In the darkness, a lone voice whimpered. It was self-aware enough to be frightened. Here time was without meaning or rules. A second in the darkness represented an unpredictable amount of time in the other realm, and for the little frightened voice, that second was an eternity. The brutal oppression of the darkness threatened to consume the voice.
Suddenly there was a familiar feeling of being pulled away, and the voice was relieved. It was back in the same kitchen as before. It remembered being here, it remembered the funeral, and it remembered the picture of who she once had been. The little voice had once been a beautiful woman with glorious red hair and striking blue eyes.
She could see the brunette working on dinner by the stove. The voice was surprised that it still had an olfactory sense because she could actually smell the mac and cheese the woman was cooking. Somehow the voice knew that mac and cheese was the child's favorite meal.
The girl. The voice remembered. The voice now knew who these people were. They were or at least had once been her family. But that's as far as her memory served her. She focused on the woman, she could once again feel her sadness, and the vortex within her grew worryingly larger. This woman who was in so much pain had once been her wife.
So we were married? I wonder what that must have been like, to have been married to you.
The voice's tone was nostalgic and heartbroken. She took the time to appreciate the brunette, her wife. She hesitated to use the term but still, it felt right, fitting. Her wife was stunning, her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue that could melt through metal and hearts alike. On her face, there was a deep scowl and bags beneath her eyes that spoke of long restless nights and tears. But past the scowl and the sadness hid a smile that these days the woman saved just for her daughter and no one else. Her expression would soften and she'd smile and it was a breathtaking vision. Her smile was authentic and wide and the voice found great joy taking it in. She could even count every single beautiful pearly white tooth. That smile, the voice thought, could guide ships through storms. And maybe, just maybe, that smile could guide the voice through the darkness. But the woman wasn't smiling right now.
The voice now understood why she'd been so drawn to her this whole time. And with the realization, the sharpness of the pain was softened by warmth. It was love.
You're so cute, I- I guess I was really lucky, huh? That I had you...
The voice could look at her wife forever. The scowl, the sadness, the hidden smile, and the softness of her movements, the voice felt an intense urge to wrap her nonexistent arms around her.
Not being able to touch you feels like torture.
Their daughter came into the kitchen. She knew the little girl was her daughter. But the memories were still locked away, all she could recognize was how she felt around them. She would give everything to remember them.
And you... my daughter? the voice asked herself as her heart fiercely ached for the little girl. Once more the intense urge to reach out overwhelmed her.
Please, the voice begged. Please let me hold her, just once. Please.
Suddenly the little girl stopped in her tracks and whirled around. "Mommy?" The young girl looked in the voice's direction.
You- you can hear me, baby girl? The voice gasped.
The girl looked in its direction, her eyes searching for something, she could have sworn she heard something, maybe not heard but she definitely felt something there. Her little brow was furrowed as her blue eyes searched but after a second of not seeing anything she shrugged and walked over to her mother. She grabbed at her shirt and tugged playfully. "Mom, I'm hungry."
I guess you can't hear me, huh? That really sucks.
The voice sighed in frustration and focused on her daughter. The girl looked just as she once had. Big expressive blue eyes, with very soft and long wavy red locks. But her smile was a perfect combination of both women. It was authentic and it held nothing back, the little girl smiled with everything she had in her heart. That smile conveyed the innocence of childhood and unconditional love. Somehow the voice knew that the girl had a big and generous heart, just as she once had. The voice could feel warmth as she stared at her daughter. She didn't need her memories to know that she loved the little girl dearly.
Oh, baby girl, the voice lamented. To not remember her daughter and her wife was cruel. The voice felt so helpless she wanted to scream and cry. But it was pointless, and so once more she resigned herself to observe though she yearned for more.
God, you are just so pretty, baby girl. You definitely took after me, didn't you? But that smile, that smile is definitely the both of us.
"It- It'll be ready in a bit baby," the brunette responded without turning around, focused on mixing the powdered cheese thoroughly. She added a bit of butter from a yellow tub and 2% milk but it still looked clumpy. Growing impatient she added more milk and stirred the mixture until it dissolved into a much more liquid consistency than she wanted. "Now it's too watery." She exhaled in frustration but she decided to at least try it. She tasted the cheese sauce and scowled. "It's still not right." It was missing something but she couldn't figure out what.
"How the hell did she use to make it?" the woman mumbled to herself. She stirred some more a bit faster, a bit angrier, and giving up she slammed the spoon against the counter a bit more forcefully than she intended. Her daughter jumped at the noise.
"Are you OK Mom?" the little girl asked, her little hand still holding her mother's shirt.
The voice observed their interaction, she could tell that the woman was hanging on by a thread and she wanted to reassure her wife. It's OK, maybe cooking just isn't your thing. That's fine. God, I wish I could remember. This is just too much.
"Yeah, Mom is just not great at cooking, not like- um, actually could you please go sit at the table baby?" The woman pressed both hands against the counter and bowed her head, she was trembling slightly.
The little girl didn't move, she was concerned for her mother and deciding to press her luck said, "It's OK Mom, umm do you remember when Mommy tried to bake Nana's cookies and she burnt them?" The little girl remembered that day fondly, it had been one of her favorite memories of Mommy, and she didn't even care that the cookies had been burnt. They laughed and forced themselves to eat the burnt cookies. They had tasted just as they looked, a little crispy, a little sweet, and somehow salty and smoky, milk had made them palatable. It was a wonderful memory.
I guess I wasn't much of a baker, huh? Wait, Mommy? I'm Mommy? the voice said wistfully.
To be called Mommy brought a new sense of pain and loss. The voice had lost so much. She had once lived here, in this house, where she'd bake cookies, though terribly by the sounds of it. But she had done it with love, just to make her wife and daughter happy. In this house she had once been so happily in love, married to a beautiful woman and they even had a wonderful daughter. Her life had once been perfect. And now it was all gone.
Why do I keep coming back? Why do I have to keep seeing this? Why do I have to see what I've lost? It's not fair! The voice grew desperate.
"Can we- let's not talk about that right now, OK baby?" The brunette's expression grew somber, the pain in her eyes hidden beneath her hair.
"Why not Mommy?" the girl asked innocently.
The brunette sighed and deflated. "I just- let's just not for a while, OK?"
"I'm sorry Mom. I was just -" the girl began but was interrupted.
"Baby, please!" the woman barked, her tone louder than intended. She had never raised her voice to her daughter like that. The woman realizing her grave mistake covered her mouth in shame. The little girl froze, her lower lip quivered as her eyes slowly began to well up with tears.
Did you just yell at our daughter? But we don't do that. We don't raise our voice to her. That is not OK! The voice said outraged.
"Baby I'm so sorry! Mom didn't mean to yell. I just-" The woman took a step forward, her arms outstretched offering a hug. But the girl took a step back, she was no longer smiling. Her innocent features reflected hurt and fear.
"Baby, please it's OK, Mom is sorry," the woman pleaded with a soft tone that was on the edge of breaking.
The girl screamed, "I miss Mommy!" Then turned and ran to her room, crying.
The woman stood there by herself, she was frozen, her arms still outstretched. She was shocked and after a second she crumbled to her knees and said softly, "I miss Mommy too." She didn't go after her daughter, she knew she should but instead, she let herself slump and collapse. She covered her face with her hands and cried softly. This scene before her broke the voice.
Oh god, what do I do! What can I do? Please tell me what can I do! How can I help! the voice pleaded into the unknown. She hoped someone or something was listening. Tell me how to help them! Please!
After a minute, the woman composed herself and stood up. She turned to the cabinets and opened them. Inside, she found a two bottles. One had a white label depicting an old man. The woman grabbed it and stared at it, with a mixture of nostalgia and regret. Something about the bottle called to the voice, there was a link that she couldn't quite connect with. The woman was clearly tempted to open the bottle but decided against it. Instead, she went for the bottle next to it. This bottle's shape was square and the label black. She grabbed it and placed it, along with a crystal tumbler, on the counter. The woman looked at the items intently.
Wait. Are you drinking? But you never drink in front of her. Wait, how do I know that?
She remembered something a faint memory, a very small detail about their life together. She remembered that they had a rule to never drink in the house when their daughter was awake.
I remembered something! OK, that's good. Just keep with it, maybe I'll remember some more. She thought long and hard, something about not drinking in the house. After a moment she remembered something else the brunette mentioned, something about her mother, and her father leaving.
That's it! Your mom used to drink. After your father left. And it worried you.
The brunette had never wanted to drink as her mother once had, much less in front of her daughter. The voice guessed that after her passing her wife needed some comfort. And she'd find superficial comfort at the end of a bottle.
The voice felt a new emotion, guilt. Her passing was starting to break her wife, and she could almost see how the cracks in her heart grew deeper and irreparable.
I know you're suffering, but can you please just stop and go upstairs and talk – Oh God just talk to our daughter. She's right there. Please talk to her, talk to her about my shitty baking, talk to her about anything! Please don't do this!
It wasn't right and she wanted to make her wife go check on their daughter. But her wife just stood there, helpless. She was starting to get upset at her wife and wanted to give her a piece of her mind. But as soon as her wife took a sip of the brown liquid, the voice felt herself being pulled away again, back into the darkness.
The voice was once more pulled away from the darkness. The first thing the voice noticed was the deafening blaring of honking cars. She looked around, they were at a stop light inside of a vehicle. The light had been green for some time.
Oh OK, I'm back. OK, now you listen to me, you can't just-
The voice wanted to lecture her wife but the sight stopped her in her tracks. The brunette was frozen in place, her expression one of shock and horror. Her chapped lips were slightly parted, and her lower lip quivered, whatever words threatened to escape her would go unheard. Her chest rose and fell as her heart pounded. She was beginning to hyperventilate. Her eyes were opened wide as she stared fixedly at nothing. She couldn't even hear the vehicles behind her blaring their horns, all she could hear was the song that came on the radio. It was a familiar song, "Titanium" by David Guetta.
Are you OK? Hello? I-Is it the song?
It sounded familiar to the voice but she couldn't place it, just like everything else. But for her wife, it had been too much, too fast, and far too soon. The song triggered a wave of beautiful memories of them singing together and of feeling seen for the first time. Bittersweet memories of their very first kiss in the back of someone's car, it had been quick, and a little awkward, and how they had laughed about it.
The brunette had tried so hard for so long to keep it together, to avoid those memories that brought nothing but unbearable hurt. She just had to, she had to compartmentalize because she had to take charge and handle the funerary arrangements, the insurance, and a million other unsympathetic clerical deeds that followed the tragedy. She had to compartmentalize because she was a mother and had to take care of her child. She had to compartmentalize because she couldn't bear to think for a single second of what she lost.
She couldn't avoid it anymore, and so when the song triggered a flood of memories she broke down and let everything go. As she broke away from her dissociative state, she realized how tired she was, and how holding her head up was exhausting, she needed to rest her head, and the steering wheel would do. She wanted to give up.
"Oh God, I can't do this," the brunette repeated over and over again between sobs. The honks were getting louder around her.
I- I need to do something, God or whatever please let me help her somehow. Can't you see how much pain she's in? This is dangerous! Let me help her! Please!
The voice begged the unknown desperately and with hands she didn't have, she tried as hard as she could to reach her.
Please, God! Just let me touch her! Please! the voice begged and begged the unknown as she tried to reach her. And for a second, she could swear that she almost felt fabric.
Her car door was ripped open and a young man with a very concerned look on his face said, "Beca? Oh my God, Beca are you alright?"
Wait! Who's this?
Her wife turned to the man, her face in tears. As recognition dawned, her expression shifted from one of shock to absolute misery and defeat. "Oh God. Jesse! Jesse! She's gone, she's fucking gone." She repeated as she hurriedly hugged the young man. She cried harder, her grip desperately seeking anchor and settling for digging deep into his shoulders. Her sobs were loud and desperate.
She didn't care about the unending honking of the vehicles behind them, or who saw her cry, no more pretending to be strong. No more compartmentalizing. She just cared about the fact that her wife was really and truly gone for good.
Jesse's expression of surprise quickly shifted into one of sadness and sympathy for his friend, he closed his eyes to return her embrace. He didn't know what else to do but to be here for his friend.
The small voice was pulled away again and this time she was almost grateful because what she had just witnessed made her feel like she was drowning. She just wanted to help so much, to be of some comfort to the woman who had once been her wife. But she couldn't, and she hated it. Being a mere spectator to her family's suffering was torture.
The voice had been grateful that the man called Jesse showed up when he did, but the voice also felt a new foreign feeling. Jealousy. Because he did what she couldn't. What could she do? What's the point of this poor excuse of an existence? To watch her loved ones suffer? Why put her through that? As she reflected on her misery, she remembered something. The man had said her wife's name.
Beca?
And when she uttered her wife's name somewhere deep in the nothingness there was a magnificent explosion of light. The light overwhelmed the darkness and warmed her. And as the prism light engulfed her, the voice finally remembered.
To be continued.