We were in silence again. I shifted under her gaze and begged inwardly for something to break the silence, for I didn’t have the courage to do it myself. I didn’t know if timing was coincidence, I didn’t care if it was coincidence. The silence was broken by the softest of words. I don’t remember seeing her mouth move, and I don’t remember the sound lingering long in the world. It was born only to die, and I knew that then, just as I knew the nature of my mother. I was frozen, shocked, unnerved, angry and hurt. I did not move, but a solitary tear slid down her face. He beautiful skin, always so smooth and warm; her face was so familiar to me, yet at that moment, it looked so alien. Tears did not belong on that face. I did not want her to cry, did not want her to despair. It was almost as if an entire conversation had passed between us in that one word that was born to live only long enough to plant the suggestion of words that could not be said in my mind. I knew that there would be years between when the suggestion was put there, and the time that these words would actually be spoken aloud. I knew in that moment that my world would be shattered, that I was suddenly now, with such certainty and conviction, painted black. My heart froze, though I would not realize it for years. My heart froze and I resented her; I did what she did not do. I resented those who loved me, and I hated myself.
“You would do it again, wouldn’t you?”
A simple accusation held the world in it, and she stood, her shoulders bent under the pressure. It was a pressure she did not deserve, but I was selfish, I was young, and I put that pressure on her. Unfair, yes, I know now that it was, and I understand her now. I understand her perfectly, because as the years passed, I became more like her, and our hearts grew closer together, instead of farther apart. I tried to distance myself from her, but this word had tainted me. I knew its strength and I knew what it could do, and I subconsciously let it draw me closer to my mother.
Her back was to me, but I felt as if I could see through her, felt as if she was transparent. She was not there, and I knew so much rested on her now. I could feel the cold regret wafting off of her. I could feel the sadness radiating from her. I could feel her slipping away from me. I could not see her reflection in the glass, but that did not scare me. I saw myself, I saw no one standing in front of me, but she was there. To assure myself, I stepped closer to her, my hand outstretched, anticipating what I knew would come next. And it did. I came closer to her, and my hand touched her shoulder. She was real in this world, but she’d never again see her reflection in the mirror because she was dead.
“Do not hate me, please, sweet child. Do not hate me because of what I’ve become. Do not despise me or recoil from my touch. Do not leave me because I have left you.”
If I had though her voice sounded sad before, now, I could not describe the way she spoke to me. There was such infinite regret, such infinite despair that I felt my own shoulders slump. I felt in me a need rising, a need to be loved. A need that no one in this world could fill.
“I sought him. I searched for any piece of him that I had left. I searched within myself, and I could find none. Does that mean that I have abandoned him? Does this mean that I have left him for dead the way I have left you?”
I did not understand the meaning of her words, but I understood the feeling of them all too well. She had not quite adjusted to this new…way of living. She had not been able to control the broadcasting of her feelings, and in the next room, I could hear Morgana sobbing in her sleep. She felt the pain of our mother, and I cringed. Her tiny body would not be able to contain the sadness that seeped out of the walls. I walked to a window in the adjacent wall and looked out on the street. As people passed our house in this late hour, they sobbed. They cried with such abandon as I’d never seen before, and I knew then that I didn’t know; that I’d never know.
I felt sadness only because she felt sadness. I felt sadness only because she could not control her emotions, only because she was so overwhelmed by the decision she had made that night five days ago. I did not feel sadness toward her or her situation, though in time, I would come to. In time, I would come to understand her desperation and her loneliness. For the moment, though, I let her wallow in her pain, and I turned my back on her with contempt in my mind, if not in my heart. She had turned to others for support, perhaps not realizing all that she had before her. My body was tired, my heart was tired, my mind was tired. It was as if we had spent days talking, perhaps even years, with hardly so many words passing between us. I got my first glimpse of it then, my first taste at this new life. The world has sped by us then; we were standing still as things passed before us. I stood on the threshold between our world and hers. Morgana behind me, our mother in front.
I did not cry that night, nor did I cry any night after that. Not for my mother’s situation. I felt strangely at peace, and Morgana seemed to pick up on that. I envied her ability to not ask questions, to accept and understand the new balance in the house without needing things explained to her. She had just turned 13, and I 17. She was still a child in my eyes, Morgana, and I wanted to protect her from our mother. Not because this new woman was a monster, but because this new woman was filled with such deep sadness, that our bodies could not hold it in. So I took in the sadness, and tried to fill Morgana’s days with joy. I drifted so that Morgana wouldn’t have to. I felt as if I stood straddling a doorway; if I turned to my right, I could see the world of my mother. Her world was something completely dark and desolate. A wasteland in which everything was some shade of black, the deepest of which seemed to swallow you whole. To my left, I could see the vibrancy of Morgana’s world. I could see everything with fresh eyes. I could see and touch and feel; I could know emotions other than sadness. And there was understanding. To my right, uncertainty and confusion, to my left strength and understanding.
I straddled that doorway, that threshold, not really knowing or understanding what I was doing, or what it would mean for me. Would my existence be distorted if I moved to close to one end or another? Would I become a different person? I gave no thought to these questions, and I didn’t care much beyond what they would mean for Morgana. In those days, those weeks, she was what filled my world. I did what I could for her, and she seemed to understand this. She would smile knowingly at me, and I would wonder if this new existence was not better suited for her. She seemed so ready, so willing to accept this new life, and I seemed only to struggle with it. I felt as if life was pulling me along, all the while knowing there was only sadness waiting on the other side of the door.
So nightly, I stepped into my mother’s world. Nightly, I knocked on her door, and she asked my forgiveness, and I was quiet. I was not sure if I was ready to forgive, if I could forgive, if I needed to forgive. But she asked anyway, and so I listened to her. She told me of her pain, and I felt her pain wash over me. Her load was heavy and I wanted to share it and cast it away from me at the same time. I wanted her to know that I still loved her, but the load was too heavy on my young shoulders. My back bent, and my shoulders stooped, but I did not cave. I did not sit down. I stood, I pushed back, and I bore the load she gave me so long as I was in that room. Every night it was the same: she would sit on the floor, and she would look at me and her eyes would fill with tears and she’d empty her body of pain. And I would watch, and I would wait. I would fold my arms across my chest and I would watch the woman who had become my mother empty her body of the hurt she’d born in the light of day.
So it went every night until I was 23. Morgana would be going away to school soon, and I looked at her with pride every single day. My mother had not completely let go of her guilt and her anger, and I knew it would take a lifetime for her to do so. I knew that she had a lifetime to forgive herself, and I knew that she would be alright. For me, I had given up much so that Morgana could have. School never interested me much, and I wasn’t disappointed at having not attended college. Morgana, however…she thirsted for knowledge. She read books and reports and magazines. She watched documentaries and studied hard. She loved to learn, and I made it my mission that she should devour every piece of information this world had to offer her. I loved her dearly, and it filled my heart with joy to see her happy. She’d taken a part time job at, first, a library, then a scientific research facility. When mother heard of this, she was at first saddened because this was the same path that our father had taken. Yet how could she deny her daughter’s thirst? If your child hungers, do you not feed them? So she fed Morgana, and we arranged for her to go off to college and learn all that they had to offer. Morgana insisted on staying near home so that she could be near us, but…
She may not have noticed, or felt, the things that I did. There was a shift in what had become the natural order of things. I still visited my mother nightly, and she still held anger and sadness, but our talks no longer consisted of absolving sins and offering forgiveness. We talked no longer about my father’s death, but about life: our life, his life, the life that we all hoped to live, the new life that my mother had been given. Our talks no longer caused my back to bend and my shoulders to stoop. I walked out of my mother’s room, now, with my head held high. I felt pride at the woman she’d become, at the woman I was becoming. Occasionally, I would step into her world, forgetting about the consequences of me leaving my post at the threshold between the two. I would ask to bear her burden, ask to help her free herself of guild and pain and anger and sorrow. I would ask to share her load forever, to be able to make it so she won’t suffer anymore.
Perhaps Morgana didn’t know. Perhaps she never suspected, or maybe she did. Maybe it was the reason she wanted to stay behind and protect us, the night and the twilight, with the radiance of her day. I knew that things would not always stay as they were, and they would change sooner rather than later. Sometimes as I slept, I could feel the night wash over me and embrace me as an old lover would. I could feel the endlessness of the universe caress me and soothe my wounds and calm my heart. It called to me and I answered it, knowing the consequences as my new lover whispered them to me in my ear. I felt much the same as I did when my mother’s sadness washed over me. For a moment, I felt as if I wasn’t myself; I felt like I wasn’t the same girl who somehow managed to reside in the negative spaces of the world.
I awoke from a dream, startled and sweaty; the window was open, and the curtains snapped violently in the breeze. I was cold, and Morgana shivered beneath her blanket. As I closed the window, I thought I perceived something just out of my realm of vision and understanding. It was almost as if a shadow had passed inside my mind; something creeping in and taking control. I stood at the window for only a few seconds, yet I knew I had lingered too long. This is the night the dynamics of the world would change. It was risky for him to be out so late, and I knew that one like he and my mother would only take such risks for great things. The sun would rise in a couple hours, and he needed to be here, near this house, before it did.
I dreaded the waking hours of the day. They seemed to drag on, endlessly. I cleaned the house as if I was preparing for a special guest, but the only guest would be the growing dread in my heart. Even as I told this to myself, I knew it was not true. I could feel the world shifting beneath my feet, and I could feel all control slipping away from me. Morgana came home from school, we talked; she prepared to leave for her job. She’d recently gotten an internship at a new medical research facility. I knew mother was worried because this was the same path that our father took. Morgana knew this, but she had not chosen this career to spite our mother. She had chosen it out of the love of helping others. She did not like to see sick and wounded people without anyone to care for them. So she decided that she would. I tried to loose myself in my sister’s life, in the way that she was making something of herself. I could not. My mind and my heart and the dread would not let me. The time was approaching. The clock chimed. Morgana kissed me goodbye.
The sun had fully set now, and I knew better than to lie to myself or to pretend that I did not know what was being asked of me. I made my way up the stairs to my mother’s room, but I did not take the chair she offered. I stood on shaky legs, facing her strength with my weakness. She had never before talked of how she met this man and became what she was. She always skirted the subject, but decided that enough was enough. Today, she would face that final barrier that kept her from moving on. She said to me if she could acknowledge that she had been changed, then she could move on. She would have no choice once the words were spoken aloud. I had my doubts, but knew that these confessions were not for my benefit, but for hers. It was her life that needed be rebuilt. Mine only needed to be started.
“I met him at a bar. I’d be going there regularly, trying to drown my sorrows, looking for answers at the bottom of empty glasses. Somehow, though not surprising, I didn’t find them. But he was there, and he offered his shoulder. I leaned on him and he bore some of my pain, if only for that one night, those few precious moments. He listened much as you are listening now, and I told him about your father, and about you and your sister. I told him how we moved town, how you two beautiful girls were all that I had left. You are my world, my heart and my soul. He knew when to touch my shoulder, or just when and how to give my arm a comforting squeeze. The concern in his eyes seemed to be just for me, and I felt like I was the only one who mattered. It scared me. I felt like we were the only two people in that crowded bar, and it made me uncomfortable, so I said thank you and left.”
My mother looked away then, as if to hide some shame that only she could understand. I knelt to be near her, as she sat on the floor. I saw the tears in her eyes, and knew the fear in her heart. I was aware of an extra presence around us, biding its time, waiting to make its grand entrance. She was aware of it, too, even though she did not acknowledge it.
“I left to be rid of this uncomfortable feeling, but it followed me. I went out a side door, hoping to loose this man in the crowd, but he followed me. It was almost like he had…attached himself to some part of me. I ended up in a dark alley. I figured that if I couldn’t see, then he couldn’t either. I hoped to loose him there, but I could feel his hand on my shoulder. He pulled me back, and I fought him. He was so strong…There was no way he should have been that strong…”
I wiped a few stray tears from my mother’s cheeks, and a strange idea came to me then. She was stalling, trying to stretch time. I was not the only one who felt the shifting of the earth beneath my feet, and this thought scared me more than any though about what this man could have done to my mother. She knew he was watching us, and yet, we were helpless truly to defend ourselves. There was no way she, just a few years into her new life, could have bested this fiend who lived this life for centuries. Finally, my mother could stall no more.
“I don’t know what happened. There was pain, and I felt weak, dizzy. The world around me swirled in a million ways.” She closed her eyes as if trying to keep away the dizzy feeling. “I wasn’t myself. When I came home…I’m sorry.”
I knew this apology was for more than just becoming what she has. I felt in my heart that this was the moment.
“He whispered to me…one sentence—“
“Be there for them, forever.”
A gush of the cold night air blew in the room, swirling the curtains and our hair. I felt an odd sort of awe then, seeing this man who had stolen my mother from me. He was not at all like I’d imagined him to be. His skin was almost like that of a porcelain doll, he seemed so fragile. Yet his eyes…they made my heart race with excitement and fear and anticipation of the end of my world. His voice had floated through the room like a summer breeze, echoing off the walls and furniture. I turned my face away from him, afraid to look for too long. Afraid that I might fall under his spell. But he had my mother.
“Be there for them. Forever.”
I squeezed my eyes, but I could still see his face, a smug smile; his knowing and powerful eyes. In my mind, I could hear his voice telling me to accept what was about to come. I could feel my mother moving away from me, standing up, and my heart beat faster. I began to panic, not knowing what to do. Blood began to pound in my head. I felt my limbs go numb, and hot tears stream down my face. He put his hand on my shoulder, his voice like velvet flowing through my mind.
“She cannot be here for you unless she knows what she is. She is leaving with me tonight. You will do nothing to stop this.”
His hand slid down my arm until he held my hand in his. I tried to pull away from him, but he effortlessly held me still. My mind screamed at my body, but there was no connection. One did not obey the other.
“Your blood is sweet, child. Maybe I will come back for you.”
Desperation took hold of me then, and I finally found the will to move. I snatched my hand away from him as he was tracing the veins down my arm. I stood in front of my mother and looked at him defiantly. He was going nowhere with my mother. He could still see the fear in my eyes, hear it in my voice, I knew it. I knew he would toy with me, letting me think that I could do something to stop him. Strangely, though, I felt emboldened by this. I felt that it would be this knowledge that would save my mother. He only smiled and took a step toward me. I met him halfway with the hardest slap I could muster. It might not have been much, but it caught him off guard. It surprised him, and that’s all that I wanted.
“You would dare to stand against me?”
The snarl that came from this creature was not the same velvet that glided across the room earlier. His voice held thorns, and I could feel them against my skin as he grabbed my by the throat. I fought him with strength I didn’t know I had, but this only angered him even more. It was too late to give up the fight. If I stopped fighting him, worse things would follow. I’m not sure of the events that followed. I remember my mother fighting back, biting him. I remember his rage and his anger, but he held his grip firmly on my neck. I couldn’t breathe. There was a thud that could only have been my mother being thrown against a wall. Then a pause
In all the chaos, there was a brief moment where time ceased to exist. I hadn’t even noticed the pain as his teeth tore into my flesh and the blood began to drain from my body. I noticed it then, in that absence of time. I felt I could see things more clearly than I had ever seen before in my life. I could feel his heartbeat, could feel it beating in time with mine. I could feel his feelings, could feel the desperation. I looked around me. The clock on my mother’s wall told me that Morgana would be home soon. She would be home sooner than this scene would be over. I could see my mother’s slumped body on the far wall. I could smell death, but I did not realize it was my own.
The moment passed, and everything seemed to slowly come back to life. I felt pain just as I heard footsteps outside. Morgana had come home early. My mother’s slack form began to stir, and I saw anger in her eyes. My captor’s teeth were suddenly and violently wrenched away from my neck, taking with it a large chunk of flesh. My eyes rolled back in my head, as the front door closed. I was only mildly conscious of the things that were going on in my mother’s bedroom. I felt almost as if I was floating outside my body. Then…bliss. I knew Morgana was coming up the stairs now, that the man was leaving out the window, that my mother was breathing heavily as she approached my body. I felt her hand so soft and warm against my cold cheek, and it didn’t make sense to me. Could death be colder than eternal life? Was I just remembering the way my mother had always felt?
I heard Morgana scream, heard her crying, heard my mother crying. I felt relief. Something had come to take me away. My mother was crying, begging, pleading, apologizing. She should have known better, he always said he’d come back. My body began to shake and I knew something was wrong. I was conscious, completely coherent. I could hear my mother screaming what have I done? I could feel my body convulsing. Pain shot through me and I wished for death, but death would have nothing to do with me. I looked to my mother and she grabbed my hand. The last thing I remember is saying something to my mother.
“Share your burden with me.”
