They were nice enough people. They had a son. Jacques, that was a year
older than I. We were staying in the guest house. My father thought the
change would be good for my mother. It unfortunately did the opposite.She'd
often have nightmares and fits during the night. After my mother went to
sleep peacefully, my father would move his chair out to the balcony. I
would get out of my bed next door, and creep up to him. "Is that my pixie I
hear?" I'd giggle and clamber up into his lap. The hardships of running a
business and caring for a family was taking it's toll on his yet youthful
face. He was barely thirty. He had dark circles under his usual cheerful,
bright tiger green eyes. He'd smile down at me, and show me the stars and
the constallations. "That's Orion the mighty hunter." He'd point out. I'd
try to find one before he did. He'd then stroke my hair, while singing
soft, Celtic lullabys. He'd done this since I could remember. Even though I
was nine, I felt it a necessaity to have a tradition. To make my father
that much happier. He'd often tell me stories of my mother during their
short courtship. It fascinated me to think of her "very much like you" he'd
say. "Eyes so blue. hair so wavy and golden as the summer wheat." Smile so
sweet you could melt in it. How she'd traveled all over England and
Scotland and Wales. He'd then sigh while thinking of it. He had come from
the slums of Scotland. He was British though in everyway, except for his
laugh, which was cheerful, like singing. He always had a smile. And
unfortunately, he also had the Scottish drinking thirst. It never had been
a problem. Till then.
My mother slowly diminished into simpl a walking, breathing entity. She one day walked outside. I followed her. She turned, and put her hand on my cheek. "I love you, Bridget. I hope that's one thing o fme you know." I gripped her hand. "I love you too, ,mother." She knelt, her white night gown falling into the soft clay mud. We embraced. She tried to back away. I gripped her tighter to me. "I must go Bridget." I slowly let her go. Once more, she cupped my face in her hand. "You're my strength. Always shall be." She said. She opened the gate and simply walked toards the water. They say it was suicide. I say it was something more. Something more sinister. She'd already died along time ago. My father stayed strong. For the both of us. Good thing. I think we kept each other sane. We told my Grandfather what happened. My grandmother had died right before mother. Maybe that's what finally drove my mother to the brink. Back then, I was angry at her for leaving. Now I realize she couldn't deal with problems. It wasn't our fault. Though my father and I blamed ourselves. I didn't know that my mother had suffered four miscarriages after me. That's why it was so depressing when my brother died. My father never stopped blaming himself. My grandfather stayed with us at the vineyard in the guest house. The Troussents had no problem with it. My father sold all the fleets. He collected his money and kept it. He used it for the pub. He frequented there. Late at night, I'd hear him and my grandfather. "It's my fault! If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, we'd never had to of gotten married, and, and, I wouldn't have put her through all of this strife! Not only her, but all of us! Bridget doesn't deserve it! She needs twice the father that I am!" Then he'd sob and my grandfather would consul him. "It's not only his fault." I thought. "I was born. I was the reason my mother never saw the world. Or had as many lovers as there were stars." It left a hole in me. My fahter loved me. He tried extrememely hard. My grandfather died after returning to England during a routine mine check. My father stayed more and more at the taverns and pubs in Paris. I moved into the main house by then. I went to the loval school where I excelled. School was my escape from my hellish nightmare of a life. When I was 13, my nightmares came complete. My father was killed. Caught in the middle of a brawl at the wrong time. He'd gotten shot. Innocently. We (the Troussents and I) went over my money issues. My grandfather's inheritance had gone to my alcoholic Uncle Frank. My father hadn't invested in any stocks or bonds. He'd spent all but 600 francs. When I turned 16 I"d move to the city to make myself a living. I had enough to support me for 6 months without work. I'd have to get a job. Two years passed. Their son had moved out a year ago. To Germany to further his studies of herbology. He'd been my childhood friend. I had friends at school, but he was my true friend. My first kiss. My first love. He had eyes only for me. And he wrote me. Never often enough. When I was sixtenn, I was ready to leave for Paris! The place of dreams! Where you could be a normal person by day and a dreamy Bohemian at night, as I was to find out.
My mother slowly diminished into simpl a walking, breathing entity. She one day walked outside. I followed her. She turned, and put her hand on my cheek. "I love you, Bridget. I hope that's one thing o fme you know." I gripped her hand. "I love you too, ,mother." She knelt, her white night gown falling into the soft clay mud. We embraced. She tried to back away. I gripped her tighter to me. "I must go Bridget." I slowly let her go. Once more, she cupped my face in her hand. "You're my strength. Always shall be." She said. She opened the gate and simply walked toards the water. They say it was suicide. I say it was something more. Something more sinister. She'd already died along time ago. My father stayed strong. For the both of us. Good thing. I think we kept each other sane. We told my Grandfather what happened. My grandmother had died right before mother. Maybe that's what finally drove my mother to the brink. Back then, I was angry at her for leaving. Now I realize she couldn't deal with problems. It wasn't our fault. Though my father and I blamed ourselves. I didn't know that my mother had suffered four miscarriages after me. That's why it was so depressing when my brother died. My father never stopped blaming himself. My grandfather stayed with us at the vineyard in the guest house. The Troussents had no problem with it. My father sold all the fleets. He collected his money and kept it. He used it for the pub. He frequented there. Late at night, I'd hear him and my grandfather. "It's my fault! If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, we'd never had to of gotten married, and, and, I wouldn't have put her through all of this strife! Not only her, but all of us! Bridget doesn't deserve it! She needs twice the father that I am!" Then he'd sob and my grandfather would consul him. "It's not only his fault." I thought. "I was born. I was the reason my mother never saw the world. Or had as many lovers as there were stars." It left a hole in me. My fahter loved me. He tried extrememely hard. My grandfather died after returning to England during a routine mine check. My father stayed more and more at the taverns and pubs in Paris. I moved into the main house by then. I went to the loval school where I excelled. School was my escape from my hellish nightmare of a life. When I was 13, my nightmares came complete. My father was killed. Caught in the middle of a brawl at the wrong time. He'd gotten shot. Innocently. We (the Troussents and I) went over my money issues. My grandfather's inheritance had gone to my alcoholic Uncle Frank. My father hadn't invested in any stocks or bonds. He'd spent all but 600 francs. When I turned 16 I"d move to the city to make myself a living. I had enough to support me for 6 months without work. I'd have to get a job. Two years passed. Their son had moved out a year ago. To Germany to further his studies of herbology. He'd been my childhood friend. I had friends at school, but he was my true friend. My first kiss. My first love. He had eyes only for me. And he wrote me. Never often enough. When I was sixtenn, I was ready to leave for Paris! The place of dreams! Where you could be a normal person by day and a dreamy Bohemian at night, as I was to find out.