Great Expectations
The fire is blazing in a wild assortment of gingers, crimsons, and indigos. The faint crackling of the burning logs is like a melody of instrumentation in the quiet house. I listen for the sound of summer night's crickets, dancing in the thick lush pastures. The wooden floor boards creek as a calm wind gently disturbs the aging farmhouse. I watch the delicate lace curtains as they flutter like butterflies, and I pull a long thread of red yarn from a beige canvas. A steaming tea kettle whistles like a distant train horn, and I set my embroidery on the dark oak wood table. I quickly grab a mitten, so as not to burn my hand, and lift the metal kettle from the jet-black wood burning stove. I carry the iron kettle to the kitchen table and pour the steaming water into a porcelain tea pot decorated with tiny pale pink flowers. I place the kettle on a cool section of the stove, and reach for one of the white porcelain teacups hanging from a wooden beam above the stove. The steaming water heats the teacup immediately as I pour a small bit of water into it, and a fresh herbal smell fills the air as I mix dried tealeaves, a pinch of sugar, and a spot of milk into the water. I take the teacup and walk over to the rose colored arm chair and continue to embroider a red cardinal. As I work on the plumage of the bird, a small drop of tea dribbles on the front of my crisp white apron, of which hides my light colored floral dress. I gingerly walk over to a small standing cabinet that holds tableware and towels. I take one of the towels and vigorously rub the tea stain from my apron. Once the apron takes its original white appearance, I settle in my armchair once again and begin to embroider.
My eyes grow weary as the night lingers on from seven o'clock, to eight o' clock, to nine o'clock. I wonder when my husband, Mr. Joe Gargery, will return from his excursion to the Three Jolly Bargemen, and when my brother, Pip, will be returning from his visit with Miss Havisham. As the fire begins to slowly die and the flames, once ferocious, but now tamed begin to settle, I light a candle and place the iron pedestal onto the side table, nearest to the door. As I laboriously continue to embroider the intricate design, I recall the events that occurred previously today between that oafish and horrid man named Orlick, and myself.
'I could not believe that man had the nerve to even ask for a work holiday,' I think to myself as my temper takes a hold of me. 'And for him to call me a foul shrew, and threaten the well being of my existence! Well, that man should be clapped in irons for his inappropriate statements!' My needle suddenly breaks from the angry force of my thumb pressing upon it. I silently curse the needle and begin to thread the scarlet yarn through a new one. As I tie a knot in the yarn, I see the brass door knob begin to turn out of the corner of my eye. Thinking it is my husband or my brother, I put down my embroidery, tuck a strand of loose dark hair behind my ear, and run a hand over my tired eyes. I walk over to the wooden door with my arm extended, expecting to unlatch the lock, but to my surprise the door violently swings open, and a fellow, not my husband or my brother, stands in the frame of the door.
I glare at the man standing in the frame of the door. He is wearing a gruff tweed coat and dark colored slacks, and scuffed leather shoes. He carries an evil grin on his face and I immediately recognize the intruder. I scan the man's body for a weapon, and my eye catches an iron file. I scream at the man holding the iron file, and attempt to close the heavy wooden door, but the man's giant like hands block the door, and it ricochets off the man's palm. At this moment, the breeze from the swinging door blows out the flickering candle, and only a dim glow, provided from the dieing fire, lights my path. I quickly turn towards the black wood burning stove to find a baking implement to defend myself, but as I pass the fire, only feet away from the standing cabinet, I here a soft thump, and then I feel a searing pain in the back of my head. I lifelessly fall to the ground. I try to catch myself with my arms, but they buckle from the weight of my body. My limp limbs hit the floor, followed by my head. I try to open my eyes, but the pain in my head forces them shut. I lay on the floor helpless and seeping into unconsciousness. A ringing noise vibrates in my ears as some kind of object comes crashing to the place where I lay. My mind begins to drift as I try to stay conscious, but the pain is too much, and I slowly slip into darkness.
I am underwater. I see the tinge of sunlight breaking through the dark underwater world. I begin to swim towards the light, but an invisible force is pulling me back. I use all of my strength to fight the force, and finally it gives in. I begin to swim closer and closer to the light. I can feel its warmth on my pale face, and with one last kick of my leg, I break through the surface of the water. I open my eyes. What is this world? I look around the room I am within. Dozens of trinkets line the shelves on the far wall, and a vase of wild flowers, more than I have ever seen before, bursts with color as the petals gently find their way to the patterned coverlet I am under. I reach out to touch the small petal, but when I cup my hand around it, I only catch a handful of air. This confuses me, but I soon begin to focus on the young man who is silently sleeping in the chair. The breeze coming through the open window gently plays with his hair. I stare at him intently, and I notice he begins to stir as the wind becomes more aggressive. He opens his eyes slowly, and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes then grow wide and glossy as he stares at me with a surprised and joyful expression on his face. I smile at the young man's astonished expression, and watch as he sprints out of the room. I sit patiently for the young man's return. When the boy returns he brings an older gentleman with him as well. This fellow has handsome facial features, a rather long pointed nose, and shaggy dark hair. His eyes are also wide and glossy. He stands in front of me, and for some reason a feeling of familiarity comes over me, as if I know who the man is, but this feeling passes rather suddenly. The man begins to tear, his face becomes flushed, and he slowly walks towards me. He sits on the edge of the bed I am laying within and speaks of something I am not able to hear, but I do see his peach lips moving and the pearly teeth behind them. He gently leans over and gives me a kiss on the check and wraps his pale arms around me. I am not sure how to react to this situation, so I return the interaction and wrap my leaden arms around his torso.
The young man that I had seen dozing in the arm chair by the window was now offering his hand as I lay in bed. I do not feel particularly well, but I take his porcelain hand, and gingerly get out of bed. I am standing on my feet for the first time in weeks, but my weak knees buckle before me, and I am suddenly tumbling towards the floor. The young man catches me as I see the grain of wood before my eyes, and he cautiously lifts me into a standing position once again. I lean on him for support, and he almost half carries me as we make our way to the door frame, as if I am as light as a feather. He says something to me, but I am not able to hear him. I try to form words within my mouth, but they come out as a jumble of sounds that are clearly not a known language. The young man senses my frustration, and he gives me a reassuring smile. He makes a motion that looks like he is traveling down a staircase. I nod in comprehension, and we begin to travel down the stairs. At first, this attempt seems impossible, but I grow more trustful in the boy with each step. Eventually the young boy and I make it down to the kitchen. I look down upon him and see a quick flash of familiarity within the boy that disappeared as quickly as a mother's cookies. He continues to help guide me to a flat cushioned surface near the head of a window. He lays me there as I view my new environment. I see a fireplace, a wood burning stove, an armchair, and a heavy wooden door. The door, I remember something about the door, but I can not place my finger on it. My head begins to ache as the young boy comes to me with a white porcelain teacup. I can tell he senses my anguish by his worried eyes. I mask my pain, and he gives me a small sip of a lukewarm liquid, of which I take in happily. I then rest my head on the cushioned surface, and begin to doze off.
As I come into consciousness, I see a young woman and the young gentlemen, who I encountered earlier, standing at the foot of my bed. The young woman is wearing a warm yellow canvas dress, and her dark hair is tossed into a bun. Her pale arms hold a sign, and on it, thick dark letters spell B-I-D-D-Y. I do not comprehend these characters, but I nod my head, signaling for her to continue. She begins to approach me, and I raise my head higher in curiosity. She carries a small slate board in her left hand and a white writing utensil in her right hand. She pulls a wooden chair up to the side of my bed, and offers me the board and the writing instrument. I take both of these items, but I am not entirely sure what she wants me to do with them. She then improvises a drawing motion, and I then understand that she wants me to draw, but what? Previous to this session, I began to remember flashes of the man who intruded my home, so I thought of all the possible images and symbols I could use to describe this man. I try to formulate a word on the board, but I can not remember the characters used to formulate words. An image of the man suddenly appears in my mind. I see him in a forge, working with iron, using a hammer to sculpt the metal. I begin to draw a vertical line, of which I then connect a horizontal line to. I retrace this drawing several times as the two young individuals talk quickly with one another trying to discover the true meaning of my drawing. I begin to think of his name, my mind exhausted from the mental stress. It started like the word orange and it ended with the word lick. I do not understand why I am not able to formulate his name. I begin to sound out the name in my head. Orrr-lick, Or-lick, Orlick! That was the name! I chant the name over and over in my mind, trying to mouth the word to the young individuals, and retracing the symbol of the hammer. I pound my fist on the board, remembering the action that belonged with a hammer. The young gentleman leaves the room in a hurry. He returns with an object, of which looks like the figure in my drawing, and I nod my head to the point where it begins to ache. The young woman quickly sits up from the bed, and speaks to the young man. While she speaks, I watch her lips form the word Orlick, and I continue to nod my head ferociously. I motion for the young gentleman to show me this man. Shortly after my request, the boy came back to my room with a rather large man trailing behind him, who I presumed was Orlick. I motion for him to come closer. The man did this, and I then motion for the young gentleman to fetch the man a drink. The man seems to enjoy his drink, but he has an expression of confusion within his face. I smile at the man, but his face does not soften. No matter, I want to please the man, and I believe I succeeded in doing just that. The man then leaves and the young gentleman looks disappointed, but I do not understand why. A wave of exhaustion comes over me and I begin to rest my head on the pillow, and close my eyes.
I am becoming ill, but I am beginning to remember the names and characteristics of my family more so as each day passes. I call to the older gentleman who I suspect to be my husband. The young woman runs out of the house, and comes back with the Joe fellow. I motion for the man to sit next to me. When he does, I place my arms around his neck, and lean my head against his shoulder. I call out his name once more and out of the blue, call out the word pardon, and then lastly I called out the name Pip, of whom I believe to be my brother, the young gentleman that disappeared after my visit with Orlick. My eyes become weary, my limbs become heavy, and I can feel my head sinking deeper into the man's shoulder. I begin to feel a sensation as if I was floating on a cloud. My head begins to empty of its thoughts, ideas, and concerns, and for the first time in quit a while, I feel whole again. A dim light gleams on me as I am consumed by this feeling wholeness. The light grows stronger on my pale face, and I see a blurry image of the man crying before my eyes. The light becomes so overwhelming and empowering, and I begin to lose the feeling of my limbs as the man holds me closer. I suddenly see myself, above my limp body. A voice calls my name and I look upward into the heavens. I see pure white clouds and a radiance of light, and I realize I am finally entering my resting place.