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Authors: Naomi Baysinger-Ott
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unsure of what to do or how to comfort me. I do not look at him. The silence is a little reassuring.
After a moment, I don’t know why but a sudden urge to speak about memories of moeder and Meyleia become needful. I ignore it and continue to lean my head to the wall, away from him. I take a shaky breath and I feel a tear escape like a cold crystal, sharply sliding down my turned cheek. I close my eyes and try to remember who I am, what I am doing, why I am here, who is beside me. It isn’t working.
“I couldn’t do what moeder asked…” I nearly choke up on my words, but they keep coming. “So she would make me sit in a corner and count to one hundred…” It is quiet and I cannot tell if he is listening or not, but I don’t care, this is for me to let it out, not for him to know about it. “I despised it…it was dark in the corner…and often too cold and…boring. I often nonetheless got stuck there to count anyways…” I look down at my shadow below me and swallow hard. “Now…I feel like I am always in that corner…sitting and trying to count to get free…but I can’t seem to remember the numbers.”
It is faint and I feel the prickle in my throat as a warning that I could break down. It didn’t matter though; it was all I needed to say.
He is silent a few seconds, giving me time. He does not judge or take action for me, he just listens and considers . I like it. I feel a terrible fluttering in my stomach telling me it is wrong to like it, and to feel comfort after what I just heard, but I can’t not feel it when it is there.
“Do you want to get out of the corner?” It is smooth and not teasing, sincere, even.
I do not look at him. I nod a little.
He quietly watches me. “I understand you.”
It takes me a long time, but I manage to let out the question. “Your sister?”
Though I am not interested, it could distract me from my current pain. Why do I need distraction? The thought is lost as he begins to speak.
“Yes,” it is calm and soft, comforting, but I can tell that it pains him. “I was young still when my moeder and vader died…” It is quiet a moment. Then he starts again. “First it was my vader…then my moeder after remarriage…I planned to take care of Carmela…but she left as well…” I listen halfheartedly. “I got stuck there…after my family had gone…my step dad would have shared some of the money…but he would have remarried again and I could not stay with him. So I left…and became what I am now.” It is silent in the house. “There is more to it…but that is a summary of my story.”
I swallow dryly. “Are you still stuck?”
He is quiet a moment, as though contemplating it. “No.”
I choke back tears. “How did you get out?”
He is silent longer than last time and I am afraid he did not understand or did not hear, but then he says it carefully. “I got help.”
I close my eyes and wish it would end. “I can’t think of anything that would ever…”
He waits. When I do not follow through with it, he interrupts the incomplete sentence. “You have to find it.”
I don’t know why, but it triggers something loose inside me, and I feel myself break down. I sob once, twice, three times. I feel the tears as I breathe shakily and too loud.
“Dutchling…” It is gentle and for some reason I like it, but I do not respond.
I wipe my nose and try to stop the tears, but they continue. My chest is shaking too hard to stop it and I feel worried. He does not reach for me. I am grateful.
“Help me,” I whisper it, still turned away.
He watches a moment, unsure I suppose, if I am referring to physically or the corner. “How?”
I shake in the shoulders and slowly sink further. He seems to see past the physical gesture and to the point where harm could be done by this action, for one moment he is a good distance, and the next, I feel his presence close in.
“No…” I beg. He stops midway from taking me and coming closer as I look up.
After a moment, I don’t know why but a sudden urge to speak about memories of moeder and Meyleia become needful. I ignore it and continue to lean my head to the wall, away from him. I take a shaky breath and I feel a tear escape like a cold crystal, sharply sliding down my turned cheek. I close my eyes and try to remember who I am, what I am doing, why I am here, who is beside me. It isn’t working.
“I couldn’t do what moeder asked…” I nearly choke up on my words, but they keep coming. “So she would make me sit in a corner and count to one hundred…” It is quiet and I cannot tell if he is listening or not, but I don’t care, this is for me to let it out, not for him to know about it. “I despised it…it was dark in the corner…and often too cold and…boring. I often nonetheless got stuck there to count anyways…” I look down at my shadow below me and swallow hard. “Now…I feel like I am always in that corner…sitting and trying to count to get free…but I can’t seem to remember the numbers.”
It is faint and I feel the prickle in my throat as a warning that I could break down. It didn’t matter though; it was all I needed to say.
He is silent a few seconds, giving me time. He does not judge or take action for me, he just listens and considers . I like it. I feel a terrible fluttering in my stomach telling me it is wrong to like it, and to feel comfort after what I just heard, but I can’t not feel it when it is there.
“Do you want to get out of the corner?” It is smooth and not teasing, sincere, even.
I do not look at him. I nod a little.
He quietly watches me. “I understand you.”
It takes me a long time, but I manage to let out the question. “Your sister?”
Though I am not interested, it could distract me from my current pain. Why do I need distraction? The thought is lost as he begins to speak.
“Yes,” it is calm and soft, comforting, but I can tell that it pains him. “I was young still when my moeder and vader died…” It is quiet a moment. Then he starts again. “First it was my vader…then my moeder after remarriage…I planned to take care of Carmela…but she left as well…” I listen halfheartedly. “I got stuck there…after my family had gone…my step dad would have shared some of the money…but he would have remarried again and I could not stay with him. So I left…and became what I am now.” It is silent in the house. “There is more to it…but that is a summary of my story.”
I swallow dryly. “Are you still stuck?”
He is quiet a moment, as though contemplating it. “No.”
I choke back tears. “How did you get out?”
He is silent longer than last time and I am afraid he did not understand or did not hear, but then he says it carefully. “I got help.”
I close my eyes and wish it would end. “I can’t think of anything that would ever…”
He waits. When I do not follow through with it, he interrupts the incomplete sentence. “You have to find it.”
I don’t know why, but it triggers something loose inside me, and I feel myself break down. I sob once, twice, three times. I feel the tears as I breathe shakily and too loud.
“Dutchling…” It is gentle and for some reason I like it, but I do not respond.
I wipe my nose and try to stop the tears, but they continue. My chest is shaking too hard to stop it and I feel worried. He does not reach for me. I am grateful.
“Help me,” I whisper it, still turned away.
He watches a moment, unsure I suppose, if I am referring to physically or the corner. “How?”
I shake in the shoulders and slowly sink further. He seems to see past the physical gesture and to the point where harm could be done by this action, for one moment he is a good distance, and the next, I feel his presence close in.
“No…” I beg. He stops midway from taking me and coming closer as I look up.
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