The Song Of The Swallows

When I was just a girl I expected the world. But it flew away out of reach So I ran way in my sleep. ~~~ When she was born, I thought I would hate her. I thought that her cries would bring me sleepless nights, the days would be an endless struggle of trying to feed her, calm her, clean her, doing whatever she wanted. And it was. At first. But I didn't hate her. I couldn't hate Lilly. I wanted too. I wanted to hate to her so much it would rub off on to everyone else. I wanted my parents to hate her. But we didn't. Because after the screams she would smile with those big green eyes. All the cries were forgotten and she'd reach out those small little fingers and grab my thumb and everything was better because she was there. The house that was once quiet was filled with her. As she grew, the rooms echoed with music and laughter and fun. Lilly sang in every room, her voice was like a golden light that shone around us. She was...it's hard to explain because Lilly seemed like everything. Even though I am older I lived in her shadow, where she ran, I walked, where she achieved I failed. You'd think that would make me hate her. But I couldn't. Not when she looked up at me with her eyes in awe. She thought I was a hero. Her big sister, the writer, the crazy one who drew on the ceiling because the walls we're too full of words. I'm writing on the ceiling now. I'm thinking of Lil and her gold hair and green eyes. When the rain came she danced in the drops. Her bare feet red with the cold. Cheeks flushed and eyes so wide. I'd watch from the window and wonder. Is that what it is to be free? I can hear the clock ticking. So loud in the quiet. These rooms are filled with silence without her. When I look round, it's just me. Me in an empty, dusty, too big house, with too many memories to shut out. Sometimes I think, I think if I close my eyes I can pretend that everything is normal. I can imagine music from her piano drifting through the breeze. But imagining only works for a moment. Reality snatches you back to earth and suddenly you're standing by the window watching the rain on the windows. Feeling the tickle of tears run down flesh and you know you're back to life and all it's emptiness. ~~~~ I think... I think about too much at once, but maybe I should get dressed. Maybe I'll go out today. I could brush my tangles and wash my face. But in the end I sit on the kitchen table and look at the window. I push that stupid bottle of vodka away but seconds later I grab it again. Something to speed time along. To speed these endless hours along, so that I can go back to bed. ~~~~ The noise is loud and breaks into the memories. I blink a few times. A frown on my face. It's not the noise of the clock, more of a tapping like a knock. But who would knock on my door? I want to ignore it and slip back inside my brain but I'm curious. The thoughts burst into my mind like a drum. Who's knocking? Why? Are they still there? What is it? In the end I'm shoving the vodka away and tightening the robe of my dressing gown. Placing my feet down on the wooden floor. I hesitate at the front door, jump when the knock echoes out again. My fingers gripping the handle, twisting down slowly. I peer through the gap, lower my face and quickly stare at green eyes. It's then I struggle to grip reality. Memories want to pull me under, to remember Lilly's green eyes like the forest trees or the emerald jewel that sat on mum's finger, "....come in?" A voice asks me. I concentrate. Stare at the man before me. With Lilly's green eyes and a mop of wet black hair. It's raining outside, a thunderstorm brewing, "Why?" I croak out. My voice is so dry, I cough out loud. Take a swallow of spit and frown at this man. He frowns back, "Have I got the right address? Two Riverstream Lane?" His eyes blink down to a torn, crumpled, wet piece of paper in his hands, "Yes." I nod, "That's my address." I know I should invite him in. But my mind isn't all there, it's still between memories of Lilly and music and life, "I responded to the ad in the newspaper." He speaks slowly to me, each word carefully said. I should be embarrassed but it helps me. I stay focused for a moment, "I never put an ad in the newspaper." "You're Willow right? I spoke to your mother on the phone, she said she...." Now I am here, in reality. My mind fully in between the door, "My mother is dead." I hiss and slam the door in his face. My hands are shaking. He knocks again but I've locked and bolted the door. I'm already back on the kitchen table, vodka in hands. He shouts out. Breaking into the silence of this dusty house. I think about calling the police but instead I place my head on the table and close my eyes until sleep dances up to me and takes me to the darkest of worlds.