He sat watching them as they started. He held the sticks they’d handed over to him. His favorite drumsticks, they claimed. It made no difference to him what the sticks were that he held in his hands. They held no meaning. No memories. The voice that greeted him was the first he had heard when he’d woke up. The words haunted him eerily, and he shuddered slightly. This is my December…This is my time of the year… It reminded him of the diary. Of the girl who wrote in it. Lenore. But he couldn’t remember who she was. He waited restlessly for them to finish, hardly containing his eagerness to get back to the book.
The house was empty when he got home. ‘Mom’ had left a note on his door saying that she had gone over to her friend’s. He shrugged expressionlessly and entered the dim secluded nest of his room. Practice didn’t do him much good. Everything looked foreign to him. The drums, the music, the people. Maybe he had really lost his memory. Maybe he just didn’t want to remember. Maybe he wasn’t meant to remember. Wasn’t meant to be where he is right now. He stopped his thoughts and sat on the bed, the diary in his hands. As he flipped the pale lavender pages to where he had left of, he was carried to another world. Lenore’s world.
His smile! His eyes! Annabel! They are beyond beauty! His smileless gaze, it frightens me, but draws me into it. As I tell of his beauty, his name I still wonder.
Mysteries to unfold!
The mystery is laid to rest. His name is Rob. The sound that escapes his lips when he uttered his name for me. Then curled up in a smile. That sweet sweet smile, just for me, he said. Music, he said, feeds his soul and books are worlds beyond our minds. How true, I had thought, might we have met in these worlds before?
Of worlds beyond the world
Tis the happiest day! My soul smiles. Do you know how that is like Annabel? For a soul to smile? Every pore in me, every strand of being, smiles along. He read me lines from Poe’s very mind; lines that bring smile to my lips and crimson my cheeks. And thus I know I am happy. The only thing my mind can hold, besides his face and voice, is Poe’s words that rings true to my soul this moment…
The happiest day – the happiest hour
My sear’d and blighted heart hath known…
Be still my spirit!
Mother’s pale health has reared it’s ugly head again. She sheds tearless cries, she bleeds bloodless wounds. And to know that I can do nothing to stop her pain, is another victory for the monster again. He brings light into this dark time, Annabel. He brings smile upon my sadness. He’s my angel, Annabel. My angel…
In dreams, reality ceases to exist. How true is that, Annabel? It seemed so real… the flames…the screams…dark clouds…the raven watching as they perish… Does it all mean something Annabel? Do dreams foretell the future? The dark and horrible things to come?
The cold icy fingers of the wind shall not stop me from smiling. No. The warmth of love shall melt those claws and thaw the iciest grip. Yes. I AM in love. His name shall be the last to escape my lips every night; his face shall be the last I smile upon before slumber takes me away…
Sweetly, sweetly now
Annabel my sweet…
Christmas is just a memory now. A dreamlike memory I don’t want to wake up from, lest it really is a dream. He brought me a gift. He brought me happiness, Annabel. No other gift can be this priceless as the chain around my neck. A delicate pale gold thread holding on to the tiny pendant. See how it shines…soft and shimmery…He told me. He said in my ears, that soft gentle whisper, that sweet shy smile as the words left his lips… ‘I see no Heaven – but in your eyes’.
They have taken mother. The angels with the stark white wings and golden halos. No tears can bring her back, that I know. They laid her to rest, in the buxom of the earth, amidst the cold earth and dead grass; in Mother Earth’s cradling arms. Still I find no comfort in the sight of the peacefulness in her face. I read her The Sleeper, I read her To My Mother and it seemed to bring me peace to know that I had her for the lifetime I shared with her.
I pray that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can’t find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of ‘Mother’,
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you –
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia spirit free.
Mother had loved that second poem when I first read it to her. And I shall remember her with her last words to me…
Grieving heart, crying soul
He looked away with tears brimming his eyes. Lenore had no real happiness except with Rob. But he didn’t know who Rob was. Didn’t know who Lenore was. Didn’t know where she was. And he couldn’t do anything to help. Didn’t know how to. Who could she be? Mystery of mysteries…The thought slipped in his mind. He headed down to the kitchen to fill his hunger in the silence of the house, Lenore filling his mind.
She came to him in the night. The pale gossamer figure. Her long dark hair haloed by her aura, her pale eyes, sad.
He opened his eyes, awaken from slumber by the soft icy breeze against his skin, the soft haunting voice calling out to him.
He had not been able to speak. Her presence holding him in awe. She was beautiful; and angel without wings. She reached her transparent hand out towards him, fluttered and disappeared as the light came on in his room. ‘Mom’ stood by the door, worried look on her face. She had come to see what had made him scream.
He lay, sleepless after ‘Mom’ left him, awed, afraid, shocked.
“Who’s Lenore?” Rob asked when he saw them again. The looks they gave him were etched in puzzlement; confusion.
“Lenore?” He nodded at the question, but got no answer from them.
“Who is this?” He held out her picture for them to see. Still they had no answers.
“Who is she?” they asked back. But questions brought forth more questions and Rob resolved to silence in the end. He wondered if he should tell them about the diary. If he should tell them about the gossamer girl.
“Rob…” he heard her silvery whisper again, but kept his eyes closed. Was it fear? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want to see the girl again. Who was she? What was she? As sleep enveloped him again, dreamless sleep that set him in darkness, he heard no more voices.
He opened the book again, noting the date of the next entry. One year. What had happened in that one year? Where did she go? What did she do?
December 7th 1998
I have come home. From mourning mother and from my new life in school. It’s been almost a year since mother’s passing. Her death has not haunted me as much as father’s presence. I still see mother sometimes and I wish she was alive, but father? Father doesn’t understand why she left. He blames me for her leaving him. Will he ever see that it is no one’s fault and that mother watches over us? Rob has been gone again. I miss him badly. He has not called, but I believe that he is well. He had said not to worry before he left. And he had rested his lips on mine so gently and softly. He left me his CD. His music, his soul. It’s not him. Not the Rob I know and love. But that does not matter. He loves his music and I shall learn to love it too.
Waiting for eternity
January 4th 1999
He has returned, held me in his arms and whispered in my ears, the words of Poe again. Words we shared and loved. He told me why he left. He told me what he had to do…
Yes! she was worth of all love!
Even such as from the accursed time
My spirit with the tempest strove,
When on the mountain peak alone,
Ambition lent it a new tone,
And bade it first to dream of crime,
My frenzy to her bosom taught:
We still were young” no purer thought
Dwelt in a seraph’s breast than thine;
For passionate love is still divine:
I loved her as an angel might
With ray of all living light…
He told me he still loved me…
I haven’t had time for you of late. I’m sorry. I have taken the liberty to move to a new home. It’s lovely, with the French windows mother so loved and the little daisies growing by the window ledge, bobbing their little black heads in the wind. I have gone to seen Rob and his friends play. They are famous. People come up to them to take their signature and pictures. He has gone to the top of the mountain and he’s not alone. I’m happy for him, Annabel. He seems happy. He has promised to let me meet his friends. Soon he said. But why not now? Perhaps he has his own reasons. Reasons which I shall not question, but trust fully.
There’s that dream again, Annabel. It has returned. Same as before.. the flames, the clouds, the screams, the raven. It’s been haunting me for nights. Sleepless nights watching the purple skies turn amber…
Part of me won’t go away…
Another year, Annabel!
The nightmares still haunt me. They will not leave me until I know what they are trying to tell me. I worry, Annabel. Could it be about Rob? Could it be about me? What will happen? Did you know that they all died? All the women in his works? His life? They all died. The women we were named after... Annabel... Helen... Lenore... Do you suppose we would too? Everyone dies eventually... Mother’s dead now. I’m still crying deep inside. Rob’s been sweet. He’s tried to comfort me, telling me everything will be alright... everything will work out... that he’s there for me. He’s a darling, Annabel... I love him. Every bit of him. His eyes, his lips, his hair, his body, his talent, his gifts, his soul. Everything! He is my soulmate. I love the things he love and he loves me. We share a bond deeper than love and friendship. Deeper than the secrets I tell you, Annabel. And he gives me strength. I feed on him. I need him to live. Nothing will take him away from me, Annabel. Not even death....
Stop just what’s killing me…
|TOP | Last updated 15 February 2002 19:42 (AUS EST / +1000 GMT).|