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The Beauty of Human Connection

Rheanna Philipp

By Rheanna PhilippPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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I live in a world where true human connection is limited. The fear of being truthful and open consumes the minds of an outstanding number of people. In highschool it is extremely difficult to find people who are “real”. Everyone is living behind masks, using their self ingrained defence mechanisms to protect themselves. When discussing animals we mention the “fight or flight” technique that creatures use in the animal kingdom. However this “fight or flight” is built into us humans as well. We put up barricades and boundaries in order to remove ourselves from reality and to distract ourselves from the possible harshnesses that we could face if we drop our shields. But, there are people in world like me, who try to strip down our walls in order to grasp onto even the slightest amount of love and honesty. We bagger and nag at our friends and family, hoping to strip off a layer of their winter grown bark. Except, this bark is rough and tough, and fingernails are only strong enough to make imprints and scratches. Yet, our desire to feel, consumes us to the point where we will let the tips of our fingers become raw and bloody, just so that we can strip off a piece and get to the sap full of honesty that lies within. Annabelle is one of those people who desire human connection:

The farmhouse today is icy and blood chilling. Scents of fresh milk and hot porridge waft up the stairs and down the hallway. The warm woolen blankets that encapsulate a young nimble girl are soft to the touch. The girl sleeping is Annabelle. She looks as if she is twelve or thirteen. Her face pale but she has the most incredible rosy lips. Lips that everyone envies, so perfectly pigmented. Roses that have been picked straight from the garden of eden. Annabelle has always been quite petite. Her knees, boney, which makes it painful for her to sit through long sessions of prayer. Awakening from her peaceful serenity, Annabelle is faced with the thought of the bruises she will get on her knees today. It is a sunday. In fact it is the Sunday of Holy Week. The celebrations of Easter are coming to an end quite soon.

“Annie!” the call from her mother ricochets off of the wooden walls of the hall. “Annie! We are going to be late!” her mother’s voice grows louder however there is not even the slightest tinge of anger within it. Paige, Annabelle’s mother is a quiet woman. She has never displayed her anger openly, except for one occasion as a teenager. But, that is not something that is to be discussed.

“Coming mother!” Annabelle scrambles out of bed. Puts on her long stockings, woolen dress, scarf and hat. She races down the stairs towards the now overwhelming scent of dairy, brown sugar and oats. A quick helping of oats to warm the body and the two are off. It’s a cold day today.

The small town in Northern Holland where Annabelle and her mother live is full of a select few people. It is the kind of community where everyone knows everyone and anyone is welcome. The main hub is the Church, its doors are always unlocked and open to whomever is in need of guidance. Everyone is seated in the pews waiting for mass to begin. A new family cracks the heavy oak doors open and stumbles in. The Chabluk family, the details of the family are of no importance, other than the fact that there is no father and there is a son named Alfie.

Alfie is short like Annabelle, scrawny like Annabelle, bruised like Annabelle but, the bruises are not from long sessions of prayer. The bruises are the explanation why the Chabluk family decided to move the quaint little town in Northern Holland.

The children are dismissed off to sunday school to partake in their religious lessons. Alfie and Annabelle are organized into the same room along with the other young children. The lesson of the day highlights the rebirth of Jesus, something that Annabelle is far too familiar with. As the easily distracted and curious child that she is, Annabelle maneuvers her way over to the new boy who is sitting quietly alone in the corner.

“My name’s Annabelle. What’s your name?” Annabelle politely inquires with a soft murmur.

“Alfie” mumbles the boy and then retreats back into solitude.

“You’re new here. How come?” Annabelle asks innocently, unknowing of the consequences that would occur. The thoughts in Alfie’s head start to spin. His mind flooded with memories. Memories of his father’s fist crashing into his nimble body. The way that his hands left his skin stinging and red. The pain of his skin splitting as each swat increased with force. He can hear his father’s threats pounding within his brain. The cries of his mother in the next room pleading for him to stop. Door frame vibrating as each of her fists pound on it trying to break in and protect her son.

Annabelle attempts to patiently wait for an answer that will likely never come but she has fixed her eyes on Alfie, observing every twitch and tremble his body exhibited after her innocent inquiry.

“It’s okay, you can tell me. You are safe here.” she presses on.

For the first time in a long time Alfie believes the words he is hearing. He can see the desire and warmth in the eyes of the small girl sitting next to him. Annabelle’s perfect lips curled up into a reassuring grin which lets him know that it is truly okay. Tears slowly begin to roll down the soft cheeks of the young boy’s face. They drip one by one onto his good church clothes, making his skin cool underneath as the wetness seeps through the thin fabric.

As horrible as it sounds, the tears rolling down the young boy’s face excite Annabelle. She hasn’t witnessed true emotion from someone other than herself in what feels like for years. The joy vibrating through her persuades her to do the only thing she has been taught to do in times of both pain and happiness. The two children join together in a longing embrace. Each gripping onto each other with competitive force, striving to strengthen their grip and grasp hold to the fleeting moment of honesty and human connection. A simple hug. That was all that took to create an everlasting bond and brighten the day of a child burdened by abuse.

People like Annabelle and I are scarce to come about. There are only a few of us out there. You will usually find us listening to music, reading, acting in roles and watching movies because all of these things trigger emotions and are our way of escape. But these activities are only satisfying to us for a short while, which is why when someone comes along and allows something “real” to happen to them, and we have the honour of witnessing truth unfold, it is the greatest gift of all.

friendship
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About the Creator

Rheanna Philipp

Just a girl who finds writing as an escape

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