Lulu
By kiwi_a_gogo
- 376 reads
Lulu
A shoe without a partner is like a life without a soul - it's desolate,
useless, meaningless even. Just like me without Lulu, I have no place.
The rag doll is the only connection I have to her, Lulu, my big sister.
It's the only thing that makes me feel safe in my now melancholy world,
a world of silence except for my mother's teardrops, falling noisily to
the floor. I stare intently at the shoe, pondering over its existence
and clutching onto the doll for what seemed like dear life. I rock
backwards and forwards, willing myself not to cry as I pull her quilt
tighter around me. I breathe in deeply and inhale the thick scent of
her perfume, and wishing I was taking it in from a tight embrace, and
not this material that fails to warm me. Now I am quite literally
blinking back the tears, only my pride stops me sobbing and I yawn,
pretending it is fatigue that makes my eyes water.
'Pride is a sin,' the words of my strict Catholic priest resound around
my head, as my thoughts drift off on a tangent. Yet the thought of
several 'Hail Mary's' or 'Our Father's' never stops me holding back the
pride and I eventually fall asleep, my heart heavy and my grief trapped
up inside.
I wake up the next morning to the sound of wind on the rough material
of our curtains, making them flap against the wall. I see the bright
usually cheery yellow wallpaper as a dull corny colour, as I see the
world through weary eyes. The harsh winter gails blow rain through the
window that I didn't even realise was open. Did she get out through
there? If so, where did she go? We have heard nothing for two days now,
and mother tells me it's because she stays at one of her friend's
house, only I don't believe her. There was a note when I asked, a note
that she tried to hide from my view, and then crumpled and threw away.
She said it was nothing, and I foolishly lace is a circle on the dusty
shelf, and the wood below it thought nothing of it, until I noticed the
moneybox. Or lack of it even. In its place was a circle on the dusty
shelf, and the wood below it id of a brighter colour. It is wood which
hadn't seen the light of day for so long, because Lulu only filled it
with money, never removed any. She said she was saving it for an
emergency. She must have taken the hundreds of crisp five pound notes
in the moneybox and taken it to an emergency. Once I had found that out
I worried even more. I hope she's alright. I hope she'll come home
soon.
I thought that, on the night she left, there were voices outside, and
the roar of a powerful engine. They were noises that were rapidly
denied; significant noises and ones that won't stop re-playing over in
mind. I know mother is protecting me, shielding me from everything with
a transparent curtain of lies. I want to feel better, as is her
intention, only I worry more because mother never normally hides me
from the truth, in Fact, normally she's blatantly obvious about it.
Something awful must have happened to Lulu. Something truly
terrible.
I unwrap myself from my cocoon of bed linen, and shiver as the material
of my pyjamas shields me little from the harsh weather. I take
tentative steps, as if I have just found I have feet for the first
time, and make my way slowly to the window. I attempt to close it, but
hesitate as I don't want to disturb any memory of her, no matter how
upsetting. I try again, thinking that I'm being sentimental and my
actions foolish, and yet I am still unable to do it, no matter how hard
I try. So I abandon this cause and make my way downstairs. I run my
fingers against the rough wallpaper and feel the soft carpet beneath my
feet, as the floorboards creek loudly and the sound echoes around the
hallway. There is a whimper, which comes from the kitchen, and I pause,
trying to catch more of the sound and link it to someone. I realise
someone is crying, and that that someone is my mother. Her whimpers
turn to sobs, the sobs to cries - cries full of hysteria and grief,
full of a terrible happening, and yet a want of ignorance for this
knowledge. I stop dead in my tracks, and am filled with a sudden dread
- the crying is for Lulu, somehow I know it is. When I question my
mother on the matter she turns away from me, pretending that her tears
are because she was chopping onions. She turns her red swollen eyes
from me and says nothing more for a while, until I press my questions,
and then she snaps at me. She leads me upstairs, to sort through the
wardrobe for black clothes. Eventually she pulls a black top and skirt
out for me what she thinks are suitable clothes for whatever occasion
we are to attend. She herself pulls on a simple black dress before
perching on the end of the bed. I watch as her face crumples again and
the tears fall onto her clenched fists - so tightly clasped together
that her knuckles begin to pale, and she rocks back and forth in an
attempt to numb the pain she feels inside. She turns to me, her eyes
full of insanity, and her face twisted with horror as she tries to
speak, but chocks, until eventually she mutters:
'We fought? I was so stupid? I should have just taken her but? then he
came and took her away in that rust bucket? and now? Ohhh, Lulu, I'm so
sorry?' her voice trailed off in a whisper, and I walk towards her, and
hug her. We sit together for what seems like an eternity, before I let
go and sink to my knees. I'm still unsure of what has happened and I
say:
'Why do you wander around, as if you don't know what to do? What has
happened to Lulu, mother? What has happened to Lu?'
*
It's later now, much later, and now I now what happened to Lu, and I
never want to have to identify anyone again. The skirt and top still
lay discarded in the same place I dropped them so long ago. After those
last questions mother had stared into my face with her big blue eyes
and answered my questions. Then we went to that awful place. I wish, in
some ways, that I had never asked.
Lulu came home last night, but the shoe is still alone. Her rag doll
now occupies my bed, the only object I was allowed to remove. The
curtains still flap, but now it's in the spring breeze. If only it
hadn't taken so long, and maybe the cries wouldn't still sound around
the house, and I wouldn't have to cover my ears. I don't want to hear
or feel the pain anymore. The money box is still absent, but the circle
on the shelf is covered by a small urn, and the room will remain that
way, in memory of Lulu.
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