Gathering Moments in Time

Charmaine I was thinking, while going back in time searching for clear images to come to the forefront of the stage of my mind. I realized that in the past there are so many things that I want to remember, but they are off stage in the wings. (I used to work in the theater). So, I thought I would just let a picture of the past appear and see what happened. That, by relaxing my demand for figures to come forward, the actors of time gone by might come into the spotlight by themselves, propelled by the natural magnetism of the flow of life wanting to be recognized. So, I wait and create a blank space, like on stage at the beginning of a theater production, no back or side drops, furnishings or props, just open stage before the actors come in for their very first rehearsal. My sister, Charmaine, immediately appears in my mind’s eye. More like my heart has eyes and my heart’s eye has opened. I experience a run of images of her, thoughts that have crossed my mind and feelings from back when I must have been 5 going on 6 and she barely 2 years old. I could share with you what I am seeing and feeling, the museum I have constructed in the unlimited cyberspace of my consciousness. It overflows with exhibits, but that is not what I am after. There is an impulse to repeat the usual stories connected to her, but I manage to resist. Did I have to take all these years to give myself this permission? It seems so. Some places are just too delicate. Courage. I look for the empty stage again. So many plays want to act out, happy, romantic, sad and tragic, fighting to crowd the limited space of my attention. I wait and stop waiting, just relax and am present, eyes closed. I notice my breath. I become calm… Now! Here it is, the screen is igniting with something. What I had forgotten was that she would never hold onto my hand when she was told to. I would try and she would pull it away. I would complain to my mother, but got no satisfaction. Perfect results were expected and that was that. But when she decided, for whatever reason, she would reach out her hand for me to take hold of. It would all of a sudden be there, arm extended with fingers held straight in anticipation. I can remember not only seeing my hand with hers, but now at this moment, I feel the sensation of her small right hand with mine covering it, 4 fingers visible outside my grip and her thumb pressing onto the side of my left hand. There it is, clear as clear can be. We are with my Mother and we are crossing the road towards the railroad bridge, it is summer and we are going shopping. Right now, as I write, the stage in the theater of my mind is blacked out everywhere except in the center, right in the perfect center, there is a small spotlight on our hands together. Holding! Perfect! I take a deep breath and place this new recollection in the Temple I have built for Charmaine in my heart’s mind. Now the gates are open and there is space for more to come to the center of the stage… It is an unfortunate fact of life that some things in a child’s world are so marked by travesty that you grow up faster than you ought to. You don’t know this at the time. You see your Mother crying again for the hundredth time for no reason, and no words from you can reach or comfort her. You feel the disturbance. It is apparent, but not understood by you. This question mark is hammered in so many times that it becomes embedded and you prematurely age, so your childhood is lost. Infiltrated, embroiled. You stand in the dark passageway of your cold apartment and find yourself frozen beyond thought, because you know that she is devastatingly unhappy and has been for what feels like forever. You know it is many things, but the giant monster is the loss of your sister. You can’t move, the cushion of energy from her pain is pushing against you to stay away. She doesn’t know you notice all, feel all, but you understand nothing. She may see you looking at her fumble for a few coins from her purse, and without looking up, ask you to go and get something, a pack of Woodbine or Navy Cut, the cheapest cigarettes. Maybe the request was for onions or potatoes, even if there were onions and potatoes in the kitchen. It took awhile, but I learned to not ask or question. I would just go out and take my time to come back. Sometimes the sadness in me and in her took over and I forgot what I was sent out to buy and returned home empty-handed, with no repercussions, as my mother had retreated back inside with no signal to engage. Women neighbors would come over and talk in low whispers about sad things that I didn’t understand. This was before tissues, so handkerchiefs were taken from hidden places on the person who was visiting and lifted to their faces to cover their eyes and wipe tears. I noticed that their faces would get redder and their bodies would convulse like mine would when I was unhappy. Sometimes my Mother would slump to the floor sobbing and whoever was in her room would help her up. I noticed big people cried too, even men. But when I was in Regent’s Park all of that fell away. As soon as I walked past the gates I entered a world that dropped all history, mine, my Mother and Father’s, my sister, now gone and all else. It wasn’t a conscious choice, it just happened, like a reflex, spontaneously… Note: This is compiled from several chapters, Charmaine, Charmaine's Big Brother, and On the Hill with Primroses