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Heavy, Like Water
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Heavy, Like Water |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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She is scattered, like wind in trees; my attention to her blurred by strands of fine thread that swing through time. Some of her I remember. She had hidden precious bulbs beneath clay pots, away from light, away from dirt; afraid that the creepy cold fingers of the old man would find them and tell her again how much he loved her. Pale and transparent skin holds in her blood and bone. A wealth of dark curls frame her face. In her upstairs room she maps her colors on the wall beside her bed. Primary colors cover the grime of fingerprints on the floral wallpaper. The wall is a safe place. She stands on her bed and colors where the windows can't watch her. Her mother gave her this space. She likes it better than paper, because it is a, "no", at her friend's house. A big red sun without lips or eyes, and curlicues of flowers on tall green stems, surround a square. Inside the square there are no windows that can catch her coloring a pink dress onto a stick body. She holds the slender crayon clutched in her right fist, her pink tongue moving back and forth between her lips. The colors are changing in the room from bright to mauve. She looks at the lamp on the table by her bed, reassured by its presence, even though she knows it will be turned off when it's scary time. Night is scary time. The sun goes somewhere else; and the closet opens so the dark things can come out and hide under her bed. The nightly inspection only finds a, "see there's nothing there". She knows there is something there. Even when they leave the light on with the door open just a crack, the shadows reach for her. She has already colored her safety into a square house with no windows and she knows dinner time is coming by the feel of something changing in her tummy. It even makes a noise, like the purr of her outside cat, Mitzy. She stays with her crayon and colors a big yellow sun. Until, the sound of her mother's "dinner's ready" turns from pleasant, to a mother with a mad face. (The taste of many things like peas and little plates of beets, make her feel sick.) Slow, go slow she tells her fork as she spears one pea and then another. When there are no more peas or mashed potatoes or huge glass of milk, it is time to "get ready". She knows that the scary time is coming and that the stories her mother reads will end ... they always do. The sheets are cold when she first gets into bed. Every week her mother washes them in the noisy washing machine named Bendix. Bang, bang it rocks and bumps beside the old set-tub. Sometimes she helps hang the sheets on the clothes-line in the back yard. She hands the big wooden pins to her mother, and then plays around in the tunnels and walls the sheets make in the air. The fresh, crisp feel of the sheets when they are clean, slowly become soft and mold to the curl she forms underneath them by the end of the week. She likes them best then, soft and carrying her own scent, even though she misses the smell of sunshine. If she drinks too much water she will need to pee and step down onto the cold floor where the bad things are, and walk across that dark room and down the hall to the bathroom. It is such a long way at night. Some nights she isn't courageous enough, and wakes to the wet warm flow of her own water. She uses prayer like a magic circle that she thinks will keep her safe, like her wall. "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take, make me a good girl for Jesus' sake." Even after the door is closed she is able to keep the bad things away, with singing. She sings with a steady and true voice ... each word of every song that she knows, until the other voices in the house insist that she be still. Then she is left alone with it. It is heavy, like water. |
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| © Copyright 2007 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
Mysteria 
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Funny how that little girl just never goes away isn't it? Martie, your writing is spectacular, and this held me almost scared to breathe, right until the very end.  You are so right, it is heavy like water. |
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
It is always a pleasure to read your work Martie. This story held me until the end. Well done. Marilyn |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
quote: I remember a time when Mysteria visited my first drafts of thoughts that ultimately led to a novel. Write on, Sissie. Write on. Because I think Mys and I know...a story is in the making. And it needs to be revealed. |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
Martie, And yet it rings of reality. I think I know of that little girl and her sweet mommy. How accuratley I believe you know that little girls mind and heart intimately. So very well done.  If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, |
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Trillium
since 2001-03-09
Posts 12098Idaho, USA |
Martie: Such an enjoyable read and took me on a journey back into chidhood and some of the things I believed in then! Trillium Betty Lou Hebert |
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