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individulsong

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You do not know who I am, not yet anyway. No one ever understands who I am. I am the constant shadow that lingers behind the group of merry on goers. I am the boy who lurks after dark in search of a home. No, you do not know me, but I am familiar with you.

Here you are, reading my words, waiting for me to explain. The only thought that means much in this world… what’s going on? We all think it. It passes through our minds like an illusion, yet we allow it to feed our nerves and false conceptions of the world around us. Who am I? I am the boy who is lifeless. Who am I? I am the boy who is sad.

Life goes on, so they say, but who is they anyway? And life doesn’t always go on. It is cut short sometimes, and people move on and live, but nothing is ever the same. Death comes and goes like a breath of air, but how are you to know when to allow and when to mourn? When to pout and when to smile? Which death is meant to be, and which death was taken to soon? How wretched life can be in this maze of uncertainty, and how bitter a young boy can become.

I know you are lost in my realm of thought, but by the time I am finished, I trust you will understand me more than I understand myself. Sadness can over power someone, can mutilate their being, can take away their soul, and can throw away a beating heart. Be patient, my love. All will be revealed.

In a world where one cannot face the truth of death, or the afterlife, but the concern of what will come or what will not is more important, there is no wonder that the populace cannot see me. It is no wonder that you are afraid, confused, or bewildered. I do not blame you for bearing down upon me your beliefs and your accusations, but in reality, none of them matter to me. Keep them! If they are apart of you, by all means keep them by your side and never let them go, but to me, I am only a mere whistle in the wind; a transparent figure that no one can comprehend.

It all started two years ago, on a sunny bright day in Virginia. The sun was beating down on my weary back, and my sturdy arms rose up to wipe away the sweat that began to crawl down my face like a malicious snake.

            “Benjamin!” I heard echoing through the tall, green grass. “Where are you? Come here!” The voice was soft and filled the air with liquid, but in its urgency…harsh. The heat was so intense I could barely make a sound. My blue eyes, squinting from the sun’s powerful glare, looked up in protest to see who was calling my name.

            “Benjamin! My Lady will be here any minute, and what is she to think if she sees you out here?” Ah, it was Jessica, my nanny. Jessica was an honest girl of twenty-three with long brunette hair and breath taking green eyes. Her only down fall was that she was picky, annoying, and utterly faithful to the rules of her position. She was a servant and a nanny, nothing less and nothing more. Her gray, pleated dress swayed in the wind as she trudged through the grass in pursuit.

            “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

            “You’ll have to do more than that. She’ll be here any minute!” She took my hand and pulled me along towards the house, an overly large mansion. There wasn’t a day that went by when a traveler wouldn’t stop and stare. It was your typical dream home, now of days. A large, red oak door, sky blue shutters, porch steps at every bedroom window, large living room windows that gleamed in the sun and showed any curious wanderer the rich contents lingering inside.

            “You have no idea what I have to go through in order to make her happy. You’d be cautious to just do as your told, boy!” Jessica was dragging me into the kitchen through the back door. I could smell the potatoes boiling on the gas stove, the perfume of broiled steak, and the scent of a chocolate delicatessen in the oven. In the heat of the kitchen, I could feel the sweat sticking to my body, and the dirt caked beneath my finger nails began to enhance the reality of my appearance.

            “For heaven’s sake!” yelled the cook. “Get him out of my kitchen! Clean him up before she gets home!” In a whisper I heard her say, “ Bunch of meddling children trying to dirty up my work.” Not the most pleasant individual, but certainly a master of her trade. I let Jessica tug at my arm as I watched the cook chop up her onions and place them into a sizzling pan of chopped tomatoes.

            “Cook?” I asked quietly. It was apparent that she was annoyed at my still occupying her kitchen, but she finally muttered a reply.

            “What?”

            “Thank you very much for feeding my family.” And with that, I walked out of the kitchen. The cook watched me go with a puzzled look on her face. I don’t know if I meant for it to be that way, but I do know that it made her feel exactly the way I wanted it to. All the years Cook had prepared our meals; I never once heard a thank you from anyone. It was high time I paid her one.

Jessica was still pulling me up the stairs, but with less force than before. Her look had been altered, just as Cook’s had. Her eyes were thoughtful but resigned.

            “Boy, that was a good thing you did back there in the kitchen.” I trudged up the steps. I knew it was, but I didn’t want to boast.

            “Ok.”

            “You should tell My Lady when she arrives…assuming you’re ready for her. Get up in the bathroom! I’ll send Marie to help you.” Marie was a short, stout, African girl. She was probably a few years younger than I was. Big brown eyes, long black hair, light brown skin… she was beauty itself. Her job was to clean the house, not uncommon to today’s traditions. She also, when given the order, took care of me, which I found slightly awkward seeing as she was younger than I was. After awhile you get tired of being babied and want to do things yourself, but I was never trusted with being clean cut and perfect by myself. That’s why I had Jessica and Marie to help.

Marie came into the bathroom as I began to undress.

            “Water hot, Sir?” She said in broken English. She never spoke English that well, and she was never required to because she knew enough, but I always found it hard to take her seriously when her sentences were missing verbs and adjectives.

            “Yes, Marie. That would be very nice.” She went to the tub and turned the golden handle to the right. I watched her elegant movement, the way her body moved back and fourth, up and down. I was sixteen years old, and as well brought up as I was, there was only one thought on my mind. Her black uniform was wet from leaning over the tub to check the heat of the water. Next to the sink was a closet full of towels. I opened it and handed her one with flowers on it.

            “Oh no, Sir. My lady would be angry with me.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous, Marie. You’re dress is wet.”

            “Uniform, Sir.”

            “You’re uniform is wet. Take the towel and dry yourself.” Her nimble hand reached for the towel as my outstretched arm held it for her. I watched as she quietly dabbed the wet spot on her stomach.

            “Sir, anything else? I will leave?” Her brown eyes peered into mine, and for a moment I thought all the air had been pushed right out of me.

            “Yes, yes… I’m fine. You… you can go.” And off she went.

The bath was luke warm, just right after working hard outside. I let the water lick my skin, letting the warmth nuzzle its way into my very soul. It’s time like these where human beings should be thankful they feel the simplicities life so joyously has created. Ah, but back in my time no one felt anything unless they were told to feel it. That’s why being alone was such a treat; when you could let go of all the orders and the constant hounding of someone who is “above you”. It wasn’t just the workers who were hounded day in and day out. Trust me, I had my fair share of orders, maybe not hard labor, but still, for a boy to grow up in constant formality, I’m pretty sure I could’ve used at least a little break. But that’s not the way it was. My Lady was coming.

To clarify, My Lady was Elizabeth Sonya George III, and to me, commonly known as mother. She was the Duchess of Irvington, a small town in England. When I was born, she shipped me off with my Grandmother to live in Virginia. My Grandmother, Lady Hilts, died when I was seven, but by that time Cook and Jessica had made their way into the family.  Mother was always in England. I only ever remember seeing her on big holidays, and she always came to Virginia. I was never allowed to go to England. That part of her life was always a mystery. I asked her about it once, when I was younger.

            “It’s none of your concern, son.” She had said. She did what everyone expected her to do. She was a Duchess, and Duchesses do what Duchess are supposed to do, be of royal blood and look nice.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my mother had a head on her, that’s for sure. She was always level headed, but she was also very narrow. I guess that comes with the title, but I was so much more constricted when she was around. I can’t say if I loved her. I’m sure I did, in some small way, but she was never around long enough for me to get to know her. I knew her from pictures and stories. As a young boy I would sit at the fireplace with Jessica and listen to her tell me stories I never thought could be true. How MY mother was this Goddess and everyone looked up to her for her wisdom and advice, and how she dined with Kings and Queens. Those stories were fantastical, but they were only fairy-tales. My mother wasn’t much of a Goddess. I can’t feel bad about not having strong emotions for her, for, in my lifetime, I can only imagine how little emotion she must have had for me, her only son.

And hence the haste to be perfect for her arrival. I could hear Cook downstairs banging pots and pans together. Whether in search for a pot or putting one a way, I didn’t know, but the sound of the clashing metals tightened the muscles in my shoulders. I stepped out of the bath, freshly pink and clean, grabbing another flowery towel. She would be there within the next hour, that much was certain. Jessica was hollering, “Marie, DO NOT hang that portrait up! My Lady will be furious, oh and Cook will you please finish those brownies, you know My Lady will want one, and for heaven’s sake why is the dog in the house?” One can only guess the amount of stress she was under…

I dressed myself in a blue suite with dark blue shoes, the attire for gentleman. Jessica came and knocked on the bathroom door.

            “Boy, are you done in there? Hurry up now!” By this time I was fixing my bow tie and putting on my cologne.

            “Yes, Jessica, I am almost done.”

            “Well hurry up! I don’t want you dawdling away in the bathroom when she arrives!” I opened the door and let Jessica take me in. She looked me up and down, making sure I was picture perfect. “Alright. Go downstairs and sit on the sofa. Don’t move from there!” I nodded my head. The wooden stairs creaked as I put my weight on each foot, stepping down, gazing at the hustle and bustle going on below me. Marie was wiping off the coffee table in the main living room, and Cook was busily setting things on and off the stove. I gazed at the frenzy before me. Yes, this was my life, but is this what I wanted. I glanced at Marie, noticing the water stain on her uniform. Her back was bent as she hurriedly wiped down the table and went to straighten the curtains. Such beauty could kill a man. Jessica grabbed me by the back of the collar on my suite. “ Come on boy! Don’t just stand on the stairs!”

            “Alright, alright.” I shrugged her off of me and went to sit down on the silk, white sofa. Flowers of every color were in the painted, glass vases, standing on glossed pinewood stools. You’d think, after all this trouble, my mother would be grateful, but it didn’t surprise me by what happened when she arrived.

The black coach arrived at the front of the house at five minutes ‘til 2 in the afternoon, the usual time. The horseman stepped off of the buggy and opened my mother’s door. There she was, a thing of beauty.  Her brown hair was tied in a bun in the back of her head, covered by a large feathered hat. Her long, black gown sparkled in the afternoon sun. She always dressed to impress, as was expected of her. She delicately stepped out of the coach, taking the hand of the horseman, gazing up at the mansion before her. Jessica was already at the door, welcoming her, and I was standing just inside ready to be judged and scrutinized as always. Jessica nodded and curtsied, smiling profusely as my mother took small steps up to the front door.

            “Jessica, please. You are a common housemaid. Do not act like anything more or anything less.” Jessica stood erect and stopped smiling at once. I felt almost sad for her. She was not just a housemaid, but of course, mother would know nothing of that, and to talk back was out of the question. She stood there, taking whatever mother was going to give her, without saying a word, hiding her disappointment and brokenness like a champion. She stepped inside and eyed me like a hawk. “Boy, what have you been doing while I’ve been gone? Growing tall I see. Anything useful? Can you write? Can you read?” I could hear the sarcasm in her voice.

            “Yes, mother. I am well versed in literature, and I write, although very little.” I stared at her forehead to avert her eyes.

            “What am I to expect from a young heathen, such as yourself?” She took off her hat and placed on the coffee table in the sitting room and walked around. She was satisfied with the arrangement. “Jessica!” Came her shrill voice. Jessica came to her aid. “Tell cook to serve me in my study. I shan’t be dining with Benjamin.”

            “Yes Ma’m.” And with that, mother walked off, leaving Jessica and I to stand alone on the front porch. The horseman returned to his buggy, nodding as he sat upon his seat, and left us. Marie was standing in the shadows of the front room.

            “She’s awful, isn’t she Marie?” I said quietly.

            “Benjamin!” Jessica scolded. “Don’t talk about My Lady that way.” I rolled my eyes. It was her job to keep me in line, wasn’t it?

            “Yes, Sir. She’s quite mean.” I chuckled. Marie was still young.  Jessica sighed, and pushed me out of the way so she could close the front door.

            “Well, that’s enough of that.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Marie, go into the kitchen and prepare My Lady’s dinnerware. Benjamin, go upstairs and find a use for yourself.” She then walked towards the back of the house. Marie and I stood looking at each other. It was a different feeling, then, staring at her. I could see her blush the longer I stared.

            “I must be going to work, Sir.” She looked down, trying to hide her face.

            “Yes. You do that.”