Rice Tree Girl

Ramblings Beneath a Rotating Fan..
2004-11-19 01:59:09 (UTC)

Chapter Two: Door Locked, The Key?

Candle had danced last night so many times and I
watched the flames with such intentness, such interest that
I would often get lost in their intricate patterns. That I
would follow them and believe them and feel them as though
their dance was my own. As though I were the fire or in the
fire or burning myself, in its beauitful array of light and
color and aliveness. It was so alive, I could believe it
was alive and I stopped thinking as I watched it. I wonder
now, am I like the candle, always dancing, holding on till
at last the wax of my life around me is doomed to
extinguish me, waiting to be put back again, waiting for
the flame to burn after I have been put out by another.
After all, the next night there will be a match and there
will be flame again, glorious, small, flame.
I set a match in a dish and put paper into it,
watching it catch last night. I watched as it writhed and
danced with its own zeal, as it forgot all the rest of the
world and became just paper, dancing, writhing, beautiful,
dancing around in the flame, contracting, becoming smaller
till it was finally left to sparks deep within it, burning
ever slightly, a cleansing kind of purifier after the flame
had long passed. It was as though part of the flame lived
within it, as it would forever after it had been touched.
It was as though it was slowly cleaning itself from the
inside out, as I saw where the little bits of spark crossed
the gray form of the page, it seared it so that it turned
different colors in a pattern like algea that you would
find on cliff rocks. I wondered if that is how it is with
me.. When I feel spent, when the fire is gone, how I
remember things far beyond that time. How I somehow use
them to cleanse me, change me, and leave patterns and
imprints upon my soul..
It was so hard to sleep that night, so hard to
sleep with a thousand racing thoughts and no one to hold
your hand through them. Not that there was before, but I
was troubled and I didn't know why. It hurt to swallow and
my nose was stuffy and my ears hurt, and I wasn't sure why.
I smelled the flames and the comforting smell of a small
contained fire and how it had stopped burning.. but I
always loved the smell of fire. It smelled like Christmas.
Like gatherings. Like people. Like a campfire in the dead
of winter and brown eyes you once trusted. I don't even
care that memories of pain can be found by the fire, they
are kept, distilled, as a part of me how I percieved them
when I was there.
I woke to hear my mom pulling me away from my
dreams (this time I was on a train and there was a girl
from Whales there on the train trying to get somewhere..
Strange I have never been on a train or met a girl from
Whales...). I felt so tired and worse than I had before.
"Get up out of bed!!" Mom screamed, exasperated. I
did this often..
"But my throat.. my ears.. my nose is stuffy, they
hurt," I muttered. I hoped this time I would be allowed to
stay home sick.. I was so tired and everything hurt..
"You're not that sick, get out of bed," she ordered
again, angrier.
"But-.." I tried to convince her a good while
longer till dad threatened to pour water on me and I got in
the shower. I was so angry, why couldn't they just let me
stay home this one time? I had gotten perfect attendance
the past 5 years. Not because I never got sick but because
they never recognized that I got sick. I hated it. There
was yelling and screaming and words thrown and "lazy little
brat" came up more than a few times. They said something
about how they couldn't trust me after lying about where I
was going a few weeks ago, when I wanted to hang out with
Chris and Bria and I knew they wouldn't let me. So I had
told them I was going to Aubri's and left, intending on
getting Aubri to hang out with us. They found out when
Aubri called asking if she wanted to hang out. Now all my
phone calls are monitered and I can't go anywhere, people
have to come to me. My parents wouldn't drive me to
anyone's house because we don't have the "gas money" so I
am trapped here at my friend's parents mercy becuase my
parents are so lazy. So they used this as an excuse to make
me go to school as I was sick.. Which I thought was
ridiculous.
In the end I finally got my way, though they banned
me from the computer with internet and the phone thinking
they could punish me somehow. I am sick!! I DON'T CARE!!!!!
It still makes me mad though, all their stupid excuses make
me sick. Why can't they understand, why can't they be some
kind of forgiving? Why do I hate them so much? Why do they
do all these things that they know I hate? Just to get a
rise out of me?
"You know what you are?" Mom spat from the doorway
in her five foot high malice. "You're a lazy little bitch,
that's what you are!"
I was already crying for it hurt to have to talk
and scream at them and her words stung but I know she
didn't care. And in that instant, I wanted to cry and
scream out, much as it would hurt my throat, WHERE ARE YOU?
I NEED YOU NOW!!.. Although I didn't know to whom.. There
has to be someone to tell.. There's got to be someone to
run to around here somewhere.. I needed a hug more than I
needed anything at that moment.. I needed someone to
somehow take it away, make it mysteriously dissapear, all
my fright all my hate, all my fears. I wanted someone to
just hold my hand and tell me this would stop, tell me they
loved me, tell me I wasn't alone.. But it was only a
foolish wish in a time of distress.
"I'm going to call the school," she said angrily.
Her eyebrows went up as she spoke and she spat her words
out at me as though they were venom, and as though I
deserved them. Her words were poison and she was a snake...
Her face was pale as it always was but her bottom lip was
shaking like it always does when she yells at me. She
looked like she was taking a great deal of control not to
try and wring my neck, though I'm much stronger than she is
and could have stopped her if she tried anything. It was
dad you had to look out for, he was insane when he was
angry, and there are holes in the door on the front of it
from where I had tried to get away from him pulling my
hair. "But I'm not happy about it. I'm going to tell them
that it's because you say that you're sick, though I don't
think you are. I don't want to have this on my conscience
that I let you stay home."
"But I am sick!" I stated again, with my raspy
throat.
"I don't believe you," she said again. "Rrrr.. I
wish I could!!"
"You never believe me. It doesn't matter what I do,
it doesn't matter what I say, you NEVER believe me. I will
NEVER be good enough or true enough for you, don't you get
it?!"
"Well you lied to me before," she spat. "Why should
I believe you now?"
"That was about going to the mall, this is bout
being sick.. why can't you understand the difference?!" I
rasped.
"What test did you not want to take?" Dad said from
the other room, his voice accusatory just like hers. "What
did you not want to do at school today?"
"There is no test, no hard assignments, nothing
like that, call all my teachers and ask them, why don't
you? I'm sick!" I growled.
"Fine, no computer, no phone, no priveledges today
or tommorrow, and I mean all day." Mom said, firmly.
I don't get it, I honestly don't.. Why am I the one
being punished for being sick? Why am I the one being
confined and being watched for having a sore throat and
feeling too ill to go to school. Where the heck is my
understanding?
I will NEVER be good enough for her, for this town,
for my school, for anyone. EVER. I will NEVER be allowed to
have things go unpunished. I will NEVER be allowed out of
this place. I will NEVER do this to my kid. I will NEVER
allow this to happen to my children. I would sooner kill
myself than do this. I wouldn't care though, actually. I
wouldn't care what they did to me if someone was here to
talk to. I wouldn't care if somewhere I could run away to a
place where none of this matters. I wouldn't care if I was
a million miles away. I wouldn't spare them a thought if I
could help it. Because I want to leave here so badly, it's
a place filled with harsh words and conversations on the
other side of the walls about you that they know you can
hear and they want you to.
I went to sleep for a while, a sweet, dreamless
sleep where the demons I can't even speak to you, to an
anonymous reader whom I trust with the deepest secrets and
conversations no one else can hear (for I value strangers
hearing my deepest thoughts sometimes, for what can they do
with them?). I went to sleep and left them behind me, and
woke up with only a dim recognition and a headache which I
still have from all the screaming before.. It's been hours
and I recognize I should be doing something (I did have a
packet from social studies I could be working on, getting
ahead on tommorrow or something..).. But I've decided to
write out these things to you, whomever you are.
I get this sick feeling sometimes though, that I
will write and write and talk and talk and no one will get
me, no one will understand me. Or that maybe I'll forget
what I was saying, forget the memories, and even the bad
ones I want to hold onto. I want to believe them. Because,
I don't know, but I'm afraid of losing it all. Paranoid and
interested in losing my mind. Afraid because I would be
scared to let go of my memories, happy because maybe I
could go somewhere better in my mind, where made up
characters were real and could take your pain away and you
could fully become the story because anything in your mind
you believe must be real. I'm afraid though, sometimes,
that I'll forget (and most things I already have) and I
want someone to keep and remember all these things for me.
Someone to share in my fears, in my anxieties, in my
happiness. Someone to read my thoughts and know my methods.
Someone to vindicate all my wrong actions, though that
sounds wrong. Someone to listen, I guess, to fears I can't
even speak to my closest friends because I'm now afraid..
afraid there might be something wrong with me I guess..
Afraid that they'll find out.. I want someone to know my
faults as well.. not just a pretty picture I would paint..
Perhaps that's why I'm writing this. I'm writing this to
lay out my faults as well. To write it out to someone I
don't know and whose opinion cannot hurt me much. This is
the private world of me, and I'm afraid.. I'm afraid of the
ones closest to me, because their opinions could do the
most damage...
I'll tell you why I wrote this the most though. Why
I was afraid to write it before. I feared the inconsistancy
of the characters. I feared that there would be no one to
write of, for I cannot trust myself once I begin to stop
when everything ends, it makes them all so real.. And there
are people I wish were not real, people I was afraid to
write of, for what if they didn't want to be written? It
was always so good to write in someone who didn't exist. I
didn't have to be scared of what they might say or do, I
made it the way I wanted it. I made it my way.. Here it's
harder. But I want to write this out and I want to give
people's lives a place in my writings. Before, I gave a
place in my writings a life.. I want to again but it would
seem wrong, and it wouldn't fit right, it would change the
further course of events and that would somehow turn into
lying.
It's hard to get up and walk, even around the
house. I feel sick and I stumbled around the house, not
sure of my own footing. My head feels too heavy and my
stomach hurts as I walk about. My eyes want to close and I
have to keep awake though because.. I don't know once you
want to sleep it is so hard for me. My stomach feels empty
and its all I can do to keep standing upright.. I want to
fall and just pass out, but I know I can't somehow. It's
this nauseating feeling of not feeling alive. I want to
feel alive...
Later in the day, while watching Fiddler on the
Roof with mom I got a phone call. At around 2:00 she had
admitted defeat and came in and asked me if I wanted to
watch it with her. I was shaking and it was cold in the
living room, though I was used to the temperature just
yesterday. I brought out a quilt and wrapped it around
myself and drew faces of people while we watched. My best
one was of a teenager, a guy with deep blue eyes and black
spiky hair and slightly pointed ears, and he was staring
out as though he wanted to convey something, or maybe it
was my brain making it seem so, but it had a backdrop of a
deep crimson and he wore a black shirt with his eyes
outlined darker than anything else. He looked strong and
yet weak, it was funny how that's always the thing that
stands out to me when I try to draw people, that's how it
always comes out.. They are always a part of myself.
Anyway I got a call and it was Aubri. To be honest,
I'd kind of been avoiding her becuase I was afraid she was
going to yell at me or make plans I couldn't keep with her
this Saturday or something. Something is always ruined when
we try to make plans and there would be no way to get
there. Especially since the last time I had not been
allowed to go anywhere because I lied about going to her
house, I know how much that got to her. I was so sick I
could hardly speak properly when she called though.
"Hey," I said groggily.
"Hey, I've been trying to get a hold of you for
days!" she said energetically. I groaned as mom was giving
me a horrible look. I wasn't supposed to be on the phone
but she called me.
"Oh.. I'm sorry," I said numbly. I had had about
eight pills today already, I couldn't answer with much
enthusiasm. "I'm sick.." I muttered.
"You don't sound very sorry," she accused.
"No, really I am," I told her. "I'm just sick
though.. I've been sitting around all day which is just..
strange for me.. Well not that strange," I laughed. "But
different.. And I almost passed out earlier today. I
haven't stayed home sick in about five years and this is
the first time in about five years I've stayed home from
school."
"Oh, yeah, sorry," she told me and then proceeded
to tell me about her crush who threw hawiian punch on her
friend and how he hugged her. I laughed becuase it reminded
me about how I was when I liked someone before I moved here
(Aubri was one of my friends from my old house). "Ï guess
good things do come from bad," she laughed.
"You sound like me at my last mutual," I laughed.
(Mutuals were activities for church I went to with the
other youth). "I'm moving away everything sucks, but Mike
hugged me!" I laughed.
"Yeah I remember that," she laughed. She had to put
up with me through that entire time, I feel so sorry for
her now. I have an entire journal just talking about Mike,
it was so pathetic. "Oh and guess who called the other day?"
"Austin," I joked, because she had been talking
about how stupid he was.
"No," she sounded repulsed.
"I'm just kidding," I snickered. "Taylor." Somehow
I knew.
I have to explain something here for you, half
because I want to get this through and half because you are
sitting there thinking I have no idea who she's talking
about. So for both our sakes I'll explain it.
Taylor lived in my old neighborhood. He saw me. I
didn't know who he was though. I didn't see him, or at
least remember seeing him. But he would see me. I walked
around in those days often, went down to the park and to
the feilds just to walk, with my dog, on my own, rode my
bike, in the sunlight. I was intrigued by everything
outside and people knew me, even ones I didn't know. He was
one of them, and according to Aubri he admired me. I talked
to him, but only after he left it seemed. There's more to
that story but it's hard for me to say.. I didn't know what
to do when it all happened, I was so young, in sixth grade
or so. I hear of him every couple or so months... A few
months ago, when I was telling Aubri how I would walk out
of the house, she told me a story about how he would ride
busses as far as they would go to get away from it all. I
really wanted to talk to him again after that (he always
called her not me something about phone bills its hard to
say).. Anyway, she would tell me news of him every so
often. Since he left, and even before he left things were
hard for him. I can't remember the exact tales, but things
always seemed to be going wrong for him. He got in
accidents, and I think his mom died. But the thing that
Aubri always mentioned to me was his (almost creepy)
devotion somehow to me. How he wanted to see me or would
ask about me. In a way, I suppose I was flattered sometimes
and a little scared. I'm not used to people being
interested in me, its a little scary in a way, especially
the fact I wasn't all together sure who he was.
"How did you know?" she asked.
"I don't know, I could tell," I said. I really
didn't. He was a link from the past though.. An old one.
"Yeah, it was him. He got in a car accident," she
said. He had earlier I remember her telling me about it.
"Oh my gosh," I whispered. "Another one, is he all
right?"
"He's broken his leg and his ribs and his pinky,"
she said.
"And the pinky is the one we need to worry about,"
I said, trying to find humor in a humorless situation. I
didn't know what to say. Bad things kept happening to him
and I didn't know him very well but I doubted he deserved
them. "Oh my gosh," I repeated.
"Yeah, and well.. He was going to come down here
this weekend to my house and then the plan was he would
come here and you would come here and see him, but he
called and he said he couldn't because of the car
accident.." she said. I truly was sad, I wanted to talk to
him a lot, just to talk to him and to meet him would have
been great. But this was horrible even without this
revelation.
"How did he get in a car accident?" I asked,
swallowing.
"He was driving home from school, right," she
said. "He got his liscence just after his birthday and
everything a few weeks ago," (when is his birthday?) "and
he was driving home from school.. He got a call from one of
his friends asking him to go to the bowling alley.. So he's
driving fast, not fast fast, but the speed limit down the
road.. and all of a sudden this old lady sideswipes him and
kind of knocks him off balance," she tells me.
"Old people are the worst drivers, I saw one old
lady painting her nails, they shouldn't be allowed to
drive," I said, once again trying to find humor in the
humorless. "Anyway, go on, continue."
"Yeah, so this old lady side swipes him, and then
this other old lady drives right into him, speeding out of
nowhere, is how he said it and totaled the car," she tells
me.
"And he was in the middle of it?" I gasp. Then I
realize how stupid a question it was.
"In the middle of the car, umm, yeah.." she says
with some sarcasm.
"Yeah, right, stupid question, sorry, go on."
She lists for me his maladies and the things that
went wrong.. He's not in the hospital but he won't be able
to go on a roadtrip he was planning and he can't do
anything for six months to a year. That's the most horrible
thing though, I can't believe all the things that have gone
wrong for him, he doesn't deserve it, and I know it.
"It sounds like he needs a hug," I told Aubri as
she was telling me about him. "Well not a very tight one,
that would hurt but, something.." I laughed, nervous in all
the bad news.
"A love pat," she laughed.
"Yeah, exactly. That's horrible though," I said
Long after our conversation, I thought of him, of
what I know of him. I know that he's a really caring person
who would always wish peace for others. He's a nice guy. I
know that much. And then I think of him, lying in a
hospital bed with bright lights and white curtains all
around him (last I heard he was in kentucky or something..)
and wondering how he got there and what happened. I thought
of him in the car, terrified of the oncoming ones around
him and trying to get out. I thought of him bandaged up and
sitting around telling Aubri this. I thought about all the
crap that happens to good people and why it does. I thought
about if I could help him out somehow, even from here. And
as I was thinking it, maybe it was a passing thought, but I
just thought.. He could be the key.
I've decided something though. I want to be able
to, somehow, make it better for him. I'm not sure if I can,
but if what she's been saying is true he would like to hear
from me. And I want to talk to him, but the awkwardness was
kind of weird for me. But I've decided I want to write him,
at least. I want to get a hold of him somehow. I want to
somehow make this better.. He can't come here but maybe I
could at least write him. I can't give him a hug from here
but I can be his friend from afar, and it sounds like he
needs a friend, especially now. I can't imagine how it
would feel to know that for six months things will not be
back to normal, and that people will not look at you the
same. I want to make it better, and I can't explain why...
But I want to get to know him as well. It's been years, I
know, but I want to.. I want to somehow make him feel
better, and I'm hoping by writing him I can do that. I
wanted to call Aubri ever since she said she had to go but
my mom wouldn't allow me. All I've been doing since she
called is thinking about what I could say to him, if he
would want me to write him, how I could get in touch with
him. And I want to, badly. I want to talk to him, be his
friend in a hard time. I haven't thought of him in a long
time but I want to get to know him now, more than ever. I
want him to feel better somehow. And every time I thought
of it, maybe he was the key all along and I couldn't tell.
Half of me worries maybe I'm thinking of him too
much already but.. I don't know, I want to be able to talk
to him, I want to be able to understand him. He's enough of
a stranger, maybe, to keep my secrets. And maybe he might
just care and I want to hear his tales. There could be a
lot I could learn from him.. I'm going to ask her
tommorrow, or write her or something and ask if she would
think it would be a good idea.
I walked out into the night earlier to do the
laundry (our laundry room is outside detatched from our
part of the house) when I heard a noise. I was still
thinking about what happened to Taylor and I see this dark
cat running across the gravel rocks outside the enclosed
common lawn. It ran out across the sidewalk and I followed
it, singing calmly "Into the West" (from the end of Lord of
the Rings) as I walked. The cat kept going, it stared back
for a little as it heard the notes which landed strangely
on its ears. And then it ran off again. For a second I told
myself that I would follow wherever it went, though I was
barefoot and the cat ran across rocks.. As I neared it I
looked down to see a plant. For a second I thought it was
something from a palm tree, but upon closer expection I
found it to be two, almost overpowering in smell, hawiian
flowers. They were pale whitish with a deep pink on the
inside of them, with spores that gave off an almost sickly
sweet smell. It was attatched to a long green stem with
long green leaves. It was so beautiful, with a stem so
straight it must have been a special flower and hard to
miss. So why was it lying on the ground? I looked into the
east and thought, what could it hurt? I picked it up and
brought it in with me holding it close to my nose though
you can smell it all over the room. It was almost like a
sign.. From what I have no idea, but a sign nonetheless.
The scent was permiating everything but I know it came from
somewhere. It was as though I was supposed to follow that
cat and find it or something. It smells up the room with a
strange smell that smells almost sick its so strong but it
is a beautiful flower, though it seems too big for the
vase, too tropical for my room somehow, not fitting in. But
then again, neither do I.
Sitting here I think to myself still of Taylor.
Tell me, sky, is he the key to all this? Is he the one
consistant character that should be here but that I have
always overlooked in my story. So much has happened since I
last spoke with him. I want him as my friend now more than
ever. Tell me, are my visions of him? Is he the key?
Is it because you want to heal him? Is it for your
own healing? Or is it because you thought of him for no
apparent reason and then these tidings come? Is it becuase
having a friend who knows almost nothing about you and
still thinks of you is somehow comforting? Is it because
you swear every time you close your eyes you see him
surrounded by darkness and you want to give him some light?
Is it because you think you can acheive this? Or for all
these reasons and more?

-November 17, 2004




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