You Have A Choice
We don’t do things because they last, we do things because they matter.
Stripping down for the cold so I don’t get tense and start shivering; I tremble when I don’t let it take me. I’ve made dinner plans with Hostility disguised as stoicism and Loneliness disguised as independence and Fear, not even bothering to disguise herself at all. Fear always reclines and puts her feet up on the table when I have her over for dinner.
Why do I invite them over? Silence and I study the days away and sometimes it’s nice to have other voices around, even if they’re rowdy.
Silence jokes that I make messes just to clean them up.
“You belong to boredom” it teases.
I count the cost, I budget as best I can (often cutting it close), I pay and I decide it was worth it in the end. Over and over again there is an end. I’m doomed to endings. We’re doomed to endings -- in this I have company. I have company in that my company leaves.
Hostility sits between empty chairs, arms crossed and eyes hard. Her fingers press against her own skin. She listens carefully and laughs infrequently and if somebody touched her she’d grow violent.
Loneliness can’t make eye contact with anyone. She stares blankly at a surface when her thoughts crawl backward into her and gazes wistfully at interesting objects when they crawl forward. Sometimes I think she’s waiting for some peculiarity to rise up and speak with her.
Fear raises an eyebrow at me, her gaze bold and direct. She pokes and prods at me. She poses a challenge I can’t meet. She speaks a condemnation I can’t read. Her and I don’t speak the same tongue but she’s close to me. I know her by her posture and I realize, now, what she’s waiting for.
She’s waiting for me to return to her… and how confident she seems that I will.
Smug little thing.
We sit at the table and dine like sisters.
My stomach aches at the idea of cleaning up after my guests. My body hurts like I’ve been tense in the cold, fighting it. Fear wants me to embrace it with her. “You’ll feel better if you don’t fight the cold,” she tempts. This is a phrase I’ve learned in her language.
I realize now that’s why I’ve invited them over: to convince me. “Make your case and I’ll run away with you,” is my pledge from the head of the table. It’s a romantic offer to make to such volatile company, but I’ve made it many times nonetheless. I invite old ghosts to return me to the cold or to the quiet.
After dinner we all linger in the foyer.
“Fight,” Hostility warns. She wavers for a moment.
“Quiet,” Loneliness whispers. I notice how soft her voice is when she uses it.
Fear and I lock eyes. I can’t help but notice how similar we are. She stands like me, moves like me. She sets her hand on the doorknob to leave.
My thoughts travel out to the cold night outside for a moment but they’re just as soon interrupted. A soft sound starts to echo from inside the house and the girls stop to listen with me.
Someone’s at the piano.
The chords are sweet and light and the sound makes all the house's dim lighting warmer, casting glowing orange into its shadows. All four of us are still now, listening. The song dances around the house, tapping on the table where we ate dinner, pushing chairs in after us and clearing the table-top, cleaning my mess. It finds its way to us in the foyer, drapes something soft over my shoulders and my body relaxes. The song plays and plays and I start to hear something more of it. This light little pattern of keys -- like the kind that sits in the middle of a Christmas song or a ballad about victories in far-away places -- is a message for me.
“You have a choice,” it chimes. “You have a choice.”
“I know what I’d choose” I want to call back.
I visit with old ghosts to see if they’re strong enough to return me to the cold or to the quiet, and tonight… they’re not.
Someone has set something soft around my shoulders even though I might grow violent. Some peculiarity has risen up to speak with me. Someone is giving me the chance not to run away with fear, and they’re at the piano filling my house with music instead of silence.
Hostility, Loneliness and Fear leave. This time I don’t follow them.
I choose to stay.
About the Creator
Gabrielle S.
Artist / Conceptualist
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