Ramblings of a Survivor

The lights turned low. Warmth surrounded my body. A smile crept over my face.

I leaned against the wall, the thump-thump-thump of the bass from the party on the other side of the walls reverberating through my belly. A little head lay in my lap, his blonde hair slightly greasy, quietly relaxed. My hand stroked his temple.

“Butterfly, come fly away with me. Butterfly come fly away with me….” the song my grandmother Doris had sung to my mom…who sang it to me….the song my sister would sing to me to get me to settle into bed next to her came floating out of my throat. Kino always fell into deep sleep when I sang this song. It was our time together.

The heavy tapestry of the couch I had sunk into enveloped me. I laid the back of my head against the crest of the sofa. My eyes stared at the tan colored ceiling – the contrasting yellowish-white of the ancient crown molding framing my view.

Across from us was a massive grand piano, lush floor pillows lay strewn around the room, ancient pieces of carved art contributed to the feeling of depth, of richness, of otherness. Far in the right hand corner was a statue carved of wood – or was it bronze? – a nude woman, seemingly floating, her arms outreached toward some unseen object, her plain eyes full of life.

My own eyes hesitated as they caught her gaze — looking at the object she sought, but somehow also directly staring at me.

My body shifted carefully…eyes looking down at this human in my lap. I couldn’t move my legs too much, I really needed him to stay asleep – but I had to adjust or my spine would be tingling soon.

“Don’t wake. Please don’t wake up.” I begged the little body so trustingly draped into my embrace.

My attention shifted to the sound of the crowd coming from the room connected to where we had settled…

“I wonder how long we’re gonna be here…I want to just get back.” My thoughts drifted to my family. They must be getting ready for the holiday.

When had I talked to them last? When had I seen them last? I think we had been on the road for months, but maybe it had only been weeks. I’d been travling with this family for months now…and contact was sparse..I think.

A groan escaped from my little companion.

“It’s ok, Kino. I’m here. Melissa’s here.”

His little hand reached for mine, fingers wrapping around my left index finger: Something he always did. He just wanted that one finger….he’d hold it for hours. He’d done that since he was tiny – even before I’d become his favorite – when I was just there on weekends or weeks when his first nanny was needing a break.

The laughter swelled from the dining room again, but the music diminished. I glanced at my watch: 9 pm.

Kino’s head settled into the groove of my hip, his body cocooned in the fur blanket that I’d pulled from the back of the couch.

“I wonder what Christmas Eve is looking like at home….”

My eyes shut, and I let myself remember times with my siblings, with my cousins. My uncles and aunts singing their hearts out while we all crowded into our tiny house to exchange gifts.

It was 1 pm Christmas Eve in California, and I imagined them prepping for the celebration…but probably a celebration that didn’t match my memory of our traditions.

Where was my family? Who was together? What was it like with one parent there, the other on the east coast — divorced –, cousins with their own families, siblings living their own lives? Where was my big brother Jake? Was he cooking? Were they together? Had he already found his love and talent of cooking? I know he could bbq at that point, but had he found his cooking gift yet? I don’t remember! Had we discussed that I’d be spending another Christmas apart? Had we ever spent a Christmas apart? Did we talk? Did I even communicate with my family when I was working this job? I know we didn’t have texts, so did we talk on the phone? Email? Did I just disappear? I am aware that I disappear now, but did I do that then? I don’t remember fully caring whether I was in England or New York or Tuscany or f’ing Timbuktoo, but I remember feeling invigorated and proud to be where I was, but then I also remember using that as an out, as a way to disconnect from all the chaos of life in reality….Is the memory of feeling as if Christmas was being stolen from me real? Did I actually feel Christmas was being stolen or was I relieved that I had this insanely unique situation that affording me space to say, “I wasn’t there because I was in this ridiculously glamourous job? How did both grief and excitement exist? But mostly —- why do I not remember facts????

As I sunk into the feather-down couch, I felt took a deep breath, and felt the calm it gave me. The sounds that had just moments before caused me to sit straight up turned into background noise, calming the whirling of my thoughts and the shaking nervousness of my body. Kino’s hollow, repetitive breathing soothed my anxiety. The weight of his body brought peace. Being together with this beautiful piece of human was everything.

This little boy. This little soul LOVED me – and I loved him. I was his safety – and he was mine.

Christmas Eve – Christmas itself- was perfectly imperfect that night…

A quiet rap on the door sat me bolt upright.

“Yes! Yes! How can I help?” The words spilled out of me before I knew what I was saying.

The door scooted open slowly, and a bald-headed man peeked his head around its perfectly finished wood.

“Everything ok? Do you need anything?”

“No, no. Everything is fine! He’s finally gone to sleep.”

“But you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No. I’m ok. Everything is perfect. You and the staff are amazing. Thank you.” I diverted my eyes.

“Did you eat?”

“With the staff.” I said untruthfully.

“No you didn’t. Alisha said Kino needed you before you even had two bites.”

“Oh, you know how it is. I grabbed some food and ate up in the playroom.”

“No. You didn’t.”

The pressure at the base of my throat (one that I had accepted as part of life at a young age) started to form.

“I’m ok! I promise!”

“Well, here. I have something for you.”

With his foot, Stone expertly and fully pushed open the door, and I saw he held two glasses – both identical, small and quaint – elegantly etched – a golden liquid swaying from side to side.

“They’re having after dinner drinks. You could probably use one – and I won’t lie, taking a 5 minute break won’t hurt me either.”

He entered the room, and settled his 6′ frame next to mine. “I’ve seen you today; you’re not the usual nanny. Asked around. Mixed reviews, but I hear you’re like many that your boss brings in…unaccustomed to the routines of life with the rich…but… unlike others, committed to the children; not here for the glamour. An Ally. You need sustenance, too. As much as you think your life is dependent on your boss…she depends on you WAY more.”

I glanced at him. Was this a set up?

“Won’t lie.I had NO idea what I was getting into, but it’s been a hot minute…and I’m gratefu—

“Stop. It is so obvious that you love those two like your own….too much. You are on track to burn out. Take care for yourself. Trust me.”

“Nah…these kiddos are my life.”

“Trust me, they won’t remember you. You are one of many. Hate to be blunt, but that’s how we do it here. Now getting to the issue: you need to eat. I’m going to have someone bring up some bites for you.” The warmth of his body on the couch felt safe. Not like other men who had settled next to me in other private settings. This man was kind, loving, wise, safe… and tired.

Nope. NO way. These two LOVE me. They’ll always remember me. He’s wrong.

How did I not see his truth? How is it that years later I’d experience the loss of two unborn children and yet in my therapy sessions only talk about the loss of this little bundle of amazingness that lay in my lap…and only marginally discuss the child I had actually lost? How did it happen that I watched them grow up through photographs and they didn’t remember me? Why don’t they remember me? Why don’t they rememver me? How????

Quietly, tenderly, he blurted out: “This isn’t a life for many people long term. It’s the life I chose long term, but I’m not everyone. Don’t get too attached: you’re too full of life to give all of yours to them. You deserve more.”

He stood up, took the empty glasses that we’d clinked in camaraderie, and bent down to kiss the sleeping child’s head.

“Don’t.” I said with quiet sternness.

“Ok. Yes. Right. Ok – don’t wake a sleeping dog. I”ll be back with a tray for you.”

He walked out, his shoes letting out an odd rhythm as the walked across the Turkish rugs. A creak broke the silence that I didn’t realize was there, and he eased the door shut behind him. As he turned to disappear down the hall, he returned to the door and peeked through the odd porthole…sending me a look that went down to my toes…”Don’t get too attached.” it said. Ignoring his message, I made a mental note to ask him about those weird portholes I’d seen in the doors of some of the rooms throughout the house…

For now, rest.

The alcohol from the shot we had shared seeped into my limbs, and I succumbed to its artificial relaxation. My head rested, as I caressed the little boy lying in my lap; my heart felt happy. I had Kino, and he had me. Christmas is what we make it – this was my truth. Christmas is experience.

I fell into a restless sleep.

A rattling of the door shook me. I sat up, holding Kino’s abdomen; he had some how managed to creep across my lap, his head laying to my right, his left hand wrapped around my neck.

“NO! MELISSA! NO!” he yelled.

“It’s ok, Bubba, I’m here.”

I turned toward the door, expecting the slow entrance of a quiet elegant Mr. Stone – bearing the food he had promised. My stomach growled in anticipation.

But no….Not Stone…that wasn’t Stone at the door.

My body jolted into an upright position.

Then froze. My eyes immediately opened wide. Staring. Straight at this figure.

I was awake.

The lights switched on, and I forced myself to adjust to the flood of light.

“Yes, sir, hi. Um. Hi. Um. Stone said we could be in here.”

Kino adjusted his body, grasping for my finger. I had been half twisted when this man had walked in, my legs in a sitting position, but my torso relaxed against Kino’s prostrate body. I had struggled to adjust to a proper position without waking my boy, and I was feeling the rapid transition.

I was a little dizzy, and there was a tingling in my legs.

“Well, of COURSE you can be in here!” the figure said – making no effort to dampen his voice and definitely not turning off the light..

My eyes darted to Kino. I instinctively pushed my head downward toward his ear. “Shhhh. it’s ok. Sleep.” I whispered.

“Oh my god! I didn’t realize” he said, seeing the sleeping child in my lap.

An awkward silence followed, and he flipped off the overhead light. I was trying to find words, regain balance, and in the meantime a heat was creeping up my chest, blood rushing to everything above my lungs, to my face.

Oh my god, I think I was bright red. I think that I was glowing even without the lights. SO EMBARRASSING. I was a fool caught doing something wrong. Wait. Did Stone give me that room, or did I just find it? What had happened between the playroom with the nanny who quit that next week – I think she told me stories of biting children? But hadn’t she taken me to the stables? I think I remember hearing awful stories of her job? I shouldn’t have been there, I think? But I had permission, I think. Wait. did this happen or is this a memory I created? Did this happen??? Did this actually happen???

The figure took a deep breath.

“You look like you’ve had a bit of a rough go here at my house.”

“No, no, no – it’s been wonderful.”

Silence.

“We actually really like Christmas here. Anything I can do for you? Did the staff get you all you needed?”

He turned toward the door, and poked his head into the hall, “Stone!”

He returned to our conversation without a step.

“You’re Melissa, right? You’re from the States? We British are a hard crowd – sorry about that. I hope the staff has been welcoming.”

I sat in silence, nodding.

The voice in my head rang with, “Please leave. Please don’t wake him. PLEASE??? I can’t. I just can’t.”

Why wasn’t it “OMG, I’m talking to him! OMG, this is a dream!!!”

The voices from the dining room had moved to the adjacent space, and I could hear the clinking of glasses. Must be midnight or around there.

“What if I play you something on the piano?”

“It’ll wake him; please don’t wake him.”

“Aaaah, he has to be woken soon to go home. Choose something or I will.”

Before I could stop myself, I stuttered, “Do you hate ‘Fields of Gold’? I’m not picky….and yeah. it’ll wake him, so…and…well…” and internally, a voice said, “Don’t mess this up.”

His giant figure sauntered across the deeply intricately woven rug, brushing against baskets and floor pilows, then sat and adjusted the piano bench – framed by countless guitars. Kino rustled, throwing his arms around my neck, settling in with his breath against my neck, his body twisted in only a way a child can sleep. Half asleep, half awake.

A solid chord echoed from the piano. Kino grasped my torso, “Missa? MISSA! MELISSA” he screeched.

“It’s ok, Bubba. I’m here.”

He nestled against me, and I held him close.

“You’ll remember me when the west wind moves…….” his voice rang out.

I closed my eyes. Ears open. I laid my head once again against the down filled tapestry. Salty, stingy tears began to trickle down my face. Family. Grief. Absence

EXPERIENCE.

“Please never forget this moment, Melissa. Please…never forget this feeling of existence,” I muttered to myself.