Dominoes

Write about a memory, she said. About a decision you had to make. About something that happened to you. You can make it personal, she said. I won’t mention it to anyone else. It will be confidential.

I sat at my desk. Everyone around me scribbling away. Violet, she said. Why aren’t you writing anything. I turned to her. Come on, this is exam practise, she said. I looked down at the paper in front of me. Blank. Like the expression on my mother’s face when she was found in the bath of blood. Blank.

Memories. I turned to her and smiled. If only you knew. Come on Violet! She said. She turned back to the computer. I turned back to the window. If only you knew.

Well, what to write about? I could write about the time I found my mother dead in the bath. Having killed herself. I could write about the times my father beat us; about when he was locked away after raping and killing my only sister. A decision I had to make? Well what about that time where I almost killed myself but decided not to give my father the satisfaction. Or when I had to decide whether to run away or stay at home and put up with even more beatings.

Ok Violet, she said. Write about something that is happening to you now. Like a diary entry, she said. Write about your emotions. How you feel.

Now that was something I could handle. I looked down at the paper in front of me. I wrote one word. Underlined it. Twice.

Love.

This was what got to me the most. How could a word so small do so much damage? Cause so much heartache and grief. Love. Something I had never experienced until now. I spilled my heart out onto that piece of paper. Why was it that this was a topic that got to me the most? I had seen so much more. Yet it all came back to that one word. A tiny, simple, four-lettered word. Love. Why was it that the one person I loved I couldn’t have? He was perfect. Yet it wasn’t going to happen. I graffitied the paper with my thoughts, my feelings, my tears. The emptiness I felt inside decorated it. The black ink on white contrasting like the feelings of love and hate bubbling up inside of me. Love of him. Hate of myself. Simple.

I heard the bell go, somewhere outside the bubble of grief and wonder. Time to stop, she said. I carried on writing, oblivious to the world me. Violet, she said, time to stop writing. I looked at the piece of paper in front of me. It was a mess. Like my life.

My bedroom was cold, but it helped to numb the skin. Made it easier. I held the sharp metal in my hand. My skin bled blood, while my eyes bled tears. Tears of pain, tears of anguish, tears of sorrow. I smiled. Something I could control. I looked at the delicate lines and patterns carved into my skin. We love you, he said. I could remember it like it was yesterday. We love you.

I turned the music up on my stereo. Today I had chosen my favourite. I sat there, listening to the words but not hearing them. My mind was elsewhere. My mind was on him.

I had seen him again on the way home. He had stopped. He smiled; nodded; asked me how my day had been. I mumbled something, unable to look at him. Are you ok, he said. You look upset.

I’m fine.

He hugged me, smiled sadly, looked at me with those soft brown eyes, and walked on. Why did he have to do that? Give me a glimpse of what I could have, and then stow it away again.

I sat on my bed as I ran through it in my head. The smell of his hair; the warmth of his hug; the strength of his embrace. The feeling of safety and security he gave me. Something I would never have.

Why did she have to do it? I’m fine, she said. She hadn’t looked fine, be he hadn’t wanted to pry. But now, as he sat at the back of the church, he wished he had. Not many people had turned up. Not many people knew her. Well, not like he had. He knew the constant pain in her eyes. The slump of her shoulders as she tried to make herself invisible. He had seen her that day, but still couldn’t bring himself to say it. Love. How could a word so small do so much damage? Cause so much heartache and grief. A tiny, simple, four-lettered word. Love. The destroyer of lives. An emotion so unpredictable, so daunting. More powerful then hate. If only he had said it. If only he had told her. Alex, they said. We are glad you could make it.

The service started. Things were said about her past that made him marvel at her strength. The way she could just carry on with her life as if nothing had happened. Although it had got to her in the end.

Her mother walked up to the front. She glanced at him, and then started talking. Violet’s English teacher gave this to me, she said. I would like to read it out. It is the last piece of work she did. It moved me, she said. She started reading.

Write about a memory, she said. About a decision you had to make. About something that happened to you. I couldn’t do that. Write about something that is happening to you now, she said. Write about your emotions, your feelings. I want to write about my love for an amazing guy I know. He is perfect. For me anyway. But I don’t stand a chance with him. Why would he fall for someone like me? Someone with such a dirty background. Someone so depressing, so complicated. He is perfect. I remember the last time I saw him. It was at the beach. We were all mucking around, me and my friend. Him and his friends. It was a sunny day, a perfect day. Perfect. Like him. The sun was catching his hair, turning it from brown to blondes and golds. It was beautiful. Like a waterfall, flowing from the centre of his head to fall crashing at his shoulders. His face reflected the sea. Setting his eyes alight. Dark hazel. Never-ending pools of warmth and understanding. I remember how he wrestled me to the ground, in a game of our own. A game just for me. Or so I hoped.

He always makes me feel happy, makes me smile and feel safe. It is something that I have never known before. Something so powerful it takes my breath away. I don’t know how I could live without him. He means too much to me. He can always see when there is something wrong, never believes me when I say I’m fine. You’re such a great friend, he said. So why do I feel so bad? Thinking, hoping there could be more between us than friendship. Feeling greedy and selfish. Feeling lonely. I want to write about my love for an amazing guy I know. He is perfect. His name is Alex. I love him.

I looked down at my hands. Wet with grief. Wet with pain. Wet with love. She stumbled back to her seat. The service ended. But I didn’t notice. All I could think about was the guilt I felt. If only I had told her that day. If only. What would have happened? Would I still be at her funeral? I felt a hand on my shoulder. It’s not your fault, she said. Come, join us at cemetery, she said. I looked up at her. And whispered something. Something so soft, so powerful, so late.

I love her.