Carmen, Revised.
The hushed quiet here is because of smothering.
Thick pile carpet swallows footsteps while the mantle clock ignores all comings and goings completely. tick... pause... whir... tick.... Looking around, even with child eyes, at everything painstakingly in place, you know there will be no laughing and no loud young voices tolerated.
What did she do here? A red-haired beauty foolishly marrying into this? Or wait, is that wrong? Was this her own stern family frowning down?
A hallway, an etagere with a figurine of two hands in prayer atop a doily -- probably both homemade. More framed faces here and there along the wall.
A bedroom, an elderly woman dressed in flowered flannel sitting primly on the bed, reading. The younger girl I am with – a blonde beauty wild like her mom – tries to make an introduction. There is silence after her words and my hello. Is she perhaps a little deaf? The child rushes up to the woman. Gramma, Gramma, I want you to meet my friend.
Is this all it takes to unmask such deep silence? Somehow the pin is pulled. The woman is up, advancing quickly toward me as I back up into the hallway; she waves her bible and yells.
“I-KNOW-WHO-YOU-ARE-”
I am trying to get Carmen to stay behind me, not understanding what is happening, but trying to protect her against it. She will not have this, slips between us, shouts back at her Gramma.
The older woman raves – and it is about me. About my mother. How my mother is trying to tear a marriage apart. Through the shouting, I understand this much only. A thick anger, but I can't overrule my silence in time --
Two people come to intervene -- my stepfather and Carmen's mother, who were talking quietly together in the kitchen... now more yelling.
She retreats. I am fine, but they are upset. Together they try to hug me and comfort me, but it is they who are crying, it is they who need comforting. I tell them, it's okay, but they cry and cry and insist it's not okay, not okay. I am bewildered by their guilt and smothering in their arms.
I look up and wish for this scene to quietly end.
tick... pause... whir... tick....
Thick pile carpet swallows footsteps while the mantle clock ignores all comings and goings completely. tick... pause... whir... tick.... Looking around, even with child eyes, at everything painstakingly in place, you know there will be no laughing and no loud young voices tolerated.
What did she do here? A red-haired beauty foolishly marrying into this? Or wait, is that wrong? Was this her own stern family frowning down?
A hallway, an etagere with a figurine of two hands in prayer atop a doily -- probably both homemade. More framed faces here and there along the wall.
A bedroom, an elderly woman dressed in flowered flannel sitting primly on the bed, reading. The younger girl I am with – a blonde beauty wild like her mom – tries to make an introduction. There is silence after her words and my hello. Is she perhaps a little deaf? The child rushes up to the woman. Gramma, Gramma, I want you to meet my friend.
Is this all it takes to unmask such deep silence? Somehow the pin is pulled. The woman is up, advancing quickly toward me as I back up into the hallway; she waves her bible and yells.
“I-KNOW-WHO-YOU-ARE-”
I am trying to get Carmen to stay behind me, not understanding what is happening, but trying to protect her against it. She will not have this, slips between us, shouts back at her Gramma.
The older woman raves – and it is about me. About my mother. How my mother is trying to tear a marriage apart. Through the shouting, I understand this much only. A thick anger, but I can't overrule my silence in time --
Two people come to intervene -- my stepfather and Carmen's mother, who were talking quietly together in the kitchen... now more yelling.
She retreats. I am fine, but they are upset. Together they try to hug me and comfort me, but it is they who are crying, it is they who need comforting. I tell them, it's okay, but they cry and cry and insist it's not okay, not okay. I am bewildered by their guilt and smothering in their arms.
I look up and wish for this scene to quietly end.
tick... pause... whir... tick....
posted by rhetorissa at 17:50
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