(Need to edit my) May Challenge - *Bleak* - Overlimit 3,850 +/-
Harper
352 words. Game to cut. Game to shuffle paragraphs around. Game for anything.
Bleak
Harper M. Willson 2003
"You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama."
Elvis Costello and the Attractions
For Sue
I'd got thrown back into the White Brick Room with the drip and the damp and
the darkness. It was the night of our rescue, but I couldn’t know that then.
I got
farther down the stairs than ever that time; not only I could see the
breakwater and the beacon lights crisscrossing in the fog, I could hear cars
whooshing on the highway. Then the foghorn whistle startled me and I lost
concentration. Dr. Mac got thrown, too; I saw him crumble and vanish up the
dunes. Seconds before, he had called out to me.
“Kirker, this way!” I thundered down the remaining couple of stairs and ran
to him. A nightbird on a wire dived into the space between us and it freaked
Dr. Mac out--he gasped and clutched his chest. That’s when he lost Kali. I
just stopped and gaped, helplessly watching him go. We’d gotten so close to
the road. I shoved on alone, but in another minute Marridell Cloud sounded the
foghorn and it was my turn to slip away.
I couldn't see where Fran was in the dark of our White Brick Room prison, but I
could hear her. She’d been thrown early on. I felt around in the shadows and
crashed right into her; she was perched on our only stick of furniture, a short
milking stool, holding onto its sides, trying to fight the grinding sadness.
"Oh God, oh God," she said, real low, over and over, rocking with her words. We
all pretty much said the same things when we were in Bleak.
"Franny," I cheered, "think of Kali, the flower-fish! Focus, Franny, focus!"
Fran didn't even lift a hand to wave me off. She was in way deep. I pulled her
red sweater around her shoulders. She was a small lady, reminded me of my
grandma Getty, who of course reminded me of my dad, and when I thought of my
dad, naturally I’d think of my mom. I missed them both so much.
Dr. Mac got a fat dose of Bleak too. It was pretty bad. First he stood against
the wall and threw up, then he just kind of slumped to the floor. He curled
into ball and sobbed. There wasn't much I could do for them. I mean, I could
remind them to concentrate on Kali, sure, but when you're in Bleak, it's hard
to remember anything happy. Bleak just has to wear off--it always does. You
just have to keep saying that to yourself, or you'll be tempted to throw
yourself into the sea.
Meta was still out. She was better at staying out than any of us, and that kind
of embarrassed me. I wanted to make her proud. Dr. Mac wanted Meta to be proud
of him, too, I could tell.
I was feeling a little Bleak myself--enough to make me cry--but I could still
stand up, my hands were steady, and I didn't vomit. It feels horrible, Bleak,
oh my god, it feels so sick, even the small bouts of it that I'd get hit with.
What happens is, first, your thoughts waver from the flower-fish you and get
thrown back, from outside the lighthouse into the White Brick Room prison
again. When you're thrown, it's like you're in an elevator that’s dropped a
bunch of floors real fast and you feel flattened out and floaty, like your
brains are being pounded into your shoes. Next you go Bleak, which was a
different thing for each of us, but we all agreed it was the saddest feeling in
the world.
I was lucky, Bleak didn't happen to me too often. Sometimes after I’d get
thrown, I wouldn't go Bleak at all. Meta said it was because I was a kid--I
didn't have banks of sad memories for it to draw upon. She was right; before
the lighthouse tour, nothing bad had ever happened to me. Now it's different.
Now I’m never alone, and I'll never be in the dark again on purpose. I don't
play monster games like
other kids my age. Have you ever felt fear in your hands? Sick in your elbow,
your
knee? I have. It sounds totally bogus, but that's Bleak. You never forget it.
I'm different now. Folks think I'm mature for my age. It's not that. I just
think about stuff more. I know more of what's possible, the good and the bad.
On the second night of our imprisonment in the White Brick Room, Meta had the
floating flower-fish dream. The image, if we could hold it in our minds while
awake, was our ticket to freedom: it transported us directly to the control
room at the top of the lighthouse. Meta discovered the trick by accident, the
morning after her dream. The dream made her feel good, so she called it up and
used it
to keep her mind out of Bleak. It worked great, so she kept on thinking about
it.
One minute she was in the White Brick Room, cheering herself with the
flower-fish, and the next, she finds herself crouched on the floor of the
lighthouse control room, trying desperately to keep from being seen by
Marridell Cloud. Meta tippy-toed past Leland, Marridell’s son, who stood at a
large double sink, one hand heavy on the counter, the other bleeding into a
basin. Meta crouched behind Marridell's great leather chair. Marridell was
trying to stir things up Leland, just like she did during the lighthouse tour.
Meta hugged herself tight and held still. This is what she overheard them say:
"Why do you behave so strangely, Leland?" Marridell's face was a cross of sour
scrutiny and motherly concern. "What is the matter with you?"
Leland, tall and gaunt, half turned from the sink. He thrust out his arm.
"Ma."
"Don't *show* me it! For the love of God. Take it to your room."
"It hurts, Ma. I'll disinfect it, all right? Then I'll go." Leland turned to
the sink and tipped a bottle of Mercurochrome over his left arm. Marridell
stuck a thumb in the pages of her book.
"I don't like your tone," she said. "A person cannot say boo without you
twisting the meaning. I never said you couldn't disinfect the arm."
"I didn't mean to twist, Ma. I didn't."
"You *do* mean to. You burn and cut yourself only to make me feel responsible
for you. Why do you hate me, Leland? What did I ever do to you?"
"Burns and cuts just happen now, all by themselves. I don't need to use
anything. I haven't hurt myself in thirty-five years."
Marridell's eyes were sharp and knowing and they shone fiercely on her son.
"My sick boy. Come over here. I want to tell you something." Leland wrapped his
arm in gauze and crossed the control room hunched over. "Sit," she said,
pointing at the low ottoman at her feet. His arthritic knees popped as he bent
down. Marridell put a hand upon her son's greying head. "It's not safe for me
to be alone with you, Leland," she whispered. "You're the reason I've been
anxious all my days. "
"I’m the reason, Ma. I know." Leland shrunk from his mother's hand. Marridell
kept petting her son's hair, oblivious.
"I'll have to get you to a psychiatrist, someone versed in personality
disorders. A specialist." Marridell petted and sighed. "It's not safe for me to
be alone with you anymore."
Leland bowed his head and sat very still. "There's no specialist, Ma. You say
that every day."
Marridell clapped her book shut and thunked it onto a table. Meta saw the
title. It was the _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, IV, Revised._ That's a
book psychiatrist's use to diagnose you if you have a mental problem. Meta said
Marridell had probably tried to diagnose Leland, and she said that had probably
upset Leland a lot. That's why we go Bleak, Meta said. We're feeling Leland's
feelings. He feels very sad and alone.
"That’s a lie! I've never said anything about it before today."
Leland's eyes glanced up skittishly. "'We'll get him to a specialist. We'll
make him normal. We'll change his personality, make him into his own dear
Ma.’ You did say it before, Ma. Every day of my life--'" Marridell reached
out and slapped her son’s face--hard-- sent his eye glasses flying.
"Another word, Leland, and I will call the authorities. Do you want to spend
another month in the hospital? Remember how little you enjoyed that last
visit." Marridell appeared to be genuinely afraid of him. According to Meta,
she appeared to be enjoying her fear.
Marridell’s voice quavered. "You've been diagnosed mentally disturbed. You
will see a specialist of my selection this week. I can't live like this
anymore."
"Who diagnosed me, Ma?"
Marridell flinched. "Leave the room, Leland. Go! I will not allow you to
intimidate me!"
Leland rose to his feet. Meta crouched behind the chair. For a moment Meta
thought Leland had seen her--he hesitated a moment near her hiding place. But
he made his way down the cold hallway to his cot room without further word.
Meta scrabbled out the door to the exterior stairs. Down she flew. She didn't
get far.
Meta got thrown back into the White Brick Room almost immediately; she'd made
it only two flights down. She was woozy from the throw, then she went Bleak for
several hours. It was the first time we'd seen it. Fran took Meta in her arms
and rocked her. Dr. Mac paced the small room and mumbled about what a useless
person he was. Meta suffered terribly. She had fearbursts; I had them too. A
fearburst is like, you're in the midst of feeling these feeling so sad and so
hopeless--that's basic Bleak--and then on top of that, you get hard jolts of
terror that make the sad stuff seem like the best day of your life. It’s
different from, say, rattlesnakes-in-my-path-omigod! sort of fear. It's more
like fear of your own mind. You’re not sure who or what you are anymore, and
when you’re aware that you don’t know who or what you are, your mind could
eat itself alive trying to find an answer. That’s a fearburst. I made up the
name.
When she came out of Bleak, Meta told us about her dream, about being
transported into the control room, and she related the conversation she heard
between Marridell and Leland. When she explained her theory that Leland’s
misery was the cause of Bleak--that it was an overspill of sorrow that just had
no place else to go--I think Dr. Mac would have raised an skeptical objection
if he hadn't experienced a pretty freaky thing himself just two days before:
the first transport, the one that landed us here.
The four of us had taken a walking tour of Cape Cod's historical Cloud
Lighthouse, guided by Mrs. Cloud herself, its owner and operator. We all had
gathered around the foghorn levers. There was an art to it, pulling the whistle
manually, and Mrs. Cloud--every one called her Marridell--was explaining how to
do it. She was going to let us each have a try, when Leland, Marridell's
grownup son, came into the room. Marridell introduced him quickly and turned
her attention back to the levers and her practiced lecture. Leland interrupted
again and asked if he too, might have a turn at the foghorn. He was a man but
he acted like a little kid. Marridell said, "The foghorn’s not a plaything,
young sir," and she told him to go sit in his room. When he was gone, Marridell
turned to Meta conspiratorially and said, "My boy has a psychiatric disorder."
Just then, a howl rose from the hallway off the control room. Leland had heard
what his mother had said. He stepped into the tiny Pullman kitchen, took a
hammer from a drawer, and bashed himself in the knees. The four of us, Meta,
Fran, Dr. Mac and me, it was like we all went “Ahhh!” at once.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it! I won’t have violence in my home!” Marridell
commanded. “Stop it this instant, Leland, or I'll get the restraints!"
There was something in Marridell’s voice that made me think she didn’t
really want Leland to stop, that hurting himself was just what she wanted him
to do. There was something else, less distinct, that made me think some part of
her plan had been foiled when he didn’t take the hammer to her instead.
Leland let loose a roar. He hurled the hammer above our heads into the living
room, where the butt tommyhawked a painting of a lone seagull perched atop
Cloud Lighthouse, flapping as if to fly. The canvas tore, the hammer skittered
to the ground, and Leland began to cry. Fran and Meta pulled me back, pushed me
behind them. Dr. Mac tried to cool things down.
“For the moment, Mrs. Cloud, I believe it would be best if you would retreat
to another room. I am a doctor. I will look after Leland,” he said.
"LELAND! What have you done? Marridell searched our faces. "He tried to kill
me. Did you see that? He's trying to KILL me!"
“Gas on the fire, Mrs. Cloud,” Dr. Mac reasoned. “Let me handle this,
won’t you?” It was weird for us to get involved in a family thing, but man,
it was getting out of control.
Leland approached his mother with arms outstretched. "I didn't mean nothing,
Ma! I was just mad at you. I didn't mean to try to kill you!" His voice was
rough, and he was out of breath from yelling. He shoved Dr. Mac aside and
backed Marridell into a corner.
"You’re not permitted to get mad,” she whispered. Leland towered over her.
“If you harm me, Leland, remember ... there are witnesses.” Marridell eyes
alit. She winked in our general direction. Leland had stopped a few feet from
the consol into which he had backed her. "Stay away," she said. "Stay away,
Leland. You’re crazy." Her mouth puckered with distaste, but her eyes
twinkled happy.
"I want to hug you, Ma, that's all. I want to say I’m sorry. You just--you
hurt my feelings!"
"There, there, Leland," Meta said, stepping up and taking Leland by the hand.
"Shhh. Let's sit for a moment. Shall we? Come." Leland turned to Meta and fell
into her arms. Meta is little and Leland is big. She guided him to a chair.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry,” Marridell said, “but only human beings may sit upon
the furniture.” Marridell smiled and folded her arms. “A new lighthouse
rule." Meta and Fran’s jaws dropped. Leland lifted his arms over his head and
moaned, loud and low, then he fell to his knees and rolled onto his side. Dr.
Mac knelt to take his pulse. Fran and Meta took Leland's hands. I figured I
should be doing something useful, so I scooted behind the women and rested my
palm on Leland's forehead--lame, I know, but it was a thing my mother would do,
whether fever was likely or not. It comforted.
We were all crouched by Leland, holding his hands, patting his head. Dr. Mac
assessed the damage to his knees. He was a big man, Leland was, and an old man,
but his breath gurgled and hitched like a baby’s. Meta brushed his his tears
away, and Fran rolled up her sweater and put it under his head for a pillow,
and soon he began to breathe more regularly, but when Dr. Mac asked if he would
would go with us to the hospital, Leland’s calm flew away. “NO! he wailed.
“NO!”
And that’s when we all got thrown. All I remember is falling through the sky.
I’m not even sure where the White Brick Room is, exactly. It is down. There
is nothing in the White Brick Room but a stool. A vent in the ceiling lets in
the shadows.
The very next time I slept I dreamed of the flower-fish. I tried to holding the
image of her in my mind, just like Meta did. She was just a big flower, the
size of a roast beef plater, with a happy, humanoid face. With Meta’s help, I
got the hang of visualization pretty quick. Of course, I got thrown a lot, too.
It wasn't long after we learned how use our minds to bust out of the White
Brick Room that Meta made it as far as the dunes behind the lighthouse and up
the embankment to the parking lot--nightbirds or foghorn whistles never broke
her concentration. She'd get thrown by the chime her own car made when she
opened the door: "Ding-a-ding." Isn't that a funny thing to get thrown by? Meta
joked it must remind her of her workaday life. I know she longed for it.
Visualizing the flower came more slowly to Dr. Mac, and poor Fran, she almost
never got it. When she did, she’d get spooked and thrown back quickly. Fran
spent more time in Bleak than any of us. I felt sorry for her. She was a
granny, too old for this. She looked cute in her khaki shorts and white socks
when the tour began. She had talked to me about her lighthouse travels
cheerfully. Fran was a lighthouse nut, like me--and lighthouse nuts, I’ve
decided, are happy, lighthearted people. Now Fran was never happy. She’d sit
for hours on the floor in the a corner of the White Brick Room, pleading with
God to help her. Every time I looked at her, I missed my parents a little more.
I wish I had gone with them to the aquarium like they wanted.
Whenever we got a reprieve from Bleak, Meta would teach us how to prefect our
visualization technique. She'd guide us in a relaxation exercise, then she'd
say, "picture feminine features, impish, sweet-smiling."
Meta *didn't* tell us that the flower petals pulse and ululate like fish fins,
and that as it pulses a suds of shiny colored particles washes up and frames
its pretty
face--that part was rad--but when we compared notes she said yes, she got that
too. On assignment last year in Bengal, Meta became enchanted with the
mythology of a Hindi fish goddess named Kali. I proposed Kali is what we should
call our flower-fish, and I think Meta liked that. Meta was a photographer for
Time Magazine. She traveled to take pictures all over the world. I liked her a
lot. She had long brownish hair that was always in her face, and a nose that
was always a little sun burnt. She smiled a lot. Dr. Mac called her Smiley
Girl.
On the night we were rescued, just as Fran and Dr. Mac were coming out of
Bleak, Meta got thrown. Bleak set in immediately. We tended to her as best we
could. It was the worst yet. Meta begged Dr. Mac to help her die. He just said,
“Shhh ... shhh," and furrowed his brow a lot. Dr. Mac was falling in love
with her. Fran dabbed a damp cloth at Meta’s brow. Late in the night I heard
faint weeping, not Meta’s, not Fran’s. Male. I strained to see in the dark,
and I jumped to perceive the shape of a fifth standing against the wall. It was
Leland.
“I didn’t know where else to hide, sorry,” he said. Fran saw and heard
and got to her feet.
“My God. Can you get us out of this place?” Fran said. Leland looked at her
quizzically.
“You can’t get out?”
The conversation grabbed Dr. Mac’s attention. “We, ah, get stuck
sometimes,” he explained. “We want to leave for good. Is there a way?”
“Well, sure,” said Leland. “Follow me.” Dr. Mac gathered up Meta and
fell in. We walked right through the white brick wall, one after the other.
That was all we ever had to do. I tried it a couple of times. Sweet.
As we tramped through the dunes on the way to the parking lot, Leland said,
“You’d probably better hurry. I’d better go back. Ma’s looking for me.
Her nerves are bad tonight. If she finds me with you, you’re in for it, too.
She’ll call the authorities.”
Meta stirred in Dr. Mac’s arms. She said she was OK to walk, so he set her on
her feet. She stepped up to Leland. She didn't say a word. The two of them were
locked in a staring contest a long, long time. I wondered what was going on.
When Leland’s eyes went dreamy, I knew what was up. Meta said,
“Her name is Kali. Kirker named her.” I beamed at Meta. Leland’s eyes
sparkled with tears.
“She’s so nice," Leland said. “She’s so pretty.”
“Don’t let her go, Leland. Keep Kali with you always. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You must leave with us,” Meta said. Leland’s eyes filled with fear.
“Where’s Kali, Leland? Hold on to her!” Meta urged. Leland swallowed
hard. The light returned to his eyes. “Come on,” she said, and Leland
nodded. Meta took up his hand, and then she reached for mine. Dr. Mac blazed a
trail. When the foghorn whistle blew, Fran and I both said, “oh,” and put
our hands to our mouths, just as if we were about to get thrown. Nothing
happened. Fran threw her arms around my neck and hugged me.
Later we read that Marridell Cloud died in her sleep that night. The papers
said she had a massive stroke, but Meta said she died from a lack of fright.
Her monster left with us.
It’s great to be home. The best part of visualizing Kali is when she goes
automatic--when she stays put in your mind and you don’t have to work so hard
to keep her. Sometimes Kali darts in close and kisses me in the middle of my
forehead, and her shiny particles fall like a snow globe inside my mind. I bet
you're wondering what that feels like. It's rad. The first thing you feel
is--you feel loved. Then you feel safe, like you're a little kid and your
parents have tucked you into bed and you can hear them watching TV in the
living room and you feel OK about everything. After spending any time at all in
Bleak, that safe feeling is a major relief, let me tell you. Anyhow,
eventually, love and safety mix together to make slaphappy; that's Meta's word
for joyful. I can still get that level of focus with Kali, even now. Kali is
Meta’s gift to me, to all of us. But still, my mom and dad know never to
leave me alone.
Harper
H
--
2004 is going to be an interesting election year.
Anopheles
"Harper" wrote:
> Oh damn. I forgot to name my requirements: lighthouse, monster, insane
person.
Boy, you sheilas get it too easy. :-)
Harper
<< "Harper" wrote:
You're such a cutie, Mr. Barry! Happy to see you.
:-)
Harpsi
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