Severance of the mind; Detachment of time

This is a fictional story that was published in McDaniel College Art and Literary Magazine, Contrast magazine 2023

Growing up felt violent. Unlike a flower softly bouncing open but as if a new flower is growing straight through the stem of the one I use to be. Bursting and benevolent. I often wonder if my green self would like who I am now. I hated being green, I hated when she called me green, especially since it was her fault. I taught myself the color spectrum since she wasn’t there to paint me a color wheel.  Poor flower. I wish someone hadn’t peeled back the petals for me, I wish I didn’t rip them off either. I was told I'm always supposed to be a beautiful fresh flower. But all I am now is a pistil. I love love, but love doesn’t me. Where is the blame? I miss when it was innocent, now it's intoxicating and I am never full, never drunk enough on the blindness.

My heart is muddied and I always need more. Who is to blame for that? One side of my face is angry, and the other is soft, I wonder which side my mother is. Sometimes I hear her calling my name in the sharp winds that pass the ear during a storm. Or in the screams silence creates in an empty room. I wonder if her green self likes who she is now. I wonder if we are the same shade of green inside. Why can’t I see rainbows on my eyelashes as the sun catches them anymore. Is it because I no longer have childishly fresh eyes? I wanted to be a bird not a flower, but my feathers were in the water too soon. I am not a bird, and I am not a real flower anymore. Poor flightless flower. So who can I blame for my disintegration?  

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I let my thoughts swirl as I stare blankly at my computer screen. The quiet steadily fading away. A single sentence to start my English essay, only nine hundred more words to go. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift once more. Quiet creeps back in. Thoughts going off like a cannon I let them fire freely. Flashes of a failing grade start to overtake. I guess it's time I stopped putting off my work. My therapist says I shouldn’t let my contemplation consume me anyway. I pull myself out of the cavern that is my mind and finally open my eyes. I look down to my feet only for my eyes to be met with a pair of shoes I haven’t seen since middle school. Black high-top converse. Chatter slowly envelopes me as I realize I'm in a room with other people. I quickly glance around, seeing music notes all over the walls, an old wooden piano in the corner and a violin in my hands. I was sitting in the front row; I know what that means. First violin. I played for eight years before I just let it go as I did most things. Who is to blame for that? But why am I here now? Why am I green again? A long bell chimed signaling the end of the school day and my peers flooded out of the room. 

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 I sat for a moment stricken with bewilderment. Rage simmered under my skin, as my mind raced. Piercing silence rattled my furrowed brain. Home. I have to go home and see if this is real. If I'm here that means she is too; My mother. I rode the bus home like I used to, and when I arrived it was desolate as always. The silence was deafening. My anger turned to sadness. Sadness up and down my veins for my green self. That soon turned into courage; will. I finally have it in me to tell her off. Tell her it's her fault I'm back here. I know it's because of her I've been dragged back here...somehow. I vow to speak my mind even if my voice shakes. Something I couldn’t ever do. I heard the front door close, the smell of fresh linens mixed with sweet vanilla filled the room. Her perfume. My eyes were glazed and raging anew. I stomped over to her ready to let my words consume the space between us. She turned to me and stared, waiting for me to speak. 

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But I couldn’t, my body felt so heavy I could fall through the earth. I truly am my green self again. I settled on a simple greeting and small talk, to which I found myself replying through gritted teeth. I let the space between us become even more vast by exiling myself to my room. It’s just as I remembered it. Brimming with books and video games. My mother and I spoke silent conversations. My throat is burning from internally screaming all the things I wish I could say. I climb into my twin sized bed and let my body sink. Am I stuck here? Why am I here? My eyes closed as my thoughts pile up. I open them again to see the lonely sentence. As I read the sentence over and over again, “You can't hold the tides with a broom, only when you flow with them do you understand how they crash.” Now my vision is clear.  Understanding unto me.

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I don’t know how long it’s been since I saw my past. It must have been real; I felt the cold breeze on my face from the open bus window. I could feel the heat run through my body as anger coursed through me because I didn’t speak up. As I lie in bed pondering what had happened, I let my eyes mesh everything around me. Until my surroundings were a mush of hues. I try to force my eyes to focus. Focus. Focus. Focus. I tried to hone in on this brown amorphous shape in front of me. As my vision begins to clear up, I realize it’s my mother.  

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Once again, I am green. I caught just every other word as my hearing faded in from a loud ringing sound. She was yelling at me because I dried my hands with her “good towels” that were hanging in the bathroom. My chest tangled and throat clotted. Thoughts of retaliation brimming in my mind like surface tension. I could tell this was about more than just expensive towels. Her eyes kept secrets. Her tone sharp and painful. The dam in me had burst. Venomous words flowed out of my mouth as if someone had turned on a spigot. I finally said everything I have ever wanted to say to her. Give her back the ache she gave me. As I liberated my colorful self, I could see a flash of her green self. Scared and scorned. In that moment I understood. She is just like me. I am her. She made me of her, she unwillingly forced her green self upon me. She gave me her green life. We are the same shade of green. 

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This revelation made my skin hurt. My heart shattered all over again, just for her. I had false vision. Enlightened. I smiled an empty poisonous smile, as I could still feel the residue of my words falling from my lips. She looked back at me stunned; my tirade seemingly set her off even more. I apologized for using the towels and let her finish her beratement. I have been this disasterly hue this entire time. We both are. I sullenly slink into my old room and collapse to the floor. Eyes pouring like torrential rain. My head became dizzy as my vision started to drift again. Focus. Focus. Focus. I stare at a blue figure until my sight cleared. 

 “And how has your dissociative episodes been, have you been having any at all?” 

 What? Why am I in therapy right now? 

 “Has our talks of your strenuous past and coping strategies been helpful?” 

 Now I understand. It truly wasn’t real, it was what I wish I could do. I was trying to heal the rot from the inside out. Illusions are seen with the heart, not the eyes. Now both have truly been cleared. Now I understand. Finally, green no more.