Only Time Will Tell

Anne learned when still quite young not to share her abilities, to hide them deep inside and live within her own fantasy world. She would sit up on the closet shelf in her parents’ bedroom and lift herself through the magic attic door that no one else could see was there.

In her private world, she could fly as long as she didn’t think too hard about how she was able to do it. If she thought too much, it became a struggle to breaststroke through the ever stronger air currents as her feet began to sag closer and closer to the tops of the trees. She was also able to transport herself instantly to any place she wanted, provided she could picture it clearly.

Sitting in church, told to be quiet and not to squirm too much, she learned to ride the endless words, the parables and psalms, so beautifully empty. The sun through the stained glass, if she could twist her eyes just the right way, would show her the aura of the priest as he asked for all to give to the poor. Sitting in what seemed a cathedral, holding gold cups, wearing ornate robes, and surrounded by statues and rows of pews, the priest and church displayed such wealth that Anne felt she must be one of the poor. She felt a little guilty that she had no money to offer as the collection plate was passed around. She tried to ask her Mom what the different colours of the auras she saw meant, as she was curious if they showed the personality of each priest. Her Mom denied that what she was seeing was real and tried to convince her that it was just a trick of the light in her eyes. Anne knew she was seeing something real that her Mom could not see, so she quickly dropped the questions and started talking about something else. Anne knew it was pointless arguing with her Mom about anything, as her Mom was all down to business and practical, and convinced she had reality all figured out.

Anne had very few friends at any given time, only one or two girls who would agree to play with her and then suddenly stop and pretend she did not exist once they realized that she was mostly quiet and a bit too strange for them to deal with. Or they would play tricks on her and tease her; and she would be the one to keep her distance, deeply hurt by their betrayal. She never fit in with any of the cliques and really didn’t want to. Instead Anne would go back to her shelf in the closet, gladly escaping her painful life.

Her Mom insisted on strict adherence to doing what she was told, without talking back or asking why, along with prompt punishment for any infringements. Breaking the rules could mean anything from a slap on the butt to being hit with a wooden spoon or hairbrush. One time, when her Mom was really angry, she had her skipping rope used against the back of her legs and Anne was forced to wear long pants for some time after to hide the whip marks. Complaining about her punishment was never an option, as it was better to live with her Mom and Dad than face the grim reality of being placed in a foster home (where the abuse would likely be a lot worse). If she was lucky, she would be sent to stand facing the corner to think about what she had done wrong. She was not allowed to turn around or ask to move, and had to wait until she was told it was okay to come out of the corner whenever her Mom decided she had been punished long enough. One time her Mom kind of forgot about her and left her in the corner so long that she fell asleep over the bag of potatoes placed there for dinner. Her Mom felt so guilty about the incident that Anne got off with just warnings for the next few days. Anne was quite fine with being left in the corner, as her imagination kept her from being bored and it was better than being given extra chores or getting yelled at for not moving fast enough.

Anne could reach her secret world in her dreams quite easily, and spent a lot of her waking hours daydreaming. Her Mom often questioned out loud whether Anne was a bit touched in the head, as she lived so much in her imagination and was often slow to respond to questions or requests.

Her other favorite spot to daydream was to sit on the lid of an old packing trunk kept in her parents’ room, lined with cedar and used to hold extra blankets of itchy wool and an old stole made of real fur. The fur stole was from her father’s Mom, and it was never worn as it seemed too cruel to dress in fur when the bills were barely paid and the food carefully divided. Anne learned that you only took as much food as you were sure you could finish. If you were still hungry, and there was any dinner left, you were allowed to have seconds. If not, there was always bread, made from scratch by her mother, to fill whatever corners of your stomach that the dinner failed to reach.

Anne always had room for something sweet, and she would joke that she kept a small spot in her stomach reserved for dessert. She learned to bake pies, cakes, cookies and éclairs. Éclairs were a special treat, and best eaten still warm from the oven with her own lemon filling still warm from the stove, topped with freshly whipped cream still cold from the fridge, and drizzled with warm melted semi-sweet chocolate. You were supposed to assemble and eat them immediately, or the cream would drip over the sides and melt away, or the éclairs would taste “wrong” from chilling in the fridge.

Anne was very proud of her baking skills and would try out different recipes whenever her Mom would agree to buy all the ingredients. She made a 2-layer Banana Walnut cake with Rum icing (artificial rum flavor, as there was no real rum to use) and brought it for a school bake sale expecting her teacher to cut it into slices to be sold individually. Her teacher was so impressed with the cake that she purchased it herself and cut it up to share among the whole class and all the parents who attended. Everyone enjoyed the cake and complimented her on how delicious it was. Anne was quite insulted when one of her classmates asked her what cake mix she had used to make the cake. “I made it from scratch, and the icing too”, she insisted. Her classmate was deeply puzzled and asked, “How did you make it without a cake mix?” “I used flour, sugar, bananas, walnuts, baking powder and followed the recipe!” Anne felt less insulted when she realized that she was so used to her Mom making all their food from scratch that she had not considered that most people did not bother cooking from scratch any more.

One day while Anne was wandering aimlessly, she found a special place, or it found her. It was beside a bridge with a stream that both flowed and slowed around the stone footings. As she gingerly danced around a standing wave, she stepped on a stone that sent a tingling up her spine. She bent to remove it from under her foot, and carried it out of the stream. She buried it carefully, marking the spot where the music of the waves reached between the bridge and the edge of the stream. She sang as placed her stone quite carefully.

***

You don’t have to place a stone for me,

I’m always here, if you could see…

I’m not gone, I’m in the air.

You’ll feel my breath each time you care.

You need to sit and hear my plea; you’ll feel my love eternally.

I once wore a youthful glow, it faded fast, but still I grow.

The lines of time placed on my brow,

I feel my age, you see them now.

A child cast out of dreams,

I grew confused, or so it seems.

You don’t have to place a stone for me,

I’m never gone, I was set free.

You may ask: Why stay around?

Why linger here? Why touch the ground?

I can go from here to there, travel the stars, and still I care.

I long to reach your truest heart, to live as one, not be apart.

You don’t have to place a stone for me;

I’ll call your name, so you can be…

The one I love eternally, you are the one I call Charlie.

***

Anne’s stone would call to only her, so she could return to reconnect with the part of herself that others tried to stifle. Years flew by, and she could return to that same spot by allowing her stone to bring her back to stand on that same bridge and watch herself go by.

***

Anne sat by the window again, eyes unfocused, a slight smile and soft sigh almost imperceptible among the rapid icy rain drops bouncing off the eavestroughs and the clashing of the thunder. The storm was wildly whipping the blue spruce branches into a frenzied dance accompanied by swirling leaves newly uncovered by the melting snow.

Her house felt cluttered with memories yet painfully empty as she relived the memory of Charlie leaving his key on the table and carefully pulling the front door shut as he walked out of her life; to get some space, to think things over, to travel and adventure. Promises were made but vague, to keep in touch, to hold affection, to stay good friends. No vows were made or dates were set, as the future was something Charlie refused to pin down or try to predict.

Slowly Anne drifted out of her chair and found herself drawn to sit at the piano placed strategically in the alcove joining the living room with the hallway, the perfect acoustic spot for her love of using the sustain pedal. Not wanting to strain her photophobic and somewhat dilated pupils, she left the light indirect and low and did not bother to get out any sheet music. Improvising in her favorite G-flat major pentatonic scale, the lyrics seemed to form themselves as she played and sang:

***

Only time will tell,

If your memory will haunt me,

If your warm embrace will taunt me…

Only time will tell.

All the years will know

Why your smile is so inviting,

Why your wit can be so biting…

All the years will know.

If I thought I could let you go,

I’d surely be the first to know.

Only time will tell

If you are my one and only,

If I lie without you lonely…

Only time will tell.

All the years will show

If your fire still burns brightly,

If you take love much too lightly…

All the years will show.

If you thought I wasn’t true,

You’d surely find better things to do.

Only time will tell.

Why hurry to the ending,

Why say we’re just pretending?

Only time will tell.

Only time will tell.

***

As the last line slowly echoed and the final embellishment and flourish faded into silence, Anne carefully recovered the keys with her special cloth folded just the right way and gently pushed the piano bench back in place. She grabbed her purse and keys, put on her glasses and sunglasses, a light jacket and her comfiest shoes and headed out for a walk. No particular destination, just a walk to visit all her favorite trees and see which neighborhood dogs wanted to give her a friendly hello.

I will wait, she thought, I will see; whatever happens is what is meant to be.

The End

…∞…