She stopped the merry-go-round
And got off
Left the peeling paint pony
And walked off toward the ravine
((Sometimes the ravine you are teetering on is so seemingly harmless you don’t realise you have stepped over the edge.))
Sarah was twenty three, bright, earnest and hated her figure; some may say she was average. She went to the gym three times a week, ate all her veges and was learning another language. I could never pin point why she sometimes looked so distant, like she had to take a moment out of a conversation because a nail was being pushed through her palm and she didn’t want to complain. I kept about my own business, amazing how self-obsessed we each can be when the problem isn’t our own. Sarah seemed to age overnight, skin sagging, eyes emptying, hands always shaking, she didn’t want to upset me, so she just stayed closed.
Shut up her shop
Timbered up her windows
Turned down the lights
And stopped praying
((Flowers come from the dirt, reach towards the sky and dance in the breeze, but if you take the water away, and it may take a while, they will turn brown and shrivel))
We used to walk together, steep ascents, slippery descents or sometimes just across flat fields. Sarah liked to swing on the cattle gates and pretend she could fly. I just enjoyed the grass and the sky and the way it all held its shape. Sarah thought she could run faster then me, and sometimes when I was feeling sleepy, she could. So many things she had told me had been happy, that I can’t remember the sad. On a scattered cloud Tuesday Sarah didn’t feel like walking, she said the souls of her feet hurt, or something along those lines- I wasn’t paying much attention, so I went by myself. It wasn’t as much fun, but since then I haven’t been able to stop, because on the calf burning climb I keep telling myself that the down hill won’t be so bad.
Round and round the spinning top goes
Ruts out its groove
And ignores gravities rule
Until it inevitably hits its obstacle
((The cliffs that we fear are steep and treacherous and always in our heads, the real fall often occurs when we are walking down our driveway))
I once wanted to ask Sarah if she was feeling alright, see if she wanted me to plait her hair or eat tim tams with our tea, I can’t recall what stopped me. Perhaps I got a phone call that distracted me, or she wanted to get chalk out and draw a hop scotch court on my driveway- she was always a bit irrepressible like that. I was more mundane, only allowing her to tear off on her adventures so I could pretend I was half as clever. I often wonder what she would have told me if I had pried a little, would she have broken down and let me in. Or would she, ever so conserved, have huffed and puffed and suggested that I mind my own business and then ran to the kitchen to bake something horrendous but magnificent?
Skipping stones to disturb the calm
Lighting matches to observe the dark
Clicking fingers to awaken the silence
She is searching for attention
((They say chicken soup is good, bubble bath does wonders and talking can solve it all, but just maybe the dark days are bleak and dank for a reason))
So Sarah and I continued to be, she took up sewing and made me a scarf, it smelt a bit like off milk. I washed it and threw it in the drier; I’ve never been good with housework so I didn’t know til I took it out. I shouldn’t have told her it was ruined, she cried for an hour and slammed my door so hard it cracked. I used to admire her for being so open with her emotions, it’s no excuse but I thought she would have told me if it was really worrying her. Occasionally we would drink wine and dance in the living room, emerging in the morning with racoon eyes and consume bacon and eggs off the bbq. So simple really, most of life is. Sarah started wearing long sleeves in summer; she forgot to smile when I tried to be funny. Once she had a little bruise on her neck that I noticed, after that day it was covered in foundation, perhaps this was a sign.
She was always so so busy
I wondered when she had grown up
I was playing with mud pies
She was playing with hearts
((Love isn’t a playground, it shouldn’t be handed out for free, where are all the health warnings, why didn’t someone warn me))
It happened on another Tuesday, with clouds as angry as wasps set on fire. Buzzing with rage they sat low and fat threatening to explode. I was driving home from work, Sarah was on my mind again, she had lost a lot of weight. The threat of rain became reality and down the streets it slid like snakes, meanwhile the highway was red with brake lights as twilight instantly became dark and wet. It could have happened then, big and dramatic, the tremble of thunder and slicing of metal, the shocked onlookers and the news helicopter. It didn’t. I got home and ran from the car to the porch, the lights weren’t on, it isn’t usually that dark so early and no one else was home. The lock was sticky, my heels were slick and my umbrella wouldn’t cooperate, it was just one thoughtless step, one ill-aimed ankle crunching movement. One second left to think: what was going on with Sarah and why didn’t I ever ask!
The curtains can draw at any time
Tears can be heard a mile away
I can’t feel pain, I can’t feel love
I can’t say goodbye.
((Even after the worst storms there will be laughter))
