The Forsaken Tightrope Walker

The Visit

2008-03-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

The driver pulled the dark brown Toyota Crown around the school parking lot and stopped. This scenario was all too familiar. Usually she took the schoolbus home, but today was a hospital day like so many before. She walked over to the car and got in as the driver opened her door. The Old Woman sat in the backseat, smoking one of those Benson and Hedges Menthol Lights, the entire car engulfed with the poison smoke. As they drove off campus, She wasn't sure exactly what to expect. She just knew who she was going to see.

The drive to the hospital was unusually quiet. She managed to make the whole trip without uttering a word to the Old Woman, and vice versa. For that, She was thankful. Usually, She readied herself for the barrage of insults that spewed out of the Old Woman's mouth. But today was different somehow. The Old Woman was sullen and quiet just smoking cigarette after cigarette until they arrived at the hospital. She was so used to being around the suffocating smoke that it didn't even bother her anymore.

The driver pulled up to the entrance, opened the doors for his passengers and quickly parked the car in the visitor lot. She followed the Old Woman to the elevators and stood behind her while waiting for one to arrive. The entered the next one that opened. The Old Woman pushed the number 10 and up they went. The lift stopped a few times before arriving at the 10th floor, picking up passengers along the way. When it finally stopped at their floor, She and the Old Woman had to push their way through from the back of the lift before the doors closed on them.

The Old Woman led her down the hall. They passed the Nurses' station and were greeted by several young women wearing white uniforms and those silly looking hats. "Good afternoon", they said cheerfully and respectfully, addressing the Old Woman. She, on the other hand, was like a ghost. No one noticed her following along like a little lost puppy. The Old Woman said nothing to them in return.

They arrived at the room. The door was wide open. A crowd of people standing inside. She recognized all the people there. The man was someone who worked for the Saviour. The woman was his wife and friend of the Old Woman. The others were their children. Then, She sees him behind the crowd. There at the very end of the room, next to the window, laid the Saviour. Tubes down his nose and throat. Needles and lines in both arms. A clear, plastic bag hung from the side of his bed, filled with his urine. An oxygen machine next to him, pumping life into his body.

She stood there, staring at him. She knew that it was near and there was nothing She could do. Why are these people here? She wondered why She couldn't have this time. Why She couldn't have peace in these last minutes. Why are they here? The Old Woman woke her from her daze. Yelling at her to talk to him. Talk to the Saviour. Do something stupid! But She did nothing. All eyes burning holes in her while the Old Woman screamed. She could not move, or talk or do anything. She just stood there, staring at him. Waiting.

Then, it happened. Everything stopped. Wails and tears came from every direction, except from hers. The Old Woman was beside herself. Hysterical. She just stood there, staring. Finally, She turned around and ran out of the room. She ran to the elevators and took the next lift that opened. She asked the people inside if they knew where the chapel was and they told her which floor to exit. She ran out of the lift and into the empty chapel. It was creepy and gloomy, exactly like the churches and chapels She hated going to. It was morbid. She genuflected in front of the altar and robotically formed the sign of the cross. She sat in one of the pews. She sat there for what seemed like hours, but only minutes had passed by. She got up and went back down to the room.

Everyone was still there. Hanging out having mundane conversations like they were at some cocktail party. The Saviour hadn't been moved. She could still see him through all the bodies standing about. She didn't enter the room. Instead, She sat on the floor in the hallway across from the open door. She wanted to cry, but tears never came. She felt like screaming, but She couldn't find her voice. She wanted to run to him and beg him not to leave her. But She just sat, with her arms wrapped around her knees and waited.

The Old Woman noticed that She was there and shot her The Look. She knew what that look meant. It meant She was alone.

The Hands

2008-03-14T21:05:00.000-07:00

There is one recurring dream that haunts her. She wakes up screaming softly, clothes drenched with sweat, heart pounding and panicked. She has had this dream as long as She can remember. It was so cliche' ... a dream so vivid, so pure, so real that it had to be. No matter how many times She has this exact same dream, She is terrified every single time.

The dream starts with her walking down the dark blue hallway. Walking quickly past the creepy altar. The shrine to Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary. She tried not to look at all the statues and pictures. Morbid figurines of a bloody Christ hanging from the cross. Sculptures of the Blessed Mother cradling the Messiah in her arms. Dolls of Baby Jesus wearing long, flowing gowns of gold. One has a crown on its head, but not one of thorns. Rapunzel-like hair down its back. Candles flickered all around, illuminating the otherwise drab walls. Those few seconds walking down that hallway seemed like an eternity.

She finally gets to the kitchen door at the end of the hallway and there they are. The Old Woman, smoking her nasty cigarettes and drinking that disgusting shit she calls coffee, sitting at the end of a horseshoe shaped bench. In the middle of the horseshoe was the kitchen table. Next to the Old Woman are the women She called the Cronies - pathetic excuses for friends. Like the Old Woman, they didn't do anything all day except for smoke, drink coffee, gossip and play Mah-Jong. The Cronies loved being with the Old Woman. They looked up to her like some kind of Matriarch of the neighborhood. The Old Woman always had someone by her side. Everyday. All day.

She makes the mistake of making eye contact with the Old Woman as she walked int the kitchen. The Cronies stopped gossiping for a moment and stared right at her like she was some kind of abomination. The Old Woman gestured for her to approach, but She didn't want to. She stood there, frozen. Petrified. The Old Woman commanded her to come near and she relented. She approached as slow as she could, knowing full well what was going to happen. She wanted to stall as long as She could. The Old Woman yelled at her to hurry up and she did. Then, She was bombarded with yelling and questioning. Did She think She was too good to say hi to the Cronies, the Old Woman asked. Who the hell did She think She was anyway? How dare She act this way around them and embarass the Old Woman so? She didn't have any answers to the Old Woman's questions. Just apologies. The Old Woman started to tell her what She had already heard for years ... that She was nothing with her. She needed to show more respect. She was an ungrateful little bitch and that She needed to remember her place in the house. As the scolding continued, the Old Woman reached out like most other times and grabbed her crotch. She tried to jump back and when She did, the Old Woman yelled even more. She started sobbing hysterically, but the Old Woman wouldn't stop. Her hands groped her over and over as the lecture continued. She needed to remember that the Old Woman owned her. How dare She not let her touch her at will. Everything that was her, was the Old Woman's. The Cronies laughed and laughed. She cried and cried. Finally, the Old Woman was done and She was allowed to leave.

Then she wakes up, looks to her left and sees the One sleeping next to her, snoring loudly in that most obnoxious way. She's happy to see and hear him there and is glad that it was just the dream and it was over. She lays her head back down on the damp pillow. She wraps her arms around the One as tight as she can. She dries her tears on his shirt and tries to go back to sleep. As She drifts off, She still can't help but wonder why the dream always felt so real. Like an extraordinary case of deja vu Everytime. So real that it had to be, right? Maybe it was.

The Corner

2008-03-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes She got caught in the crossfires that were the Old Woman's rage. More often than not, She had no clue why the Old Woman was angry with her. She just knew that She must have done something so hideous, so horrible that She deserved the grandest of all punishments. The guava branch became a fixture in the dining room, much like one of the Old Woman's oil paintings. It was hung high so everyone could so and admire it. The guava tree in the back yielded the most beautiful fruit. So sweet and ripe. She loved eating that fruit but grew to hate the very branches that became her punishers. Those branches were wicked, unyielding. With every blow, with every crack came instant welts, cuts and blood. The pain was unbearable on her bare skin, but She learned to stand there quietly, without tears, taking her punishment like a very good girl.

But no matter how agonizing those lashes were, they didn't even come close to the Corner. Instead of the guava branch, sometimes the Old Woman used the Corner. It was in the northeast side of the dining room, bare and desolate. Ugly wood panneling surrounded the corner, gen and white fake tiles lay on the floor. When the punishment was the Corner, She would have to sit facing it, still and quiet. There was no chair to sit on, just the hard fake tile underneath. She was to stand up stright. Slouching was strictly prohibited. She wasn't allowed to turn around to look at anything else except for the dark, wood panneling. If even a tear was shed, chaos would ensue and the Old Woman would tell her how weak and pathetic She really was. So there in her Corner. Not uttering a word and not moving for hours at a time.

Then hours later, something wonderful would happen. The Saviour came home and everything magically changed. The Saviour would drop his Haliburton and scoop her up from the floor. She relished in the Saviour's arms and sobbed quietly so the Old Woman wouldn't notice. The Saviour shot a furious glance at the Old Woman, which she shrugged off. The walked away into the kitchen to continue smoking her Benson and Hedges Menthol Lights and drink her cheap instant coffee. The Saviour turned back to the wretched child in his arms. He kissed the top of her head tenderly and told her he loved her. Everything was going to be okay, he said. Then, and only then, at that very moment, did she believe that he was right. He was telling the truth. The Saviour had returned home and everything was going to be okay. Until he had to leave again.

The Bad Ones

2008-03-09T23:40:00.000-07:00

There are some days, beautiful and clear ones. The kind of days when she doesn't mind waking up at 6:30 to Mr. Potato Head's arm stuck up her nose. On those days, everything smells crisp and clean, just like the good old days when the wash was hung up to dry on a clothesline. Those days were magical and precious. She was a different person on those days. There was laughter, smiles and witty banter between her and whoever was around at the time. She loved those days. She sipped hot Lapsang Souchong and drowned in that smokey, campfire smell. Those days were perfect in every way. On those days, It wasn't around.

But today wasn't one of those days. Today was one of the bad ones. On these days, the Shadow would follow her every move. When she first had one of these days, she thought the Shadow was It. They were so much alike but very, very different. Both frightened her. Both loomed about. She would go through the days trying to distinguish one from the other. She never looked directly at either one for she knew she wasn't ready to accept the truth.

The Shadow taunted her on this day, speaking to her incessantly mostly about herself. She tried to cover her ears, hum a favourite melody over and over, anything to muffle the dreadful sounds. But they kept coming and coming, like a trail of ants you find in your kitchen after it's been raining. The Shadow was all over the place it seemed. All around her all the time. No matter where she turned or hid, the presence was there. First it started to remind her of that place. That dreadful place with all the cockroaches and mosquitoes that bit her all day and night. The Shadow talked about the Old Woman and everything that happened in that dark bungalow. The Shadow knew everything - from the dark olive walls in the guestroom with the morbid painting of a crucified Jesus on the wall, to the guava branch that left many a mark on her tiny body. As he told her the stories, the Shadow giggled and laughed as if he were talking about a funny matinee he caught earlier that day. She didn't laugh. All she could do was stare. At nothing. Now, she couldn't help but listen to the Shadow. Everything was coming back again. All those memories She tried to flush away. They were back and the Shadow was content and left. For now.

On the bad ones, she had these fantastic dreams. They were absolutely beautiful. Blood flowed everywhere and there was peace. She imagined tiny violet flowers enveloping a lush green hillside. And there she was in the middle of it all. She saw herself as a child. Sitting amidst these violet flowers, rusty straightrazor in her lap. In her tiny, bloody hands, a tattered photograph of a man. A man she knew a long time ago. A man she loved. She called him the Saviour and he was the only person who ever loved her. She woke up and the Saviour was gone.

The Suitcase

2008-03-08T23:11:00.000-08:00

She didn't know who this person was. So she called her Old Woman. They lived together in a bungalow infested with cockroaches and mosquitoes. In the bungalow, other women lived too. Younger. Servants. They all revered the Old Woman as if she was a goddess and treated her with the utmost respect and fear. She wondered who the Old Woman was but never found out. All She knew was that when the Old Woman spoke, She listened. When the Old Woman wanted her to dance, She was to oblige. Whatever the Old Woman wanted from her, She was to give happily. She was the Old Woman's property. She was owned.

She always felt an odd feeling around the Old Woman. Cold. Distant. Eerie. Something was not quite right. Inside her, strange feelings would surface. Conflicting feelings. She hated the Old Woman, but She also wanted to love her. She was frightened by the Old Woman's hand, but She wanted to be enveloped in her arms. The Old Woman humiliated her in front of her friends daily, yet She was eager to please. She was ridiculed and berated, yet She yearned for the Old Woman's approval.

One day, in her fifth year with the Old Woman, she snuck out to play with a neighbor girl. She was lonely in that dank bungalow, being the only child there. She had the dogs for company of course, but she longed for someone else. Surely a few minutes away wouldn't hurt. Being with other children was a precious gift. One that she cherished. They played a game of hopscotch in the neighbor's cracked driveway. Jumprope was next and as they began to play, the Old Woman appeared suddenly. Yelling and cursing. She stood frozen not knowing what to do next. The Old Woman showed her the branch from the guava tree. The branch She was all to familiar with. She quickly ran home with the Old Woman following closely behind.

The Old Woman took her into her bedroom. She was spared the branch this time, but was given a punishment much worse than any lashing. The Old Woman pulled out a tattered suitcase from her dresser. She was told to pack all of her belongings and to leave immediately. She panicked and started sobbing uncontrollably. The Old Woman kept yelling at her to leave and She started begging for her mercy and forgiveness, over and over and over. She stood there, the front of her shirt wet from all the tears. The suitcase in one hand as the Old Woman reminded her that She was owned. She was property. How dare She want to be anywhere else but with the Old Woman! She was an ungrateful little bitch who didn't deserve to live in this bungalow, infested with cockroaches and mosquitoes. She was nothing. She was nothing without the Old Woman. She begged and pleaded for the Old Woman to let her stay. She must have said sorry a thousand times through her blubbering and tears. She said sorry for being such an awful little girl. Ungrateful. Undeserving. She promised to be better. To remember what she was in this dark, filthy house. After a long while, the Old Woman told her to put the suitcase away. And she did.

The Awakening

2008-03-06T20:47:00.000-08:00

They're lined up in a perfect row. Like soldiers going to battle. But they're not soldiers. They're her pills, her best friends. She's lost count of how many bottles are in that cabinet. Little orange bottles but more like little orange life preservers. She even nicknamed each one: Relief, Relaxation, Clarity, Balance and Calmness. Her friends deserved proper names after all. None of that medical mumbo-jumbo bullshit you can hardly pronounce. No long disclaimers in commercials that are so fast, you can't even make out a single word. They're really good friends. How she could live in this world without her friends is beyond imagination. Being herself without them just isn't an option anymore. Unconditional support is what they gave her. They've been through thick and thin together. Ups and Downs - well, mostly downs. Through it all, they were there for her when no one else was. No one understood her like they did. No one knew her like they did. They never judged or made fun. They never questioned her. They just gave her what she needed the most. Their company.

For awhile, she tried not taking them. They just stood there, in their usual spots. Ready. She felt weak. Pitiful. She couldn't do it for long. She thought she was strong enough. She had lived through some shit. She could definitely do it, she told herself. She underestimated It's power. One day, It took over and wouldn't let her go. She sat, scared and wondering when It would go away. It never did. It stayed, like a terrible houseguest who made himself at home. She tried to be strong, but It was much stronger. She was no match. She fought and resisted, but nothing worked. It had control and was here to stay. Finally, she succumbed to It's power and she had to go to her friends for help. Her loyal, best friends. And they did their jobs. She felt like she was floating away. Away from It, even though It was still there, following her every move. She still felt It's presence, so she visited a few more friends. They did the trick. Her mind swirled into oblivion and It's memory started to fade. She counted how many friends she talked to - eight. Much more than usual. She was drifting off. Blackness started to surround her. She tried to fight it, to no avail. In her periphery, she spots It. Standing. Waiting. She sleeps.