Author: Nanaoko PM
Vay is a painter. Lenir is a sergeant. But Vay cannot paint without creativity as Lenir cannot lead without a voice. For years, both held onto the hope that one day, they can do what they set out to do. Now the world has taken it away. For Vay will die on December 25 as a martyr and there is nothing Lenir can do to save his friend. There is no hope. But... there are miracles.Rated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Friendship - Chapters: 4 - Words: 2,596 - Published: 07-28-12 - id: 3045628
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Tonight, Vay heard the Sounds again coming from upstairs of her Family's caravan. The Sounds were usually a mixture of her mother's voice and her newest boyfriend, squeaks, laughter, and moving furniture. If it wasn't her mother, then it was her father silently seducing the wives he purloined from other husbands. These Sounds weren't happy sounds. And for some reason, these Sounds never stopped, because somehow, her parents forgot that Vay knew they did these things. Every once in a while, every one other day, these lurid people would go up into her mother or father's room and do nasty things. And her pillow could never shut them out. But she still attempted to use her pillow anyway.
One time, when she was five years old, she let the aforementioned dilemma slip out to her kindergarten teacher. Realizing the severity of the secret Vay had given him, he had led her by her hand to the swings where he sat her down and knelt before her, like a prince before a princess. Instantaneously, she had stopped crying because she knew she wasn't in trouble. At that moment then he decided to question more about her family.
Vay remembered after she had innocently relayed all that she had seen for the past few months, her teacher's expression darkened and his skin turned reddish. She thought she was in trouble again and restarted those waterworks until he reached for hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. Then they walked back into the classroom and he resumed teaching. A month later, she transferred out of that school and her Family left the Gathering Town like a bunny leaves the grassland when it spots a wildcat in the distance. On their last day, as she boarded the truck, she saw her teacher behind a store building, sadly looking out to the side and upon her.
Why did he look at her so sadly? Did he pity her situation? But he had become so angry when she told him—something so unlike the calm and kind teacher the five-year-old Vay knew that now as a budding sixteen-year-old teenager, she felt that he must have tried to do something about her Family. She felt that they moved because he must have tried to help; maybe when she was sleeping, he came to their caravan and reprimanded her parents. But when he did, her parents simply ignored his censure and kicked him out of their caravan, the only unified thing they would ever do as a married mother and father.
"That was too much!" she heard her mother cry shrilly. Vay removed the pillow from her head once she heard her name, but instantly recoiled back underneath her bed when her mother's voice faded into satisfactory moans—whatever the noise that was coming out of her mother's mouth.
They wouldn't stop. Her parents were such animals and she couldn't deal with that anymore. Where were all the decent, intellectual, thinking humans? Her friend once told her that farther down in the south, where silver ice fell freely like rain, the people were different. It was probably the water. Either way, the people were better there; they listened to their children, they had real Families, and they were all well-read. They were most likely not anything close to her real mother and father.
Suddenly, the caravan's door slid open. There stood, hooked in the arm of her tobacco-soaked father who came home, a sultry, salt-and-peppered haired woman biting a melting piece of cigar. Vay faintly remembered that this woman's name was Clarah. As to date, she was her father's fifteenth girlfriend and just as worst as the last.
The Sounds grew louder until it abruptly ended after another screeching groan from Vay's mother. Then Vay heard them rummaging through bags for clothes, tripping over several things most likely spread out on the floor. In less than a few seconds, a delicate, deadly skinny woman with silky auburn hair came down the stairs. Her new lover, a similarly thin man followed too, who grabbed for her waist as soon as he noticed Vay's father standing in the doorway.
Right away, her father reproached the mother. "You have no shame."
Her mother lazily glowered at Clarah before meeting her husband's eyes. "I'd say you're as profligate as that loose coquette you're holding over there."
Clarah rolled her eyes. "Excuse me; at least we don't make love when your daughter is around."
Her mother squinted as if Clarah's peppery hair was really made out of condiments and not dead cells. Then she turned her head to the left where the couch Vay was propped up against, clutching the pillow. You've BEEN here? her eyes seemed to say. Vay stared back with an accusing, appalled gaze. In response, the mother swallowed and bent her head. Her boyfriend immediately comforted her with a pat on her shoulder.
"I'd like to ask you something, Ms. Girlfriend," the boyfriend of the mother flared. "Do you think you're clean and innocent for walking onto this property hooking the arm of another wife's husband? Not to mention, to walk in with the intention of doing aforementioned activity with full knowledge that his daughter was here tonight? Do you think that doesn't qualify as shame?"
As if he cracked a joke, Clarah simpered and daintily held the cigar with her middle and pointer finger. Then she took a few steps toward the boyfriend, flicked some of the ashes onto his shirt, and then threw it aside at Vay's feet. She lowered herself from the waist, staring down the puny boyfriend.
"I'd like to ask you something, Mr. Boyfriend. How much do you know about THIS woman?" She stabbed a red fingernail at the mother. The boyfriend narrowed his eyes at her rude gesture.
"More than you probably do."
"If you did, you'd know who I was. But you don't, so you don't know. I'll give you a hint; she loved me before she loved you." Clarah smirked, revealing a set of painted pearly whites spotted with several cigarette stains, pulling out another package of cigarettes. She spun around and tugged at the father's arm. "Let's go Hudson. I don't want to be like Letty and her boyfriend, splashing their juices all over the place. You should really consider marrying me and getting poor Vay out of here."
The father nodded and glanced one more time at his wife and her boyfriend. He shook his head disdainfully and turned, crossing the doorstep between the world and the sad reality of their caravan.
"How vulgar!" the mother snapped. "I can't believe she and him had the nerve to…!" Her face scrunched up and her hands flew to the teardrops tumbling out of her eyes. Silent, her boyfriend slipped his arm around her waist again and drew her back to the room they were in before.
All the while, Vay wanted to say something. How could her parents forget she existed, that amidst their silly retorts was a child of sixteen turning seventeen as soon as the clock struck twelve? But then again, it was better if she rid herself of those ridiculous, licentious, hateful parents! If they didn't know she was alive, the better it was for her!
Her fingers dug into the pillow, bringing it to her mouth so she could tear at it like a ravenous wolf. Why was she here? Why didn't her parents care? Why was she born? Why were her parents like that? Why? WHY? She hunched further, clawing at the pillow and choking back hot tears. She hated them. She hated them so much. She hated them so much, that if they all dropped dead, it would be good. It would be so good if they all dropped dead! Their juices and all, drying up in the sun, dying!
If only her teacher was here… if only her teacher was here to ask her what was wrong, to kneel before her and be angry with her… if only, if only…