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greyeyedlady · 4 years

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‘Within’

3,303 words - Commonwealth Writer’s 2019

Preamble to You

“It took but one look, one sly smile, one gentle caress of the cheek, and the world faded away, and all that was left was You. I don’t know why I let myself love You?”

What she had instead, now, was the world. Not for choice, not for her choice, he had made that decision for her. He and the universe had conspired against her. She had begged him to leave, or was it to stay? She had begged him for hope and salvation for her; for him; for them.

Alara gazed out at the garden, blanketed in darkness, in dismay - the noise of the world rose around her as she stared blankly into absolute nothingness. She may as well have been buried there, amongst the Alstroemeria and Ferns, not amongst the Red Roses though, that was not for her.

She was no stranger to static and the unbearable condition of silence and noise. Her heart had already broken, but she refused to let her brain or her body convince her of that. For, if she did, who would she be, but nothing without him? A stranger, far from home.

His voice now just in her head, the strong Sri Lankan accent, with subtle hints of the Queen’s English, rang loud and clear in her mind. She loved his purity, his patriotism, his understanding of who she was and how she was different. But she also loathed him most days, for having taken her away, and now left her here.

An epiphany so eloquently spoken, almost a whisper to the backdrop of silence. She in her British accent, which had now, after the decades in “Paradise Island”, picked up a local twang to it. Frail and questioning… who was she even talking to? Was anyone listening? Was he still connected to her and the home they had built? Or was she just trying to break the silence?

“We were born to trust and hope.

We were born to laugh and play.

We were born to share and care.

We were born… to be ruined.

I, was born to be ruined, by You, by the world, by the universe.

I forgive You, for if not You, the world would be grey.

You leave my world Red.”

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Winter Layers

She leaned against the door frame to their home, now just her home, “at least I have you Ol’ Miss”. She named things, Alara named things. It was one of her quirks, one of her many quirks that he loves… that he loved.

Here and now, she needed to speak, so the silence didn’t drive her mad. She felt nothing, or she wouldn’t let herself feel, not right now. She knew if she did, he would win, and she hated for him to win, she hated playing that game, where he waited to say “I told you so”. But did she hate it? Or did she hate that he had left her with everything they owned, and yet, nothing. Frozen in place, for no particular reason, her mind kept regressing to when they first met. When his language, his heritage, his stories of home excited and intrigued her. When she believed she first fell in love with this stranger from Asia, who didn’t quite fit in, but also stood out in a crowd for all the right reasons.

But, he had left her. When she awoke, exhausted and dirty, stained and soaked, her One - You, had left her. Without a word, without a final embrace. She knew the years had grown harder, she knew that he tried everyday to bring her back to him, to them, but the days became months; the months turned to years. Before she knew it, her mind had left her and now so had he.

She turned to what remained of him, his memory, her memories of their life together. Now in pieces. Hazy. Distant. She wanted to hate him, how could she though? He was the only man she had ever loved. He was her best friend, her husband, her confidante. He knew this, she told him everyday.

Did he smirk and pass rude comments about my affection, because he knew he’d leave me? He knew, she thought. Was he trying to save me from the pain? Did he always plan to leave me? Was I damaged beyond repair?

Repeating that to herself over and over again, looking for an ounce of anger. Poking, prodding, searching the depths of her memory, exploring her mind - which she knew she was losing. She wanted to blame him. How could she though? He had told her, the doctors had told her. They reminded her. But she knew she needed even just a morsel of anger, so she could survive this, by herself, because he had left.

She sat by his bed, now a casket of empty promises, broken dreams and shattered hopes. A memorial, in ode to his betrayal of their love. His spirit, that chose to leave rather than stay and fight. Cold, crippled worthless.

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Unhinged

The voices in her head were getting harder to ignore, she found herself mouthing conversations, moments, reliving memories, dreamscapes… anything that would deafen the noise of silence.

The warm colours of the sunset – a seductive dance of red, orange, pink, purple and destruction across the nearing night sky. I’m leaning on You – You, my pillar. My strength. I don’t remember how You said it, but it was perfect. The blend of eloquence and arrogance made me laugh, a truly heartfelt, uncontrolled laugh –I remember what You meant. I never said it back, but You were right. “You were… no, You still are my soul too”. This is the only dream I have of You and I don’t know why. I never know that it’s a dream but I always know that this moment is fleeting. Just like our time together was. It did not matter that we had had years together, they were still too short, and they ran fast and deep like the sands of time. I remember the many sunsets we watched on that roof, and just like the cracked sky, my sky was now shattered. It wasn’t a crack that could be plastered like on a chipped ornament, but a shattered empty cloudless sky of silver and grey. Silver – because You told me to always look for the Silver lining.

People are so quick to give up on love. Yet, they are even quicker to get back up on the horse. You hear people saying “that’s it, I give in! Love is a bunch of nonsense!” Then again, give it a night, a week but no more than a month and they are right back up on that dark wild stallion. Human beings inherently want to believe in love and happiness. They want to believe that eventually they will have more than just a thriving wallet and beautifully furnished house to come home to. They want to believe that someone is destined for them.

It continued, amidst conversation and faces - some familiar, some not, white walls, bright lights, stained tile. Her mind continued, unceasingly, relentlessly, unforgiving. She knew she wouldn’t last for much longer, without him, what did she have to hold on to? The walls were closing in, she could feel it, the eyes were watching, judging her, poking her, telling her what to do, telling her what to take, asking her questions. So many questions. Why? He never asked questions, he never even spoke. She did all the talking. Sometimes even to herself. So why now? So many questions.

People rarely appreciate love – not until they lose it for all eternity. Torment of the heart is undoubtedly the one thing modern medicine cannot even fathom fixing. A devastation of the heart where its magnitude goes off the Richter scale – would it be strange to say that if I told your story, personified, it could shatter my world all over again – bring it down, crumbling into frail lifeless pieces. Colourless pieces.

When you experience unbearable pain and mind numbing heartbreak – daily function ceases to exist. You are, literally, lost. You wander aimlessly or sit staring blankly at everything. Your existence fades away to a black and white movie, but you aren’t Audrey Hepburn in ‘Roman Holiday’ or ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’, you’re in your own nightmare – where life beats you down each and every waking moment.

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Mind Maze

Alara remembered feeling cold and crippled. She remembered being alone in her garden of beauty and serenity. She remembered being in this place of final rest. Of the forgotten. Ironically, on her greyest day she stood under a soft beating yellow sun. A waft of warm July air gathering up strands of her lose hair. A servant to the whims of the world, and the universe. The emptiness of hope, loss and broken memories percolating through each fibre of her being – She could feel the sorrow in her bones, aching under the weight of bereavement, but somehow her heart was beating bright Red. She could feel the cold blood, the coarseness of everything she touched. Yet she felt comforted, something about her Red gloves and Red polka dotted dress. Is this new? She thought. She felt like a child again. Sans responsibility and fears, but somehow she knew that it was her mind leaving her, that made it all better.

Her shoulders slouched, her arms at work, blankly staring as the shades of brown engulfed him. Engulfed You. They say the body is but a vessel and that the soul leaves its post as innkeeper when the fire of mind and heart extinguish. Alara didn’t know whether she imagined this or whether it was just pure coincidence but for the longest second she could feel the wind wrap itself around her – almost, just almost as if it were You. She had her eyes closed and in that second You were with her. Your warmth encompassing her, your arms pulling her closer to your heart, your tall frame cowering over her, protecting her from the truth. The truth, which she had not yet said. Not out loud nor in her deafeningly noisy mind. A truth she would never come to know.

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Façadé of Me

She tried, they tried, recalling the days leading up to that day, missing hours and chores were all she remembered. Put the garbage out, wash the dishes, do the laundry, make lunch, take your medication and it all fades to grey… People always talk about how their white weddings will be and how many kids they would have, how each and every moment would be special. But people never talk about their funeral, about what death is like. Black. Dreary. Empty. Nothing. Absolute Nothing.

What it feels like burying your confidante, your rock, Your One, your light. Everyone knows loss, everyone knows death. But who knows what to do when your heart is breaking and you can feel it, painfully just ripping apart ever so slowly. She didn’t remember the circumstances or the faces that passed her. She didn’t remember eating, praying or crying but she did remember the noise in her ears. The static after a channel had gone offline. The static of her heart, her life just going offline. Without him, she had no purpose.

She wanted to cry, she could feel the tears choking her every searing second of each and every moment. She wanted to let the river run dry. The blue salty river that starts in your soul and runs majestically pumping blood through your cold purple veins to end in the pit of your stomach – the emotion waits to rise like a storm growing. Emotion rising like steam – smouldering, furious, waiting to burn and scar.

Is it too much to say that my soul rejoiced at the sight of You. That the sound of your voice, even at a whisper rang the loudest in my head. I don’t have to promise to never forget You – You, to me, could never be forgotten. You were a guiding star, bright and proud. Just like stars, You burnt out though.

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Choice of Red

“Descriptive? Colourful? Nothing is descriptive about pain. Nothing is colourful about sorrow. My Life and the crater that losing You has left behind is absolute nothing. It is empty and colourless. Much like an empty vault. Dark, cold, steel. Utterly useless. Without sound. Without movement. I have found the silver lining though – each and every day that I had with You is my silver lining. Each and every day that I have left is part of that silver lining. Why did you leave me? What did I ever do to you?” She wrung her hands, as her mind furiously told her to clean it, clean it.

Alara looked up, an empty shell. She looked at her husband and her face brightened, “my darling, you asked me something, sorry, I get so forgetful these days. That’s a nice shirt, did we buy that yesterday when we went into town?”

Dr Fernando smiled at her, a warm, reassuring smile - “Mrs De Silva, thank you for the compliment. Actually my wife got me this shirt for my birthday last week. Do you remember, we talked about this then”, he continued, leaning forward and nodding along with Alara, “I asked if you can recall what your favourite colour was”.

“Oh yes, I remember now. What is my favourite colour? Grey. I think. My brain is now telling me grey.”

Grey. More than just colour. The one feeling, moment, symbol… it doesn’t matter what you call it. It speaks to the empty hollow where her soul, her heart, her mind used to be, peaceful, next to where she kept You in her heart.

It was the colour Red, that she preferred. Since she was 5 years old, Alara was fascinated with the colour Red… she loved how she looked in Red, and she even imagined that it felt special against her skin. When she held You that one last time in her arms, she felt that same feeling. A warmth, a comfort of the colour Red… of You. She felt safe, a familiar childhood comfort that only this colour and You could invoke in her.

“You know sweetheart, you make fun of me, but true love is the most beautiful thing I have experienced. True love, much like death however happens in a heartbeat. For me knowing that my true love – my soulmate is now gone and that I will forever be somewhat less than I knew I once was is nothing, when compared to knowing the absolute sorrow and emptiness of carrying You with me for the eons to come. The tunnel no longer has a light at the end of it. My light is now but a distant memory.” Alara regressed.

Dr Fernando pursed his lips, a defeated look on his face. Alara had seen it far too many times, she understood the familiarity of it, but she also couldn’t fathom what it meant.

“Mrs De Silva, I am afraid our treatments are not working, unfortunately you are unable to recall the incident that took place on July 9th 2013.”

She stared at him, baffled by his tone - why was the love of her life being so rude to him.

“Mrs De Silva..., Alara, I am trying to help you. We have been trying for the past 2 years now. I do not want to give up on you. I just need to know that there is something to salvage.” Alara stared blankly at this handsome young doctor, who reminded her of her husband, was this not him? A mischievous smile spread across her face, she thought he was playing games.

“You always make fun of me, sometimes when you’re away, I miss it. Oh sweetheart, how can it be that even after nearly 54 years, I am still so madly in love with you.” She stared dreamily at Dr Fernando and got up to embrace him, as she did so often with her husband.

She was unable to.

The weight and clanging of her ankle cuffs and handcuffs startled her. She reared back on her chair and started wringing her hands. The noise in her head grew louder and softer at the same time. She felt the growing pit in her stomach, she felt it all. The rage, the sadness, the disappointment. A floodgate of emotion had let way and she was no longer in control, she was no longer in charge.

But for the past 7 years she hadn’t been anyway.

Dr Fernando, no stranger to this recurrent revelation and act of fear, calmly opened his office door and asked the Orderlies to take Alara back to her room. He was done for the day, and he knew he was most probably done with Alara.

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Regression

Dr Fernando had heard about Mrs De Silva’s case, that she was found irrevocably guilty of her husband's murder. It had been nearly 5 years ago when it was sensationalised all over the local news. Two years ago as he started his residency at St. James’, he took a keen interest in her case, knowing that others had tried and failed to help her recall the incidents of that fateful day. He hoped he would be the one to solve the burning question people always had - why?

After a year of trying and failing, Dr Fernando’s interests changed from that of ambition to an unhindered want to genuinely help Mrs. De Silva. A part of him wanted to save this frail, graceful, greying lady, from having to relive the pain and guilt of her actions, every few months.

Over the years he had played along, listening to her recite tales of her great love with her husband. He sometimes even let her believe he was her husband, just to see the sparkle in her eyes. His intentions had changed, but Alara had that effect on so many people - her genuine kindness and affection, and purity of heart made those around her want to be better people.

He had observed her, as did his predecessors over the years past and Alara seemed to consistently be in a battle with her mind, or as she had put it “with the voices”. Dr Fernando believed that Alara’s Alzheimer's had progressed far enough, for a schizophrenic break to take place, he believed this was triggered by the recollection of childhood trauma which he had failed to assess. He frequently asked her about the Red, and her childish need to name inanimate objects, her separation anxiety and her constant reaffirmations of love towards her husband, but her mind shielded her from the pain she was already repressing.

He even believed that her psychotic break may have been the result of her mind again, trying to protect her from the truth of the crime she had committed. Not in the eyes of the lord, the law or the public - but in her own eyes. Dr Fernando speculated in his heart of hearts that perhaps her mind hadn’t failed her as we had considered. Perhaps in its failing, it found a way to protect her.

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Demons

Alara waited, unwittingly, unintentionally, she waited. She waited for it to be over, for the faces and names to disappear. She wanted until it was just her and the world again, and the static. She waited, she waited and then it was her, and him - You. Against a cold metal bed, lifeless pillow, stained ceilings, cracked walls.

She waited, until she could wait no more. She waited for the deafening silence, as the noise faded, a wave of new emotion overcame her. A wave of sadness, a wave of guilt, a wave of disbelief.

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