Cross my heart and hope to fly - A short story.

Published by: ! A r r i a n n e; on 15th Jan 2010 | View all blogs by ! A r r i a n n e;

I’ve always liked to live in my memories, rather than the present. Mainly because memories are mouldable, they’re flexible. You can choose what you want to remember, you can change what you don’t. The idea that real life is better than anything, well, that’s a lie. It’s easier to hide yourself in imagination, bury your head in the deep colours of your mind rather than face the truth: That infact, none of us are good enough and we’re all just trying to survive the best way we know how.

 

I’m seven. I’m holding court with Mr Muntsburger and the rest of my teddies. They’re lined up arrow straight at the end of my bed, and I lord over them all, bleating my childish idea of law and order. That’s when you walk in. I’m only seven, but even then, to me, there was something magnificent about you, you’re eyes sparkled with promise and hope, you smelled like mown grass and dirt.

You look at my teddies, eye Mr Muntsburger thoughtfully before picking him up, holding him tight to your chest, “He didn’t do it.”

It wasn’t until now that I realise: You can hide away from so many things in your life, shut them out with fond memories and made up stories, but the truth of it will always bleed through, like a single black thread woven into a tapestry of colour. It’s hard to see at first, but as it grows, thick as a worm then a babies arm, it’s hard not to. And then one day we have no choice but to face what we’ve been hiding from. What we’ve spent our lives living in fear of: The truth.

 

It took you ten years after that for you to kiss me. Do you remember? When things get bad do you, like me, hide away in this thought, and cover yourself in it like a blanket? It’s one I revisit more often than not these days, it was winter and we were at my school levers dance. I couldn’t stop laughing at you because you looked so stupid in your suit, but as the night grew on you’d unbuttoned the top two buttons, and your tie hung loos around your neck. I thought you looked like a movie star.

I had done my hair especially for that night; it was pulled over one shoulder and fell in curls down to my breast. I don’t know if you noticed, but every now and then you’d run your hands through it, curl strands around your finger while we talked about nonsense. I don’t know if you noticed, but I did.

The room was quiet now, it was late and everyone was starting to leave, but you told me you didn’t want it to end, you said you wanted this forever.

It was cold outside; I had chosen my dress out of style, not practicality. I wore bangles around my wrist and they danced as you held my hand, led me out past the car park, past anything we knew before you stopped. Your hand was tight in mine and when you turned to me, you’re eyes were bright, just like that first day I had saw you, and in the glow of you I felt complete. I felt warm.

It was perfect. The way you held me, the way your mouth moved with mine, the way the wind ruffled my dress around my knees and you wrapped your blazer around my shoulders. Perfect.

 

We’re a secret, you know.

We were never something elicit, something to be shunned. That’s what made us great, between us we nursed our secret from the world, shielded it from anything that may harm it.

But then that’s the thing, isn’t it? Secrets as beautiful as ours should never be contained; they always find a way out. They blossom and grow until even the sun is blocked with the size of it.

 

Do you remember when we first slept together?

I was going off to college and you held me so sweetly in your arms it made me want to weep. It took me so long to understand my love for you, without even knowing that it was never meant to be understood. That like all good things and all good memories, we must cherish it.

So this moment I will hold in my heart forever. This moment where you pulled me into you whispered into my ear and ran your arms the length of mine until I shivered with anticipation. This moment I will cherish. Just like I do you. Just like I do now.

 

It’s odd to find you here, now. I see your face and it’s not as I remembered it, it’s weather beaten and worn, tiered and grey. Your hair is thin, your right eye swollen. You look so frail; I’m scared for you. I bury myself in my memories, in you. And as the juror stands, my heart stops.

Because I know you, I know us. I know you’re not what they’re saying you are, that it isn’t right, isn’t you. But they don’t listen. They don’t understand that I love you and that most of all you love me. But that doesn’t matter to them. It doesn’t matter to any of them.

 

We’re a secret me and you, one that I’ve kept since I was seven. One that blossomed so uncontrollably and unexpectedly I never saw it coming, and before it was too late it had blocked the sun.

Comments

14 Comments

  • Chanty
    by Chanty 2 years ago
    This is really powerful writing. Really gets one thinking that if a child does not know any better, then they aren't even aware of what is wrong. Geez it started so beautifully - really romantic, as if it was a boy from your childhood - first sweetheart, then I began to realize the shocking and sickening truth that it was not a boy, but rather a father or uncle - not sure. My gut twisted and I felt sick and angry.... Very good stuff.
  • ! A r r i a n n e;
    by ! A r r i a n n e; 2 years ago
    Thank you!
    It's the fist thing I've written like this, the whole style is new to me.
    It's great to have some feedback.
  • Cazza
    by Cazza 2 years ago
    I love this piece, the way it skims the surface, leading you one way, then throwing the truth at you from behind.
  • cdm
    by cdm 2 years ago
    I was really stunned by this; I think the writing is amazing. It doesn't ramble, it's to the point, but it evokes the situations perfectly. As Chanty says, it makes you think one thing, initially, until you get further through the writing, and realise the awful truth. Hope to see more of your writing.
  • Chanty
    by Chanty 2 years ago
    Arrianne, sometimes we realize that we have other talents and can write in different styles... I enjoy experimenting and having fun with writing in first person, now and again. Although my preferred choice is third person. No sure what yours is, but this was powerful for your first time... as if you wrote from experience - it was very real.
  • Caducean Whisks
    by Caducean Whisks 2 years ago
    Very moving and subtly done. You kept control of your story well, and the restraint adds to the poignancy. Well done.
  • Caducean Whisks
    by Caducean Whisks 2 years ago
    Oh! Forgot to say - lyrical and evenly paced with some lovely metaphors. I enjoyed reading it.
  • imp
    by imp 2 years ago
    I really like this Arrianne, its pace, its imagary, its mystery. Convincing and tender. I sensed a darkness, of course, but I'm not sure I understand it. Maybe it's me, but I'm not sold on the idea that there is a major age difference. As Chanty says, there is very much a sense of this, though I don't see the evidence or indications as conclusive. For example, would not a "partner" at a school leaver's dance be a contempory or at least of a similar generation? Would their intimacy in a public place not go without comment if it was not so? I'll come back to it later as I feel I have missed something - in the meantime, congratulations. It captures the imagination.
  • Weens
    by Weens 2 years ago
    I'm usually good at seeing a twist ending coming, but I didn't see this one, it came as a sickening surprise. Beautifully written, I can see this winning a competition.
  • ! A r r i a n n e;
    by ! A r r i a n n e; 2 years ago
    Thank you all :]
    When I wrote it I wanted there to be an ending you kind of saw for yourself. I'm not sure if that makes sense.
    To me the ending is pretty much like Chanty says, but I like the debate it can cause, you know? I like the not knowing. I mean, is it the doting sinister father/uncle/teacher, whatever, chaperoning the dance. Or young love?
  • imp
    by imp 2 years ago
    I am so glad you posted that Arrianne because I was starting to feel stupid - an ending you can see for yourself! Well if you can pull that one off, you certainly have talent. I can see how it could be many things, which is truly fascinating.
  • Jak
    by Jak 2 years ago
    What I love about this - apart from the fact it's written beutifully - is the fact you can almost put any scenario into place, a school sweetheart, or a more sinister relative. Yes there is the question about why has he been beaten up and why they treasure the 'secret'. But nothing to suggest it has to be sinister.

    I think I'ld like to think of it as the man on his death bed in hospital, he's old maybe been hit by a car -with the nurses and doctors saying he's a vegtable. She looks back over there first moments, maybe he was the boy next door coming to play when they were seven? He took her to prom at seventeen and kissed her for the first time, and then slept together before she went off to collage.
    I remember my first girlfriend and I kept our 'thing' as a secret as it gave more excitment, hiding it from our friends. Maybe their secret was something similar?

    Anyway, my point being that its an amazing piece for the reason the readers experiences of life will mould their experience of what the story entails when reading it.

    Jak/ Duncan
  • zomb00
    by zomb00 2 years ago
    This is beautiful. Thanks for sharing.

    I like your writing style. Reading this was the perfect way to start my day, it's changed my mood completely :-)
  • ! A r r i a n n e;
    by ! A r r i a n n e; 2 years ago
    Thank you both, and I'm glad it lightend your mood zomb00.

    Jak- That's exactly what I was hopeing the reader would take from it. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it :)
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