Belinda gets over it
Jul. 5th, 2011 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
loloteheBelinda lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The light through the thin, lace curtains traced patterns that constantly shifted. She watched those without thinking about anything in particular.
A few hours ago, when the clock in the main room had struck seven, Belinda had failed to get out of bed. Charlene had not said anything, but only made her own bed, got dressed, and went downstairs.
Eight o'clock passed without incident. Nine o'clock sounded like doors opening and closing. Ten o'clock's final chines echoed with footsteps.
“That's enough self-pity,” Annora said, not fully entering the room. “Get up and act like a human.”
Belinda pulled the covers over her head. “My grandmother is dead.”
“Charming,” Annora said. “You can talk to Charlene about it and she'll tell you all about how Evie is in heaven with her mother and my sister.”
That hurt more than a slap across the face.
“I'll give you thirty more minutes,” Annora said. “And that's more than enough time for you to get dressed, wash your face, and brush your hair. This is a working farm, not a hospital.”
Belinda threw back the covers and stared at her aunt's cousin. “Don't you mourn her?”
Annora frowned. “That's for later, when there's nothing to do. You can do that in the dark. The cows need to be milked during the day.”
She did get up, five minutes after Annora shut the door. Dressing was a heavy task. Her sweater was thick between her and the rest of the world, but no insulation from what she felt inside. Lacing and tying her boots was complicated, but all Belinda could think about was how she would never see her grandmother again.
Even if they get a headstone together, it won't be her. She brushed her hair. And I'd have to go to the Library to see her, and make an appointment. It's not like before. I bet they won't even be able to scrape together enough recordings. She won't remember me. I bet she'll think I'm my mother, or her sister. Belinda thought about the faded images spread out on Grandma Evie's bed. I guess that won't be that different.
She washed her face, slowly. Aren't you supposed to cry when someone dies? I'm just washing off sleep. Is that how we Gaines are? Are we cold and hard like that? I wonder if Aunt Ulan is crying.
No one was in the main room when she came down the stairs. That meant that the older children were still at chores and the younger were out playing. She put on her coat.
The cows seemed grateful to see her, even if it was an hour late. They were warm and pleased while she milked them, the steam coming from the bucket. Everything was poured carefully into the can.
Is that why they call where we keep the headstones the Library? Belinda watched the milk from one bucket mingle with what was already in the can. Wasn't that where they used to keep books? Aunt Ulan is Book Gaines. She has to keep up with the family affairs. Someday, she'll be in the Library too.
Someday, I'll be in the Library.
Milking the final cow, Belinda thought about what it must be like in the Library. Do the headstones get to talk to each other, or do they just get turned off when people aren't listening to them? Is it like sleeping? Do they dream?
And Belinda thought about the dream she had a few months back, about the multi-colored rose and her conversation with Annora the next day. She's a Tzikzik. That's why Annora looks like Aunt Ulan. That's why all the cousins look like Aunt Ulan.
That's why Aunt Ulan looks like Grandma Evie.
She had finished milking the cow, but was unable to stand and carry the final bucket to the can.
Grandma Evie was Annora's mother as well.
She did not hear Peter waiting behind her. He reached out to take the bucket from her.
“You look like you need help,” he said.
Once the milk-can was full, they capped it, carried to the lodge, silently, and placed it in the cold room. Peter started to walk away, to lead the cows out to pasture, and Belinda followed him.
She wasn't sure what else to do.
“Ms. Leon says your aunt is gonna come get you,” he said. “You have to go to a funeral.”
Belinda nodded.
“You gonna dress all in black and dab your eyes with a white tissue?” he asked.
“I might,” she said.
“Are there gonna be flowers and all kinds of people you never met?”
“There might.”
“Are you gonna be sad the whole time and them some after?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don't know.” She had no idea how long she would be sad.
Peter frowned. “That means I'm never gonna see you happy again.”
Belinda suddenly saw Chef Asabi Leon in her mind. The square redhead laughed and said, “You're an adult now. There's truth and there's truth people want to hear.”
Belinda smiled and took Peter's hands. “I am happy. I'm happy I got to be here and meet you. I'm happy I know you now. I'm happy I'm here with you now.”
He wrinkled his brow and stared at her. “How can I make you happy?”
“I'm happy I ain't you,” she said, with a crooked grin.
He punched her in the arm. “I'm happy I ain't some stuck up snob.”
She punched him back. “I'm happy I ain't some dumb hick.”
They wrestled a bit--laughing the entire time--on the cold ground in their warm coats.
Tears still in their eyes, both children rose from the ground, dusted each other off, and made their way back to the lodge. Crying, but happy nonetheless.
A few hours ago, when the clock in the main room had struck seven, Belinda had failed to get out of bed. Charlene had not said anything, but only made her own bed, got dressed, and went downstairs.
Eight o'clock passed without incident. Nine o'clock sounded like doors opening and closing. Ten o'clock's final chines echoed with footsteps.
“That's enough self-pity,” Annora said, not fully entering the room. “Get up and act like a human.”
Belinda pulled the covers over her head. “My grandmother is dead.”
“Charming,” Annora said. “You can talk to Charlene about it and she'll tell you all about how Evie is in heaven with her mother and my sister.”
That hurt more than a slap across the face.
“I'll give you thirty more minutes,” Annora said. “And that's more than enough time for you to get dressed, wash your face, and brush your hair. This is a working farm, not a hospital.”
Belinda threw back the covers and stared at her aunt's cousin. “Don't you mourn her?”
Annora frowned. “That's for later, when there's nothing to do. You can do that in the dark. The cows need to be milked during the day.”
She did get up, five minutes after Annora shut the door. Dressing was a heavy task. Her sweater was thick between her and the rest of the world, but no insulation from what she felt inside. Lacing and tying her boots was complicated, but all Belinda could think about was how she would never see her grandmother again.
Even if they get a headstone together, it won't be her. She brushed her hair. And I'd have to go to the Library to see her, and make an appointment. It's not like before. I bet they won't even be able to scrape together enough recordings. She won't remember me. I bet she'll think I'm my mother, or her sister. Belinda thought about the faded images spread out on Grandma Evie's bed. I guess that won't be that different.
She washed her face, slowly. Aren't you supposed to cry when someone dies? I'm just washing off sleep. Is that how we Gaines are? Are we cold and hard like that? I wonder if Aunt Ulan is crying.
No one was in the main room when she came down the stairs. That meant that the older children were still at chores and the younger were out playing. She put on her coat.
The cows seemed grateful to see her, even if it was an hour late. They were warm and pleased while she milked them, the steam coming from the bucket. Everything was poured carefully into the can.
Is that why they call where we keep the headstones the Library? Belinda watched the milk from one bucket mingle with what was already in the can. Wasn't that where they used to keep books? Aunt Ulan is Book Gaines. She has to keep up with the family affairs. Someday, she'll be in the Library too.
Someday, I'll be in the Library.
Milking the final cow, Belinda thought about what it must be like in the Library. Do the headstones get to talk to each other, or do they just get turned off when people aren't listening to them? Is it like sleeping? Do they dream?
And Belinda thought about the dream she had a few months back, about the multi-colored rose and her conversation with Annora the next day. She's a Tzikzik. That's why Annora looks like Aunt Ulan. That's why all the cousins look like Aunt Ulan.
That's why Aunt Ulan looks like Grandma Evie.
She had finished milking the cow, but was unable to stand and carry the final bucket to the can.
Grandma Evie was Annora's mother as well.
She did not hear Peter waiting behind her. He reached out to take the bucket from her.
“You look like you need help,” he said.
Once the milk-can was full, they capped it, carried to the lodge, silently, and placed it in the cold room. Peter started to walk away, to lead the cows out to pasture, and Belinda followed him.
She wasn't sure what else to do.
“Ms. Leon says your aunt is gonna come get you,” he said. “You have to go to a funeral.”
Belinda nodded.
“You gonna dress all in black and dab your eyes with a white tissue?” he asked.
“I might,” she said.
“Are there gonna be flowers and all kinds of people you never met?”
“There might.”
“Are you gonna be sad the whole time and them some after?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don't know.” She had no idea how long she would be sad.
Peter frowned. “That means I'm never gonna see you happy again.”
Belinda suddenly saw Chef Asabi Leon in her mind. The square redhead laughed and said, “You're an adult now. There's truth and there's truth people want to hear.”
Belinda smiled and took Peter's hands. “I am happy. I'm happy I got to be here and meet you. I'm happy I know you now. I'm happy I'm here with you now.”
He wrinkled his brow and stared at her. “How can I make you happy?”
“I'm happy I ain't you,” she said, with a crooked grin.
He punched her in the arm. “I'm happy I ain't some stuck up snob.”
She punched him back. “I'm happy I ain't some dumb hick.”
They wrestled a bit--laughing the entire time--on the cold ground in their warm coats.
Tears still in their eyes, both children rose from the ground, dusted each other off, and made their way back to the lodge. Crying, but happy nonetheless.
