~ * ~

'Don't let yourself go . . .'

Extract from 'A Night Without Armour' by Jewel Kilcher

As
a
Child
I
Walked
/ As a child I walked / with noisy fingers / along the hemline / of so many meadows / back home // Green fabric / stretched out /    shy earth /    shock of sky // I'd sit on a log like pulpits / listen to the sermon / of sparrows / and find god in Simplicity / there among the dandelion / and thorn //
Saved
from
Myself
/ How often I've cried out / in silent tongue / to be saved / from myself // in the middle of the night / too afraid / to move // horrified the answer / may be beyond the / capability of my / own two hands // so small //    (no one should feel this alone) //

~ * ~
Late October, 1998
Tulsa, Oklahoma

Tulsa.
Was it really so small?
It had never seemed this small before.
'Perhaps because you've seen cities that go beyond the horizon from 40 stories up!'.

Taylor sat on the edge of the small outcrop - one leg over the edge, the other clasped to his chest - looking out over Tulsa. He wasn't really all that high up, but he could see it all. Tulsa, the country outside it, the river. The Arkansas River. How many times had he come up here just to look at the river?
And forget?
He rested his chin on his knee and watched the water flow in its banks without seeming to move at all.

Without thinking, he reached deep into his pocket and pulled out his pocket-knife.

Swiss Army Knife, in relatively good condition. The only real thing wrong was a few nicks in one of the blades and the tweezers that had broken last winter when he'd tried to pull Zac's ingrown toe-nail out with them. They'd snapped, leaving Zac howling, and still with his ingrown toe-nail.
Slowly Tay opened one of the blades.
The sharp one.
The metal reflected the sun brightly.
Why was the day so sunny, when his life felt grey?
Why did everyone seem so happy?
'I guess no-one understands after all'
She had.
She'd understood him. She'd understood the restlessness in him, the loneliness he felt but could never explain.

But she was gone.
He'd spent the whole afternoon reliving the one memory he wanted to keep a secret. It had hurt so much.
But the telling had helped.
He felt fine now.
No, right now, he didn't feel anything, which was pretty much how he wanted it.
Too many times the pendulum that was his emotions had swung between happy and sad, joy and guilt, elation and pain. Now, he just wanted it to stop. No more swinging moods, no more having to mask his every feeling. If he felt nothing, then he had nothing to hide.

He stared at the blade.

'Oh God! What's happening to me?' a tiny little voice shrieked in his mind before it was steam-rolled by another memory, squeezing free of the prison walls he'd locked it in so long ago . . .

~ * ~
December, 1996
Tulsa, Oklahoma

"Are you sure you're all right with speaking Tay?" Diana asked gently. Taylor had spoken barely two words since Walker and Isaac had found him nearly frozen in the forest, huddled protectively over Rhiannon's dead body, icy tears glistening on his cheeks. All she received in answer was a nod. Giving him one final hug, Diana went to comfort Zac, who already had tears pouring down his face.
"Hon, do you want me to drive you home?" Tay heard his mother ask.
"No," the 11-year-old of less than a month said between sobs, wiping his face with the back of his hand. This was only his second funeral, "Ice's here. She might need me,"
"If you're sure -"
"I am Mom," Zac said, his energy levels for once subdued, then walked towards the cemetery.

Taylor loosened the uncomfortable tie at his neck. He was not looking forward to this.

The coffin was pure white. The bouquets of flowers were not enormous or lavish. They all knew that Rhiannon hadn't been like that. That one orchid Taylor'd given her for Valentine's Day had meant more to her than if he'd showered her with red roses. The three boys each lay a single flower on the whiteness of the coffin lid.
Ike, an apricot rose-bud.
Zac, a small yellow daffodil.
Tay, an orchid.
Walker and Diana lay their small bouquets beside their sons' flowers and then went straight to Arian and Lew.
Isaac was already halfway over to Dwynwen; the only person there who even tried to appear somewhat calm and composed. She and her parents had flown in to Tulsa the second they'd heard.
Zac sat next to Rachael and tried to talk to her, to get both their minds off the white coffin in front of them.
Taylor looked around, not particularly wanting to talk to anyone. But he didn't want to be alone.
'The only person I want to talk to is lying in that stupid box!'.
"Hey," a sad voice murmured from behind him. He turned around.
"Hey Liz," he answered, a half-smile forming on his lips, but he almost choked on the words.
"How are you?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know. You?"
"Sad, angry, confused, lonely. I'm like you I suppose, I don't know how I feel," Tay nodded.
He'd lied. He knew exactly how he felt.
Guilty.
"I . . . I'm sorry Taylor, I . . ."
"She was your friend too,"
"Yeah but . . . you, you . . ."
'I found her. I know exactly what you're trying to say Liz'
Elisabette sighed and gave up. Gently, she laid a hand on his shoulder.
"If you ever need someone to talk to -"
"I'll come knocking," he gave her another sad, half-smile. She returned it and went towards Isaac and Dwynwen.
Taylor pulled his coat tighter around him. The snow was almost gone, but it had left the cold behind. Tucking his gloved hands under his arms, he walked over to his family, steeling himself for the sermon that was just about to start.

The minister was old and his sermon was kind, if not so much comforting. Maybe he only did it because of Zac and Rachael, who were both on the edge of bawling, or maybe it was because Rhiannon herself had only been thirteen. Either way, Taylor was thankful for it spared him at least a little pain.
Don't remember Rhiannon in death, the minister was saying, but rather remember her as she was in life.
'Yeah, but you didn't see her die did you old man?' Taylor thought bitterly.
"Rhiannon Lougher was but thirteen. Why, we ask ourselves, would the Lord take an innocent child? But we must remember that while the Lord may take, the Lord also gives. We should not grieve for Rhiannon, we should rejoice that she is now walking with our Lord Jesus in Heaven. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh. Rhiannon has been taken from us, and now we must look to the Lord to give us comfort. Comfort in the knowing that Rhiannon was so dearly loved on Earth, that she will be just as loved in the hereafter. Take comfort in the fact that Rhiannon now walks in the kingdom of God, and grieve no more," the minister concluded and laid a small white lily on her coffin.
'Pretty speech old man, Rhiannon didn't even believe in God!'.

Taylor barely listened as his father read the eulogy Lew and Arian had written. Yeah, she was quiet, she was a bit reclusive, of course she was really nice! Reaching inside, his coat, Taylor pulled out a book. Inside were pages upon pages of Rhiannon's neat writing. This was her diary. Here was where she kept all her hopes and dreams, all her fears and sorrows. They were the translations of her mind, the way she thought and felt was all documented in this one book. On its cover was a picture of a forest. Ironic.
He didn't notice the tears falling down onto that forest.
Rachael had given it to him, maybe it'd make him feel better. Obviously Rachael hadn't so much as opened the book, or she would have shredded it before giving it to him. He heard someone coming up beside him.
The book disappeared inside his coat.
"Are you going to say something?" Elisabette asked, her voice thick, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Yeah. Are you?" she just nodded, her voice too choked with sobs to speak. Not realising what he was doing, Taylor wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"Thank-you," she whispered, then watched as Carlton struggled to finish what he wanted to say.
"Nobody will ever be able to replace my baby sister -" a fresh set of tears escaped from his eyes, "- Please don't cry for her, I don't think she would have wanted it but . . . no, no do cry for her. She deserves it," and with that he broke down. Lew led him back to where the rest of the family was standing; they huddled together for support.
Quietly, Liz slipped out from Tay's arm and walked to the head of her best friend's coffin.
"Rhiannon wasn't only my best friend, she was the best person I ever knew. Sure, she had her faults, just like everyone else, but in all the time I was friends with her, I never knew her to hurt anyone deliberately. She was one of the two kindest people I've ever known -" she looked straight at Taylor, "I don't think I need to say any more, except that I'll never miss anyone more than we're all going to miss Rhiannon Mary Lougher," Elisabette sobbed and headed towards Rachael and the rest of the Loughers. The little girl stared up at Liz with her baby blue eyes.
"Lizbet?" her lower lip was quivering, "When's Rhee coming back?" the tiny flame of naïve hope in her voice was more that Elisabette could take. Picking up her best friend's little sister, she whispered,
"She's not Rachael," her voice cracked into a sob, "She's not,"

"I didn't really know Rhiannon all that well. She was just the sister of one of my friends and then my brother's best friend. But whenever I saw her, she always said 'Hi'. She always seemed like a really nice person. I'm sorry that I never really got to know her. I guess I'll never get the chance," Isaac wouldn't let himself cry. He wouldn't! That vow was getting really hard to keep but . . .
Everyone turned to the minister, who in turn looked at Taylor.
Moment of truth.
Sighing, Tay pulled the book with the forest cover out of his coat and stepped to the head of the white coffin. The forest was so peaceful. Not taking his eyes off the book, he spoke.
"You probably all know, Rhiannon was my best friend. I don't think I really need to say anything about her. It's already been said. So instead of me saying something, I'm going to let her say it," he opened the book, not seeing, or caring about, all the confused looks, " 'Close your eyes, but don't sleep. Close you eyes, but don't dream. Simply close your eyes, and you will see my world. My world; the colours of darkness and the sounds of silence. For in every essence, it is my world. It is a beautiful place; a green valley, covered with daisies and blue-bells. A crystal clear stream cuts through it like a snake over the desert dunes. The sky is always blue, the sun is always warm, the breeze is always cool. The birds chirp their songs to me, and the wind plays its tune across the reeds. The soft sand in the bottom of the stream is like silk between my toes, and the water is a blanket of sweet purity, washing away the stains of reality. This is my world. It is a peaceful place; a realm of contented happiness. There is no sound of war-drums, no gunfire, no screams. Of sadness and misery there is not a trace. The mountains are alive; their heart-beat becomes my own whenever I return. The worn deer-trails are always walked, if not by myself, then by the animals. The creatures live in harmony here; they do not fight, there is no need. Nothing can disturb the peace and harmony of this world. My world . . .' " his voice trailed off.
All he could hear were sobs.
He couldn't say anything; his voice had disappeared.
What was there to say?
Nothing.
Dammit, nothing!
Nothing was going to bring her back!
Tay felt a hand on his shoulder. The minister.
"Rejoice, young man, rejoice that she is with the Lord," he said softly.
'Rejoice?! Are you kidding me old man? Rhiannon's dead and you say REJOICE?!?'. He shook off the minister's hand and walked away.

'What am I going to do?'
He walked across the cemetery, not caring how many people's graves he stepped on.
'What am I going to do?'
The place seemed endless.
'God dammit, what the hell do I do?!'
The angry tears slipped from his eyes. Sinking down by a willow tree, he buried his head in his arms.

~ * ~
Late October, 1998
Tulsa, Oklahoma

A bitter chuckle passed Tay's lips. Had he actually thought that verse would comfort him?
'Dammit to hell you idiot, you did!'.
The anger was quickly smothered by the numbness. He'd thought that verse would be a comfort, instead, it turned out to be the very thing that haunted him.
Ironic.

He remembered Carlton's words, 'Do cry for Rhiannon, she deserved it'.
She'd deserved tears then, but now? Did she still deserve all the pain her memory was causing everyone?
'It's you that's making everyone remember Taylor, not her' a little voice whispered inside his head. Now that they knew how she'd died, would the pain go away?

'Not while I'm still here; I killed her'.

What was the point? All the pain? He couldn't take it any more. The numbness was good. He felt nothing. Nothing was good. Nothing was the answer to his prayers. No more pain, no more hiding away, no more haunting words, no more guilt.

'When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long . . .' he couldn't remember which song that came from, but it described the way he felt perfectly.

Everything he'd been through, all of it, had been for nothing. Every ounce of pain had just bought him ten times more. It wasn't worth being haunted by memories that wouldn't die.

He looked at the sharpened steel. It sparkled in the sun. Why did it suddenly look so beautiful? He'd never noticed before.

Dammit, what did Life have against him? Was his life all just one cruel comedy to amuse God? Was Life toying with him like a cat toyed with a mouse? Why? Why was he singled out? Why didn't Life go pick on the Queen of England or Ringo Starr or Chewbacca? What was so special about them? Their lives were so perfect.
'And mine's such a goddamn joke!'.

Turning the small blade, he could see the colours jumping out of the silver. If he turned it just the right way, the light reflected onto the rock.

'Or is it me?'

Was it him? If it wasn't for him, Rhiannon'd still be alive. If it wasn't for him, she'd still be here, laughing and humming, doing all the things nobody else ever thought of doing. It'd been him all along.
'I tried to blame everyone else, but it was me!'.
It was his fault. It was all his fault . . . the numbness weakened. The pain was creeping back in.
'NO!'
He tried to catch the numbness, pull it back with all his strength, but he couldn't reach it. Pain exploded on his senses as the numbness left him. The guilt, the anger, the memories, they all came flooding back to fill his emptiness. He couldn't live without the numbness. He couldn't bear it!

The metal flashed in the fading sunlight. So beautiful.

Without thinking, he ran his finger along the blade. The cut was slim, neat, delicate almost. There was only a thin film of blood on the razor-sharp edge. He looked out across Tulsa and the Arkansas River. Where had it all gone wrong?

"Goodbye Tulsa, hope the world's good to you, 'cause it was a fucking bitch to me," he took a deep breath.
The air was so sweet up here.
"Ashes to ashes -" the sharp blade rested on his wrist. "- Dust to dust,"

Tears blurred his vision.

* * * *

<<