A dedication.
Everyone has a different story. We create our own masterpiece. We as the Artist, the canvas a doorway into paths and the brush paints the decisions we make. Different shapes, colours that bring out all the feelings of life. But sometimes, we forget to take a step back and enjoy the Art. We forget who we are along the way. Thanks to the Musician.
Her suitcase was as heavy as her mind. It rained; pouring like a drama scene from a love-sick film. Drenched in the rain, she dragged her suitcase out the door, clutching all of what she owned. In the last three years, she found herself in this same weather. The cold hugged tight, to a point where she couldn’t feel her face. As she got to the bus stop, a boy stood by with his bike rested against the wall, “going on holiday?’ he asks. She replies with a voluntary smile, “something like that”. She stopped for a moment and wanted to say more. Instead she walked on.
She scrolled through numbers of people that she could call, but realized that the neglect of friendship was apparent. It would be shameful to even consider calling them after having spent no time for them in the last three years. To her surprise, a name appears on her phone and it took her back to the good days. She picks up the call and tells her what had happened in such a casual manner, almost as if this was something that occurred every day. To her surprise, her friend offers help and tells her to take the first train to London.
So she gets on the bus, forcing her suitcase with her surprising strength. With so much emotion being held in and so many thoughts going through her head, it made her numb and as if she was in some sort of dream limbo. The passengers looked motionless and cold, much like the weather.
She looks at her bank balance and certainly wasn’t healthy but yet a miracle that she was able to purchase a one way ticket.
“This Train is for, London Liverpool Street…” the pre-recorded lady announces in her precise, firm, yet welcoming voice. It gave her relief.
Her suitcase was far too big to fit through the entry doors in the carriage. So she places it against the corner and leans against it. She realizes there was an air of emptiness that has been haunting her for a very long time and only did the endeavours of the last few days do it occur to her. She kept her feelings at a standstill as she kept replaying those last few minutes in that house.
As she got to Liverpool street station, she made an attempted to move her suitcase out of the way, however the space didn’t help much. A man looked over with concern and lent her a hand. His face drew with astonishment on how heavy the suitcase was and compared her height and size by the glance he took over her.
She thanked him. He nodded and left her to carry on with a small sense of hesitation. She looks away and carries on. She stood for a moment by the barriers on platform 12, the exit was pouring out with passengers on a Saturday afternoon. The rush was like flashes of speeding light; an array of colours with an urgent tone. She stood out as if she was lost in this urban wilderness. There was clear indication of where everyone wanted to go; she was envious of this notion and felt nauseated to think that she had no idea what will become of her. She reassembled herself and shook the feeling off.
She takes the direction to the central line to Bank. The flights of steps didn’t help the circumstance. She fumbles down the last two steps, ripping the sides of her worn out suitcase and out came her pocket mirror, smashing on the floor. A well-dressed auburn-haired woman walks over to her aid and gathers the rest of her belongings together,
“Are you OK, you look like you need a hand”.
“I’m fine, thank you…” she lied. She wanted to scream for help but she walked on dragging her suitcase.
This beautiful woman carried on too but added a glance of concern back at her. From Bank to Morden station. She felt her body weight fluctuated and saw the gauntness of her face against the glass window as it traced past every station. A screaming silence accompanied her with the gentle motion of the train. She blocked out from reality. As her stop came closer from station to station, she felt as if there were layers upon layers of emotions starting to uncover like the slow ripping of her suitcase that would uncover everything she owned. She closes her eyes as if only for a moment to try and feel some relief, and there she was at her last stop. The next thing she sees is Beth. In an instant, she felt the stream of tears falling down her face. Unrelenting. Beth embraces her which made it even harder as the reality presented itself.
The emptiness she felt, suddenly filled with pain and it was heavier than anything she would carry with her. She realized at that moment, all her strength had gone as she tried to carry her suitcase. Her body had accepted that she was done giving her all. The battles she had with herself needed to be rectified but for now, it was time to rest. Beth and her sister took the suitcase and placed it in the trunk with such difficulty that made them question how she had carried it all the way from where she came.
She sits in an unfamiliar room. She could hear her dear friends in the background telling her that everything happened for a reason. A cold feeling crept up over her and did not feel comfort. She felt alone over again. Beth places a cup of tea on the breakfast table and sat close to her with the “it’s going to be OK” expression on her face. As much comfort Beth was trying to give at that very moment; to her, nothing is or ever will be OK.
It must have been 23 times that day. 19:08 the last call. He loved her for 3 years. Then the rest, he brought doubt, lies and inconsistency. She was devoted and regrettably, put him before anything and anyone, like a lot of the women she knew. She thought he would be different. She sipped the cup of tea; tasteless. Beth was still talking, crunching away on some biscuits, crumbs falling all over her green blouse. She could not translate what Beth was saying. She was staring through Beth as if she wasn’t in the same room. With Beth realizing this, she leads her towards her bedroom and made an attempt to drag the suitcase with her. Failing to do this, she leaves it by the hallway. Beth’s mother approaches with a look of concern. She approaches and greeted her with a homely kiss on both cheeks along with a comforting hug. Seeing her face with such gaunt, she insisted that she rest for the night.
Beth’s room was small, cluttered and smelled like burnt oil. She sat at the edge of the bed in silence as the room came into darkness and all she could see was a ray of light coming through the cracks of the door and shadows dancing uncertainty back and forth. Tears ran across her face, but this time her cries came deeper. It was more painful than the first few tears she got stepping out of the station. Her mind created flashbacks of every single moment when she should have broken down in tears; this was her first breakdown and the strongest part of her has failed. She felt like it was exactly like the constant dream she used to have. In that dream, she stood outside her parent’s house at Parson’s Heath, watching her father clean his car while he held in tight grasp a lead and at the end of the lead, a Dalmatian who only had one ear.
The dog looked angry and growled, but not at her. It growled at something else. She felt the sudden rush of fright down her spine. In the dream she runs away from the house but not really going anywhere. A red double-decker bus stops in front of her and opens its doors, she sees no driver but just two hands holding on to the wheel. Something was chasing her and she felt the urgency to jump on this red bus. She sensed the need to scream, but couldn’t. She had no voice. When she reached the top of the bus, the roof had gone. She runs at the back of the bus, glanced back and there it was.
There was a silent eerie scream reaching out to her and the fright touched her skin. She looked out of the speeding bus, in view of her parents’ house and her Dad, polishing his car unaware and still in grasp of this Dalmatian while this time it sat in obedience. She jumps out and lands on her feet, runs in the direction of the garage door, through to the next garage where her family kept a large coffin-like freezer. She opens the freezer door and jumps in to hide. She lays flat with her arms holding on to the sides of the freezer. She waits for a moment until she felt her skin crawl. But this was different, it took it’s time. Light suddenly comes on inside, it became colder and the fridge felt smaller. She started to hear the eerie breathing sound getting closer to her ear. She shuts her eyes with much force. It was coming closer and closer. She felt like there was no preparing her for what was to come next, but she knew eventually, that the freezer door would open at some point. But the dream cuts as soon as the fridge door opens and she wakes up. That was the only relief. Every time she had that dream, she cried quite deeply as she felt emotional pain.
She’d fallen asleep with clothes she had on arrival at Beth’s. Her eyes were swollen and squinted. She pulled away the duvet away from her face and studied her surroundings. She felt unfamiliar and there was a sort of cold dampness in the air. Her phone was set on the bedside table along with some biscuits and a half empty glass of orange juice. The phone was flashing green, which meant that she had messages waiting to be opened. She reached out and pressed the main button, there appeared 6:02 am and an envelope image at the top left hand corner of the screen marking 7 messages. She placed it back down and pulled back the duvet up to the edge of her nose. In her mind, there was only one person who would be sending her messages.
The phone started flashing to red, which meant that the battery was close to rinsing out. She grabbed the phone and unlocked it; one, nine, eight, four. It read, 7.29am on the screen, 12 messages. It wasn’t him. She never expected Alex to have rung her, leaving messages of concern. His friend was more concerned about her than he was. She cleared the inbox and set the phone back on the table.
She watched it closely from under the duvet covers until the red light stopped flashing. She felt slight relief; she was cut off from that part of her life, at least for now. No one knew where she was. Not even her mother. Her mother had a different mind-set. Normally people would grow up like their own teacher, but she refused to do so. The fear of being exactly like our parents, as children, they try their very best not to be like them. But at the end of the day this was her mother at the end of the day, and in some way, she kept some admiration and loved her.
When she was younger, her mother only told her about survival. That was all her mother knew. Her mother struggled when she was a young woman and she of course did not want the same thing to happen to her daughter. When her mother lived in Hong Kong, she worked as a Nanny to support her family back in San Juan. She had left her at just one and her brother who was two years old. She had not planned to have children out of wedlock, but like many young women, she fell in love. They had a whirlwind romance and of course, her family disapproved of him. To them, he had nothing to offer her family, therefore he was not worthy of their daughter.
So she ran away with him thinking that love would be enough. She had bigger dreams and wanted more than the simple life of living in a bamboo hut. Small village girl with big city dreams. What she didn’t anticipate was life in the fast lane, pregnancy and struggling for money and although she wanted to return home, she felt ashamed to show herself to her family. She disappears without a trace for 3 years away from her family and reappears with 2 children without the father. A few months later she receives a letter from her cousin telling her that she’s able to support her travel to work in Hong Kong. After 3 years she came home, married and pregnant. Things seemed to fall into place, even with her mother’s baggage of heartbreak.
The morning sun beamed gracefully across the garden and flowers swayed with the gentle whisper of the wind. She could hear it coming through the thin moistened glass window. The garden square was surrounded by Council flats; a negative reflection from the greenery. The garden was surrounded by old decaying footpaths, broken rum bottles, a sofa that’s seen better days and a bicycle with one bent wheel. Quite artistic; it reminded her of a picture that her friend took on her travels. The Taj Mahal and the slums at odds with each other. There is certain sadness about that picture, like this very scene. Everything has a negative reflection and it’s up to anyone what they choose to see. Seeing both sides of the coin is like accepting that there’s always a reality beyond the dream.
She turns her sights back into the room and what she sees is an over-filled baggage. A suitcase filled with regret and at some point she needs to empty it like her mother did. But for some time, she’ll feel as heavy and damaged as this suitcase.
Art of Words 