask anything, just her quiet presence causing for an outburst of words, an overflowing river filled with all the dirt of the day. But not always, only the times when I let the current take me, saying things that clung to my insides with desperation. I smile, though she wasn’t all calm and serenity, just when it was needed. Other times she was just as lunatic as I was, if not more.
I’m sure, Cara. You can always ask. And hell, from time to time, you can even get an answer, as well.
I wink at her as she stares at me, seeming to scan me from top to bottom and read me like an open book.
We will get to that, but first. From now on, you are on babysitting duties, at least twice a week.
I send her a dirty look but nod.
Alright, will there be anything else?
You know there will.
We stare at each other, like two boxers in the ring. Fixing the past took a lot of time, no matter how strong were the bonds that once held you together. I cross my arms over my chest, and she turns off the fire under the pot and moves the pasta to the sink. I watch clouds of steam lift in the small kitchen as she cools it down with water. She leaves everything on a wooden board and sits next to me, then slowly leans over the table, just inches from my face. Eyes closed, she inhales deeply, murmuring softly. There is instant friction in the air. I don’t move, frozen to the spot, yet at the same time calmly waiting for the all too known words.
Somehow, you still smell like strawberries.
And you reek of kindness.
I answer and smile darkly, she crosses her arms as well and sits more comfortably. This might seem like a strange situation to anyone that would notice this little exchange, but in truth, it wasn’t. Just a form of an inside joke that we had. A small sign of a peace offering, a surrendering of the guns. It was our way of saying: “Fine, we can talk now, and no one will die today”. If this happened in public, like bars or cafes, we would get tons of looks from people, secretly proud that we caused such an effect, and at the same time, not caring much in the end.
But seriously, you look tired, honeysuckle.
As do you, motherhood kicking you in the gut?
We are not here to talk about my parenting skills, are we now?
No, but maybe later.
Yes, maybe. So, why are you so tired?
You should have seen me a couple of weeks ago, you could have written a novel on me, a perfect nighttime tale for troubled therapists... or a horror story more likely.
She gazes at me, and her eyes become sad, the depth in them growing.
How are you dealing with it?
I don’t have to ask her what she means, because I know that she knows. Not all the mayhem and supernatural that corrupted my life, but that unstoppable circle of life that dug me into the ground every time I opened my eyes.
One day at a time and in deep denial as always.
So, nothing new.
No.
It’s been a year by now.
Almost.
Have you been...
No, not yet. But I will, soon.
How soon?
I take a deep breath and can’t make myself to look her in the eyes.
Next week, on Saturday.
Do you want me to come with you, or at least drive you there? I will find someone to take care of Emily for a couple of hours, I just need to...
No, I think we both know that I have to do this on my own.
Yes, I know, I asked just in case. I want to be there for you, to support you and I’m making sure you are still aware of it.
I am always aware of it, Cara. I love you, and you are closer to me than my actual family.
Don’t say that, they care for you.
Yes, I know, in their own special way.
I lift my fingers and make a quotation mark in the air, sarcasm spilling out of me and sticking to my tongue like something very bitter. I swallow and shake away the bad mood that was already nesting comfortably in my body.
You know it’s not all of their fault.
Yeah, I do. Sorry, these things just spill out of me like sewage sometimes. It’s my way of dealing with it, but you already know that.
All too well, but we are alike in that manner, it was why we got so along as roommates and friends.
And... are we still friends?
I try to sound casual but feel the insecurities pricking at my skin like tiny needles.
Depends if you changed and how good you are at babysitting.
My lips lift slightly, as she sounds both amused and strict about it.
Kids love me. I’m like that weird mirror in the amusement park that they can stare at all day in wonder.
Some things never change, love.
No, they do not.
My smile spreads slowly, as I gaze at her, and then at Emily. Both of them, a small extension to my family. I was never truly alone, I just had a tendency to push away those that I cared about, so no one would get even more hurt because of me. But there were also times when I realized that it wasn’t the right way to take when I let myself see the light through a crack of a door that already seemed closed. It just took me a lot of time to recognize that all I had to do was to lightly push on the door, and see what would happen.
And there were still so many doors to push open in the bright house that haunted my dreams every time my eyelids would fall and give in into the exhaustion. But my hand was already on the know, and it wasn’t letting go as of yet.
______
https://theprose.com/post/230936/with-all-my-senses ( the beginning )
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