Dedication: Obviously Rose, who wrote this chapter, and anyone who has not truly found Aslan. Keep looking, he's there.
Chapter 15: Where the Lilies Grow
The sun feels so wonderful on my face, as I sit here on our blanket. The four of us went out for a picnic early this morning, and we spent the time basking in each other's company. Lucy and I hiked behind Peter and Edmund, following them to a clearing they had found a few days ago. They described it as perfect for the four of us. It made me pleased that Mum and Dad weren't home yet. News that the train was delayed had come this morning, and I don't think any of us could work up the proper disappointment or despair. Just the four of us for a day or so more, sounded absolutely heavenly.
It's been almost a week since Peter's nightmare brought me hurrying into his room and even now that the sun has come from behind its veil of clouds, even with all the beauty of nature thriving around me I cannot forget the tortured and terrified expression that graced my older brother's face. The image will not fade away as those kinds of images should. No. Instead it stays, tantalizing me. I want to forget that vision with all my heart, because it stands as a reminder that I have seen that expression before.
Since that night, I haven't felt like myself. My days have become a dream. Memories come flitting across the surface of my mind, vague and unfocused before disappearing again. They remind me of a most wonderful dream, the kind of dream from which you never want to waken. Or a dream of a dream that I want so badly to grasp, to remember, but every time I reach for the wisps of smoke, these memories, they are whisked out of my reach, and I am left frustrated.
Edmund and Peter are sword fighting with sticks they found lying on the ground under a tress some yards away. Their wild, elated voices ring through the air as they try to cajole the other into making a mistake, although it is impossible for either of my brothers to slip. Lucy is sitting close by, cheering on whichever of them is winning while doing something with the wild flowers she spent the entire morning gathering.
I can't help but smile as I watch the three of them. This past week with my siblings, spending time with them instead of fighting against them and the emotions they bring up, has been almost magical. It's as though the rift that has opened up between has closed a small bit. Lucy and I actually went out together, and never once did I feel annoyed or exasperated with her, even when she stopped to talk to a stray dog on one of the street corners. My sister and I were once the closest of friends, inseparable in every way. There was a time, after we came back from the Professor's house, that she told me every secret she had, in the trust that I, her older sister, would keep them safe for her. We used to have so much fun together, and these last few days make me wonder how we ever grew apart. Of course there are times she still acts ridiculously childish, but I find those events to be endearing, refreshing even. When those times come I cannot find it in my heart to tell her to grow up, maybe because I have begun to realize she already has.
A yell splits the air, jolting me out of my reverie, my pulse begins to beat loudly in my ears as a blurry picture darts into my mind, accompanied by a strange garbled echo. A boy, his face almost unrecognizable, riding astride a white horse. No, not a horse as I had originally thought but a unicorn! I see the indigo horn clear as day now. Strange phantoms surround him, viscous creatures that are the things of nightmares. The boy yells something, but the sound has already begun to fade away, and the picture is disappearing too. I believe it was a war cry.
The vision disappears as quickly as it comes, leaving me shivering in the warm sunshine. I whip my head around, expecting a hoard of vile creatures to descend upon my siblings and me. But nothing is there, indeed nothing ever was there.
Someone yells again and I turn back, searching for my siblings. For the moment the only one I can see is Lucy, sitting at the base of a tree, laughing at something rolling on the ground. Panic sweeps over me, and I look more carefully for my brothers. But there they are, and I realize the thing on the ground is them, wrestling each other. I feel relief settle over me like a heavy blanket to see them all safe. It is especially comforting to hear Peter's laughter, ringing through the air loud and clear, like a chorus of bells. Because there was a brief, fleeting moment before the vision faded back into the oblivion, that I thought the boy riding a snow white unicorn was Peter.
I try to shrug off the thought and all the other strange feelings that the image awakens by turning back to the trees and my sister and brothers. A smile slowly creeps across my face as I watch my brothers tussling in the grass, fighting for the upper hand. Apparently Edmund still has a few moves up his sleeve that our older brother doesn't know about, because he smirks infuriatingly. It is surprising that Peter doesn't know all of Edmund's moves, seeing as they have become so close. I've envied them for the closeness they share, their friendship, their ability to trust each other so completely. Edmund would follow Peter anywhere, to death and back if he could manage it. His unshakeable faith, just as his fairness in judgement to everything and everyone he comes across, are things that those older than him do not posses. He loves all of us deeply, perhaps is almost as protective as Peter is, but I believe that when it comes to our brother, Edmund really will lay everything on the line without a moment's hesitation.
To describe Peter is harder than describing Edmund. He does everything with such single-minded discipline and self sacrifice, that some of his friends have taken to calling him "General Peter" as a joke. But he deserves more of a title than that, one that he has been called before, and I cannot think of it. Peter is the rock of our own family in many ways. He is the support for Mum and Dad when they don't know how to handle the new situations their own children present them, such as Edmund in the aftermath of a nightmare. He's the strong arm for Lucy and Edmund, a source of comfort and strength that they cling to as they struggle to live in this world when they are so obviously different from others their age.
Marilyn said little more than a week or so ago, "Their eyes are so different, like they know things. Like they've lived it already." I used to look in the mirror, sometimes hoping, sometimes fearing, that my own eyes would start to look like theirs. Like how Edmund looks when he plays our father in chess, or Lucy when she cares for someone who has been hurt, (usually one of the boys on our block) keeping her head far better than girls three times her age, as if she has seen worse pain, or smelled blood often enough that it can no longer bother her. Since I returned from America, my eyes have been normal, or what other people call normal. But lately they've begun to look different. My eyes look very much like the visions that dance across my mind. Blurry, unfocused, and unsure, but still it's there. It reminds me of the look my siblings have, only where theirs are bright and strong, mine are weak and wavy, phantoms that might fly away at the first hint of the sun.
"Susan!"
I glance up, and I can feel my smile grow wider as my younger sister continues running towards me. Lucy plops down on the blanket, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing with pure delight.
"Lu, did Peter get Ed in a headlock again? He looked as though he might win." I give a mock sigh.
Lucy lets out a small giggle, and it sounds so nice that I can't help but join in. For the next few minutes we laugh so hard that we can't find the breath to speak. It feels nice to laugh with Lucy, like we had never stopped being friends. The giggles subside eventually and we sit in silence, catching our breath and enjoying the pleasantness of a day sent with a dear friend.After a moment or two Lucy turns to look at me. Her eyes still dance with mirth, but now there is also a new tenderness and hesitation about her, like she wants to tell me something but isn't sure how.
"Su," she begins slowly. "I've made you something, and I . . . I hope you like it."
She runs back to her original seat by the trees and scoops something up. She brings back to the blanket two beautiful wild flower wreaths, made with lilies. One is an arrangement of orange tiger lilies with white baby's breath mixed in. The other is made from snow white lilies, intermixed with blue bells.
"Oh Lucy, how beautiful. They are simply lovely," I whisper, thoroughly touched that she made these for the two of us.
Lucy's face lights up at the praise and she gives me one of the most heartfelt and glowing smiles I've seen in years.
I take the wreath of white lilies and place it on her head. After a bit of fussing on my part, (my sister should look perfect after all) it lies on her head beautifully, surrounding her with its sweet fragrance.
"There we go!" I say brightly, taking my own wreath and slipping it on my head. The weight feels familiar, and it's surprising that I feel so at home with something akin to a crown on my head.
"A queen should always wear a crown when she is among her subjects." I tease.
Lucy freezes, her face turning from delight to surprised awe. I hold back the reaction to shake my head, or retort sharply that I hadn't meant that. I had meant to say A Lady, and I can't figure out where I had gotten queen. Lucy isn't a queen of anything except her family's heart, for she is the soft spot of all of us. She is even the soft spot in my heart, which is perhaps why I pushed her away so ardently before. Yet somehow I know that I haven't made a mistake in saying queen. Frustration wells up within me. I am tired of seeing things and hearing sounds I don't understand. I almost want to shout at Lucy, to stop her beaming at me as if I've done something wonderful when I haven't. But Lucy looks so happy, and none of this is her fault after all, she simply gave me a gift.
I force away my frustration, refusing to let it color such a wonderful day. I stand, offering Lucy my hand to help her up as well. I brush of the grass that clings to her, a smile slipping back on my face as I do. It's close to impossible to be in Lucy's presence and feel unhappy as long as you let her into your heart.
"Come on then little queen, let us go find our most noble brothers."
As we walk towards Peter and Edmund, their laughter and shouts of indignation filling the clearing, I try to work out what these things that float in front of my eyes could be. If they were only thoughts created by my mind, than they were sure to disappear in time. But if they're not, I'm not sure which I want more; to never remember, or to remember every precious moment. Both might have consequences that I am not prepared to deal with.