I did try to speak to Mark.
I didn’t know what to say, but I tried. I couldn’t just leave it after everything he said to the group. I’ve never seen him like that. I had no idea he was struggling; no idea he was in trouble. And yes, I know, that’s because I’m a selfish bitch. Always too wrapped up in howI’m coping to notice how he is. Always making everything about me. I feel terrible.
I guess predictably, he didn’t want to talk to me about it. He wasn’t horrible, but he was firm in his dismissals. He said I’d had plenty of chances to talk to him and now he wanted to spend some alone time with this experience and with Shaman Quam. They went off for a long walk earlier today and have bothbeen totally silent ever since.
As we arrived at the hut tonight, I tried again, but Mark waved me off. Told me we could talk properly after all this was over.
Not that I want to.
I turn over on my camp bed now, sighing. Gary is singing something he called theicaros. He said it will enhance ourmareación– our visions – but it’s been about thirty minutes since I took my latestdose and nothing has happened yet. At least I’m not being sick! Yet! Actually, I’m really starting to suspect Shaman Gary has fed us placebos. Very toxic placebos.
I stare out the window. Sweet Jesus it’s dark out there.
But of course it is. There are no street lamps or electric lights here – it’s a national park. It’s totally blank outside. The rain clouds are even covering any starsthat might’ve provided some proof we’re still a part of this world. It feels like it is a black universe out there. Just us, the incessant noise of birds and monkeys off in the distance, and a wall of blackness. It is incredibly surreal.
I am barely conscious of the warm sensation creeping up my spine before I blink and my head comes off. It floats above me, looking down at the figures huddledaround me. They blink in and out of existence, flashing red, amber, green, like traffic lights. I am aware enough to know this is really fucking weird.
The music is suddenly so very loud and brightly coloured shapes are moving everywhere around me. It is fascinating and really quite wonderful. It is exciting and thrilling and also calming. I feel suddenly like I am happy and full of bliss.I float there forever, moving but not moving. Everything is good. Is this the universe? Because I am sure now that I am part of it and it is a part of me.
Maybe I should ask the universe for a selfie?
No, that’s probably notOK.
It would be cool to have a selfie with the universe though! Imagine the likes on Instagram.
And then I am rushing through space, moving faster than anyhuman has before. I have no body, I am just a blue light, the world rushing past me, unaware of my existence as I move faster and faster. It’s scary now, I want it to stop, I don’t like it any more. At last I slow, and then I rest. After years of moving, I am now in a familiar kitchen. It feels real – itisreal – it is more real than anything else.
Mum is here.
My mum. Mummy.
She’sin the kitchen and she’s humming a tune. It’s the tune Shaman Gary was playing all those years ago at the retreat. Or is it yearsfromnow? I am not sure. Mum is young, she looks younger than I’ve ever seen her. She isline-free and fussing over a little girl, who must be about four or five. It is my sister, Hannah, I can see that. There is also a little boy – around two – sitting in the corner,smashing his tiny fist into a brightly coloured book, its pages thick card. Hello Mark, I try to say, but I am not really there.
‘Hannah,’ Mum says to the little girl, and her voice is bright and high. ‘Go get the outdoor cushions. It’s March today, they can go outside now.’
I laugh now. Wherever I am, I laugh so hard. I had forgotten how Mum did this, every year; prematurely taking theoutdoor fucking cushions out to the outdoor fucking patio furniture. That ritual. Running in and out with the cushions at the beginning of spring, even though we all knew the rain would continue to come and go for at least another three months. Mum was always determined that spring was here, so optimistic with her outdoor sofa cushions.
I can see her more clearly now. She is pregnant. It isme, and I am suddenly inside her. In the womb, surrounded by pinkness. At first I panic and fight. I am so small and my breathing is all wrong. But then I amOK. It is small, yes, but it is not claustrophobic. It’s nice, comfortable, happy. My mum loves me, Iknowit through and through. I am flooded with it. I can feel her stroking me through our shared skin and singing songs to me. Badly.
Outside of myself I am sweating and crying. Crying so much.
And then it is later and Steven is there. He’s drunk, like he always was. Like he always is. Except he can’t be drunk now, can he? Not now, lying in hospital with half his brain destroyed, waiting to see if death comes. He can’t be drunk now. But even if he dies, he’ll never be gone really, he’ll always be hanging over things. Overmy mum’s life, over her destroyed relationship with me. He is staggering around now, shouting, breaking things. He is shouting at me, shouting at Hannah, shouting at Mark.
Shouting at Mum.
Why won’t she leave him? Why won’t she go? I’m begging her, crying, begging. Over and over for years. Why does she love him more than she loves us? Because that’s what it comes down to: we love her,she loves him, and he loves the bottle. Why can’t she see he will always choose that over her and over us? Why can’t she make him go? This was our home, not his. He came in, took our mum away, got drunk every day, told us we were not wanted. Why is he here?
Then he is gone, and we are sitting around Mum on the settee, in the living room. She is weeping, inconsolable, because he has left again.On another bender, he will be gone for days on end. But I know he will be back because he always comes back eventually. He comes back covered in bruises, stinking from days sleeping rough, saying sorry sorry sorry. But watching Mum cry now, I wish with all I have in me that he won’t come back. I wish for him to die. I wish for him to fall and hit his head and never come back. I want him to begone for ever, however much it would upset Mum. I want him out of our lives. I want him away from us.
But now I am getting my wish and I can’t stop wishing.
I can’t forgive. I’m stuck in this rut, unable to forgive.
It’s too late. He drove me away. He took my mum away from me. She chose him every time. I mattered less. Everyone leaves. Everyone abandons me eventually. I might as wellpush them away first, get in there before they leave.
And then everyone is gone and I am in a blackness all alone. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it? For everyone to go. But it doesn’t feel good.
When I open my eyes, it feels like days have passed. I feel absolutely wretched. Broken open, like I’ve just had open heart surgery.
I’m sick.
Wiping my mouth feebly, I look around ateveryone else. Joe is sitting up in the dim lighting, looking pale and fragile. He looks like he’s survived something major. Mark is beside him, crying quietly, his eyes closed.
Clara, Maria and Anna are standing by the doorway, laughing quietly, holding each other up. I make a move to join them, but feel too weak. Instead, I lie back down. I need to talk, but not just yet.
It feels likesomething has loosened inside me. Seeing everything like that – all my worst moments up close and so real – has done something. It was awful and intense and horrible. But those are my experiences; they are me, they are mine. And they’re also long since over. I have survived them, I’m here and I’mOK. I can’t let them keep controlling my life.
I fall asleep, completely wiped out.
