Topic: "They Grope in the Dark Without Light'

Erinalle Dunbridge

Date: 2007-02-15 16:41 EST
"Everyone and I...stopped breathing." Frank O'Hara

There are few moments that in their existence change a life. So many little moments can add up... make a change. The touch of a hand, the press of lips, the simple words said from one friend to another. Throwing paint, giggling afternoons... So many little things. The building blocks of a person. The little pieces that make them who they are, make their days what they are....

Erin had read a poem once. A simple thing about the death of Billie Holiday. How life went on as if nothing had happened, when something had. When everything was different. The normal humdrum of life dragging. The unsuspecting character. The dramatic irony. The reader knowing the whole time that Billie was dead. The reader shaking his or her head as the poor, stupid man bought magazines and alcohol. Didn't he know?! It was all different...

And that's what her life was like that morning. Everything was different. Her world was already shattered, the glass dropped on the pavement, but she didn't know quite yet. Not as she kissed her husband goodbye as the sun was rising. Not as she took her shower, almost falling asleep leaning against the tiled wall. Not as she put on her tights and dress and bundled from the cold. Or when she met Lydia at her door. Not as she walked down the small street that led to the main way, or even when she turned onto it, chatting happily about something or other with her sister.

Someone watching. Someone who knew would be yelling by this point. Wanting to shake the girl. Tell her to stop smiling, stop griping about the cold, the redness of her cheeks. Stop being a baby. But... no one could tell her. No one knew.

Eyes grazed the posters as they passed them. Stopping on one. More murders? Erin tended to skim these, at least. See if it were near her house, if it were anyone from the community she knew, just check... and as she skimmed this one--the world changed.

As if she were enacting the poem, she wasn't standing on the street anymore. She was in the bar, laughing, or having an intense conversation. She was in the store getting covered in paint. She was just getting to Rhydin and taking up the offer of a good friend, she was.... God. Perhaps Lydia was talking to her? Perhaps she was worried... it wasn't common to just stop in the middle of the street. To become stone. But that's what happened.

She didn't hear the other girl's reaction. She didn't see it, either. She was just reading the words. Over and over and over... something wasn't right. It was a mistake. Again. Couldn't be real... Again. What was missing? Again Something was missing... Again. It wasn't her. Again. Couldn't be her... Again. She had just seen her!

The knees bent inward without Erin knowing. Her arms went out to brace herself as she hit the ground, and she still wasn't quite aware. The tears came, her brain processing, understanding before she herself could really get a grasp of the situation. Sobbing. Curling into a little ball, on her knees on the cobblestones.

If Lydia were talking to her. She didn't hear. If she were touching her, helping her up, anything... Erin wasn't aware. She was in a battle with herself. Pulling the little pieces back into their fragile formation. Piece by piece. The jigsaw of her brain. She would not fall apart. Could not. Not right now.

Get up, Erin. A deep breath in, the choking sobs pushed back. Get up and stop crying. She stuttered in her noises, pushing herself so that she was crouching. Stop being like this. You need to be okay. A long slow breath and she was on her feet. You're okay. You're fine.

?Stop doing this and be okay!" That one escaping her lips. She stood up full, and brushed off her dress. Regaining her brain, for the moment at least. She was going to be okay... At least for now. The darkness beaten.

"You're still standing."

Erinalle Dunbridge

Date: 2007-02-15 16:45 EST
?My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul? William Shakespeare

Grief was no stranger to Erinalle Dunbridge. Erin deVernon, however, hadn't allowed it to exist. She changed her name. Changed the way she dressed. The way she acted. The -planet- she lived on. All to get away from grief.

But here it was again.

Storm. A best friend. A good friend. Someone to count on. To believe in. Dead? Erin didn't believe it. It wasn't that she thought the posters were lying. It wasn't that it was beyond the realm of possibility... it was that she couldn't allow herself to think it true.

Couldn't be true.

The door to the house creaked open again and Erin slid in without making any noise. She didn't want Ivy to hear her. She didn't want to talk to anyone. Couldn't do it. Quiet steps, almost tiptoes, took her into the drawing room. Tea. She needed tea. And hands went for the teapot without thinking. The flames. The colors.... Just as Erin lifted it to fill a simple cup...

Storm made this.

Her hand faltered. Fingers unraveling from the handle, letting is slip from her grip. It hit the teacup and both cracked. Tea, seeping from the cracks in the vessels, oozed over the edge of the drink cart. Drip. drip. drip. And Erin just stared. Didn't even move to keep it from getting messy. Couldn't move.

She was crying again. Tears falling down her cheek as the tea dripping onto her shoes. All the leaking, the dripping... Seeping, not pouring. Leaking.

Ivy heard the noise and bushed into the room. Stopping short in the doorway, she just held her hands in front of her. The woman could read her friend like a book. This wasn't good....

?Erin.... Her voice was soft. It filled the room, rolling over the noise of dripping. Rolling over the soft sobs that started to come from Erin. ?What's wrong, hun?? Ivy sounded like a mother. A soft, welcoming voice. Starting to cross the room.

?I broke the pot... I broke it. She made it and she's gone and I broke it. I'm so stupid. I can't believe that... I broke it. I broke it.? Erin's voice was shaky, soft, bordering on frantic. Her hands finally went out to try and hold the pot together. Boiling water and shards of glass doing quite a number on her hands. ?And such a mess.. I've made a mess.. the carpet.. and the teapot... and... she made it...?

Quick steps brought Ivy to Erin in seconds. She took her hands softly, removing them from the mess of glass and tea. Ivy had strong hands. Hands of a woman that worked and toiled. And she placed them over Erin's shoulders, turning her from the mess. ?It's okay. I'll fix it... what happened?? Her eyes were large and soft, though stern. She was worried. Very worried. Only Ivy had seen Erin a place like this. On the verge like this. ?You have to tell me...? Ivy was guiding Erin to a couch without her consent. Her hands took Erin's again, turning them over slowly to examine the damage.

?She's gone... she can't be gone... but the posters said she's... would I know? Wouldn't I know that she was? How didn't I know... she can't be..? Erin was rambling, little breathy statements, almost whispers, the tears slowing, her head shaking. She hadn't even looked down at her hands. Unaware that they were hurt at all.

?Who, Erin? Who?? Ivy left Erin for a moment to go to the first aid kit. She returned with a towel and gauze. Ivy knelt in front of Erin, wiping away blood as she spoke.

?Storm. The posters... god, they're everywhere... the posters say she's dead. The posters...? Erin shook her head, flinching a little as Ivy worked on her hands. They were clean quickly and Ivy started wrapping gauze around the cuts.

?Okay, honey.. okay...? One hand was wrapped, white layers causing the hand to look more like an albino lobster claw than a hand. The other one started on. ?Storm.? It took Ivy a moment to remember who that was. Grey. She was the one that wore grey... She remembered her from the day before, Ivy getting back just as the party was ending.

The other hand was wrapped and Ivy helped Erin to her feet. ?Come on, let's get you in bed,? She said softly, leading Erin toward the stairs. The elfish girl went with her taller keeper. Muttering to herself, shuffling her feet against the floor. She was still bundled for the cold: scarf, hat, jacket. The layers causing her to sweat, just a little bit. Beads forming on her forehead, running down the side of her face and over her chin. They would be hard to notice through the blotchy tearstained mess that was her face, but Ivy was attentive. Ivy saw. Running a finger over the side of her face, Ivy smiled down at Erin. ?It?s going to be okay, hun. It?s going to be okay.?

Erinalle Dunbridge

Date: 2007-02-15 16:48 EST
Who among all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this?

Once Erin was in bed, she wasn?t sure what to do. Still in the dress she put on that morning, tights gone, hat gone, gloves gone, she curled into a ball, pulling Sebastian?s pillow to her chest. She wanted to cry. But there were no more tears. She wanted to be held. But there was no one to hold her.

It was back.

She fought it off once before? the impending darkness, the hopelessness, the anger. Utter anger. But here it was. Boiling, burning, consuming. She sat up, groping on her bedside table, taking hold of her rosary. Eyes narrowed at it. Erin was livid.

?You know, I don?t understand, God.? His name said with resentment. ?I just don?t. I pray. I give. I?m good to my friends. I treat everyone as if they were you. I read my Bible. I do what I was told to do. I do what you asked me to do? and here we are again. It?s bullshit.? The rosary was tossed across the room at the vanity mirror. ?Bullshit!?

?First baby died, and what did you do? Nothing. My mother told me it wasn?t a problem. My mother told me you had your ways. Just pray, Erin, she said. Be patient, Erin. And I was. Then you gave me another baby. A girl. And you let her grow? ? Erin was up and pacing, back and forth around the room. Stalking and ranting. As if in a fight with a lover.

?And she did! She was, what? five months old? Six? She had fingers. And toes. And? she had hair. Then you took her from me. You stole her! ? She was staring at the mirror now, hands balled in fists at her side. ?And again, my mother? God has a reason. God knows. He doesn?t give you what you can?t handle. Fuck that. I couldn?t handle it. I can?t handle it?.? Her jewelry box was lifted and tossed at the mirror. A gratifying shatter of glass. Shards falling.

?Pray they told me. Pray and he?ll listen. Pray and he?ll make you strong. But I wasn?t strong. I fell apart. My marriage fell apart. My life fell apart. But I kept praying? why did I? Because then? you brought me here. And okay, I thought, okay, the praying paid off. I can get away?. I can be myself here. You helped. But you didn?t. You weren?t done torturing me yet. You?re never done torturing me, are you?? She stared at the cracked mirror, a million broken pieces of herself staring back.

?Because then I was raped. And you didn?t care, did you? I prayed and I prayed. I called out your name.. and I got down on my already bloody knees. And did you save me? Of course not? you didn?t save me. No one can save me. No one can save anyone?.? A long sigh, eyes focused on the pieces of herself.

?Fuck you, God. Fuck you.? Her voice was soft now. Resigned. She shook her head, running a hand through her hair slowly. ?Fuck you and your tests. I?m not playing anymore. I?m not asking you for help anymore. Do you hear me?? Her voice raised to a yell. ?Do you hear what I?m telling you? You can?t have me as your plaything anymore! I won?t be your plaything anymore. I won?t pray.?

Erin bent down to pick up the fallen rosary beads, holding them in her hand. Then she tugged on them, breaking the string, causing the beads to tumble to the floor. Once that was done she turned, grabbing the cross that hung on the wall by her bed. And that was hurled at the mirror. Breaking it completely, pieces falling to the floor with a tinkling of glass. Another turn and she picked her Bible off the bedside table. She stared down at it, eyes narrowing as she looked. And contemplated.

Had Erin taken a moment to think about the stories in the Bible, she would remember Job. His pain. His suffering. And the message of the book. That god couldn?t micromanage. That god couldn?t know. That no matter what, people were pawns of the universe that was moving and meshing and turning around?

But she didn?t. She just turned to the window, pulling it open and tossed the Bible out into the snow. She pulled the window down again with such force as to crack the glass. A turn to survey her mess and her legs gave way again. Tears returning. She crumpled against the wall, bending over her knees. ?I?m on my own? we?re all on our own.? And the sobs started again.

Erinalle Dunbridge

Date: 2007-02-15 17:38 EST
?Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast, and is forced to multiply its strength.? Ovid

Ivy heard the commotion upstairs and realized she had made a terrible mistake. It stopped, just as she reached the top of the stairs. Her hand paused on the door only a moment before she pushed it open, peering in. For a second Ivy thought Erin had jumped through the window. The cracked glass, the broken mirror pieces, the mess that had been her room....

But the soft sobbing was coming from inside the room.

Her eyes dragged slowly over the scene until they found the girl, slumped against the back wall. Erin's head was between her knees, shoulders heaving with her sobs. The bandaged hands clutching at her knees. Ivy walked through the glass covered floor carefully. Reaching Erin in a minute or so. She took her by the arms and tried to lift her, not ready for what would happen next.

Erin flailed, throwing herself back against the wall again. Eyes wide as she looked up at Ivy as if the woman had tried to attack her. No words. There were no more words to come from her, they'd all been poured forth to God. It was only to God in which she'd speak. Another dip in and Erin gave up. Let Ivy lift her off the floor. She was limp, frail, almost a child.

The straw had finally broke the camels back.

Once she tucked Erin away, putting some Mozart on the record player, Ivy set to cleaning up the room. The cross was rehung, the rosary beads cleaned and tucked away. Ivy taped up the broken window and did away with the broken mirror... by the time Sebastian got home there would be very little evidence of the outburst. It would be better for him not to know the full extent...

Ivy's eyes rested on where the Bible had been. One sweep of the room, then another... No sign of it. A long sigh. Sebastian would notice that... but, there was nothing she could do, really. Just keep things as together as she could. Keep Erin as together as she could.

Flipping the record with slender fingers, Ivy climbed into the bed next to the fragile girl. Erin had fallen asleep. She looked like a child with hurt hands and a blotchy face. It made Ivy tear up. It made her cry, just a little.... this was going to be hard, she sensed. This was not passing.