There's nothing good about goodbye
Just say goodbye
Falling, falling harder
You're falling apart
--
That summer as I was given the privilege of accompanying my parents to America, excitement overcame me, and I could do nothing but accept. Upon reaching the large, foreign country. I was shocked to see the tall buildings, to taste the strange food, and to see the different faces. Their language was fairly different from ours, but the conversations I had with some of the citizens were quite entertaining. I found myself relaxing each day, falling into a sense of happiness...but each day, the memories would haunt me, and desperately I tried to let go. Even with its magnificence, America could not be a replacement to the wonderful home I had...but then again, what was home? England could not fill this emptiness inside of me, but then again, I could not go back to that place, the place which was a temptation, a life I was never allowed.
It was awkward having father back, he rarely spoke, and kept to himself more often – but I didn't question or pry at him, for I understood the stress and trauma he was constantly reliving each day. So as I sat silently on that plane watching my mother read her book, and my father stare out into the land below, I was left with no choice but to wonder and imagine the life that was going on in Narnia.
That's why it surprised me, that as I arrived home that summer, from a trip that alleviated me from the past events, I came to find that they had returned – only rekindling feelings I had wished to forget. But, being the caring person I was, I allowed them to share their adventure with me – hoping to hide the sense of hurt I felt deep inside. As I listened intently to their stories, I couldn't help but feel sadness and regret overcome me. I was once part of these stories, but now all I could do was sit and listen, rather than take part in forming the words that would express my memories. Forever I would be excluded from adventures that they were allowed to continue, and it shattered me each day. I tried to be strong, I was older than them, and had to compose myself in a certain way as to not to worry them.
After listening to their joyous story, I lay in bed, with tears streaming down my face. Fear was washing over me, as I realized that a home I had learned to cherish was fading away, slipping in between my fingers, disappearing from my grasp. Staring out into the stars, the night sky could not compare to the skies I lived under for awhile, back then. Silently I sobbed myself to sleep, dreaming of a life that I could have had. The words "Once a queen of Narnia, always a queen of Narnia" seemed to not ring true – for I could not feel my title anymore, I was no longer in control, in command, for I lived my life as a teenager once again.
Truth was, it was arduous this time – and I found myself falling to the floor when I was alone – for deep down I knew there was no return. After our final goodbye, I felt out of place upon returning to England. My school uniform seemed to fit my body awkwardly, and I couldn't find comfort in the strange, yet familiar, fabrics. Classes were a bore, and I found myself sitting mindlessly in class, doodling away as the teacher continued to speak of topics I found useless. Life was continuing – following a sense of routine – rather than an adventure.
Ever since their return, things became difficult. Narnia became the focus of my thoughts, and continuously question after question popped into my head, and I drew the answers in my mind – but after a while I gave up on imagining, for I would never have my questions answered.
I longed for the bow and arrow which used to fit perfectly in my hands. I missed the smell of fresh air, sometimes remembering the scent as it lingered in my nose; yet I always forgot that as soon as I would open the door, I would be welcomed by the aromas of smoke. No longer could I talk to creatures people thought to be only make-believe, or to fly in the sky as a griffin carried me upon its giant wings. The puzzle pieces no longer fit – I was out of place. I didn't fancy the boys here, did not find magazines and gossip to be entertaining, and found that the food was not as delicious as the delicacies I was able to partake in. Life here felt dreary.
Unfortunately, even though I held all these thoughts and feelings deep within myself, I could not confide them with anyone. I preferred to keep to myself – and little by little, I found myself isolating myself – keeping myself from saddening or worrying those who cared for me. I knew things were challenging, and I was weak – for more than often I found myself sketching images of my past life, or crying, watching my tears fall upon my homework. I tried to conceal all of this, but when I was discovered, I reassured them that it was all hormones, all the tragedies of adolescence. But, I never stopped to check if they accepted it, I had enough issues to deal with.
I didn't want to admit that I was drowning in a deeper depression, letting the darkness engulf me, but I had no other choice. I could either allow the memories to haunt me forever, or to move on. More often than not, I was haunted by the memories – as they formed dreams or nightmares at night as I slept, escaping into the world I once knew – even if only for a while.
Finally I broke down. The wall I tried to construct within myself, the one I had worked hard to keep all my emotions at bay, fell apart. That night, as the house fell silent – I stepped outside into my backyard – and fell onto my knees. For once I allowed the noise to escape my lips as I sobbed all the tears I kept inside, listening to the noise as it was echoing throughout the neighbourhood. The wind blew against my face, cooling me down as it touched my stream of tears.
Through all my pain, I didn't notice the three sets of footsteps coming towards me. As I felt someone's arms come around me, I have no idea what came over me, but I shrugged it away, pushing myself further from them. I was distancing myself away from everything...and everyone that brought back those images.
I had no idea if they left, or just stood there, watching me cry into my shaking hands. For this there was no excuse, no other explanation. For once I felt alone.
Where was the good in goodbye?