O...
My sweetheart from Alabama
Is coming 'round soon ~
She wants to wear pajamas
And fly a red balloon.
=)
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Based on The Dancer Upstairs first scenes
I still didn’t understand why John was rushing us out of the state.
“We have to go. Now.” Was all he said. I was designated driver for most of it, my femininity made the men think I’d be the most responsible. Careful. Ever since our father’s death, I didn’t know the meaning of careful anymore.
John had shot the dog, Tupac. I had learnt from years of beatings never to question John’s motives. I cried bitter tears for that damn dog. John turned his face away, embarrassed by my outward show of emotion.
Checkpoint after checkpoint, John lied through his teeth about where we were going and why. I was told to keep quiet and smile sweetly, like some dashboard ornament. The officers all looked the same, as if related. All of them had dark sleep-deprived eyes, 5 o’clock shadows, bristling moustaches and an air that they’d rather be elsewhere. Anywhere else.
Finally, the last checkpoint disappeared into the horizon behind us, and the thin ribbon of road was our only company. One long stretch of mystery. As day melted into evening, my eyes drooped lazily, but before I could drift off, my brother gripped me on the shoulder, vice-like.
“Ana. Awake!” His usual monosyllabic snap in Spanish. When I didn’t respond straight away John shoved me like a ragdoll out of the jeep and onto the road. I hadn’t even realised we’d stopped.
“Hey!” I tried to stand up, but he leaned close, his breath reeking of alcohol. He stared down at me, a helpless nymph in the dirt. I searched for help in the eyes of our companions. They still sat in the car, mesmerized by the scene but avoiding my eyes. Unwilling to help their favourite cousin.
John, a hulking shadow, loomed over me. He spat next to me, and I looked at it. Through my tears it seemed to twist and convulse, as if alive. A car door slammed, and Mick appeared next to me. He ignored my quiet sobs for help. Staring stonily at John, an understanding passed between them. Then he handed him a silver revolver, which glinted in the moonlight.
My brain ticked over slowly. I locked eyes with John.
“No. Please.” When he heard my plaintive voice, he seemed to hesitate. Then, he looked away and the silence shattered like glass.
***
John had to do it. He just had to, but that didn’t make the nightmares any more painful. The last shriek of his sister caused him to wake up in cold sweats every night after that. He tried to bring her soft pale complexion to mind, her dark ringlets. But all he could summon was her tear-streaked bloody face, her eyes closing for the final sleep.
“We have to go. Now.” Was all he said. I was designated driver for most of it, my femininity made the men think I’d be the most responsible. Careful. Ever since our father’s death, I didn’t know the meaning of careful anymore.
John had shot the dog, Tupac. I had learnt from years of beatings never to question John’s motives. I cried bitter tears for that damn dog. John turned his face away, embarrassed by my outward show of emotion.
Checkpoint after checkpoint, John lied through his teeth about where we were going and why. I was told to keep quiet and smile sweetly, like some dashboard ornament. The officers all looked the same, as if related. All of them had dark sleep-deprived eyes, 5 o’clock shadows, bristling moustaches and an air that they’d rather be elsewhere. Anywhere else.
Finally, the last checkpoint disappeared into the horizon behind us, and the thin ribbon of road was our only company. One long stretch of mystery. As day melted into evening, my eyes drooped lazily, but before I could drift off, my brother gripped me on the shoulder, vice-like.
“Ana. Awake!” His usual monosyllabic snap in Spanish. When I didn’t respond straight away John shoved me like a ragdoll out of the jeep and onto the road. I hadn’t even realised we’d stopped.
“Hey!” I tried to stand up, but he leaned close, his breath reeking of alcohol. He stared down at me, a helpless nymph in the dirt. I searched for help in the eyes of our companions. They still sat in the car, mesmerized by the scene but avoiding my eyes. Unwilling to help their favourite cousin.
John, a hulking shadow, loomed over me. He spat next to me, and I looked at it. Through my tears it seemed to twist and convulse, as if alive. A car door slammed, and Mick appeared next to me. He ignored my quiet sobs for help. Staring stonily at John, an understanding passed between them. Then he handed him a silver revolver, which glinted in the moonlight.
My brain ticked over slowly. I locked eyes with John.
“No. Please.” When he heard my plaintive voice, he seemed to hesitate. Then, he looked away and the silence shattered like glass.
***
John had to do it. He just had to, but that didn’t make the nightmares any more painful. The last shriek of his sister caused him to wake up in cold sweats every night after that. He tried to bring her soft pale complexion to mind, her dark ringlets. But all he could summon was her tear-streaked bloody face, her eyes closing for the final sleep.
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