Charlotte, Conclusion
Jan 10 '04
The Bottom Line ..... tell me what you think.......
Part three was here:
http://www.epinions.com/content_3707084932
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I wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore.
I rose from the floor. I could tell that I had slept. But for how long, and on what day, I didn’t have a clue.
I didn’t think one innocent little caffeine pill would do so much to me.
I felt extremely tired, like someone with jet lag, after flying nonstop around the globe for a week. Therefore, it was about another fifteen or twenty minutes before I could get myself on my feet.
God! My clothes felt stinky, sticking to my sweaty body for all of this time. I really need a shower. I really need to wake myself up.
I stumble across the room to turn on the television. From what was on screen, I knew that I was on Channel Eight. It was the ATV Evening News. Now, this program was allegedly comprehensive, meant to cover events in all three Maritime provinces -- New Brunswick, Nova Scotia. And Prince Edward Island.
Despite this, I gradually became aware that the reporters only occasionally bothered to talk about this sandbar. Sure, there were so many reports from Halifax. Or Saint John. Or Fredericton. Or even some obscure community with ten people, as long as it was anywhere other than Prince Edward Island. Or at least so I thought.........
But then she appeared.
With somber emotion, she spoke to the news reporter.
And she was in Charlottetown.
She was here. My mother.
She was speaking about me. Searching for my whereabouts.
She confessed to the reporter that I had left Newfoundland, four years ago. She professed concern when I never kept in touch, when I never phoned her or wrote letters. She was deathly worried about where I was, not used to not receiving any updates on my life.
It was all so touching. A mother, searching helplessly for her lost daughter, never giving up hope that she would be found safe, alive, undamaged, even as it was always possible that a horrific outcome would arise. Yet even a black closure is better than none at all.
As with most television, this segment in particular would have been edited before broadcast. A typical news segment couldn’t last much longer than a minute or two, as many other segments were also jockeying for position. This segment, however, was surely edited in a way that even the person holding the camera, the person asking the questions, or the people in the control room could not have foreseen. It was all edited by the subject herself.
This is what she ought to have spoke, if she dared to contribute to a full report.
She should have said that her daughter was a basketcase. She should have said that her daughter was ruining her life. That she was out to find her, not to save her, but to punish her -- for running away was the worst thing out of many that her miserable daughter could do to her long-suffering mother.
And she should have said that her daughter won’t want to be found, especially not by anyone who would take her back to her mother.
The car. That was why the woman gave me that car. It was fate that allowed her to come into my life, to give me the key to unlock the door, and remove myself from being sucked into the life I so desperately wanted to leave behind.
I turned off the television, and began to pick up all of the things that were necessary for me. A few clothes. Some money.
I quietly shut off the lights, locking the door behind me, taking my belongings to the car.
Then, moments later, I’ve driven away. I don’t care what happens to what remained
in my dingy apartment. It’s no longer my stuff. The apartment is no longer my home. This island is no longer my home.
I pause at stoplights, but only reluctantly. I want to drive in a straight line, and never stop. In truth, however, I slowly fall within the stream of cars on University Avenue, and its current takes me outside of the city, and into the sparse landscape of the country.
I knew that she was behind me, somewhere. Inside her own car, glaring toward the back of my head. Thinking that she could reform me. Thinking that she could undo what she always denied beginning. And I could imagine what she would say to me if she ever got a hold of my skin. I had already played it out in my overheated mind last night..........
Approaching the toll booth for the Confederation Bridge, linking Prince Edward Island to the free world, I was almost amazed to witness that there was indeed an escape valve from this place. The person at the toll booth charged me more than thirty dollars, but no price was too high. I would have given up this car if I had to, to be able to walk across the bridge, and into freedom, just as the woman gave up her car to me, so she could gain her own freedom.
The heavy, rushing water was beneath me, as my wheels roamed the concrete path of the bridge. I winded the window down, just so I could hear the water. It was calling out my name, asking me why I was doing this. But I was not going to answer. It wasn’t any of its business. It could keep on calling out for me, and it would never get an answer that would satisfy it............
Charlotte.
......Charlotte.......
......Charlotte.......
......Charlotte.......
......Charlotte....... it’s such a sweet name; a pretty word as it rolls from your tongue. But her life isn’t so sweet and pretty as you regard it with your eyes........
END
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Member: David Macdonald
Location: Prince Edward Island
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About Me:
Alice, a story in nine parts, posted on Sept 24, 2008 - http://www.epinions.com/content_5241348228
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