I had a meltdown this morning. The holidays are painful for me. Today is Day One of Thirty Five days of begging for death. The day started off with a fantastic start, being reminded my mother wanted to kill me when I was born. Wrong color. Wrong gender. Among other things. (Today is not my birthday.)
I had tried to vent it elsewhere, and was successful in keeping the edge away. But this pain is a deep one. I went offline, closed my door, and turtled in bed to ride the emotions out.
Sir Obvious Nathaniel remarked I was in a bad way before chiding Horatio for not attending to me. He then said Jack had left the house when I crawled back in bed. With accusatory tones, he declared my sorrow had scared Jack to such a degree that the spirit fled the house than risk being a target for my obvious self-hatred.
Since the dance in Sir Nathaniel’s memory, the spirit has been passive-aggressive in increasing degrees of fuckery and just as adamant in refusing to face he had any part of Jack’s death. Just as I was about to rearrange the spider’s anatomy in justifiable rage, a small, thin, black boy jumped into the bed surprising us both. I was grabbed by the child and held tightly about the waist.
Only when he held still did I recognize Jack. He was appearing as he was when his village was raided.
“Can’t let you go! Can’t let you go! Or he won’t find you!”
I wanted to ask “He, who?”, but Jack’s grip had an unexpected effect on me. All the pain I had locked away from this morning, all the tears I had stopped up, all the bleeding emotional wounds I had seared into merely seeping had been released. All of it, was broken free and was flooding over me in an unstoppable wave of crushing emotion that took away the ability to reason.
All I could do was curl up in a ball and wail. Jack held tight. He buried his face against me and held on even as I tried to pry him away in fear I would hurt him in my madness.
The room grew even darker. I was afraid I was dragging Jack into the pit of my madness. I heard footsteps, and felt something approach.
“Here you are. Is this the one?” The androgynous voice was familiar, but I couldn’t stop the wracking sobs to see. A hand tested on my head. “I know her. I will do what I can. At the very least, return her favor.”
I felt each painful memory opened and shown back to me in a different light. I felt myself removed from the driving emotion and given a choice. Sink or swim. Give in to the madness, or rise above it.
I chose to live.
When I opened my eyes, my head was much clearer. I still had the memories, but they weren’t crushing me. My benefactor had given me enough space that I could mentally stand again.
Jack was still holding me, but now I was holding him back. The hand withdrew from my head. It was wrapped in tattered strips of white cloth. The hand was cracked and oozing blight.
I recognized it at once. I looked up to the entity wrapped in impenetrable darkness. But what is darkness to me? I saw kir clearly.
“Hey. Hi. Again. How?” I was fortunate the exiled angel could understand the paragraphs of meaning contained in four simple words.
“The boy. He saw I was close by and came to me. He reminded me of you in so many ways. He was afraid, so I came to assist. Forgive me, I can do no more.”
“I’m sentient again, and not in the pit. You’ve done quite a lot. Thank you.”
My hands were full with Jack, but I wanted to shake kir hand. At the very least, touch kir. Kir’s curse of blight doesn’t affect me. Ke smiled reading my intent. Ke leaned over and kissed me on the head.
“Returning the favor you’ve shown me. I can not stay. But I know you’ll be okay now.” Ke left, taking the dampening darkness with kir.
My room enveloped me again. I was expecting to look down and see Jack as a Blemmey again. But he was still the six year old, short nappy haired, now smiling boy that I saw earlier. But his appearance had a shimmer to it, as if he was spotlighted by a shaft of sunlight.
Sir Nathaniel started to reach for him, but suddenly scurried up the wall with his own fear. “Madam. Is that…? I can’t see. I know someone is there, but I can’t see.”
I wanted to answer, but I suddenly heard other voices. “Come on, boy! Time to come home!” “Mama is waiting on us! She’s making the flatcakes again!” “[unintelligible]! Son!” I turned towards them and found Jack and I were now sitting on the ground in a savanna. I recognized acacia trees nearby. The wind shifted and I smelled a fire and the warm scent of heated starches. It reminded me of home cooked bread.
From that direction, shades shimmered in the late afternoon heat. As they came closer, their voices became stronger. A group of men and youths, clearly related, were coming towards Jack and I, calling and waving as they approached.
Jack clung to me tightly in fear. “Your family is calling, Jack. Time to go home. Look. They’re not mad at you. They’ve been looking for you this whole time.” Jack looked up at them. His face brightened in recognition. He let go of me and ran half the distance between them and me.
He suddenly stopped. He whimpered. The menfolk of his family saw him and started waving him to them. They came to about twenty feet from me, and stopped there. They could approach no further.
Jack turned and ran back to me, flinging himself into my arms and crying with a sorrow no six-year-old should know. The menfolk held back tears and anger. But they kept calling him. Now I could hear the name clearly. Be-ne-fe were the syllables. Benefé.
I practiced mimicking them silently and quickly before speaking with maternal firmness. “Benefé.” The boy looked up at me. “You’re scared if you leave me, I’ll hurt again.” He buried his head and nodded. “I’ll hurt if you stay, I’ll hurt if you go. But I’ll hurt more if you are hurt because of me. This is your family. You belong with them.” I wrapped my arms around him tightly. “You’ve helped me hurt less, Benefé, but the rest I have to do myself. Go home. Your Ma is cooking and your brothers will eat it up if you don’t get there!” He laughs in agreement.
He slides off my lap and starts to cross the ground to them again. The menfolk have heard my words and are no longer displaying anger towards me. They call him. But again, he crosses halfway before turning and racing back into my arms.
He holds me tightly and for a moment becomes the emaciated sickly teen that he died as. “Thank you. [Sister].” He pushes away, and becomes once more the laughing six-year-old boy. He races across the gulf and jumps into his father’s waiting arms. The menfolk raise a great cheer as Benefé’s father swings him up and over his shoulder like the treasured child he was and is.
They all wave a gentle and sincere goodbye to me and turn towards the thorn fence enclosure. Benefé waves goodbye to me one last time before gripping his father’s neck as the group entered the gates. The fence is pulled closed. The day suddenly becomes night.
I’m sitting on the savanna ground in complete solitude. Grasses tickle my legs and poke through my pajama bottoms. I’m wiping tears away, wondering why I’m still there.
A powerful spirit approaches and stands behind me in a show of quiet force. “You could have kept him. He likes you. You like him.” All I saw of him were powerful legs, and a heavy axe wider than my shoulders.
“And have his family on my ass? They wouldn’t go on without him. This ended well. I like it that way.” The spirit laughed. “You could have forced him. When he died, that is.”
The spirit’s mirth ceased. “Not my way. You know that. Besides, like you said, this ended well.”
The evening became deep night. Benefé’s family turned in for the night. When the last one fell asleep, the entire enclosure disappeared. They have passed on.
The spirit tapped the ground with his axe shaking the earth under me. “It is done.” I nodded in agreement. “So why are you still here?” He tapped me on the shoulder with the blade of his axe to prompt me to answer.
“Eh? I could have left? I thought you were keeping me here for something else!” Still seated, I leaned back to look up at the mighty entity with an upside down point of view. He looked down at me in mirth. His sudden grin ejected me from the savanna. His laughter continued to chase me back to my world.
I sat up in my bed. A sudden memory of Benefé, as Jack, leapt into the bed to grab my hand. But I know it’s not him. It’s the house’s memory of him. I was surprised to see such an echo.
Sir Nathaniel is on the far wall of my room opposite my bed, clutching his top hat tightly and trembling in unusual anxiety. “That was him.” I confirmed his declaration with a nod. “He’s gone.” I nodded again. “He left me!” I said nothing and did nothing for a few minutes to gather the proper words to respond with.
“He’s home, Sir. He’s home and he’s not hurting and he’s not hungry anymore. He’s home. And he’s okay. This is good.” I started to cross the room to him.
“But he left me! He said he would never leave me… alone… I’m alone.” I recognized his sorrowful tones and knew I would not be able to reach him. Echoes of my own self-pitying madness mocked me. I would have to wait for him to come to his senses before trying to talk to him.
My friends have taught me well what to do. I sat below Sir Nathaniel and waited for him to complete his internal struggling. I started to type up this rendition while waiting for him to emerge from his fugue, if he could.
Five paragraphs ago, two long spider legs reached down and gripped my shoulders. He is saying nothing to me, but I can hear his sniffles from under his hat.
I realize now, what I call a pit, is really a tunnel. As long as I remember those waiting at the end of it, I have a guiding light through. There are many phantasms in it. Memories are distorted. Pains are amplified. But there is nothing in the tunnel that can force those waiting outside to flee.
I’ll sit here at Sir Nathaniel’s tunnel exit. And I will reach for those waiting at mine.
…
Goodbye, Benefé.