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[Theatrical Muse] Response
Feb. 18th, 2008 06:50 pm Write about a lie your parents told you.
You remember it vividly. Despite all the thoughts and memories that rattle about in your head, this one always stands out. It’s a simple enough memory, and even if it ought to be as old and faded as a sepia folder, it remains strong. You don’t know whether you ought to despise it or treasure it. After all, it is the only real memory you have at them. But then, every time you remember, your heart gets stabbed with a knife all over again.
It’s worse than remembering the day he left you. And sometimes you wonder how anything could be worse than that.
Sometimes, you wake up breathing hard. You’ve been shot at, poisoned, and tortured. You’ve killed, you’ve had people die for you, and you’ve been unable to save someone else in time. You have all these memories that ought to haunt you. None of them ever do as this one does. Other nightmares never leave you waking with tears in your eyes. Other memories don’t cause you to shiver like this one does.
”It’ll only be a couple of days, darling.”
You roll over in your sleep, clutching the pillow tightly.
”Your mother deserves a break, don’t you think? And Aunt Lavinia is really looking forward to taking care of you for a while.”
The blankets start to fall as you kick them.
Arms wrap around her, tender and loving. A face nuzzles in her hair, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. She moves away, frustrated and sad.
You hug the pillow closer.
”Oh, don’t worry, my Sarah Jane. We’ll be back with plenty of time to spare for your birthday. It’s only a couple of days, not a couple of weeks.”
He smells like old cigars.
You can only remember that smell in your dreams. In your dreams, that smell reassures you. In reality, it makes the bile rise in the back of your throat.
”And we’ll throw an absolutely wonderful party! Your aunt will still be in town, after all. She promised not to head back to Ealing until after.”
As your eyes clench, a tear escapes.
He hands her a stuffed owl. It’s the best gift he ever gave her. She hugs it close, staring up at him.
“Take care of Owly. We’re counting on you.”
The years claimed Owly so long ago. It’s another stab at your heart.
”We’ll miss you every day, Sarah. But we’ll be back soon. I promise.”
The stabs are starting to come more quickly now. One tip of a knife slices into your heart. Then another, and another, and another. The tears come quickly too. You might be sobbing, but you’re still fast asleep.
”And you know your mother never lies, luv.”
But she does lie. She does and the memory of it hurts you so much. Your knees pull up to your chest. Your arms abandon the pillow to clutch around your legs. The fetal position brings little comfort. Nothing brings comforts on nights like this. You keep crying. But as the cries continue, you become closer and closer to waking up.
One night, he walked in on you crying like this. He didn’t understand at first, even as you explained the memory and the nightmare. He never had parents the way that you did. They were never taken from him the way yours had been taken from you. You wept in his arms as you told him the story. It had been so long since you spoke it aloud. But the pain is dulled by his arms.
Tonight there is no one to hold you. You cling to yourself and all those horrible memories of people leaving you. It starts with the first time. It’ll always be the hardest time.
Tonight, that lie is your only truth.
You remember it vividly. Despite all the thoughts and memories that rattle about in your head, this one always stands out. It’s a simple enough memory, and even if it ought to be as old and faded as a sepia folder, it remains strong. You don’t know whether you ought to despise it or treasure it. After all, it is the only real memory you have at them. But then, every time you remember, your heart gets stabbed with a knife all over again.
It’s worse than remembering the day he left you. And sometimes you wonder how anything could be worse than that.
Sometimes, you wake up breathing hard. You’ve been shot at, poisoned, and tortured. You’ve killed, you’ve had people die for you, and you’ve been unable to save someone else in time. You have all these memories that ought to haunt you. None of them ever do as this one does. Other nightmares never leave you waking with tears in your eyes. Other memories don’t cause you to shiver like this one does.
”It’ll only be a couple of days, darling.”
You roll over in your sleep, clutching the pillow tightly.
”Your mother deserves a break, don’t you think? And Aunt Lavinia is really looking forward to taking care of you for a while.”
The blankets start to fall as you kick them.
Arms wrap around her, tender and loving. A face nuzzles in her hair, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. She moves away, frustrated and sad.
You hug the pillow closer.
”Oh, don’t worry, my Sarah Jane. We’ll be back with plenty of time to spare for your birthday. It’s only a couple of days, not a couple of weeks.”
He smells like old cigars.
You can only remember that smell in your dreams. In your dreams, that smell reassures you. In reality, it makes the bile rise in the back of your throat.
”And we’ll throw an absolutely wonderful party! Your aunt will still be in town, after all. She promised not to head back to Ealing until after.”
As your eyes clench, a tear escapes.
He hands her a stuffed owl. It’s the best gift he ever gave her. She hugs it close, staring up at him.
“Take care of Owly. We’re counting on you.”
The years claimed Owly so long ago. It’s another stab at your heart.
”We’ll miss you every day, Sarah. But we’ll be back soon. I promise.”
The stabs are starting to come more quickly now. One tip of a knife slices into your heart. Then another, and another, and another. The tears come quickly too. You might be sobbing, but you’re still fast asleep.
”And you know your mother never lies, luv.”
But she does lie. She does and the memory of it hurts you so much. Your knees pull up to your chest. Your arms abandon the pillow to clutch around your legs. The fetal position brings little comfort. Nothing brings comforts on nights like this. You keep crying. But as the cries continue, you become closer and closer to waking up.
One night, he walked in on you crying like this. He didn’t understand at first, even as you explained the memory and the nightmare. He never had parents the way that you did. They were never taken from him the way yours had been taken from you. You wept in his arms as you told him the story. It had been so long since you spoke it aloud. But the pain is dulled by his arms.
Tonight there is no one to hold you. You cling to yourself and all those horrible memories of people leaving you. It starts with the first time. It’ll always be the hardest time.
Tonight, that lie is your only truth.
