Past Revisited - Memories and notes

[Matilda]

((A series of memories, random notes, stories from Matilda as she remembers and explains them to friends written down so she never forgets them. Written in scrap books or random pieces of paper she keeps, then later typed up and saved in files on her computer. Those who knew her will notice she often has paper, pen and pencil handy, will write on most anything and often just scribbling, drawing and day dreaming between.))


The beginning... Or somewhere close to it:

How do you explain a man in a matter of words? How do you tell your story with tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth? It appears it is something i'll have to overcome if I intend to explain to you the events of last September, the events that changed my entire life. To be honest though i'm not sure why you think it's so important, what does it matter to you? I cannot be in your world again, I am not of it any longer, not in the same way I was. God only knows it isn't important what I am, that doesn't affect who I am or how I choose to live, our personal morals reflect on the choices we make, we choose right or wrong and hold others to our standards. Perhaps you won't agree with me, what then? You'll think i'm evil, or wrong, you'll decide you can't stand to listen to another word I have to say. 'Save your explanations', you'll cry out to me, 'save your sweet smiles' because you have deemed me the devil with a doll's face.

Bugger that, mate, I couldn't give a damn if you think i'm right or wrong in my actions because no doubt someone else will be worse. Here I am telling you off when I haven't even started my story, not exactly starting off on the right foot am I? There is that word again, it's something that has haunted me for so long, funny how the stringing together of a few simple letters, letting your lips shape the syllables and tongue roll around the rush of air that creates the desired sounds, can create a word that so easily condemns and bares witness to your actions. In putting off the inevitable i've presented you with ammunition against me, the simple reality that words hurt more than weapons, yet i'd rather you scream at me than let me suffer your anger in silence. There is nothing worse for me than things being unsettled, left up in the air without a solution in sight and it's why i'm here to explain to you, to tell you what happened to me.

I would never have gone so long if not for him, the Wolf, the man who led this little girl astray. Like Red Riding Hood on the way to Grandma's a twist of fate caught me up in it's cruel fibres, thread wound tight about my neck, forcing my head to turn and take the path West, losing my way into the arm's of a predator. Have you ever laid still and become the prey or did you fight? Even as you bled out upon the ground, bathing in the crimson of your own life, would you fight to keep it? When I think of that night the first thing I see is red, my dress soaked by deeper rivulets of maroon, rich and thick as it seeped through the garment to stain my very skin.

I suppose you could say that was a colourful eveniing, red, blue, white and gold staining my visions, my nightmares and dreams alike up until this day. You know of the red, but blue oh god that is the part that makes my heart thump in my chest and I cannot forget, I cannot avoid it for almost every day I look upon it once more. His eyes flashing before mine, Cerulean gaze troubled with indecision as my own clear, wide like the doe, the prey at his feet, stared in horror while I suffered beneath the press of urgent hands. He never wanted me, I was never a decision made and chosen, groomed for the life he gave me but I wasn't a mistake.

You probably want to know how all this came about, right? What of this vision of our Red Riding Hood, her modern red dress cut across with slashes of crimson, set off by the pale beauty of her skin and wide blue of frightened eyes. Limbs askew like the doll her features rather reminded you of, elegant as a ballerina even in the disarray she lay in. Why, why did little red lay there with teeth marks scarring her skin, glass cutting beneath an aching frame, imbedded against the softness of human flesh. On the floor of a Reptile House in Canada, aching for a home so far gone from her now. Golden blonde locks matted through with blood, thick as syrup, a single trickle running down her cheek, dripping upon the lips that parted to speak. "Home".

Well for that i'd have to take you back to Australia, where it all began, that very home I, our very own little Red, begged for in those moments. It's strange the things that lead you to death, to life, to big decisions isn't it? Tragedy seems to always be a major catalyst, such a cliche to me the images that invade my mind every time I seek my rest, everyday reminders only made them worse and I was beginning to lose the plot. I wasn't always so down and out on my self, so easily lead into trouble, hell I used to be viewed like sunshine and praised for my light.

It's what happens when you are born to parents like mine, a French Mother you just wanted to breathe, she was like fresh air, flighty and free in all aspects of life. The creative soul that encouraged beauty, bright as being exposed to light after days in darkness she often took my breath away. My Father was cheery in his own way, but he was a true Aussie Battler, the hard yakka worker type who ran his farm with great effiiciency and heart, he was earthy and grounded. Nothing could shift that man when his mind was made up, he was firm in his manner but it was never cruel, never without reason and I held nothing but respect for my Father. His hands held his life story written in the lines of them, skin well worked over muscles defined by experience and the dirt stains that never seemed to wash away no matter how hard he scrubbed.

My ideals in life were set by them, the things for which I strived and manner in which I presented myself was born of my parents strengths. I am her entirely with my feminine features, soft curves on a delicate frame and eyes often worn wide open beneath a frame of thick lashes. My father touched my features only slightly in the narrow of my eyes, the brief sarcastic stares or scrutinising study of a work space, the quirk of lips finding amusement in the simpler things in life those belonged to him. Mamon, the beauty, gave to me a love of creativity and movement, a voice that soars from a body made to fly, to dance. Without her I would be my Father's daughter, the otherside I cling to, determined and hard working, unafraid to scuff my boots or get grass stains upon the knees I can be tough as nails and hold a callous upon my heart, rough and ready with scars beneath.

This complication of my mixed personality, the reflections of my parents within me are intregral to my survival and what led me to my fate, tragedy and the unwillingness to dampen their light took me far from them. I was raised on a farm property not far from the coast along the far South of New South Wales, Australia, a beautiful wide open landscape where I could roam, taking performance lessons in the lounge with Mamon or caring for the animals, the property with Father. Hours were spent in nature, amongst the dirt and with the animals so it seemed natural that I should find my career amongst them. A strange fascination with lizards, the snakes that we often found on the property lead me to work at a local reptile farm belonging to a family we were fond of, learning all I could absorb with my quick mind.

It wasn't long before I came to realise I could not stay here forever, change had to come as the desires began to form. I wanted to grow, to learn, to create a career for myself that I enjoyed and something that would make my family proud. A University up in Sydney led me on the right path, studying to earn my qualifications, a combined degree and offer of a job almost immediately at a popular animal attraction park in New South Wales. Life seemed to be kicking into high gear for me, a career I adored, a long-term boyfriend, Jason, who i'd met in my first year at Uni and my best friend at my side as I succeeded, family proud and job offers coming from cities all over.

Of course without fail I had reached the end of my good fortune, look, it may sound it but life wasn't entirely charmed for me. As I mentioned there was a sense of foreboding I always held, a touch of darkness that followed like a shadow after the sun, threatening to consume. I finished up my studies early, I was trained in human and animal medical care but for some reason neither career path I could have gone down took my fancy. Working with my hands, practical and down to Earth at the animal park felt right and I was proud of my work. My boyfriend had just got his first full-time job since his studies in a Hospital and worked some interesting hours, we'd been with each other for over four years now and on he surface things appeared good, but he was secretive and possessive, trying to hold my activies and myself too tightly under his control.

I've always had good intuition, yet I often choose to ignore it if it's something i'm unprepared to face, I never wanted to think of him as a bad person, I never wanted to think that my best friend Hannah would leave me or that my Brother would be so long forgotten when he left, so far from my reach that speaking about him feels like i'm introducing a stranger. I'm not sure which piece of the puzzle was the final point at which I snapped, at which I ran off and into the arms of death. I was twenty three years old when it all began to unravel, Jason gone more often and when he was home his fuse was short, he was dismissive and that cold mocking he let slip occasionally became more frequent.

I'm not sure why I put up with it in all honesty, I guess i'm the fighting type and fighting to fix things seemed better than walking out. As for Hannah I mean she had always been a bit unstable, always had her issues but I never thought it could go so far, and to this day I still wonder if I could have stopped her from walking into the ocean and just letting go. Laying beneath the surface of the water in my bath tub feeling the desperate ache of lungs screaming for the oxygen they were denied, my hands clawing to keep myself under as my body fought to rise free of the watery prison I caged it in. When I came up, gasping, panting, screaming out my fears into the now empty apartment I wonder how hard it had been to die.

My sick obsession grew, wondering how long it would have taken her to lose conciousness, to die, did she choke on the water? Did she black out before it hurt? Her body was battered by the waves, smacked into rocks so it was hard to tell whether she had died from an impact in the rough surf or asphyxiation. Jason couldn't touch me then, not anymore, the damage was done and he'd taken his leave, tail between his legs the week before Hannah's death and his inability to ever repair the damage was something he'd have to live with forever. My parents found it impossible to watch the light leave my eyes, even my wayward Sibling got in touch, in fact he was the only one who could comprehend me at all in that time.

My brother saved me in a way, and he convinced me it was okay to take the job in Canada, to get away for a while and just to breathe. I think it was the hardest thing i'd ever done, to run away, to leave them behind and not look back. I have no clue where I would be now if I hadn't done it, hadn't left, I mean I probably would've just continued on spiralling down, carrying on my routine in that detached sort of way. Perhaps I would have moved on, healed, become happier again. I just had no clue where to start, I wasn't over re-creating the pain, I was still absorbed by it and when I left I tried to leave it all behind.

Have you ever tried to start your life over while hiding secrets of what you left behind in your past? It sucks, let me tell you, because the last thing I wanted at that time was to form close friendships, to find people to open up to or a man to settle down with but everyone was so keen to get me involved, to be my friend and help me adjust. I just wanted to work hard, to focus on anything but home, I never planned to spend much time with my colleagues. They started calling me the Charmer, the snake handler who was somewhat as cold as the reptiles she cared for, and too tempting for her own good; or so the one friend i'd made told me.

To my face they barely said a word once i'd swiftly turned down each advance thrown my way, glared in return to each searching glance shifted over my body as if sizing me up, mapping out my contours with their eyes. It all changed when one day they were brave enough to catch me in a good mood, invite me out to a bar in the city that evening. I'll never forget that day, the sun was high but the wind was too, rushing past with a chill that echoed a winter waiting to arrive, tangible, touchable and timeless, something you could feel and never grasp as it kissed your skin. That was the last day of my life, the last day I would feel the sun and I treasure it more than you could imagine.

[Matilda]

Love hurts, it's funny how pain is the telling symptom of feelings, that ache, the ridiculous longing and painful realisations. I wish he had said the words earlier, I wish I'd been braver and told him myself, the river was perfect and I put it off out of fear.