******************
As I am about to go on with the story of when you had emigrated from Kolkata to Birmingham, you interrupt me once more to say, "Wait... I want to know more about your childhood. Before you met me, as in?"
I scoff while saying, "But there is nothing much to say about my childhood before meeting you. In fact... you were the one who helped me form most of the best memories of my childhood, along with all our friends from school, really."
"Uh, what about Sebastian then?"
My expression darkens while I mumble, "You remembered him?"
"He was your bhai, right?"
My brother.
I reply to your question with a gentle nod and wait for you to continue with telling me anything else you must be having on your mind right now.
You interlace your fingers with mine. "You know, I just want to get to know all about your own individual life as much as I wanna learn about mine and try to remember most of my own lost memories, too," you whisper as you brush your lips gently against the backs of my fingers while you hold my hands tenderly. "But, then again, it's alright if you don't want to talk about him with me right now."
"No, no, it's nothing like that..."
"He passed away some time before you met me, am I right? That's all I remember... You don't have to tell me anything beyond that if you don't feel like it," you say. Then you wince a little as you let go of my hands to continue saying, "Okay, I'm sorry... I probably shouldn't have mentioned about Sebastian in the first place."
I look up into your eyes and I hold your face in my hands gently. "Listen, I got over his death way many years ago. I mean, sure, it did impact my views on life and death greatly as this was the first death I had ever technically witnessed in my life... Still, though, I really did get over it as the years went by, you know."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Like, really, really sure?"
"Whatever I say right now, please know that I fully mean it. Spirits of the dead cannot lie, remember?"
You hold my right hand as it touches your cheek and lean your face against it sweetly.
"I love how we're being so affectionate with each other right now. Feels like we're just kids who've just started dating a few months ago... rather than a literal pair of dead middle aged women who've been married for so many years, no?" you say as you rub your cheek against my palm.
"I mean, you are not wrong, though. I honestly do not mind that we happen to look like a pair of young girls who are only just experiencing the joys of love with each other. It does feel great to be so... young right now."
I place a kiss on your shoulder and remain silent for a moment as I lean my head on it and close my eyes slowly. "Gosh, have I missed simply being with you like this. For ten long years," I whisper. "I know I wanted you to live much longer until you could have reached a ripe older age and simply undergone a much more peaceful death with that later on... That way, you would have remembered me completely too... but—"
"Everything happens as per God's wishes. Don't stress too much on all this."
I silently nod my head towards your statement and I continue leaning into your shoulder.
I just want to savour this lovely moment we are sharing together, on this tall building under the soft evening sky of Kolkata, like a stereotypical pair of lovers from some cliché romance movie you and I would have probably watched out of boredom at night, when we were alive, just so we could laugh together and make fun out of the utter ridiculousness we were looking at back in the day.
Oh, those were indeed the good times!
Eventually, I start to speak once again, "So, I suppose I should go on with my story then, right?"
"Well, you can still start off with my emigration story, though."
"No, never mind, I'll tell you this one too. I won't mind it."
You stroke my hair gently as I slowly raise my head from your shoulder. I sit up properly again close to you and I decide on continuing with telling you the stories of our own individual early childhoods...
Starting with mine...
******************
About a year after I was born, my parents had another child named Sebastian. By that time, they were somewhat able to afford for proper hospital treatment, unlike during the time of my delivery, so everything went a lot more calmly for Sebastian's birth. He did not have any issues with heartbeat detection or crying or anything else by that time and, in fact, he turned out to be much more active at birth than I ever had been beforehand. His delivery was quite more like yours, I would say.
He also grew up to be very naughty and mischievous while I remained more on the quieter side due to me being a bit more sickly in nature compared to him (and with that, I eventually got diagnosed with asthma and anxiety a little later after he died).
I am still bloody sure that my parents did love the both of us in equal terms, yet I'm also aware that there had been a few times where I felt it was more obvious that they seemed to be more caring and protective towards me over Sebastian. There had been times throughout my life, much later on, where I secretly tended to wonder if that was what had been the cause of that poor boy's utter untimely passing.
But I never actually blamed my parents for anything that happened to him, really.
It wasn't like they meant anything on purpose.
It could have been an accident.
Perhaps even I could have done something to save him before waiting for my parents.
Maybe it was my fault after all.
But, either way, as I grew up, I eventually came to arrive at the final acceptance that his death was indeed according to God's plan, as with everything else in the world.
It was a bitter truth to take, though.
Now, here are some basic details about my parents:
My father's name was Lopez and he was a light skinned black man having a bit of Argentinian and Arab roots, as I had already told you earlier. He used to be a construction worker for some time until a major accident, which happened much later on to him, that made me and my mum force him to resign from that job and immerse into the artful joys of tailoring.
He was a very serene, tranquil and quiet person by nature who often smiled with his eyes rather than his mouth, so other people may have certainly been assured that he was quite unable to give out any convincing fake smile no matter how much he tried. He was also rather eloquent with sign language, both in English and Spanish, and that was good for him, I suppose.
He had shaggy black hair which made him look like a bit of a lunatic at times and which also, of course, ultimately turned into vanilla ice cream as he got older. He was also quite short, stockily built and – having poor eyesight just like the rest of my family – he constantly had a pair of thick glasses framing his beloved eyes.
Also, right now, I still remember the way he looked at my funeral.
It is quite a sorrowful sight for any parent to experience the death of their own child first, before dying themselves.
For I also know what that feels like.
And I am also sorry that my father had to experience that type of event twice in his life with regards to both of his children—
Alright, never mind, let's just move on from all that, anyways...
So, moving on with my parental background, my mother's name was Magdalena. However, she was mostly known by her nickname Elmo rather than her actual name, which meant you had that one specific major factor in common with her, so therefore that was probably amongst the many reasons why you both got along very well as a saas bahu duo after our wedding later on. Actually, you were the one who started calling her that name from early on, when we were kids, for some reason that I might only ever get to know by the time February achieves thirty days per year and that would only be when I celebrate a complete century of being an official member of the Living World... which is never, obviously.
I apologise, my sense of humour is rather horrible, you see.
My mum was also mute due to having an innate issue with her vocal cords, but despite that she had an awful lot to say. And that was why we all loved her. She was probably the most 'talkative' and liveliest member within the household, in contrast to both my dad and I being the quiet and soft-spoken folks of our little family.
She was a dark skinned black woman who happened to be my father's 'pen pal sweetheart' through writing ordinary Spanish friendship letters initially and then eventually falling in love after being together in England for a few years post her emigration to the country in 1997. She was also a very stunning woman and my father always used to tell me that he never thought she would look the way she did, after simply reading all her little pen pal letters at the beginning, due to how humble and light-hearted her use of words happened to be.
By profession, she was mostly a housewife, but she did also make a little bit of money for the household by sewing and knitting clothing items for customers around the neighbourhood, occasionally when they would decide to place an order for her on that. She was also an organist – that was more of a hobby, though – playing for Saffansbury's famous little church on most Sundays per month until she grew old eventually and became too tired for any more continual practice schedules. She was my very first teacher and inspiration regarding the pathway to being a good pianist.
My mum did not have asthma or anxiety herself, but I was told that her own family line had a few genetic cases of both complications and so they were passed down on to me because of that. It was never a huge deal for me personally, though, I should say.
So, anyways, after my parents had me, I happened to be a lot more on the rather light skinned black side, just like my father, so my skin was akin to that deep brownish colour you'd sometimes see with freshly baked cookie dough straight out of an oven. Or basically, I just had almond coloured skin, if we are being a bit more simpler in terms of description. On the other hand, however, most of my general physical features turned out to be more like my mother's. I had a slender 5'7 tall frame (my slimness did alter quite a lot throughout my life, though), straight black hair and swampy dark eyes along with some less chiselled yet somewhat sharp and well defined facial outlines – all of which you happened to love so dearly later on, many years later.
As a young girl, I would have claimed that I was not quite as beautiful as my mother was.
Now, however, I am fully aware that we are all beautiful in our own unique ways, just the way God has planned our souls to be regardless of our physical features (which is why external beauty generally only shines through brightly when one is truly beautiful on the inside as a soul above everything else). Thus, I shall now say I was simply beautiful... and that's it.
I was simply beautiful the way you would only expect me to be.
All in in my ordinary, so very imperfect state.
I was just a woman with both her own strengths and weaknesses much like every other resident of the Living World.
And I'm also really sorry for this unnecessary dump of information, Silver.
I was only trying to, well, mentally figure out – in the meantime while I was still narrating earlier – how I should start talking about my brother's story soon while delaying it because... well, the memory of that whole thing is still quite overwhelming for me after all indeed, I should say.
It's nothing much, but...
... ugh, you get what I mean, right?
******************
You place a hand on my shoulder as I slowly waver from my narration. "You can take a break now, you know. I'm really in no hurry to hear your story... but, well, uh... I just— I really wanted know what happened with you, though, before I hear the rest of my own story. I'm so sorry..." You look at me with a guilty expression.
"Hey, hey, I understand, okay, I probably would have been asking the same questions as you, had I also been in your position right now."
"Why don't we just have a small talk for a few hours then?"
"Small talk, as in?"
"I dunno, talk about random shit, perhaps?"
"What kind of... random shit?"
"Arey, like, you know, anything to make you feel a little bit more relaxed now, eh? You know, it is your comfort that actually matters most to me above everything else right now, my darling."
I simply smile at your words. "I love you."
You whisper, "I love you too," and give a brief yet warmly comforting hug to me.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
And so, we have just mostly finished talking about random other topics with each other for now, about the atmosphere surrounding us and a couple of other little insignificant things. As the hours have now gradually transitioned from late evening to nighttime while we still continue talking for a bit, the full moon had slowly emerged at one point, draped in her dark robes of clouds, to begin her lonesome dance into the night sky that eternally hangs the memories of her long-dead interstellar lovers within tapestries of beautiful constellations. This melancholic dance shall obviously go on throughout the whole night – until the sun's eventual awakening at dawn to begin his own fiery stroll across the heavens for tomorrow to come. All these beautiful sequences again and again as the cycle goes on with our planet's continual rotations and revolutions.
"Are you feeling alright now?" you ask as we still go on along with our chat.
"I have technically been alright for all this time... but, well, you know.... I've never actually talked in detail about my brother's passing with anyone in a long time, you see. I just felt a bit... off earlier."
"I see. Well, I do get why you might feel a little uneasy recalling the memory," you say with a kindly tone. "You still wanna talk about vada pav and other street food or something else for now?"
"Oh no, I'm okay, thanks. I think I can continue with my story now."
"Well, if you say so." You smile warmly, your lips and teeth looking as though they now happen to be a result of one of good ol' Blitzen Scott's patient yet clever brushstrokes from any one of her black-and-white paintings, and that is enough for me to brighten up even more right now.
"I must say... I really missed that beautiful voice... and that smile of yours. Even though I did hang around amongst you and our family as a spirit after death to watch over all of you... I still missed each and every one of you. I missed being alive, Shivanya."
"I missed you too. Everything about you. And that's the whole reason why I wanna get to know all about you. Right now," you whisper in a bit of a staccato as you lean your face closely down to mine, as if you want to kiss me on the mouth. "Every bit of your own life, I wanna know as well."
I pull away from your face slowly so you won't kiss me. "Eh, it's too soon for that," I say with a chuckle afterwards. "Another time perhaps?"
"Sorry, I just got kinda carried away, I guess." You laugh nervously with a hand behind your head. I find this view quite endearing.
"You are still so damn adorable, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, I'm not an old woman like you, so."
"Ah yes, says the very young half-century girl, of course." I roll my eyes.
"Okay, well, in that case... old people are definitely very sweet then."
I sigh dreamily as I give a tender look into your eyes. "Yes, they are... Most old people are indeed very endearing. Just like you."
Soon afterwards, I clear my throat a little to calmly begin continuing with my narration where I had abruptly left off earlier.
******************
When I was just a one-and-a-half year old baby, during the time Sebastian was born, I suppose I was quite a bit excited on being an older sister to this new baby my family had welcomed at the time. I do not exactly remember much about anything further beyond that statement, though.
In fact, most of the memories I'd shared with my brother involved just playing outside in the garden together with Mama watching over us; him getting scolded by our parents for mischief; and also the two of us listening to bedtime stories from Papa by the time he came back home from his construction site work in the late evenings.
And, now that I think about it, I suppose that is the saddest part.
I only remember his death more than any other thing that had ever happened in his short little life of only three years overall.
The vision of one child drowning in a swampy river surrounded by white water lilies, screaming for dear life, while another child collapses and succumbs to a loss of consciousness nearby due to a panic attack, which was unbeknownst to her at the time, is the most vivid memory I have from my earliest sects of childhood.
Not a very good experience to have as a preschooler.
But still, I ultimately managed to acknowledge the fact that there are people who have been through a lot more in their childhood than I ever did in mine. And, even now, my soul indeed aches for those children who've been through worse.
I guess that acknowledgement was probably one of the reasons I had chosen to move on eventually.
Also, I should mention that all of anyone's feelings regarding their own trauma, whether supposedly major or minor, are valid and we must never scrutinise them for those feelings in general, even if that anyone only happens to be slightly uncomfortable about those memories later if it's been years since they've moved on.
And I am glad you still understand that, my love.
So, my family resided somewhere within the quieter ends of Saffansbury, which in turn already happened to be at the outskirts of Birmingham itself. There was a small creek that flowed around the area I lived in and it was very swampy. That creek was also a tiny sect of the River Rea around at its very end. Our house was basically a neat little cottage that stood at the edge of a small woodland region, along with having the creek flowing in front of the house about some distance away.
I really liked the environment, though.
I had always adored its peacefulness and tranquility.
I still do even now.
My parents were also obsessed with gardening, so they liked to maintain our garden everyday and keep it in good conditions as much as possible. I don't remember the names of all the plants in the garden because, as much as I liked watering them and looking after them, I never bothered to learn all of their names. I literally only remember the Devil's Ivies, or Money Creepers, that grew around the house and nothing else beyond that.
My brother often liked to pull out the plants and make 'salads' with me in our toy pots and pans, while we used to play and pretend we were world class chefs. Mama and Papa used to scold him very frequently for picking on those poor plants, but he'd still do the same thing afterwards anyway. He was quite stubborn that way.
He was also quite smart for his age. He understood both spoken words and signed words decently well and he was even able to properly read the words in my schoolbooks, too, despite them being slightly advanced and more suited for children of four and above. But all that was normal because different children do develop in unique ways at times after all. Even I was like that.
However, I am even sure that if you had ever met him those days, you both would have been the most chaotic of best friends!
He was so much like you.
Okay, let's move on with the story now. So, across that creek in front of our house, there used to be an old wooden bridge that we used to cross over to the other side if we ever wanted to visit the town for any reason. I remember feeling bloody petrified when Papa had used to carry me over it, and walk over to my preschool in the town, because of the wooden creaky noises I had to endure. I had always been very sensitive to hearing small sounds, including even the noise you would hear when you turn on a ceiling fan, but that was mostly tolerable.
As those creaks got louder with each passing day, nobody realized it was actually a guttural cry for help.
And when no help was received, the bridge took its revenge.
It took the life of an innocent.
Sebastian's life.
On the day it happened, which was almost a year before I met you, I was about four years old and he was three. Papa was still at work in the afternoon and Mama was inside cooking some lunch for us. I was playing with my dolls and cars in the living room with my brother until he blurted, "I wanna play outside."
"I don't like it," I groaned out the words. "Very dirty!"
It had rained that day so the atmosphere was already very gloomy and muddy outside. Now, I wouldn't have minded it had I been older but, during that time, I seriously found rainy and wet environments quite disgusting as a child.
Sebastian complained, "Pleaseeee..."
"No."
"Pip, come on!" He started pulling my hand to run outside.
I scrunched my face at him in response and pulled my hand away.
Things remained okay for a while.
Then, after that short while, he suddenly dashed out of the front door which was already left open – after the rain had ceased prior to our short interaction – to let some pleasant and cool post-rain air into the house. He yelled, "Catch me if you can, Pip!"
"Oiii! Get back here!" I called and I ran out of the house behind him. "I'm telling Mama!"
Okay, honestly, I did not really feel like calling out for Mama – who was still busy with the kitchen work and probably didn't even hear us at that time – and disturbing her unnecessarily, so I basically decided to follow him myself and bring him into the house.
That was my mistake.
He ran out across the garden a little and remained out of my reach as I chased him while panting uncontrollably, he was certainly much faster than I was. I was starting to feel a shortness of breath and a bit of dizziness along with that by the time we reached the bridge across the creek.
"Come back here, donkey!" I huffed out the words with difficulty.
"You come here, monkey!" He laughed and jumped on the bridge.
The bridge continued groaning angrily in pain through its loud creaky noises. It bothered me so much.
CRR! CREE! CRRR!
I covered my ears and yelled out harder, "You'll fall! Stop that!"
"Noooo! Come on, it's fun!"
"Come back, will you! Otherwise, I'm telling Mama! This is not fun!" I was too scared to get onto the bridge myself so I just kept calling out to him while standing close to it.
He whined, "You are so boring!"
"Sebastian, come on!"
Unfortunately, it was too late by then. The bridge had been waiting to get fixed for all those days and now it had lost its stamina to hold itself up any longer. No one had previously understood its cries so it had completely given up at that point. It needed its revenge.
The bridge snapped sickeningly, right where my donkey of a brother was prancing about, and pulled him into the drooling maw of the creek. "NO!" I shouted with that.
He screamed while calling out my name repeatedly, "PIP! PIP! SAVE ME!"
He couldn't swim.
The swampy waters were slowly digesting him, while heartlessly stuffing his throat with liquid murkiness, as he ran out of breath.
I didn't really understand anything that was happening before me.
I didn't know how to rescue him.
I stood there in utter shock not knowing what to do at all.
I never realized for how long.
I somehow recovered from my trance while he kept on drowning and I tried going back home to call Mama and save him. "MAMA! MAMA!"
But I was slowly losing my own consciousness by then.
Sebastian's dying voice still echoed in my ears as I sprinted away from the river as fast as my metal and natural legs could carry me.
SAVE ME, PIP!
My chest grew hurtfully tight as my lungs felt like they might burst any moment, right after suffocating my heart while it thumped rapidly and spread its palpitations all over my blood vessels. And, as if trying to betray me, my eyes also turned everything green, cloudy and blurry with that. Tears flowed down my cheeks from all the pain. I also kept thinking of the Lord as I was running.
Jesus, please save him! Please, Jesus, I love you, Jesus!
"Mama! Sebastian! In the creek!" I breathed out those final words as I got closer to the house. "SAVE HIM!"
And with that, my whole body turned limp and lead to an almost embarrassing collapse in front of our house.
My first panic attack.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
I never knew for how long had I been unconscious, nor anything much that happened while I had been so. But when I eventually did wake up, there was a neighbourhood doctor who was checking up on both of us. Mama had somehow gotten Sebastian out of the creek when she heard my cries before I'd passed out there. Papa was also present by that time.
I was in Papa's arms while Mama remained watching over Sebastian as the doctor checked up on him carefully. I think they had already performed CPR and all the other necessary things required to be done on him by then.
Now that I'm thinking about it, I really do not understand why I had always felt, throughout my life later on, that my parents were more concerned for my survival over my brother's. I really don't get it. They did seem to be concerned for both of us equally, really.
Perhaps it was just my mind messing with me from overthinking too much, though.
Anyways, when I woke up, I looked so pallid and my body was slightly twitching, too. My eyes looked really damp and soaked from all those tears I'd been shedding before I'd fainted earlier. I was breathing deeply now as I whispered a question to my father, "Papa... S-S-Sebastian?"
"Doctor is checking on him now, don't worry," Papa answered gently.
"Will he be okay?" I asked worriedly as I started to cry again a little.
"Hey, hey," he whispered and ruffled my hair concernedly when he noticed the immense worry on my face, "he'll be fine, mija. Don't cry, okay?"
Papa held me close as he took me out of the room so I would not have to see Sebastian in that state.
He could not make it, though.
He was already gone.
His funeral eventually took place afterwards by the time he was declared dead from the accident and that was the end of it all.
I could not even cry much or mourn for him properly because of how shocked I was about everything and the incomprehension I had been having afterwards due to me not knowing anything at all about death and trauma at the time.
I also got diagnosed with anxiety and asthma, too, after the whole situation with my panic attack. Therefore, I had to remain on certain medications to help cope with them for the rest of my lifetime. I was also required to use inhalers for asthma after my diagnosis.
So, that marks the end of this story.
This was, however, the only event I had ever experienced with regards to child trauma.
I did have a pretty good childhood afterwards, you know.
With you and my friends and all.
******************
You start to speak as I conclude my narration, "Hey, Mads..."
"Yes, Silver?"
"Can I... give you a hug?"
"Hm? Any special reason?"
"You look like you might need one right now," you whisper while pursing your lips and staring at me with a look that makes me ache. "I'm deeply sorry that you had to go through all that. And I'm still sorry for asking about it, too."
"Oi, don't be all that sorry for asking, you idiot! How many times must I tell you that? I still love you." I allow myself to be enveloped by your beloved embrace. I actually did crave for a hug a little earlier while I was narrating and so I now find it quite flattering that you knew exactly what I needed for the moment without me having to tell you even. I whisper again as I nuzzle your chest while we hug, "I love how, despite losing most of your memories, you have still not forgotten those specific little good bits of your personality. Makes me love you even more now, Silver."
"I doubt any of us can ever forget our values despite anything, though. I'm pretty sure those have more to do with the overall soul itself rather only any of its memories, haha."
"Perhaps."
You brush your lips against my neck while I am still in your embrace and you also spray it with the softest of kisses. Feather-light kisses.
Gosh, this feels really nice!
But still, the one thing I currently dislike about this hug and your kisses is the fact that it does not feel the same as how it did when we were alive. It almost feels like I am being embraced by a mass of plush and the kisses feel like those faint drops of wetness you feel on your skin outside in a garden when it is only drizzling rather than actually raining cats and dogs.
It only does somehow feel amazing right now because I am aware that I'm in your arms for this embrace.
I pull away from your hug after a moment and I give you a soft smile. "Thank you so much for that. I really did need it."
"Don't thank me, stupid, it's literally something I'm supposed to do as your wife, duh."
I laugh while shaking my head and I say, "Ah yes, indeed it is."
"You wanna carry on with my story now? The one where I'd moved from Kolkata to Saffansbury before meeting you?"
"Sure."
"Will it be too long?"
"Not all that much, I would say. I will try to shorten it, though, if you want me to."
"Arey, nah, nah, you don't have to. I love hearing you talk."
So, I then decide to proceed with the next story after giving another chuckle in reply to that statement.
I am getting a bit excited right now because we are currently very close to getting on with the story where you actually enter my life for the very first time, too!
******************