It Takes Time

Staring at the disarray around the room it’s hard to think that the girl standing in the middle of the mess actually belongs. She’s impeccably dressed in plain black clothes, with her long dark hair tied in a messy plait down her back. Stepping with soft cautious movements she glides over the piles of clothes, papers and boxes that cover the floor, on her way past she glances at the wallpaper slowly peeling off the walls and sighs softly and then makes her way carefully down the hallway into a kitchen that is piled high with unpacked boxes and unclean dishes, with another soft sigh the girl slowly makes her way to the door and as she goes out slams it behind her, hearing a distant angry shout she smiles slyly and walks down the stairs carefully avoiding holding onto the handrail.

Pausing at the bottom of the stairs she stoops to stroke the snow cat sitting watching her, the cats purrs and then twists around and runs paws padding gently on the tiles. The girl stands and using brushes her clothes down using soft but precise movements, she pauses when she hears hastened footsteps reverberating down the stairs. She closes her eyes and listens to the menacing footsteps growing in volume, placing a hand on the door she pushes it open slowly and slips out and laughs quietly to herself as she hears the loud shout from behind closed doors, “Your rent is late again!”

Drifting down the streets seemingly without a cause the girl wanders into a lively shopping precinct, listening to the sounds of the busy city she hears children squealing happily, the busy chatter of mothers hurrying through the crowds to grab their laughing children yelling in delight at the attention. Wiping her eyes she quickens her pace, the memories suddenly pressing against her eyes. She wouldn’t think about that now, exhaling heavily she comes to a stop outside a insignificant sombre café, empty inside and seemingly devoid of all sentient life. The place she had to come to call her home.

She pushed open the door and heard the faint sound of the bell in the backroom going to the counter and reaching behind it, she found her apron and donned it. Walking carefully she pushed open the back door and slowly walked through to see a old man bent over a desk muttering to himself in exasperation.

“John?” The girl whispered, her voice sounding harsh and unused. “I’m here.”

The old man whirled around and his almost blind, milky white eyes skimmed across her face. “Maria.” He said, “why are you here?”

“To work like I work every Wednesday, don’t be silly John.” tension had crept into her voice.

“I told you yesterday-“

“You didn’t say anything John.” The girl –Maria- cut him off rather nastily. “You must be getting forgetful.” She snapped and walked back into he front of the shop, the echoes of her footfalls heavy, her anger clear. She bent down under the counter and picked up a dirty dish cloth, wiping her hands repeatedly as if cleaning unseen dirt off them.

“Maria.”

“I’m busy John; these cups won’t clean their selves.” She snarled her anger still very evident.

“I know it hasn’t been very easy for you since they died. It takes time to get over these things, you haven’t given yourself that Maria, I know you haven’t.”

Maria said nothing but carefully started to clean her hands again. Her eyes focusing on anywhere but this old fragile man, he was still alive, why weren’t they?

“Maybe you should take today off.” John sighed almost angrily. “Come back tomorrow or something.”

“I only just got here.” Quite suddenly she seemed to be in tears, “don’t send me away John…I don’t want to go back there.”

“Maria go home. Get yourself together and come back when you have.”

“John.” She regarded him solemnly for a minute and then slowly took her apron off and placed it on the side. “Please don’t do this John.” Maria whispered softly.

“Get some help Maria.”

Walking slowly Maria left the building trying hard to suppress the memories; the images bombarding her; the pain.

It was all her fault…

Blindly walking Maria crossed a road. Tires screeched. Brakes Squealed. People screamed. Maria turned to watch the car come towards her, just like it had done that night…

Next thing she knew she was gazing at the blue sky, watching birds fly past. “Girl are you crazy?” A man yelled, panting heavily. “You just stopped in the middle of the road!” Maria watched him, he must have pushed her out of the way... why would he do that?

Maria pushed herself up, her hands were grazed but it wasn’t very serious, just a slight stinging. She started running, ignoring the people, ignoring the yelling, ignoring everything but the memory…

The crash…the screams…the pain. “They’re not going to make it! The woman’s crushed!” “The kids okay, she should think herself lucky!”

Lucky? Lucky? How could they say she was lucky, she lost them...

Without noticing Maria had dropped to her hands and her knees, her hands were burning now, red… red as her mothers hair that night…she let out a muffled sob.

People walked by ignoring the girl on the ground, her shoulders shaking. She was just another person in pain, she wasn’t their business. It wasn’t their place to care.

Maria watched the slow flow of blood trickle from the scrapes on her hands as she relived that night… the scream of shock and horror, her father whispering “I love you Maria…” Just before she lost him. It was her fault.

She killed them, killed her own parents. If only she hadn’t insisted they drive her too her friends house…it had been raining, Gail force winds, yet she still made them take her, it had only been a few months, weeks maybe since she lost them, maybe John was right, maybe she needed more time...but it wouldn’t change anything. The guilt would still be there.

It was her fault.

Maria started when she felt a soft arm wrap around her shaking shoulders. “Come on honey.” A kindly voice whispered, “Let’s get you inside.”