Participants:
| Scene Title | I Have No Fear Of Drowning |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Abigail goes through her pre-slumber ritual and has her one sided conversation with God, again. |
| Date | June 7, 2009 |
An average middle class apartment, it's populated with decidedly not middle class furniture. A solitary red suede couch occupies the immediate living room, with a battered coffee table and side tables as it's companion. A decent sized TV sits on a cupboard with a stereo, DVD player. The kitchen sports a relic from the 70's, with matching chairs that still seem to be in decent condition. The two bedrooms off the hall are distinguishable from the other, one bearing a gold cross nailed above the door, the other not.
In the corner of the living room is an ornate cage on a bird stand, a blue budgie within it's depths. In another corner is a massive cat tree house, and often occupied by a black cat with a red suede collar. It looks barely lived in, like the owners are not yet investing their effort quite yet to move in.
She has her nightly rituals, things that he does before she goes to bed.
If she was in the apartment in the morning, teo and Alexander just waking up she'd make them breakfast, get their day started and be ending hers. A kiss for her men on their cheeks, like well loved and adored brothers and then depart for the bathroom.
Instead she shuffles about the apartment at near midnight, washing up the few scant dishes used by hand and drying them off. You don't end the day with dirty dishes in the sink. The solitary black cat has parked itself on the front of her feet, providing a measure of warmth against the cool linoleum. Pila is parked on her shoulder, little talons digging into her sweater to keep herself anchored tight to the red heads shoulder and contenting herself with a nibble of red hair or a nip of her ear.
Just in case, I will leave my things packed
So I can run away
I cannot trust these voices I don't have a line of prospects that can give some kind of peace
There is nothing left to cling to that can bring me sweet release
I have no fear of drowning
It's the breathing that's taking all this work
There used to be a sinkful when she came home in the morning. Signs that they'd been here. The sponge is dipped into the water, with one hand, then brought against the plate that's held in her other hand. Round and round it goes, washing away evidence that it was used, leaving that in the barely murky water. When it's clean, so clean you could make it squeak, she rinses the suds off in the second half of the sink and carefully wipes it all dry with a tea towel. Through it all for the one set of plate, knives, fork, pot, mugs. All put up in the cupboards, hidden away from view and back to having a pristine Kitchen with it's neat and orderly appearance. The light switched off as she leaves, save for a solitary little saucer of heavy cream left for Scarlett to consume at her leisure through the night.
Do you know what I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"?
What I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"
Teo would take care of Pila's cage. Put the quilted heavy cover over her gilded cage so that he and Al could spend the night in peace. She'd take it off in the morning when she came in. A sesame cracker slid between the bars as a good morning to the blue bird of their communal happiness.
Now she slips it into the cage at night after she's put the bird back in it's habitat after they've watched some TV on the couch together or studied her textbooks. A reward for returning to her cage and prepare her for the quite night ahead and the darkness that comes with the soft blue and cream quilted curtains that shut the world outside the cage from the budgie's own world. Teo hasn't seen his beloved pet in how long now? So long. Too long.
Empty spaces with shadows hit by streetlights
Warnings signs and weight of tired conversations
In the absence of a shoulder, in the abscess of a thief
On the brink of this destruction, on the eve of bittersweet
Now all the demons look like prophets and I'm living out
Every word they speak, every word they speak
Only the sound of the heat kicking in to warm the place up a smidgen echoes across the depths of the apartment. Tomorrow she'll turn it off. She'll leave the fan on, but she'll turn the heat to off. Abigail stares at herself in the mirror, green and white toothbrush flashing in and out as she cleans her teeth, the toothpaste foaming up at the corners of her mouth. Her scarlet hair pulled back into a braid already in preparation for sleep. She disappears from view for a few moments as she leans over, spitting out whats in her mouth and taking a sip of water to rinse out her mouth. Floss. Check teeth for missed spots. Mouthwash. Spit. Scarlett found a cat toy, she can hear her ripping her claws into the scratching post and then attack a plastic ball with a bell in it. She turns to the side, lifting up her flannel top, the Xiulan inked words that travel down her side in all it's black scripted glory. Another pseudo tattoo with meaning. She drops the fabric and leaves the bathroom.
Do you know what I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"?
What I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"
What I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"
Through the apartment she goes. Night chain on the door, Shot gun behind it leaning against the coat stand. WIndows locked, other doors all closed. A glass of water fetched to bring to her bed with her. It's settled on her nightstand, on top of a coaster that rests on a bible. A worn and well loved study version. She does that as a joke to a long dead man she admired. Her red cellphone is parked there too, kept close in case of emergency. The blue bedsheets are pulled back, edge tucked out from under pillow, executed in a perfect 45 degree angle that would make any maid who does turn down proud.
She would hear the guy bumping around out her door, trying to be quiet in respect for her and her polar lifestyle in more ways than one. Hear teo clumping down the hall regardless to his room, or to the couch so he can eat. Hear Al in the bathroom in the shower, the scent of the myrh soap tha the uses curl under her door.
There's just the smell of her freshly washed bedding as down to her knees she gets, elbows up on the bed, palm clasped around palm. Her forefinger knuckles the resting spot for her forehead. More silence. In more ways that one that tug at her heart.
Do you know what I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"?
What I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"
What I mean when I say, "I don't want to be alone"
Alone, alone, I don't want to be alone
Dear lord.
She never says her bedtime prayers aloud. Not since she was a little girl and her parents were wanting to make sure that she was reciting them as all good Christian girls should.
I am forever grateful for each day that you all me to exist here upon earth, and choose not to call me home to your side to the reward that I strive so hard to deserve every day. I know that I ask of you plenty, daily, that I need, or want, that I desire. I pray each day that you find in your heart a small corner for myself and for those that I hold dear.
The ringing of the bell has stopped and Scarlett begins her nightly ritual of coming into Abigail's room and setting herself up on the windowsill so she can watch the moon in it's steady path across the sky, and the people who scurry along the street. To later dream of mice or of someday actually getting a hold of Pila.
I'm.. detached. I'm feeling cut off from it and in turn you. God, blessed Father I wish for it back, I yearn for it to come back, every day. That I might meet the man who you sent to do your work. I trying heavenly father, to live each day as yous ee fit and expect of me. To conquer my fear and show the godless that even when one is feeling.. unloved by you, that they've done wrong in your eyes, that you still deserve all that we have to offer. That you are still there, watching, waiting
The red braid slips over her shoulder, the tip of it brushing against the blue floral bedspread with it's white flowers in multitude.
If I am never to receive your gift again, to lay my hands upon another and to feel your blessing course through me and into them, to take away their hurts in your name, then….
Abigails lips part to permit her tongue to lick across her lips and moisten them even as she breaths in withe yes closed, trapping the moisture between her lashes.
Then that is your will. And I'll accept it. I'll hate it and rail against it, but I'll accept and can only hope that I did all that you asked of me and more with the gift and did not disappoint you with my choices, with my direction and my giving freely of that which you gave to me. I'm sorry that I did not spread your word with each sharing of your gift and I can only hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me such. I ask you heavenly father, Dear Lord, savior, that you find it in your heart to deliver unto flint, the meaning to why you have given it to him and that he can find understanding and healing of all kinds, including yours while he holds it for you in his safekeeping.That you spare him the trials that you visited upon me, while he carries on your work in his way. That you spare me the jealousy and the anger that I feel rise in me when I see him.
She shifts, resettles her hands tighter around each mated palm, rubbing the tips of her thumb along the bridge of her nose.
Give me understanding lord and a better heart. Give me peace, and give me tranquility. Help me to learn to heal with my hands in a different fashion as I embark upon a new path. It may not be how I am used to it, but I will learn, and I will be a better, more god fearing woman. I will sing your praises to those who listen and I will continue to help those who are in need of it, and without call for compensation or demand for payment. Help me find purpose Lord, in the light of my straying, of forgetting from who I came and from what I came. Leave me wise to temptations, and to see the devil when he strikes. Know above all heavenly father that though I may flounder and at times I have lost my path, your light brings me back to the path that I have been called down and I feel it's warmth upon my back and face at all times
Abigail's hands lower to clasp the little simple gold cross at her throat, lifting it up to place a kiss on it.
"Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless this bed that I lay on. Four corners to my bed, four angels round my head;
One to watch, and one to pray, and two to bear my soul away." Her right hand makes the motions of the cross before her palm lifts up into air and facing up towards the sky as her head stays bow'd for another few moments.
"Amen"
She'd fall asleep to the sounds of the guys getting ready to go about saving the world from injustice, underaged drinkers and keep people from having to actually walk three blocks in the city. She'd fall asleep to the sound of Teo conversing with his budgie, of him ribbing Alexander. Of clothing being rustled and water running and the city stirring from it's slumbering depths of night that threatens to break into day. SHe'd fall asleep knowing that God loved her, she was doing his work, and he loved her for that.
Abigail falls asleep on her side, the world outside her window settling in for it's long night, people in their own houses and apartment, police walking the streets and enforcing curfew. Uncertain in Gods love, uncertain in her confusion and muddled direction in life. Her nightmares will have red lightening in it along with John Logan's eyes. Like they've had for the last few nightmares. She'll wake up with a soaked pillow long before dawn will even hint at coming across the horizon and pray to God a dozen more times this night.
I have no fear of drowning
It's the breathing that's taking all this work