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(A RE-Edit of a previous story) Its Saturday afternoon and I'm having a moment away from my WIP... I'm creating and re-editing a previous story... This week the word count on my WIP is healthy but I've had to write a scene that's taken me almost a week, because I didn't want to kill anyone off... but, it was necessary to the story. Writer-Journal...
“I’m a real being, brought into this world by
mistake.
Let me share a few secrets from a journey
which smoldered, within two tortured souls… There was no once upon a time, no
fairy-tale to look forward to. In reality, I didn’t have a home. The truth is
that there was no belonging, no loyalty, no family support, just down and out
substance abuse, and poverty.
A
young couple, beaten by life, miserable, and seeking refuge, thought it would
be a good idea to travel to Ireland, looking for support with their new baby
girl. In a moment of madness, they use the last of their money to buy tickets
to return to his much-loved Emerald Isle.
Hidden
from sight, their tiny bundle is screwed up in a dirty blanket, and semi
protected from the cold wind from the Irish sea. They make their way on an
uncertain journey, towards their goal. Smoke billows above the young couple’s
head as they share one cigarette after another, and when they start sharing
alcohol too, their already confused minds decide that this is the perfect
thing, and the only thing they can do.
The
new father shoves his new-born infant further into his over sized, waterproof
coat; he doesn’t want to lose his cargo, not when he’s made the right decision
to protect his family. With a faraway look on his drunken face, mystically, he
hears the panpipes of Celtic music, and remembers home. Home is where they should be. His mother was a hard
soul, but she would accept them, she had to.
Though the journey is long and arduous,
it is nothing compared to the hysterical screams of abuse, which follow as he,
his new wife, and tiny baby, are chased from his childhood home.
Wind and rain thrash madly about them, and
equally matches the mood of his mother.
Breathing heavy, holding her hip, she
chases them.
“You are not bloody welcome; things are
hard enough here without another three mouths to feed” She screams.
In that heart-stopping moment, if you’d
have held your breath and listened, you would have heard the distinct sound of
fear in her voice. Tears, mixed with rain that day, exhausted and defeated, he
suddenly remembered why he’d left home.
By the time they arrive back in
England, the impact of the whole horrendous journey on their new-born baby, has
taken its toll, and in a flash of inspiration, the father takes his sick infant
to a convent. The nuns waste no time, the child is whisked away, and admitted
to the children’s hospital. Unfortunately, she’s diagnosed with a list of
difficulties, the most apparent one being, she is struggling to breathe... It
takes eight months for her to recover, and in-between that time the couple
still fail to find a home; they decide on another move... But first they have
to wait for the baby to be released from her magic bubble, the only home she’s
ever known. Shaking his box of matches through the glass, is the only way the young
father gets his little girl to smile.
The second home, is a single room in a
run-down Victorian house. Invasive damp, black mould, peeling wall-paper, cold, unsavory individuals, and their ever-increasing alcohol fueled violence. Then
her brother is born, which put’s further stress on the young couple. Minutes
turn into hours, and hours turn into days, all of which see a definite longing
in the little girl to return to her magic bubble, it had been safe, quiet, and
warm with smiley faces.
Her heart is sad... her brother cries a
lot and causes friction between the couple. The mother doesn’t cope and the
father is never there. The couple struggle, and always find something to fight
about. Another baby sister is born and dies. The damp, cold, smelly room is
depressing, and sad. This is their life, her life... so why didn’t they see
that all she wants is a warm, safe place, with a soft clean bed, and parents
who understand the basic requirements of how to love, provide, and
protect.
The story doesn’t finish there...
because despite her young years she is often found sitting in the soulless
Victorian room, which inevitably becomes someone else’s version of home. She
knows, as if from a magical sense of a long-held memory, that this isn’t so.
And then, God help them, another beautiful baby sister is born, and dies.
By the time she is seven years old, with many moves
to different addresses, and the powers that be, take an interest, there’s a
change, a big shift.
You would have expected the biggest damage to have
been done to this little girl, because what she saw wasn’t right, but it didn’t,
she grew and unbelievably developed, and somehow, she instinctually knew the
right way. She had visualised her own coping mechanisms to the madness, and chaos
around her, and she believes that’s what saved her, as well as the unknown
entity that was always present, especially in times of great stress.
Needles to say this couple didn’t hold on to their
children, like so many they were taken away. And the little girl, earned the label,
the little mother, the resilient one. Labels stay with you, and rightly or
wrongly influence the rest of your life. The one thing I’m happy about, is that
eventually I was saved. I experienced that warm bed, and having my basic needs
met. The one thing I will always miss, is the love of a mother. But let me say,
I have experienced being a good mother, having the love of a beautiful daughter,
and gorgeous grandchildren.
Whatever you’ve been through… Don’t let it make you
hard, bitter, and cynical. Thank God, when we grow up, we get to make our own
lives. So be you, and don’t allow another to influence who or what you are,
unless of course they are good people.
Have a great weekend!
Jane
