You always used to stay within arms reach
Now it seems I'm all by myself
-Alexisonfire, ‘Polaroids of Polar Bears’
I need to play the game again
-End of Fashion, ‘The Game’
The hallway grows darker as I power my way up to the end. I finally arrive at my door; as I stretch up to turn the knob, I dare a look back up the corridor. Just as I thought – there she is, peeking back in my direction. With a loud roar, she comes towards me, hunched over and moving with an ape-like stealth which hastens my chubby fingers on the handle and propels me with a rush of adrenalin into my room. It’s dark. Excellent. Searching around in the black I find my bed, and am under it in two seconds. Just as I pull my feet beneath the metal frame and pink covers, the door gapes open, and she is in the room, still growling, still hunting for the little figure gasping for breath in a perfect hiding place.
The light from the hall meanders in through the entrance and I can see her silhouetted legs and feet from where I tremble under the bed. She stirs towards the cupboard, rumbles a barely-audible “Boo!”, then loosens her grip on the door and sighs when it is found to be empty. Next she checks behind the bedroom door; I had hidden there rather ingeniously before, and hadn’t been found for ages! When that proves fruitless, the feet shuffle menacingly towards the bed. I cup both hands over my mouth – I’d been giggling and must have given myself away. The light from the hall is completely obscured by her bottom as she kneels down and lifts up the covers…
“Raah! I’m gonna getcha!”
Shrieks of delight from me, “Aah! Vampire!”
“Raaah!”
More shrieks as I try to hem myself against the wall…
Eventually, the ‘vampire’ succeeds, as my mother pulls me out feet-first from my niche, and tickles me to sleep.
* * *
Sometimes
I forget I’m still awake
I fuck up and say these things out loud
-The Bravery, ‘An Honest Mistake’
“You know, you’ve never really talked to me about your mum before.”
Sounds of the playground continue in the background as I lay my head onto Pip’s shoulder. A fight looks ready to start about fifty metres away and half the school is forming a circle around the pugilists – God forbid they should miss it. Some teachers get to their feet warily nearby, unsure whether to become involved or wait for the scene to pass over.
“I know. I’ve hardly talked about her to anyone. I’ve hardly even thought about her. I guess it just makes things easier that way, y’know?”
“Yeah, I guess. Musta been hard though.” Pause. Pip’s not really one to be counted on to be very sensitive or understanding. After cruising through life the way she has, I guess you can’t really expect her to be, but I can tell she’s trying hard this time. “How old were you?”
“When the great potato famine hit Ireland
“What? Nah, when… she died.”
“Oh. Yeah, I was eight. I’d just turned eight. Like, a month before.”
“Shit, I thought you were younger than that!” The scoff comes out quickly and all wrong and she breathes in sharply, trying to pull the words back into her mouth.
“Eight wasn’t young enough?” Pip apologises with her eyes and I soften up. She’s mastered that look, it works every time. “I mean, would’ve been pretty bad if I’d been a baby, but then again at least I wouldn’t have to remember her. It’s just annoying… having these memories of someone, but not remembering enough to be able to… think about them as a person? I don’t know how to put it.” My head’s at an awkward angle and I sit up and straighten it. “I don’t remember her as a person. Just as this sort of, ever-present figure. When you’re that age, I guess that’s all your parents really are. Not people, just ever-present beings who feed you, buy you toys and tell you what you can and can’t do.”
“Yeah. That’s what mine are still!”
“Nice to know that you haven’t progressed past the level of an eight-year-old, dearie.”
Pip groans like a moron in reply.
A whirly-wind starts up, sending chip packets and leaves in an orchestrated dance across the asphalt. A group of Year Seven girls gets caught in the line of fire and emits a high-pitched wail, much to the amusement of an older group of Emos standing nearby. Lighting up their cigarettes, black and red fingernails exchanging a communal matchstick, they return to the fight, where one of the kids breaks off, sore and vexatious, after a badly thrown punch leaves him open for widespread taunting among the crowd. Disgraced in front of half the school. How like the juniors – they act so tough, as though all they want is carnage and mayhem. But really they’re just after someone to laugh at, someone to take the spotlight away from their own insecurities and faults. Pip looks up at the dissipating mob of kids and half laughs.
“Oh well. You always want what you can’t have.”
* * *
You had such grace in the end
I wish I could remember what colour your eyes were
But every time I looked at you my mind went blank
You had the best damn Sunday dress at the end of the world
The wall of flames that consumed you and everything that was good...
-Alexisonfire, ‘Jubella’
She went so quickly. Not even ten seconds would have passed between the time she appeared from her bedroom and disappeared downstairs and out the door, accompanied by two men. Ambulance officers. She didn’t want to go and protested, auburn eighties curls patchy on her head and in an awful mess, pyjamas haphazard on her anaemic body. But she’d stopped taking her medicine and had to go. I wasn’t worried, I was sure she’d be home for the next morning – Christmas – so I didn’t bother with saying goodbye. What I didn’t know then was that this year, Santa wasn’t coming, and I was going to have the most precious gift of all taken away from me.
I’ve heard people say that closure is a basic need of the human psyche. But when you’re a child, it’s impossible to understand the need for goodbyes; everything is new and wonderful, life is just beginning. You don’t realise that bad things can happen; that a single, fleeting moment can change everything – ten seconds can change everything. Looking back, I would have said goodbye to her; I would have held her, cried my eyes out, clawed frantically and begged her to come back. I could’ve encouraged her to take her medicine again; maybe if she took the tablets with honey they’d taste better. I know she would’ve done it if I’d asked. Instead, I just looked out the window, from Mum’s Chair, and watched the ambulance speed off with her in its steel belly, afternoon light glinting off the metal casing like fire.
Such is the valuelessness of reflection. It’s good and well that I can now look back and say, I wish I had said goodbye, but what good does it do? It won’t change anything.
Dad was shattered. The world had been ripped up from under our feet, and so that we both didn’t sink into that quagmire which is grief, I had to be strong. I could still sense that furtive shadowmonster, a presence which preys on the forlorn and vulnerable. It was getting to both of us. I helped Dad as best I knew how, but it was hard to be an adult all of a sudden. I still needed a mother.
* * *
There’s an answer
If you reach into your soul
And the sorrow that you know
Will melt away
-Mariah Carey, ‘Hero’
“And then a hero comes along, with the strength to carry on…” Me and Mum are singing in the car on the way into town. We always listen to this tape, Mariah Carey. It’s Mum’s car music. We listen to other stuff at home, but whenever the two of us go for a ride in the car, this is our favourite song, and we sing it loud!
“And you cast your fears aside…” Mum’s a really good singer, nearly as good as the proper lady. Sometimes I stop and listen to her when we’re both meant to be singing. If she sees me stopped, she pretends to get angry – but she’s only joking! “Sara, you can’t just leave me to sing this part alone! It needs two voices!” And we laugh and laugh, and we sing.
“So when you feel like hope is gone, look inside you and be strong…” When the tape runs out, we never change it. We rewind it again and let it play over and over and we never get sick of it. One time, I asked Mum if we could listen to it in the house, and she said no, ’cause Dad’s a boy and he wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t understand it. So, it’s our special car music, just for me and Mum. It’s like our own special secret!
“And you’ll finally see the truth, that a hero lies in you!” Today we’re on the way to the hospital. Mum has to go see the doctor, again. It’s so boring at the hospital! The toys in the kids’ spot all smell funny and sometimes Mum takes ages to finish. I always look forward ’til when she comes back, ’cause then we get to get back in the car and sing our song…
… “Hold on, there will be tomorrow…” Mum only sings quietly this time. Maybe she’s tired from singing on the way here? Oh well, I’ll sing loudly enough for the both of us then.
“In time, you’ll find the way, hey-ay-ayy!”
Mum looks at me and grins. “You’re my hero,” she says.
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