109 I am, I can, I will

The Little Red Haired Girl

‎
109 I am, I can, I will

The man in the moon looked as if he was smiling and mocking Body as he watched her through the Pumphouse window. So much so, Body stopped gazing at him and moved across the concrete floor out of his beam of faint white light into further darkness. He was becoming intolerable for Body to look at out there amongst the stars free and blissfully unaware of how much pain Body was feeling. Body felt she was being watched by him and mocked at the same time. She felt the need to hide.

“You’re being silly” Brain exclaimed “the man in the moon has kept you occupied most of the time whilst we have been entrapped in here. Him or his light has helped you see some of our surroundings with slices of light. His light has enabled you to draw on the wall or find a piece of glass to use to chip away at the wall. We would have no light at all if he weren’t here.”

“I feel watched and scrutinised like a lab rat in a cage and I cannot explain why, but for now I am removing myself from his stare.”
“Do as you see fit” Brain huffed “I cannot stop you.”

“I am” uttered Body as she crawled across the floor avoiding dust, debris and glass.
“So I see, although you wouldn’t win any prizes if it were a race” Brain was sarcastic as usual.

Body crawled into further darkness and felt relieved to be hidden. She closed her eyes and began to hum. At first it was just a few random notes, but the vibration and buzz of them she felt through her body as if they came from deep within her chest.
Soon they morphed into tunes she recognised and felt familiar. Then some of the words came back to her. The chorus was usually the most easily remembered and provided a ‘hook’ for the rest to follow. As she started to sing them rather than just hum, she remembered where she had heard them and the place where she had heard them came back to her as well. A sunny car ride with Noswad, a tune her father played loud on a Sunday morning, a tune that reminded her of leaving a particular place. The conversations they evoked and were remembered, the right road number, the argument over volume, which boxes were too heavy for Body to lift. Small and large memories.

They, the songs, transported her back there each time yet it was strange because Brain had not remembered them, or if it did, it hadn’t recalled them without the physical act of singing them out loud.

“Do you have to sing?” Brain questioned “you are not very good at it you know.”
“Does it matter in here? I am enjoying it and it’s not harming anyone else.”
“A little selfish that” Brain replied “I am here and have to put up with it.”
“Tough” Body asserted “it’s for my pleasure not yours, therefore I can.”

“I like it” the Little Red Haired Girl interrupted “it’s like we are going to the seaside.”
“Is it?” Body asked.

“Yes, Singing in the car. Daddy used to enjoy it and ask us to do it too. Specially if we was fed up and wanted to get there quicker.”
“Get where?”

“Wherever we was going. Daddy said it made us get there quicker. So we did and it does.”
“I think she means it kept them occupied so it felt as if the time went quicker” Brain surmised.

“It’s true” the Little Red Haired Girl said and stamped her foot to emphasise the point even though it made little sound as her feet were bare,
“Ok Ok” Brain soothed “don’t get upset. Whatever you say.” Brain had learnt better than to upset her and make her cry. It wasn’t worth the noise levels, even singing was better than that.

So Body and the Little Red Haired Girl kept singing. Sometimes the child would chose the song, sometimes Body just found one for want of a better word and the words and memories followed it.

“Why are some nursery rhymes so cruel?” Heart cried.
“They usually stem from historical events” Brain informed. “For example ‘Ring o Ring a Roses’ was thought to be indicative of a red rash. The first symptoms of the bubonic plague. The last being sneezing and coughing before death. ‘We all fall down’. Children’s games or rhyme’s were a way of coping with the seriousness of the situation over a period of time. Maybe even a way of educating children of the symptoms in a time when children weren’t schooled. There are lots of theories about them which I admit I don’t know.”

The Little Red Haired Girl just stared, she didn’t understand what Brain was saying although she felt the mood of it.
“It doesn’t matter child” Body reassured “we can sing what we like in a way we like, as long as it pleases us.”
“It’s fun and makes us get there quicker. Daddy said so.”
“Quite.”

Heart began to cry suddenly much to Body’s concern and the Little Red Haired Girl joined her. What had happened? What had changed the mood?
“I told you” stated Brain “Stop singing.”
“It’s Ok” cried Heart “I need to hear it. I need to remember that song and how it made me feel. Who it reminds me of.”
“Oh this is bound to be about Noswad” Brain was scathing. “What stupid love song were you singing Body?”
“I can’t remember now” Body was nervous “but I never meant to cause more pain to Heart,”

“It’s pain that is already there” cried Heart “the song just brings it to the surface. Out to the open. It needs to be outed otherwise I can’t heal, and I must, I will.”

“You are very courageous Heart” called Spirit “and I support and commend you for facing it. And why are you crying child?”
“It went quicker. We got there quicker” she snivelled and tugged and wrapped her hands in the hem of her dress.
“Well that’s good then isn’t it?” called Spirit as the child put herself in Body’s arms and her tatty dusty curls on Body’s chest. Body rocked her for a while.

“Do you have an answer child?” Spirit gently called.
“He took us there.” the child whispered.
“To the seaside?” called Spirit.
“How lovely” Heart cried.
“Yes. ‘Pose so. He took us everywhere” she muttered into Body’s chest.

“So why are you crying Child?” Heart cried through its own tears.
“He didn’t come back. Daddy never came back.”