Bittersweet Memories by Leonie Ross

The hospital room is dark, the peaceful silence of the night broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor.  Your chest rises and falls under the crisp bed sheets.  I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, the chemical scent of cleaning fluid burns the back of my throat.  I hate hospitals.  So many, many visits to this hospital over the years, all because of you.  It's truly amazing what the human body can take, broken nose, shattered eye sockets, fractured ribs.  Punctured lungs, ruptured spleen, bones broken and mended only to be broken again shortly afterwards.  The endless cuts and bruises covered in make-up to hide our real lives from those we love the most.  Only the make-up can't cover up the pain and despair that glitters in your beautiful eyes.

The hush of the early morning is interrupted by the sweet chirruping of the birds, it will be dawn soon.  The sun will climb sleepily from the night and perch high in the sky, basking us all in light and heat.  Summer is here again and it brings with it the bitter sweetness of memories I'd rather not have.  Leaning back in my hard, plastic hospital chair, I open my mind to those memories long buried.  The joy and happiness I feel from them hurts so much more than any punch or kick possibly could.

Now though it feels right to let these memories from a lifetime ago surface.  Like a book on a stand, the pages flick furiously backwards in time to the day I last saw you truly smile...

A beautiful, hot and sticky summers day, we made our way to the park for a picnic to celebrate my 6th birthday.  You dressed me that day in my favourite summer dress, pale blue scattered with tiny pink butterflies.  My favourite doll clasped tightly in my hand and my other hand tucked safely in yours.  As well as sandwiches and crisps today we had cakes.  Fluffy, moist sponge cakes smothered in sweet cream and sticky jam.  Devouring our rare treat we giggled in delight.  Most of the cream from my cake ended up on my face and in splatters on my pretty dress.  I begged you not to wipe the cream from my face and you laughed hysterically when I told you it covered my freckles.  Ignoring my petulant demands you tenderly wiped the cream and jam from my cheeks and told me my freckles were a part of me, part of what made me beautiful, and that I should never try to hide myself.  Ironic considering what was about to happen.  We had so much fun in the park that day.  The grass tickled our lotion covered legs, our bellies groaned from the goodies we'd stuffed ourselves with.  Chasing me round the park, you waved wriggling, worms at me as I screamed in childish horror.  We swung as high as we could on the swings, kicking our legs furiously to push ourselves closer and closer to the blistering, blue sky.  Leaning as far back as we could, pretending we were flying like the birds.  Later as we walked home you spun me round and round so the skirt of my dress twirled and floated in the warm breeze.  You looked so pretty that day, glossy dark hair curling over your shoulders.  The sun had kissed the tip of your nose and your cheeks, blushing them slightly.  Your eyes sparkled with laughter and fun.  The sweetest memory I have from that day is getting home, you bathed me and gently rubbed aftersun lotion over my arms and legs.  I fell asleep wrapped tightly in your arms, my head tucked under your chin, as you whispered softly into my ear how much you loved me, how happy you were with just the two of us.

The pages of the book in my mind turn slowly; almost as if they don't want to, they know what our future holds.  It's the following summer and it's not just me and you anymore.  You met someone just after that glorious summers day we'd shared, it seemed such a long time ago.  A dark-haired handsome man, a devil in disguise.  At first you were giggly and shy, besotted with the piercing blue eyes, the strong arms that held you so preciously, the full pink lips that kissed yours with such gentleness.  Not for long though.   The life and beauty in your own eyes dimmed day by day, you stopped laughing, scared the joyful sound would rouse the terrible, tormented temper that simmered beneath the surface.  The shush of your voice in the mornings as you dressed me as quickly as possible in my school uniform, terrified you might wake the Beast.  There were no lullabies or bedtime stories to lull me to sleep at night.  Only the sound of shouting and screaming, heavy thuds as hard fists crushed your fragile body.  Your muffled sobs as you wiped the hot, sticky blood from your face.  The shame in your eyes the next morning as you smoothed concealer and powder over the welts on your cheeks.  The dirty excuses you gave to my Gran and my teachers.  The burning rage and pity in their eyes as the truth screamed at them from beneath your carefully applied make-up.  My own cuts and bruises brushed off as childhood exuberance and boisterous play.

The pages fall and shred as our lives shriek and wail through my mind.  The summers that came and went, the same painful monotony over and over, broken only by the occasional glimpse of a handsome, sweet man who kissed you with such heart breaking tenderness.  It wasn't always shattered bones and broken promises.  We'd eat ice-cream on the beach, camp at the lake, family trips to the park.  So easy to pretend normal when the Beast slept.  Only the fake happiness that glimmered so momentarily soon dulled with reality.  The crashing and roaring as the alcohol and drugs awoke the demons within.  The nights I clung tightly to my teddy bear and sobbed myself to sleep, my tiny body shaking with terror and rage.  Rage at the lover who had turned on you, rage at myself for being so helpless to stop him.  Rage at you for staying with him, swayed by the guilty gifts and false promises.  Waking in the morning with a cold, clinging fear round my heart, hoping and praying you would still be there, alive.

A long, flat beep emanates from the heart monitor shaking me from the past.  My heart flutters like a tiny, caged bird in my chest as the room fills with strangers in white coats.  They rush to the bedside and their words float like ghosts through my mind.  They remind me of the summer bees, buzzing away in a seemingly unordered attack around the bed.  Then hush, they all stand back and turn to look at me with sorrow in their eyes.  Dead.  Outside the window the sun makes his slow ascent into the bright blue sky, the birds sing their morning wake up call.  A rollercoaster of emotion hits my heart and my head, dead, gone.  After all these years of fear and pain, we are free.  The Doctor places a comforting hand on my shoulder; I see his mouth moving as he whispers words of consolation.  I don't hear him, only the sweet song of the birds as they welcome a new, beautiful summers day.  The words sorry for your loss break through the fog.  I look up at him and smile gently, ‘I'm not sorry,' I say, ‘I'm not sorry at all.'  The Beast lies still in the hospital bed, as I look down at him the fear I've held all these years tip-toes quietly from my heart. 

I will not stand at his grave, I will not cry for him.  I will cry for her, for the life he gave her.  Mostly I will cry for the life he took from her, and from me.  That last hot summer burns brightly in my mind, memories I can now rejoice in.  I turn from the bed and look with pure love at the woman sat in the chair next to mine, my Mother.  Her face still bears the marks and bruises of his last vicious attack on her.  Pale, fragile skin broken by hard, unforgiving hands.  The Beast within him was to be the cause of his own death.  A drunken, crazed attack on her delicate, beaten body brought upon him a massive heart attack.  Three days we have sat here, her weeping and me hating.  Her hoping he will come back to her a changed man, just like he promised all those times before.  Me praying he doesn't, that there is truly a God, a God who will wrench such a beast from the flaking scab of our lives and cast him back to the fierce, blistering fires of the pit he crawled from.  She looks up at me with tears in her eyes, cheeks damp from the soft, gentle weeping that took hold of her the minute the doctors ran into the room.  She weeps her sweet tears for him; after all she does love him.  Even after all the abuse, mental and physical, he bestowed upon her.  She loves him, and forgives him.  In the burning amber of the morning sun our eyes meet and I see in hers something I haven't seen since that last summer, hope and strength.  Instead of her usual dull, dead stare, her eyes glimmer with memories of life before him, and the possibilities life has for her future.  I sweep my thumb across her beautiful, battered face to capture her tears.  As we make our way to the door, she turns one last time to look at him.  A single, solitary tear breaks free and rolls over the bruises on her cheek.  Pushing through the doors we step out into the warm embrace of the sun.  The mild heat caresses our faces like a lovers gentle kiss.  She turns and smiles that sweet, strong smile at me that I remember from all those years ago.  We aren't completely free yet, but we will be in time.  Just as before the bruises will fade and the cuts will hide their bitter truth behind scars.  The broken bones will heal.

Broken minds need a little bit longer....

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