28/06/2024
3 The Star
Noswad had taken her to the wishing well many times. It was their favourite place they escaped to.
The Little Red Haired girl, the inner child, had always wanted to believe him, wished for him and loved him with all her heart, but he had never made promises to marry her before. And when in the past and in her adult mind, he had made promise’s, they had always been broken. She was always left without him for months and sometimes cavernous years.
She didn’t know how long she had been asleep on the concrete floor in this pumphouse prison. The pain from her adult body had woken her up and she knew she had to move to try and release it. Fibromyalgia was an old enemy she had gotten to know well.
She moved her position and as she did, her face was illuminated by a slice of moonlight through the barred broken window. She thought about how she would get out of this place and laughed, if she was in here long enough she might lose so much weight she would fit through the window “Why am I laughing” she said aloud “What a stupid thought.”
Negative self dialogue she remembered the voice from her therapist and she knew sometimes she was her own worst critic. She knew she had to change it so tried to shift her mindset. It was a heavy weight and hard to think positively in such a horrible place. The Little Red Haired girl remembered Nana’s voice ‘You can try again tomorrow, sleep now.’
As she drifted off to sleep again, the adult Body thought she heard another voice. Who’s? She did not recognise it and it seemed to come from within. “He did the best he could. Underneath all the lies, he’s a good person trying to get out, don’t lose faith.” Very strange this voice from inside, she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, she couldn’t place it. “He’s trapped just like you.”
“Is he?” she heard herself ask. And as her thoughts wandered free they seemed to bounce off the inside of her head.
She smiled as she remembered her Father’s nickname for her ‘Fluff’. It certainly wasn’t a muffled fluffy place now. It was echoing.
” Daddy why am I called Fluff? ” she had asked him one day.
“Because the inside of your head, from ear to ear, is just like your hair, its full of Fluff” he laughed, and the others did too. The Little Red Haired Girl was too young to understand why they were laughing but was pleased he had a special name for her. It made her feel odd and she didn’t know why. Somehow it didn’t feel nice and in her little head she felt unsafe and alone. He liked my hair right? He stroked her hair when he came to say goodnight. His rough but tender hands that smelt of Linseed oil. He loved her, and she felt safe again. She felt the warmth of the soft flannelette pillow case against her cheek in her imagination, and it enabled her fall asleep again on the very real concrete floor.
In sleep, she dreamt of the hot warm sands beneath her feet on family holidays with her brother and sisters, cousins and Nana and Grandad. Aunts and Uncles who organised them into games of rounders and cricket. Adults sunbathing and picnicking, driving and counting the kids in and out of cars. Caravans that smelt of rain, and board games that always caused debate. Fun, happy times. But even in her dream, she felt like an observer. Like watching an old movie from the back row of seats.
This feeling never seemed to leave her, dreaming or otherwise, this feeling of being set apart from her own life, and she was resigned to it even as a child.
The dream became dark as pain from her body was interfering with it, and she tried to get more comfortable. She was suddenly transported into the dark sky, and was flying amongst the stars. It wasn’t frightening, and it felt like familiar territory, like she had been here before and knew the way.
There was one particular star she was headed for and as it grew nearer the white light from it was dazzling and painful, but she could not stop as she merged into its centre surrounded by the five points. The five points split into five separate beams of light and entered into her body as white swords. They were swords definitely, she could see the Hilts, but try as she might, there were no hands that she could see holding them. And then the pain hit, it was excruciatingly and took her breath as she heard her own voice cry out within her dream, and reverberate around the round pumphouse walls in a type of never ending echo.
“Help me God” was all she could say as the pain was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She heard her own voice clearly. How could she withstand it? and then there was the concrete floor coming up to meet her as she hit it full length.
And now, a different pain arrived that was dull, and slow to grow as she spoke with Nana without hearing the voices, like an even older silent movie being hand cranked. So slowly that the frames did not flow. How could she be in both places at once? In dream state and real time? Conscious and sub-conscious? Aware and not aware of where she was? How could she even think these questions if she was asleep?
Nana kept talking, she could see her mouth moving, she could see the outfit she was wearing, a special best coat that always had a brooch on the lapel, her favourite furry hat that reminded her of ‘Sparky’ the pet cat that lived at 361, Nanas house. She could see her painfully swollen feet squashed into her best shoes and the arthritic hands beckoning her to come. And with that gesture , she awoke and was still in the pumphouse, lying on the concrete floor looking at the moonlight through the barred window.
It looked different, no wait… it was not different… her eyes were… it was as if she was seeing it properly with a new pair of eyes…so much detail she had never noticed before. Her body was exhausted, she would have to wait till tomorrow to check out her new pair of eyes.
© Jennifer Harris 2024
