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| Kathleen's song 2001, June 24 - 10:40 p.m.
I wrote this for my independant study for English Writing, OAC. I don't know what I got on it, but it was somewhat inspired by Fushigi Yuugi- Suboshi and Amiboshi Kathleen's Song I remember the first time I opened my eyes. I was born. A strange woman, acting very familiar with me, was holding my hand and looking down at me. "You're awake." I was asleep? I had existed before now? "Sweetheart, she's awake." I see a blur coming towards me. It's a man, dark hair, tall, a stranger. He kisses my forehead. I flinch. Who is he? A doctor enters the room. Yes, I'm in a room, a white room that's full of machines and has one big window pouring light in to this space. The doctor asks me what my name is. How could I have a name? I stare at him. He asks me my address, phone number, school and grade. He asks me my birthday. I ask what the date today is. I find I can't. The doctor frowns and says quietly to the two strangers that my voice does seem to be damaged afterall and he thinks that it's likely the damage will be permenant if I can't make any sounds. This doesn't scare me. I don't know who these people are, I don't know what will happen to me. That is what scares me. I often wonder now why that scared me so much. These people have been good to me. They think I'm their responsibility. They think I'm their daughter. But I'm not. I've seen pictures, we're very much alike except for one thing; her eyes are green and I have one blue eye. I never understood why they couldn't see the difference. Maybe they they didn't want to. There were many things they didn't seem to notice. I'm in a house, my new home it would seem. These people, I guess I would call them Mother and Father if I could talk, have been talking to me through the whole car ride. They are very sorry I'll never sing again, they knew how much it meant to me. Their daughter was a singer then. I can't say I'm too disappointed. I've never sang, I've never known the joys of song, I'll never miss it. How could I? I'm shown my room. They ask me how I like it. It's blue, there are clouds painted on the walls and a white furniture decor. A dark blue bedspread matches the dark blue curtains. The room is big. There are stars on the walls. The woman turns out the light and shuts the curtains to show me that the stars glow. After the demonstration I give them a smile that I'm sure they'd want to see. "Your mother worked hard on this. We know you've been wanting to re-decorate." He is beeming. I see. They think I like the change, they don't know I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Days go by with discovery after discovery. My name will be Kathleen, I'm fifteen years old, I'm Catholic, I have a pet cat named Jubilee... I see a picture of a girl who looks very much like me. She seems happy, perfect. I want to be her. Her hair is red, like mine, we're the same average height, the same small frame, the same fair skin, the same eyes... no. They're different. She hasn't got a blue eye. I was almost beginning to believe I could be her, that maybe there was a connection. But we're different. She's whole, I'm not. It's been weeks. As of late I've been secretly playing the flute. I have throughly checked the house for clues as to who Kathleen was, who I am, who these people are. In the master bedroom, in the closet, under some boxes I found a black case. Inside was a flute. It's spring, I've been pulled out of school for the year to recover. I can walk but I get intense leg cramps and dizzy if I stand up too long. It's supposed to go away in a few months. My parents hired a woman to watch over me. She doesn't bother with me. She is sleeping downstairs. My parents are at work all day. I take the flute I found into my room and I softly begin to play. I seem to have a knack for it. Everyday I play. It speaks for me, the music is my voice. I have never felt such release. My only audience is Jubilee. I don't care, I am playing for myself. I begin to live for the flute. I play after dinner, sneaking off to my room to experience the power of the music. I need to play a quick tune before I go to bed. Some people keep journals, I play the flute. I revel in my secret. I note the irony that I couldn't tell anyone to begin with. The flute is my best friend. Friends... They asked me why I never see my friends. Surely I'd want to invite them over now that I'm feeling so much better. I'd just stare at them. I know what girls do. Talk. Even if I can't talk I'd give myself away. Girls are too observant, too perceptive. They'd know I'm not their friend. I decline any visitors. I am playing my flute, Jubilee is purring beside me on my bed. I have grown fond of my cat. He really feels as though he is mine. He had no reservations about me, not even from the start. I stop playing and pet him. I hear the door open. My parents are home. They call me. I wonder if they want to talk to me about sign language. They have brought it up before, they want to know what I'm thinking about. I have refused thus far. These people are kind, I know I love them. If I learn to sign I may give myself away. They'll know I'm not their daughter. They'd be so sad, they love her so much. She's lucky. I want to be lucky too. I want to continue living this life. I am beginning to feel loved. I come down the stairs, I take my time. They're smiling, they're talking about an appointment...an optometrist, coloured contacts. They know then. They know I'm not Kathleen, they're trying to hide it and are asking me to help. I am startled. I nod and walk back up the stairs. I don't know why but I'm crying. I was beginning to feel as though I was the one they loved, but they don't. They love who they want me to be. I have never felt so alone.. My flute is lying on my bed. I pick it up and play. I don't try to be quiet, I just play. Tears are rolling down my cheeks but I continue. I play out my anguish. I want someone to understand. My mother walks in carrying large album. She doesn't seem surprised I can play the flute. She has a soft smile on her face. Her green eyes are teary. She sets down the album and hugs me suddenly. She holds me to her while I cry. I lean against her. She's warm. "I know it's been hard for you. But we love you just as you are." I hold her closer. Her words soothe me. "I know you're sensitive about your eyes..." What? How could she know this? "...but they're a part of you. They make you whole and just because you lost your voice doesn't make you less." My head is spinning. Mother opens up the book. I see a baby, repeated in many senerios all over the pages. I watch her grow up. Kathleen. The real Kathleen. The pictures are all in black in white. Kathleen in a wading pool, Kathleen in a play pen, Kathleen eating ice cream, Kathleen in colour. She has turned six by now. There is one picture that knocks the wind out of me. The little girl with the red hair is holding a flute. Kathleen played the flute. "You loved that flute. I know you preferred singing as you got older but I saved it...just in case you needed it someday. I'm glad you have found use for it, I'm glad you've been able to cope, with the loss of your voice I mean." She cleared her throat. "The flute will help you." I feel faint. She played the flute too? How is any of this possible? Who am I? I look at the picture again. I strain my eyes. Her eyes didn't match. Just like mine. I am getting dizzy. I stand up and try to make it to the bathroom, I feel so sick. I close my eyes and try to breathe. When I open my eyes I'm in a car. There are groceries surrounding me in the backseat. I am sneaking cookies out of one of the bags beside me. I see quick movement out of the corner of my eye I turn and see a deer. I scream! The car swirves and then there's nothing. I see a bright, almost blinding light. I close my eyes ...and melt into it. Doctor Andrews checks on the girl who was brought in a few hours ago. She had been unconscious and he had revived her. He knew she had been in a car accident recently and had damaged her vocal cords. Her parents claimed she had been doing well, a bit withdrawn perhaps, but well. Andrews suspected that it had much to do with the young girl losing her voice. The strange thing was though, that after he had revived her, she was speaking. Groggily and slurred at best, but speaking. After some short tests he realized something. "Your daughter's vocal cords were not permenantly damaged. She was in a state of shock from the crash. She should exercise her vocal cords...my recommondation is therapy, for both her voice and her trauma..." Kathleen was confused. She couldn't remember ever losing her voice. She started to say so then stopped. She saw a brief flash of herself madly playing the flute, as though the flute would somehow save her. Kathleen clutched her throat and suddenly felt as though she had lost a piece of herself. No, more like a piece was found. Thank You - 2006, June 7
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