Mathew
As the light dapples on the leaves of a fig tree… I see a
figurine-sized me on one of the leaves, tilting as the wind blows my magic
carpet this way and that. The beauty of nature: how it can create simplistic
metaphors for life, and that regardless of how havoc-set one might seem to
think life is, there is still that beauty, that slow-motion humble stance that
makes it seem all so bearable and attainable. If only social acceptance was
like that.
Having two mothers, no father, and two half-brothers is very
hard to explain. Having homosexual parents seems to excite the kids at school,
though not in any good sort of way. The boys in my year get violent, the girls
get giggly, all busy gossiping over how alien and unthinkable it is.
My brothers don’t get it as hard as I do. Their year is more
accepting. I suppose it is because when they get picked up from school by mum,
it is actually their biological mum. They have that family support where
spiritual bond doesn’t quite make it. I know my parents love me, and they have
a good life; they have all sorts of groups they hang out with and their own
little social circles within them. Yoga, The Violet Quill (a gay writer’s
group), and dance marathon seem to be their favourite.
They want me to start coming to The Violet Quill. They think
it will help me. I am unsure as to my sexuality, and my parents are all
embracing that I should be whatever I so desire. They want me to be able to
make an informed decision (Jesus, that sounds like school) and so want me to
understand homosexuality. I don’t understand how going to a homosexual writing
club is going to help, but they seem determined. However, it will only make the
situation at school worse. To hear that I may also be homosexual is not going
to make the kids any kinder in their treatment of me.
But that is a problem for tomorrow. The brightening of the
sun brings me back to the trees, the grass blades as they sway in the wind, and
the sudden downfall of leaves as they are knocked off their branches by a gust
of cool air. Today I shall relax, forget myself, enjoy the breeze as it tousles
my hair and relieves my face from the stifling heat that surrounds me. I can
see my fate, a ball of sting, tied in knots and tangles throughout, bundled
into a confusing looking nodule. And as the wind sweeps my hair off my
forehead, and tries to pull my clothes away, I can see that perplexing little
ball untangle, freeing itself till it is just one long strand, blowing happily
in the wind, insignificant to anyone who might pass by.
Maria
The light is so down trodden. How can nature taunt and play
with me so. It is cruel for Mother Nature, the pixies, the fairies to enjoy the
weather, the sunlight, the tranquillity of life surrounding them, when I myself
am suffering the greatest loss one of such life can. I see them, the fairies,
fluttering, dancing over the leaves of the fig tree in front, living life to
the fullest. I can see him,
Alfred. His grey, silvery hair, only wisps of it left on his head. As he sleeps
in the living room chair, so handsome in his tweed brown suit. How I spent
hours memorising every wrinkle on his face, the hair coming out of his ears. He
reminded me of Einstein, just as crazy and exuberant, though perhaps not quite
as bright.
He used to love the milk and cookies I would make him. He
was a slightly portly man, liked his morning and afternoon tea. I miss that,
the sense of purpose. That destination I always had, the kitchen. The house
feels cold now, alone, haunted by the silence. Though outside is never any
better. I can see him everywhere. But it is the moments when memory,
imagination take over, and I am with him again, in a seat, or a field, or even
a cinema, that I am most happy. Those moments when he is again with me.
The sunlight seems to brighten just a little… and there he
is, my dear Alfred. He looks so happy, walking towards me. I cannot help but
smile, and as he draws closer, I can feel my cheeks burning in streaks, as
tears roll from my eyes. He is here, my Alfred is here. He sits beside me and I
wish I had brought something for him, some cake, or a mug of hot chocolate. But
he does not seem to notice. He caresses my face, brushing my grey hair behind
my ear. I lean into his hand, rejoicing in its touch, the one I have missed for
far too long. He is here.
A leaf catches my eye as it blows in the wind and sparkles
some of the light back to us, upon its waxy coating. And then he is gone. All
in one moment, my Alfred smiles, and he is gone, swept away by a gust of wind,
like all the leaves above. The wind tears at my clothes and I pull them closer.
The light it gone and I feel cold. I am in a forest, but there is no light. And
it is raining, all on my cheeks. I open my eyes and see the day. The tears keep
streaming, though they have lost their hostile connotations. The sun is still there, as are the
fairies, and they smile at me. Though no longer are their smiles ones of
torment and malice. They smile in sympathy… and I smile back.
***
Mathew
I get up to leave the park, feeling more prepared to face
the days ahead and the issues that will rise up against me. I notice that the
old woman, who has been sitting near me, is crying. I pick a daisy from the
park’s flowerbed next to me and walk over. I smile at her, and pass the flower.
No words pass between us, nothing but the flower, yet I feel I have brightened
her day, maybe only by a small portion. And she has brightened mine. The smile
she gave me after our passing has made me more confident. Who cares what other
people think. The kids at school can do as they please. I care no longer.
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