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individulsong

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Carefully sitting on the shrine of time, one will notice that there is always nothing going on, and that there are no ordinary moments. In life, you can see the earth change before you if your eyes let go of the illusion in front of them. It takes patience to learn this skill. I cannot say I am the master of it, but I have the knowledge of how it should be.

Looking beyond myself, I could see, in those years, only one constant that I began to enjoy. Yes, it was Marie, my Marie. The day mother came home, Marie and I had finally noticed each other in a new light. I could tell by the way she would blush each time she averted my glance. I was so caught up in it, but, in this situation, wouldn’t you be too if you were me?

Mother took it upon herself to inspect every inch of the house before retiring to her room.

            “Cook, the kitchen is adequate, but if I’m ever to bring guests over, I can’t have them be served on such plain ware. Order gold dinnerware. I don’t want to see these plates again.” I was still standing in the front room after Marie had left me, listening to the conversation mother was having in the kitchen. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

            “But, My Lady, these plates were my mother’s.” I could tell from the tone of Cook’s voice how frightened she was to speak up.

            “Well, isn’t that lovely?” Mother said sarcastically. “Why don’t you wrap them up and put them in a box and get me my gold dinnerware. Is that too much for you to do? Do I need to hire another cook?” Poor Cook hurriedly went to the cabinets and started to take out all the plates and dishes, her back to mother.

            “N..n..no, My Lady. As you wish.”

            “Good. That’s better.” She went out of the kitchen, and I hid behind the front room wall where the tapestries hung, watching as she held her dress up and glided up the stairs. I cautiously stepped into the kitchen. There was cook, bent over dishes, cups, plates, forks, knives, spoons, looking at them, tears splashing as she tried hard to stop the onslaught.

            “Cook?” I whispered quietly in the doorway. She didn’t look up.

            “What is it? Are you here to mock me now?” I slowly walked to her side.

            “I would never mock you.” I put my arms around her, resting my head on hers. “I’m sorry, Cook. I truly am.” The tears sputtered from her, and her quiet cries became sobs as she turned to me and buried her head in my chest. I was about 3 inches taller than she was, her headed fitting perfectly on my chest, as she cried into me, grabbing onto me for dear life. I could feel her anguish as she let her uncontrollable sputters roll out of her. Was this fair? Was this the life I wanted to lead? Why did it have to be this way? I patted her back. Cook had always been like a guardian to me, just as Jessica had been. Didn’t they deserve love and care, like I did? Why did mother have to treat them with such disrespect?

I have learned that though we say, as a people we are all created equal, we are not. Whether it is race, religion, or opinion, there will always be the thought of a higher stigma. As I held Cook in my arms, I understood the meaning of this. Without compassion, how can anyone be equal? There will be jealousy, deceit, hate, etc… Cook’s pain washed over me, and I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I never heard small footsteps by the back doorway. There, as I held Cook, telling her not to worry, telling her she was my family and that I loved her, stood Marie, tears welling in her soft eyes.

            “Shh,” I cooed. “You’re alright. We all love you. Mother doesn’t get to decide to let you go because we are your family. We will always love you.” Marie dropped her basket of rolls, from the bakery down the road, and ran out of the room. I was so stunned, and Cook, shocked from her emotional beating watched the bread tumble from the basket onto the cold tile.

            “That’s the symbol of life, boy.” She said, starring sparingly as each bread roll came to a halt.

            “What?”

            “The symbol of life. When you aren’t needed anymore, you are cast out into the cold to fall down on your knees, unknowing until you die.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until she looked at me.

            “That is not true! You know that is NOT true!”

            “Have you ever wondered why people are the way they are, feel what they feel, do what they do? It’s simple, boy. We all try to be in the loop, to make it. We all try to be in the same circle, but not all of us fit. It’s not fair to keep pretending, only to be cast aside each and every time.” I was staring at her in disbelief. What was she saying?

            “Cook, you know what you mean to us.”

            “Yes, I know. I’ve known for years. But I am not going to sit and pretend anymore.” She pushed me aside and wiped her eyes with a napkin, placing it on the shinning countertop. “It’s time I did something with my life, without taking orders from someone else.” I could feel self-pity curl in my stomach.

            “You can’t mean that! We need you; Jessica, Marie, myself. You’re are family!” She busied herself pulling out boxes from a small closet just outside of the kitchen.

            “If that woman has her way, you’ll have no family, so I can’t really say that who you love and care about will be in your life for long. Why put you through that kind of pain? She’ll have her way with you eventually, I’m sure, so I might as well bow at now. Thank you but no thank you, boy. I’m no family of yours.” No more tears, no more sputtering. Just conviction. I wanted to hold onto her.

Cook may not have known it, but as far back as I could remember, she had always been someone I admired. She WAS apart of my family. Wasn’t she? Didn’t I get to decide whom I loved? I put my hand on her shoulder, but frightened for no reason, drew it away. She looked up at me. “Go now. You shouldn’t be in here.” She smiled, a warm, loving smile. I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. “Go.” She turned away from me and continued to put her mother’s plates in boxes, those white porcelain plates with the flowers on them; the plates from my childhood. I felt a sudden pang of remorse. Why hadn’t I made Cook a closer part of my life? I stood in the kitchen, remembering so many good times, staring at those plates as they disappeared from sight as Cook placed each one carefully on top of one another, wrapped up in cellophane.

As I stood there, I could here hysterical shrieks coming up the back garden path, and Jessica’s stern voice to try and calm the free falling cries.

            “It’s up to you, boy. Either stay, or leave now.” As you can imagine, I ran from the kitchen and tried to race up the stairs to my room. As a young man, it is impolite to cry in front of company. A male figure has to be the strongest, for, in society, he is the provider and must provide for his wife and children. Crying is a sign of weakness, given to the woman as a trademark. I am certain this is unfair, and thankfully it is not as followed now, but just as I was about to collapse into my room, I heard the unfamiliar, but hurtfully charming voice.

            “What brings you up the stairs in such a hurry?” My mother’s door was open as she was picking up her small bags that had been placed in front of it, ready for her to take them up whenever it pleased her. I turned to face her, holding back my screams. I remember thinking to myself, This is your fault! My family wouldn’t be ruined if you’d just stay away! We are all happy without you, you awful woman! Can you blame me? I sucked in hard through my nose so as not to gasp through my mouth. “Hmmm? Answer me, boy!” I stood stiff, holding back everything I wanted to say. If anything I had learned, it was that if you have strong feelings about something, to keep it locked inside, never to let it out, and to say what was expected of you. In this area, I excelled, but only to my own disappointment.

            “I’m sorry, mother. Jessica told me to come upstairs and study my reading, and I was just being foolish.” Exactly what she thought of me, a foolish boy.

            “Just as I thought. Well, go then. Study your reading. Perhaps I’ll have you read to me later.”

            “Yes, mother.” She shut her door. I was standing alone in the upstairs hallway. I faced my door, opened it, looked at the white washed walls, the clean white sheets, the bronze wood furniture, and the double door closet. I walked in, leaving the door open, and collapsed on my bed. It smelt of fresh spring flowers. It was Jessica’s favorite scent. I let it wash over me. The tears came as my eyes closed, squeezing over the eyelids and down my saddened face. Why?

Exhausted, I let myself dream of far off distances that seemed so much a mystery. Why was I kept away from my mother’s life? Why was she so cold and cruel? It pained me to know that she was my mother. I had always imagined her as something more pristine and welcoming, but alas, each visit my hopes of a changed woman were crushed.

In sleep we often find ourselves confronting our deepest fears. I have always longed for a close-knit family, as anyone of my caliber could imagine. I never fully understood that Cook and Jessica were closer to me than my own mother. Mother would send me postcards, gifts, small letters. I thought the world of these. Jessica was always so overjoyed to give them to me, watching my face light up in anticipation. I kept them all in a memory box that I kept in the back of my closet. It wasn’t until I grew older that I realized mother was using these things as bribes to keep my mind off of what really mattered most to me. Why wasn’t she with me?

I tossed and turned, feeling heaviness sit upon my shoulders. In a darkened doorway, I could hear a distant voice calling.

            “Benjamin. Benjamin, I’m right here.” Such a lovely voice.

            “I can’t see you! Where are you?”

            “Right in front of you! Come to me!”

            “I can’t see you!”

            “Come to mother!”

            “Mother, where are you?”

            “Benjamin. Benjamin!” The voice faded, and I was left alone, in a jungle of voices, each one calling out to me. I was so lost and confused. Who was I going to trust in a sea of distrusting individuals?

My head was hot and clammy. With my eyes open, I saw the hallway and a figure standing above the stairs.

            “Benjamin!” It cooed. I couldn’t tell whether or not I was awake or asleep. I felt as if I had been lifted from my dreams, but thrust into something darker, more terrible than I could possibly ever imagine.

            “Benjamin!” I wanted to see who it was, but I was so frightened of the realm of sleep that I was in. I could call out. I couldn’t make any noise. The figure stepped towards me. “Benjamin…” A voice I knew. “Benjamin…” Marie.