It's like waking up from a dream. One where thoughts and images collide and are lost in that moment of waking. My mind is so clear; I think and know and see, and it is all as if it is happening for the very first time. I've been asleep, only half-awake for so long, I had forgotten what it was like, to know myself once again. To be whole. And yet ... I am not entirely whole, I don't think. I don't know. Shouldn't I be able to remember everything?
I remember ... my childhood, so happy, so full of love. My parents, with their laughing voices and loving eyes, the arms that enfolded me and lips that kissed me before I slept and when I woke. My sister, Octavia; older than me by three years, but always there for me, to play with me when I was tiny, to listen to my hopes and dreams and woes as I grew older. The thrill I felt whenever I played music, on any instrument. It was the only skill I had that I truly took joy in. I remember being with them one morning in particular. They were so excited; Octavia had an audition for the Royal Academy of Music, a chance to enrol there and further her musical knowledge, and she was certain that when my turn came around, I would be joining her there. I waved them off, and went about my own day; to school, talking with my friends, being called out of class by a somber-faced headmistress, and then ... that beautiful, haunting music that touched me in the Glen fills my mind, and the memories of my family end there.
I remember ... only little pieces of the next few years. Playing my instruments, honing my skills, determined to join the Royal Academy to make my parents proud of me, but I do not remember them being there. Jessie says they passed on, that Octavia went with them, but I do not remember it. Surely I should, surely I should remember the grief and pain that must have caused me. But when I linger on that thought, that beautiful, haunting music fills me once again, and I think of other, happier times. Something out there is protecting me from that pain, I am certain of it.
As the memories grow more recent, I remember less and less, and hear more and more of that winsome, sorrowful melody. I vaguely remember that I lived in my own home, alone it seems with only one shadowy figure to keep me company, for a few years after the happiness of my childhood ended. Then it all seems to fade out, overwhelmed by the simple beauty of a voice I do not know, and yet it is a voice I trust more than anything in the world. Do not remember these things, it seems to say. They will only bring you pain.
I remember ... oh, so little, and yet everything I do remember is touched with laughter and happiness. I remember meeting Jessie for the first time. We were somewhere dark, there were many beds laid out like a dormitory around us, filled with boys and girls of our own age. I remember a faint impression of being in pain, as though I had been hurt by some unknown person, but that is overwhelmed by a sense of relief, of simply joy at meeting this dark haired angel who seemed to understand me. He was my best friend in that instant of meeting, and as far as I know, I have never gone back on that. He is the brother I never had, and it all stems from that first smile he gave me in the darkness.
There are other, sketchy memories of the time we spent together in that dark place. Of hiding together, of laughing quietly at some infantile joke or other, of working together to comfort others who had just joined us, who were afraid. But I never feel that fear, or the pain Jessie tells me we both felt. I know he feels it still; when he talks about that time, the pain and terror and guilt radiates from him, and I can do nothing but reach out to comfort him. I cannot relate to those feelings. When I try, my constant guardian with the beautiful voice sings to me that haunting melody, and I lose myself in it all over again, kept safe from my dark times.
I remember ... flats, bedsits, old houses. So many of these, and yet none of them the home I cherish now. Jessie is here in these memories; from this point on, he is a constant presence in my recollections. He has always been there for me, looked after me. He tells me I was not well in the aftermath of our escape from the darkness, that I raved and lashed out, or retreated into the innocence of a childhood I never quite forgot. It went on for years, he says. I will always love him, my adopted brother, for not leaving me, for not abandoning me to the darkness he says overwhelmed me more than once. There are memories from this time, but they are of ordinary things, of meals and talking, of sleeping in safety. Of moving on to the next flat, the next bedsit, the next unused house.
I remember ... the joy and excitement in his eyes when he told me he had met someone, and even my own excitement, albeit wary, when he introduced me to that someone. Jacob. He is an angel sent from heaven to comfort my Jessie. They fit so well together, and Jessie grows more light-hearted each time they meet. I am glad he has found someone to love. With the years in darkness, and a life lived in terror of my descent into that darkness, he deserves happiness. And now I am well again, I will not stand in his way.
And the last thing I remember ... is waking up, my ears filled with that beauteous, haunting, cleansing melody, that voice that took away my pain and anguish, my descent into madness. She is still here, deep inside, the owner of that voice, protecting me from the horrors of my past, and I am grateful to her. I just wish I knew who she was, so I could thank her for everything she has done for me.
What would I tell her? I would tell her that I am happy, that I am safe and well, that I know my own mind, my own self, in a way I have not for so very long. That I have been released from the torture of memories past, that I am no longer a danger to those around me, the people I love. She is responsible for that, for the wonder and joy of that feeling.
I've woken up from a nightmare that seems to have lasted most of my life, and now, for the first time in years, I am safe. Thanks to her, the owner of that beautiful, haunting voice, I feel the most amazing ... freedom.
I remember ... my childhood, so happy, so full of love. My parents, with their laughing voices and loving eyes, the arms that enfolded me and lips that kissed me before I slept and when I woke. My sister, Octavia; older than me by three years, but always there for me, to play with me when I was tiny, to listen to my hopes and dreams and woes as I grew older. The thrill I felt whenever I played music, on any instrument. It was the only skill I had that I truly took joy in. I remember being with them one morning in particular. They were so excited; Octavia had an audition for the Royal Academy of Music, a chance to enrol there and further her musical knowledge, and she was certain that when my turn came around, I would be joining her there. I waved them off, and went about my own day; to school, talking with my friends, being called out of class by a somber-faced headmistress, and then ... that beautiful, haunting music that touched me in the Glen fills my mind, and the memories of my family end there.
I remember ... only little pieces of the next few years. Playing my instruments, honing my skills, determined to join the Royal Academy to make my parents proud of me, but I do not remember them being there. Jessie says they passed on, that Octavia went with them, but I do not remember it. Surely I should, surely I should remember the grief and pain that must have caused me. But when I linger on that thought, that beautiful, haunting music fills me once again, and I think of other, happier times. Something out there is protecting me from that pain, I am certain of it.
As the memories grow more recent, I remember less and less, and hear more and more of that winsome, sorrowful melody. I vaguely remember that I lived in my own home, alone it seems with only one shadowy figure to keep me company, for a few years after the happiness of my childhood ended. Then it all seems to fade out, overwhelmed by the simple beauty of a voice I do not know, and yet it is a voice I trust more than anything in the world. Do not remember these things, it seems to say. They will only bring you pain.
I remember ... oh, so little, and yet everything I do remember is touched with laughter and happiness. I remember meeting Jessie for the first time. We were somewhere dark, there were many beds laid out like a dormitory around us, filled with boys and girls of our own age. I remember a faint impression of being in pain, as though I had been hurt by some unknown person, but that is overwhelmed by a sense of relief, of simply joy at meeting this dark haired angel who seemed to understand me. He was my best friend in that instant of meeting, and as far as I know, I have never gone back on that. He is the brother I never had, and it all stems from that first smile he gave me in the darkness.
There are other, sketchy memories of the time we spent together in that dark place. Of hiding together, of laughing quietly at some infantile joke or other, of working together to comfort others who had just joined us, who were afraid. But I never feel that fear, or the pain Jessie tells me we both felt. I know he feels it still; when he talks about that time, the pain and terror and guilt radiates from him, and I can do nothing but reach out to comfort him. I cannot relate to those feelings. When I try, my constant guardian with the beautiful voice sings to me that haunting melody, and I lose myself in it all over again, kept safe from my dark times.
I remember ... flats, bedsits, old houses. So many of these, and yet none of them the home I cherish now. Jessie is here in these memories; from this point on, he is a constant presence in my recollections. He has always been there for me, looked after me. He tells me I was not well in the aftermath of our escape from the darkness, that I raved and lashed out, or retreated into the innocence of a childhood I never quite forgot. It went on for years, he says. I will always love him, my adopted brother, for not leaving me, for not abandoning me to the darkness he says overwhelmed me more than once. There are memories from this time, but they are of ordinary things, of meals and talking, of sleeping in safety. Of moving on to the next flat, the next bedsit, the next unused house.
I remember ... the joy and excitement in his eyes when he told me he had met someone, and even my own excitement, albeit wary, when he introduced me to that someone. Jacob. He is an angel sent from heaven to comfort my Jessie. They fit so well together, and Jessie grows more light-hearted each time they meet. I am glad he has found someone to love. With the years in darkness, and a life lived in terror of my descent into that darkness, he deserves happiness. And now I am well again, I will not stand in his way.
And the last thing I remember ... is waking up, my ears filled with that beauteous, haunting, cleansing melody, that voice that took away my pain and anguish, my descent into madness. She is still here, deep inside, the owner of that voice, protecting me from the horrors of my past, and I am grateful to her. I just wish I knew who she was, so I could thank her for everything she has done for me.
What would I tell her? I would tell her that I am happy, that I am safe and well, that I know my own mind, my own self, in a way I have not for so very long. That I have been released from the torture of memories past, that I am no longer a danger to those around me, the people I love. She is responsible for that, for the wonder and joy of that feeling.
I've woken up from a nightmare that seems to have lasted most of my life, and now, for the first time in years, I am safe. Thanks to her, the owner of that beautiful, haunting voice, I feel the most amazing ... freedom.