Up in the air

A gentle, humming breeze greets the freshly cut grass the way a shy puppy prudently approaches the hand of a friendly stranger. Yellow and green leaves, from trees and bushes alike, sway and dance slowly, some reflecting the sunlight as if they were made from silver. Strangers superficially acknowledge each other as their dogs become well acquainted through contests of barking or growling Mexican stand-offs awaiting to see who pounces first.

One man walks his Siberian Husky, a wolf-like dog with snow white fur lined down the back with charcoal black ending at the start of her tail. The charcoal back meets a snowy chest to form a gradient of greys on her sides. Mouth wide open and tongue feeling the friendly wind, she looks around at the mini forests of people scattered along the field of apple grass. Her owner holds her by a loose leash, a gift of relative freedom. You can run wherever you wish to, but within my terms and conditions. She hides her tongue and closes her mouth before beginning to twitch her nose. She can smell fear or happiness on the people nearby, a concoction of mixed emotions she cross-references with body-language. Did you know that dogs have three-hundred million odour-receptors compared to our mere six million? They also possess a larger portion of brain-matter dedicated to processing and analysing these smells.

Many of the small forests of people sit atop blankets with baskets and bags of food. Among these is a pair of girls; Dolores wore a sunflower yellow dress decorated with white tulips whilst Beatrice sported a plain black dress. Checkered with lines of red connecting to form boxes filled in white, their blanket is home to many items. Plates are organised across the blanket, a red one with chocolate digestives, and fruits on a navy-blue plate. A dark hay-coloured straw basket sits between the plates, straws weaving around each other housing royal purple napkins and a variety of sandwiches: cheese and cucumber and tomato; tuna and sweetcorn and mayonnaise; chicken and lettuce.

“To the future”, they exclaim with delight as they carefully clap their white disposable plastic cups together. The orange juice teetered as the cups hit each other and offered an acidic but warm feeling, forcing Beatrice to inhale sharply through her teeth “I always preferred apple!”.

“I know what you mean! It’s even worse when you’ve just brushed your teeth and the cold cutting mint mixes with the bubbling acidity of orange juice! Here, take some grapes to ease that burn.” Dolores picked at the stalk of the bunch and separated them, handing Beatrice a small cluster. After sipping some more of her drink, she takes a long breath in and out before formulating a smile. Her teeth joined in the sentiment, but her eyebrows and eyes did not. “So, a new life soon – living at University! How exciting!” Her tone of voice was almost rehearsed, but Beatrice accepted her smile as enough for she was blinded optimism and enthusiasm for the future.

“I know right! I can’t wait, my sister keeps stealing my makeup and leaving her plates in the sink… In a few months we’ll have our own kitchen and do things our way.” Beatrice sighs into a smile, with elements of relief and anticipation radiating from her eyes in the orange glow of the setting Sun. Dolores chuckles slightly, enough for some air to leave her nose but not enough to bring her to smile. This façade was not easy to keep.

Sister… The moment Dolores heard this word come from Beatrice she quaked ever so slightly. Half way through this involuntary reaction she gained self-awareness and halted the quake, resulting in a shudder abruptly being replaced by the threat of falling down into a rabbit-hole. If she were to give in and fall, she would dissociate and potentially lose herself to her thoughts. Catching herself in the act, she found herself mentally within the hole itself, with her hands gripping the edges of the ground either side of the cleft, aiming for push and heave and force herself from this void. Momentarily, she looked down and saw her feet disintegrate and the pieces fall deep into the black endless space – Like a mirror that has shattered I, too, am cracked with scars and lots pieces. Never shall I be whole again: nothing can restore a mirror to its flawless self after it breaks, and I am as broken as this mirror. Her hands filled with mud and grass as she concentrated her complete mental fortitude to escaping the crevice of sorrow and memories. Screaming and heaving, she managed to push herself to the side of the deep hole, no longer falling, just staring into the blank sky. Into space.

“D? Is everything alright? You’re staring into space, D?” Beatrice, for the first time, was worried. She noticed as she was complaining about not getting her first choice of university. About two minutes into shaming Warwick University and complaining about their apparent poor night life, her eyes met Dolores’ and her blank face, devoid of expression as if she was in a daydream or a trance. The orange setting Sun reflected in her oceanic eyes and added pseudo-ginger hints to her chestnut hair. Her rouge lips were slightly ajar, almost meeting, yet out of reach and her foundation cleared her face, hiding her freckles – her face appeared empty of marks and her stare was vacant, almost dissociative.

No. Everything is not alright. Into the rabbit-hole she went. I want to tell someone and not receive pity. I want to open my heart up to you but it will ruin your mood. I want to scream but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Dolores managed to form a U-shaped crescent with her lips, yet her eyebrows remained in place as they were unable to commit to the untruth of a smile. This is my emotional baggage, it would be unfair to ask anyone else to handle it, or hold it. Her eyes flashed back to the present and she perused the red plate, choosing a chocolate biscuit to focus her attention on. Every day, every hour, every second it gets harder to pretend and carry on the lie that I am fine, I am okay. “Sorry, yes, everything is okay. I must have been daydreaming... about our future. What were you saying?” Okay. The word okay, what does it mean? It does not express happiness not does it deny sorrow. Therefore, I am not lying, just lacking detail in my answer.

Beatrice found herself again in her mission to promote her future life, their future University, at the expense of her rejected choices. Her words came out like bullets: sharp, quick, and with fire. Pausing to chew an apple periodically, she gazed up at the crescent moon in the sky and swallowed some apple. Having spoken her mind on Warwick and their ‘poor choices’ and ‘their loss’ on not accepting her, she felt more relaxed – she sighed almost out of relief, feeling her annoyance leave her body as did her breath.

I am not ready to leave for University. My family need me. My sister needs me… if she’s still alive.

Coming back to reality, she caught the last sentence of Beatrice’s rant: ‘Everything happens for a reason’. Clearing her throat with a shudder, Dolores held herself together and aimed to give a seamless answer to hide her mental absence: “Maybe it’s destiny - fate holding us together, pulling us closer than ever.” She paused as Beatrice smiled at her, enjoying the idea that their friendship was mysteriously written in the stars, a constant in the uncertainty of the future.

Can I tell you about something? I want you to know what’s going on behind my plastic smile. I wish you were able to read between the lines, sense my tone or pick up on my hesitations or insincerities. Everyone thinks I’m strong and positive all the time, but it’s a mask I wear because no one expects me to feel powerless or broken -

Dolores broke her train of thought and looked straight into Beatrice’s eyes and reached out to hold her hand. Gulping away her worry, she was prepared to share her vulnerability with someone. Finally. The Sun painted her skin orange and gold, her irises like embers yet also resembling floodgates with water building up, threatening to erupt. “Can I tell you abou – “

– and then a phone rang, cutting her words like a scorching blade through snow. Her voice cracked as she stopped mid-sentence. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this call… Hey bunny! No, I can talk – you’re not interrupting anything important…”

Sometimes I go to her room and find her jumpers. The confession carried on in her head, but even if the words were to come out there would be no one to listen to her, to hold her hand, to be there for her. I clench my fists until they hurt and until they warm and redden in some places whilst yellow and numb in others, ensuring the jumper stays in my hands. I bring my hands to my face and inhale – as I close my eyes the smell helps amplify her image. Makes her more real to me. I wish I could make a candle out of this smell, a scent of eternal comfort and love. One I will always come home to, an aroma someone won’t think to take from me.

Beatrice carried on talking on the phone, but her voice became an echo before fading into nothing. As her voice became less prominent a white noise began to increase in Dolores head. The sound of nothing; static in her head, an emptiness. The static became ringing, the sort of sound that twists in your head after hearing a deafening sound like a bomb. The ringing intensified and she brought her hands to her ears to try to muffle it, however it was coming from inside her head and could not be stopped.

This tinnitus was the start of a tsunami: thoughts began to hit her mind like small waves meeting sand at a beach. The longer the constant frequency played out in her mind, the harsher each wave got. Small memories invaded at first, thoughts of the games she would play with her sister when they were children. Her sister always had unconventional rituals for each game. Snakes and ladders: She would make a wish and blow the dice before throwing them, hoping her premeditated thoughts would affect her luck. Hide and seek: She would always cheat and keep her left eye open for hide and seek, claiming that her right eye was hiding while the other was seeking.

The memories began to impose greater weight on Dolores’ soul, with more intimate memories invading. The time her sister first cried out in pain: She always used to try to terrain the child-lock gate at the top of the stairs and one time she succeeded and fell down all sixteen steps. It was one of the only times she had witnessed her sister crying, the other time being on a phone call a few months ago – the last time she heard from her, two months ago. Two months have passed and I wonder if I will see her again. I don’t think I will and my family is falling to shreds at this very thought.

Head down sniffing the grass, the Siberian Husky stopped in her tracks. She caught whiff of a certain type of sadness: of loss. She knew what this person needed: warmth; comfort; an ear that listens and another soul that cares. At this deduction she marched towards the two girls, one in black walking away, laughing. She approached the other and walked in circles around this stranger in yellow. This mourning sunflower. Yes, this was the human that needed help. Slowly, she approached the girl and thought about eating a biscuit from the red plate.

“No! You can’t eat the biscuits, they have chocolate in. You can’t eat chocolate, bad girl!” Dolores picked the biscuit-plate up and turned it away from the majestic, hungry dog. Chocolate can give a dog stomach pains, diarrhoea, and even prove to be fatal – this dog was not going to suffer those fates under her watch. Extending her left hand, she slowly gestured to the dog as if asking permission to stroke the side of its face. The Siberian Husky studied the hand prudently before suggesting the answer Dolores wished for: Yes, you may stroke me.

Dolores’ bottom lip quakes slightly as she clenches her mouth tight. Her left hand remains on the dog’s head, and the Siberian Husky steps closer to snuggle, rubbing her head with Dolores’.

Her name was Perdita. My younger sister. I wish I could do something to get her back.

“You’ll listen to me, won’t you?” With her blue eyes flooding and tears falling out, she hugs the dog and closes her eyes. In a world full of eight billion people, the only soul that would potentially listen to her would be this gorgeous loving canine. Man’s best friend.