Skin
By Yvonne Anderson
Fri, 29 May 2015
- 2367 reads
8 comments
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High up in a large grey space, a long time ago. Across the bare floor I see the other part of me and she pulls me to her. Tiptoes slide soundlessly till they are touching the cold gleaming floor, then pitter and patter to the other side. The nurses come in and shriek at the empty bed, then laugh and say we are sweet, snuggled sisters.
Outside the kitchen door we remove our dolls’ clothes and dress them in our hankies. The dolls act just like the old ladies in our terrace. “‘ello missus” “‘ello missus, ‘ow are you today.” The missuses go shopping together in little jumps along the wall. Then we make them mud pies.
The fair comes every year and the whole town closes down for ages. I watch as my sister is whipped around the rooftops, hair streaming. I feel queasy. She is happy and free. It is sad when the music starts to groan and the chairs wind slowly back to earth. She wants to go on again, straight away. She wants to stay happy.
From the high window I can view and not be viewed. Agile as a monkey, she is climbing the chain link fence, reaching the top with arms outstretched, rocking for balance. Our cousin is crouched, crooning as she feeds sweet grass to the chestnut stallion. My sister sways for one breathless moment then launches herself on to the horse's back. Head down, clutching its mane she clings on for her life as the startled beast gallops across the field. I can't see her face but she is smiling.
Another hospital ward, this time hot and airy. Three top deck journeys on this dusty day to see my sister lying in traction. She looks small and young and pretty, a nurse is kind, I am pleased.
We are walking heads down, dogged. She has been told to rest her feet but with each determined flick of her hair the plaster casts hit the ground while the crutches click in syncopation. Later our friends will adorn her entombed legs with felt tip pens and she will recline triumphant, crippled.
On holiday at Gran’s near the seaside we have found the funfair. Unperturbed by deserted rides, kiosks with bored faces, we flirt with the swarthy man who wants to give us a ride we won’t forget. Swing, swoop, sway, so many times I am scared and want to be sick. He has forgotten to turn the ride off, or has he? Even my sister’s unquenchable appetite has been sated when finally we are unclasped. I want to die, wobble away no longer caring about the sneering leering man. She totters with a defiant toss of the head, "Huh, wish it had gone on longer".
Lying in my bunk, near the faded ceiling stars. Across the room hers is empty, when will she be allowed to come to bed? After hours and hours she is back, up the ladder and laughing softly. The punishment from dad for being caught smoking is to smoke one after the other in front of him till you beg to stop, or puke, or faint. I have never been caught by him. My sister has smoked an entire pack, each one (I hear my dad telling people later) enjoyed with exaggerated relish. When the pack is finished she says "Have you got any more?" and he gives up. "Smoke then you little mare you’ve got my blessing."
Again my sister is spinning and hurtling, being whipped around around. Only now it no longer makes her happy. I still watch. She looks at me, fluttered eye contact, then gazes far away. Talk and sip, talk and sip. Into and past the early morning hours. She is strapped in for the ride of her life.
Bits of beauty hide in her face, the damaged feet sit daintily in their shoes, ugliness hidden. All the fun of the fair is in the past and the little bareback rider is crying. I see her search the glass stained red, trying to find happy.
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Comments
I really enjoyed reading
I really enjoyed reading this sisterly tale, and, I will need to dip in it again for another read.
I'm off now to read your other posts
regards
torscot
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Such vivid accounts, tender
Permalink Submitted by Philip Sidney on
Such vivid accounts, tender and full of admiration. Some very beautiful images, particularly the sister riding, her whipping hair. Full of love and sadness.
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1 User voted this as great feedback
this is excellent, the series
Permalink Submitted by Stephen Thom on
this is excellent, the series of moments come together well. lovely writing throughout; 'from the high window I can view and not be viewed/crouched, crooning as she feeds sweet grass'. the passage of time is done well, fluid between the fragmented moments, and reaches an ending touched with sadness and possibility, linking back the the earlier 'she wants to stay happy'. marvellous piece full of depth :-)
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Stunningly created images
Stunningly created images Yvonne and it really hurts to read. It is strengthened by a very original opening and close. Your piece made me long to write about my own sister and I think that's testament to a great write - it inspired.
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