by Elizabeth Rose

EXCERPT

The Beginning . . .

In the beginning, there was Love, Life, and then . . .

The child grows up; dreams are conceived, life changes, reality seeps in. One begins dreaming, hoping; having visions of a spectacular life ahead, only to find that dreamers are from a different world! This world grows, and builds inside oneself; alone, fed only by one's thoughts. Life goes on, and dreams seem to fade - until one looks back into that deep hidden place and finds all youthful hopes crushed. Life begins again, and as a smile lurks on one's face; it only hides the sadness building within!

In The Beginning . . .

Life was not a dream. At least, it did not begin that way. Trouble and turmoil were constant companions in her life. I think even then, as far back as four, five and six years of age, that she had this gift of empathy for others. It is tragic to feel someone else's feelings when one is that young, when the meaning of those feelings eludes you.

Insecurity was her constant companion. She had dreams of running, falling, and never reaching her destination. Alligators were nipping at her from around her bed, and not just at night; even when she seemed quite awake, standing in the middle of the bed, she knew she had to make her way through them to reach the bathroom.

It was not her own life that was in turmoil then, but that of her mother's. She knew something wasn't quite right, although at that age, she couldn't put her finger on it; all she could do was “feel” it. Those nights her mother would come to her - or sometimes it would be morning, just before the sun broke through the clouds - and take her young daughter by the hand and lead her through the pastures behind their house to the security of her grandmother's house. Why would one have to do this in the dark? She had always wondered.

There were also the times when her mother would show up at school before the day's end. She would rush her to the car, and they would take long, quiet rides together. Sometimes they would go up to Lake Martin and stand over the dam, watching the water as it drizzled through the gates, making white splashes and circling whirlpools as it touched the body of water below. It was quite frightening to her as a child, but yet she remained silent and asked no questions. Somehow she knew the answers did not matter; they were not significant. The significance was that she was a comfort to her mother, and somehow she knew it was necessary for her to be there to refrain her mother from doing something - to help her keep her sanity.

She still remembers the time when she and her two brothers were taken there, to that same place, asleep in the car. Their mother had stood on the edge of the little brick post that was built to hold one back from the water's edge. Sleepily, she arose that night, and called out to her mother, once again unknowingly saving her from the insane ideas that ate at her mind.

She was not a silent child, for she jabbered all the time, or so she was told, asking thousands of questions - ones most parents have no answers for - but the memories her little mind retained of her and her mother's secret adventures were never questioned. She knew, somehow, the importance of her silence in these matters; that this was not up for discussion with anyone else.

The young girl did have a father, but the closeness she felt with her mother was not there with him. The memories of her father that lingered in her mind were very few, yet very vivid. She did recall sitting on the floor playing one day, watching her Mom iron, and asking, 'Where is Daddy?' There may or may not have been an answer.

Her father worked for L & N railroad, and when he was not working, he was either fishing or hunting. His presence at their home was not something she could recall often, although the most vivid ones were not favorable. The most intense remembrance was a scuffling through the house - pushing, shoving, loud words being exchanged between her parents.

A fearful look passed between her and her brothers during one of these heated exchanges, and she remembers the oldest brother, wanting to be his mother's protector, venturing out to save them. He had in his little hand a gun, and pointed it at his father, his threat to use it sincere. He was rescuing his Mom!

For years, she would recall this incident, believing it was a toy gun her brother had been pointing at her father, and later discovering it was real. That was a turning point in all their lives.

It was after that incident that it was time to pack up and leave behind the darkened walks through pastures, the alligators nipping from under her bed, and the memories of the drizzling waters running through the dam and departing. It was time to learn, to grow, and find a new meaning to life. She had packed her dreams into a small suitcase and - without her toys - they had all crammed themselves, and what belongings would fit, into a red and white Ford. It was time to leave behind this uncertain childhood and step out into a brand new world!

Thus, her life began anew. But silence plagued her – no one would speak of that incident for many, many years - and she found solace in the unspoken words she spilled from her pen, painting words she could not speak. As emotions overflowed from within, and eyes hid the truth from others, she found a voice in those words on paper, and her dreaming began!