Writers' Express at Simmons: Summer 2005
"Do. Re. Mi. Fa. So. La. Ti. Do." The voice trills through the scale, shy and soft but clear. C. D. C. B. G. E. A. Middle range C: first finger, thumb and pinky. No. No thumb. Low range D: all fingers but pinky. C again, now middle range B...
Briiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng!
The bell jolts the teenager to reality. She shoots up, knocking her books off the desk as a whirlwind of English papers shields her from the smirks of jeering classmates.
"Miss Lane, oh Miss Lane," one taunts, sneering, "can the music world spare you for just a moment?"
Keeping her head down and ignoring the laughter that surrounds her, she shuffles around gathering the fallen sheets.
"Here, let me help," their leader cajoles, kicking her music folder across the floor. "Oops, I guess I'm just a little clumsy today." Sheets scatter as he fakes compassion. "I guess that was too slippery." Wham! Her flute case clatters on the hard floor of the classroom. "Oh well," he mocks, leading the gang off, shoving the pitiful figure as he passes her, still hunched over the strewn files. "Next time I'll help more!"
Placid, the girl slowly stands, trudging over to her backpack. Foraging through the pack of folders at its back she carefully selects the one marked "English" and lifts it from its brethren. Gently, she replaces the essays and pieces of poetry, now wrinkled from their tumble. Holding it in her hands, her thoughts drift and the world around her slowly fades into sunny days of carefree laughter. The sweet caress of her mother at bedtime. Drifts of music wafting with the mouthwatering aroma of fresh-baked cookies. But that was all before, before her parents' death, before the sudden move.
Before now.
Before this.
Seven years ago today - why have I not yet let it go?
_________________________
"Where am I?"
"The world of dreams of course, my dear." She smiles, wrinkles wrapping around her kind expression.
"And this?"
"All just part of your dream." Her knitting needles clack together in a continuous beat, as the fabric takes shape and form.
"And your weaving?"
Click. Clack.
"Why am I seeing this?"
Click. Clack.
"Who is that girl?"
Click. Clack.
"Who are you?"
Click.
_________________________
A shadowy figure breaks from the back of the room, as the girl turns to leave. Tapping her on the shoulder, he hands her the flute case, covered with dust.
A startled light beams from her eyes, like that of a wild deer, caught in headlights, trying to decide whether or not there is danger.
"I believe this is yours."
Timidly, her fingers reach out, hesitant as they inch forward to grasp the handle, her glance to the marble pattern on the floor.
"You shouldn't let them do that to you."
Their eyes meet, his a calm sky blue, cool and collected; hers the hue of emerald, frightened and confused; and hold as though frozen in time.
Then, so soft it seemed but a trick of the wind, comes the two words, "Thank you."
The retreating figure then turned.
And fled.
_________________________
"It really is unfair to force you, but it's necessary of course." Wispy white hair drifts about, as though also half-suspended in dreams.
"What is?"
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
"Why won't you tell me?"
The smile hints of laughter within. "Have you not yet guessed, my dear? Come, I thought you loved puzzles!"
"I know that the girl is me, and you... you..." An image appears, faded and fuzzy, of two figures, one lying sickly pale on the bed. "Grandmother?"
"Good, you do remember, if only just slightly. You're doing better then I had anticipated. Soon you'll be ready!"
"Ready for what?"
"Why, for your return! A few months after I passed away, you fainted due to hunger and exhaustion! My dear, you don't seem to realize that you are in a fatal coma! This can only end one way or another. You have the will to live. You cannot just let everything go and choose death!"
"I - what?" I'm in a coma. Okay. Due to - wait. Something seems wrong with her explanation. But it couldn't be a lie, could it? Grandma wouldn't try to deceive me, would she? A image keeps flashing, foggy but still there, proclaiming its worth. Something about darkness, a shining spotlight, faces, singing, teasing voices, cruel laughter. And water, something important about water...
"And after you promised me to live!" The steel blue eyes rebuked her over the fragile spectales, perched on the beaklike nose.
Promise? What promise? Wasn't there only -
"Did you forget what I told you?"
" 'Death have no control over those who liveth in joy.' But you were wrong, grandma. There is no joy in life. At least... not in my life. Not since the incident."
"Come, come my dear. It is harsh at times, but there is always joy. Would you like me to show you?"
"I -"
_________________________
"And now, our own Miss Hope C. Lane will be preforming a song she composed herself, both the lyrics and melody, in rememberance of her grandmother's passing."
She stands on a stage, the spotlight singling her out from the multitude of students gossiping and joking in chairs behind her.
Tremors tiptoe across her body, and her pulce races against the blinding light.
"Wow!" a rude voice mutters sarcastically, adding unneeded emphasis on the statement. "Big deal! So the old crone died yesterday - what next?" A smattering of laughter peals across the auditorium.
Almost paralyzed by the throng of eyes gazing at her, the girl lowers her eyes, and her voice sails above the chattering crowd, which settles as the refrain comes. The notes fill the empty air with song, as sweet and crystal clear as it had been when she practiced it in her head so long ago, running through the notes on her mental flute, whispering the words to her heart.
"In golden summers long ago, dreams and wishes undimmed by woe
In days of laughter, joy, and cheer, when happiness still was near
A dream forever and a day, yet only never in its way
A memory near, and yet so far, distant as a shooting star..."
_________________________
"Well, it's almost morning dear, you should be getting ready to go back." Her tone betrays tension. Her smile seems forced. The knitting quickens. Clickety. Clack.
"Wait, there's more."
"No there isn't, and I'm sure you must be tired." The lie is unmistakable now, broad and plain. Clickety. Clack.
"What are you trying to hide?"
Clickety. Clack. Clickety. Clack.
_________________________
The sabotage of classmates slowly begins. Voices join the refrain, twisting the melody and peppering it with snorts of laughter. "For my farewell has come again!"
"In-instead..." Her voice falters and ends mute, nothing but silence emerging from her throat.
"This is bogus," a cruel voice mutters darkly.
"In..." The darkness looms around, unknown faces scrutinizing her, watching her courage fail. Floundering in the sea of eyes, her own are found by a pair of sky blue ones, and her voice manages to carry on.
"Instead of sunshine, stormy clouds, foggy mist of eternal shrouds..."
A few nervous giggles hit the audience as a machine spews fog onto the stage. The preplanned ambush has gone smoothly underway.
"Instead of snowflakes, blizzard's wrath, always the narrow, winding path..."
Loud cackles fill the auditorium as a pile of white 'flakes' slam into the singer from above, where a student waves merrily.
Tears streaming down her cheeks in shame, embarrassment and of memories, she wavors, then continues, meeting only one gaze.
"It's nothing different, nor the same, an endless mystery, riddle game
It's inky darkness lacking light, black of moonless, starless night."
Shrieks storm the atmosphere as all the other lights shut down, leaving only the spotlight on the singer, gazing into the eyes of the only one left who cared. Deep inside, she had always known that he would try to stop her, but it was too light. She had decided on what she had to do, and she would do it.
"I can't forget, nor can I forgive, without death, I cannot live
I can't let go, nor hold on."
Looking straight at him, she sand her last line, watching as realization washes over the figure.
"My goodbye, within this song."
The cascade of tears began afresh. "Fare - farewell..." A break in the tone emerges, and the melody fades with the falter. The sob catches in her throat and the curtain falls, hiding her actions. She races, sprinting lightly, heading for the lake.
_________________________
"I think we've both had quite enough of that!"
But the scene continues, in first person now, watching as the dark, deep waters of the lake approach. Hands lifting the white gown as a door slammed.
"Hope, no! Don't!"
It was so close, so close. Glittering with the reflection of moonlight.
"Please, listen to me!" He wasn't far behind, footsteps pounding on the lane.
The small waves.
The leap.
The welcome embrace of death.
"No!"
"You shouldn't have seen that."
"Why not? I know what happened! I know what you did!"
She looks away.
"You lied to me! I didn't fall into the coma because of hunger and exhaustion! I tried to drown, didn't I? Because I was tired of life. And it's true! I don't want to live anymore!"
"You shouldn't have. Life isn't as terrible as it seems."
"TO YOU! NOT TO ME! I'VE HAD ENOUGH! I'VE - I've..."
"You have to go back."
"What! No! I'll never -"
"He's waiting for you."
"- go back. Wait. Who -"
"You know who." Suddenly the years seem to have at last reached her, and a weariness blanketed her features. "He hasn't left your side since he rescued you from the water. You have to go back." A small gesture caused the light to close in and her grandmother's figure melted into the fray.
"No! Grandma! Don't leave me!"
Go back, go back... Light... Back... Life... Live...
"Hope!"