Forever In Our Memories
People bustled back and forth, their umbrellas offering meager protection from the angry tempest. As raindrops rattle against the window I climb on the windowsill and close my eyes. I wish I were far away from this narrow street and these narrow-minded people; in a country where trees talked, animals laughed, and you could always find a partner to compete with; either in speed and swordsmanship or in wit and eloquence.
I imagine galloping past iridescent lakes with translucent water on a horse; our hearts beating in unison, the wind cleansing the thoughts of all the rubbish that had settled there, or moving alongside my brother and sisters blocking enemy attacks and lunging forward as we fight together for a common cause.
My mind conjures images of another life. Bitter-sweet, intense, real. They dance before my eyes as though it has been but yesterday that we came through that door. Sometimes, I'm afraid these memories that I came to cherish so much will fade away… and upon leaving take a part of myself with them.
"You are being silly," Lucy says gently. "People don't go and forget years of experience out of the blue."
Yet, every evening I sit down and inwardly go back to those times trying to remember everything in as much detail as possible.
~ {0}{0}{0} ~
We huddle together on a sofa and whisper, like members of a secret society, or rebels plotting an insurrection. It's silly, I know. I guess we're just fooling around, but it feels nice to talk about the magic world that had been our home for the better part of our lives with someone who understands. We share memories and laugh.
"And that little ambassador that challenged you to a duel? Couldn't have been more than two feet tall and yet how he fought... You should have seen him."
"The feast was amazing, who would have thought Susan would be allergic to berries of all things…"
"Shut up, Ed – as if you didn't have your deal of awkward situations. As I recall..."
Did you know? Do you remember?
And we do. Even Susan who has been growing distant recently is smiling broadly.
~ {0}{0}{0} ~
Time flies, long past are the years of college, and the tough reality knocks on the door with the persistence of a constable. Susan after taking her degree moved to America and settled down with one of her former suitors. The invitations to their marriage arrived yesterday. After the war ended, Peter opened a business, a factory of a sort.
This enterprise doesn't look particularly auspicious if you ask me; my brother obviously cannot make heads or tails of what he is doing. But this is Peter, he will pull through. After all, if he could manage a kingdom, he most certainly can manage a plant. Lucy aspires to be a teacher, and personally I believe it is a great choice; when it comes to dealing with children, she is in a league of her own. And I'm well on my way to becoming a lawyer, I have already been given a few job offers for after I graduate from University in four months.
There is so much to do and with our busy timetables we have precious little free slots to spare. I can't afford to spend hours on end sitting on the windowsill anymore. And when I do, my attention drifts away and my mind is filled with the numerous outlines of court cases. Sometimes I think about Carmen, too; maybe I should ask her out.
Our weekly family reunions become monthly.
We sit at the table and the radio is mumbling in the background. ...Stock exchange… Petrol prices... Wedding announcements... We talk and laugh and our voices reverberate across the room. Susan has left to fetch some ice-cream and has yet to return. We share our memories of Narnia, but the images are blurred and fleeting as though a veil had been draped in front of our eyes, drawing a clear line between this world and that.
When was it?
Who are you talking about?
Half an hour later Lucy is all wound up, concern etched deeply into her features. She opens her mouth to launch into yet another detailed description of an event... and stammers at a loss. Her eyes widen in despair.
"Sorry, what did you say?" Susan stands in the doorway with a silver tray full of treats and looks mildly curious.
"Forget it, it's not really important –" Lucy freezes mid-sentence, then shakes her head stubbornly and grabs a cup of tea. A few drops stain the tablecloth. The spoon clatters slightly as she takes a gulp. Her eyes are bright. I think mine are too. I have no idea what she was about to say, either.
~ {0}{0}{0} ~
I have heard that triggers tend to be a common feature of mental disorders. It seems Narnia is my trigger. Whenever I hear the word, memories assault me; flickering, dancing, intertwining... but always just beyond my reach. I try to focus on them and draw them to the light of consciousness, but they fade, transform; slip away like water through my fingers and leave me with my fists clenched and eyes roaming the spotless grey ceiling completely out of the loop. Maybe I should talk to my friend about it. I heard he is good at psychology.
Lucy sips the hot steaming coffee, and feeds the crumbles to the dog that lies at her feet patiently awaiting a treat. The corners of her lips twitch almost imperceptibly, threatening to curl into a smile. It takes a silly job-related joke for my sweet sister to burst out laughing with her head thrown back. Susan joins in a second later and the merry sound fills the room. Lucy laughs with total abandon till she is left gasping, struggling to suck in a breath between the subsiding giggles. Tears glisten in the corner of her eyes and she swiftly wipes them away with the back of her hand. I give a tentative smile and chance a glance at Peter who looks content, if slightly bewildered, at the reaction.
"Never knew you were such an accomplished comedian, Pete." He shrugs and we both snicker.
Lucy props herself up on the pillows and regards me with curiosity.
"Anyway, when are you going to propose to Carmen?"
I swear sometimes I hate my sister.
Bombarded with barrels of questions I resign myself to a long interrogation, and silently count my blessings when someone brings up Peter's latest business deal.
We don't speak about Professor Kirke's mansion anymore.
~ {0}{0}{0} ~
I can't remember my dreams. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and overcome with a haunting dread as my hand fruitlessly gropes at the waist searching for… something.
The hilt of a sword?
And of course comes up with nothing. Why would a sword be there, anyway? I'm pretty sure I've never used such weapons, much less owned them. Carmen will sleepily rub her eyes and snuggle her head into my shoulder.
"Just go to sleep, love. Tomorrow'll be a busy day."
She will then promptly follow her own advice and drift off, her even breath caressing my skin. She is right of course, and I feel pretty stupid for getting all worked out about such trifles, and yet, sometimes I wonder...
When I grip a stick and try to do a random kata, my body seems to move of its own accord, performing the movements I've never seen with a swift precision only achieved by long practice. I can't conceive how I could have acquired such skills. And it unnerves me.
Friends don't believe me at first when I tell them I never did martial arts. But since there are quite a few people who can support my claim, and the idea that I used to be a member of a clandestine swordsmen club sounds a bit far-fetched, they have no choice but to concede the point. So now when they see me move they let out impressed gasps and tell me I must have a natural talent.
On hearing my story, Peter laughs and waves me off. "There are much better things to do with your life than go swinging a sword. Really, Ed, you of all people..."
I don't blame him, he is piled up with work, and to be honest, I haven't got much free time either; recently my practice has been growing exponentially. Hopefully, we will be able to buy a new house come September – the old one is far too cramped for a child.
But maybe some other time when I've cleared up my schedule a bit I'll give it a go. Just for the sake of it.
~ {0}{0}{0} ~
There were 10 people in the broad sunlit parlor. A stern, tall woman was serving the tea and occasionally slapping the wrist of her husband who tried and a failed to snatch a few cookies from the plate. On being caught red-handed he would pout and cry out with mock indignation as though terribly offended by her demeanor.
"Susan, darling, I'm sure no one would have minded." Susan rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh, looking at her younger sister for support; but seeing the mischievous glint in the eyes of the fair-haired lady, she shrugged and turned away. Instantly, hands began sneaking treats from the plates and bowls.
"Are you ever going to grow up? What example are you setting to our children?" Susan sounded truly exasperated. "Ed, at least you could lend me a hand."
The one referred to as Edmund quickly swallowed the cookie he had been chewing and looked up innocently. The ginger beauty by his side sniggered.
"Never you mind, brother dearest. And to think you used to be so responsible. Must be Carmen's influence. She has corrupted you."
"Hey!" the petite woman stopped laughing and pointed an accusing finger at Susan, "That is slander, I will have you know; if anything is corrupting my husband it is his success. Goodness, so much money. I do hope you aren't taking bribes, darling." She pinned him down for a second with a fake glare.
"Who is taking bribes?" piped up Peter, raising his eyes from the newspaper he had been engrossed in. His words were met with laughter and as he turned his head back and forth trying to understand what was going on, a stout, motherly little lady gently took the paper away.
"About next Sunday," started Lucy, but was interrupted as a young girl rushed upstairs with her cousins at her heels. They were arguing excitedly about something. "Narnia!" –Somebody exclaimed, and was promptly shushed.
"Children," Lucy smiled and served herself another cup of tea, "They always have so many secrets."
"It's hard to imagine we used to be like that." Peter groped for his newspaper and threw an annoyed glance his wife's way, but she ignored him.
"We weren't quite like that; I'm sure our games were more rational and less volatile. Look at the broken window. We have spoiled them." Susan sighed and put on her glasses.
"They will grow out of it, just give it some time." Edmund patted her hand reassuringly and snatched another cookie.
"So, about Sunday…"
They didn't hear the roar of water as it gushed out of the picture frame.
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis. I own nothing.
Author's Notes: wildhorses1492, thank you very much for your corrections)