Alanna's Tears

-ALANNA’S TEARS-

It is colder than it needs to be. A slight flaw in God’s perfect design. She is painfully aware that she’s underdressed. The short red dress does nothing to help her knocking knees and chattering teeth; the night mocks her in a way that only it can. She clings to herself, her resolve somewhat breaking before the horn sounds again.

“C’mon Alanna, stop being stubborn.”

“I am not being stubborn.”

“Okay, then stop being stupid.”

“You embarrassed me!” She retorts, unable or unwilling to stop walking. He drives slowly beside her, window down and shivering at the cold air it is letting in. He should hate her for forcing him to endure this.

“I embarrassed you?” The older gentleman asks with a sigh, his frustration hidden by his disappointment.

“I just wanted one good day. One day that is about me.”

“Every day is about you, Alanna. For God’s sake, you’re a princess!” He whispers the last part as if the empty sidewalks cared.

“To a nation that no longer exists, at least not like I knew it. I have nothing, George, not even that stupid title.”

“Get in the Alanna. It changes nothing if you freeze to death out here.”

She regards the man’s words almost too thoughtfully. The harsh truth that she cannot rewrite the past. A past that held so much sweetness that it is now bitter. Yet he is right; her freezing to death on some random street in Detroit on some random day, millions of miles away from home or what was her home, would mean nothing. It wouldn’t change the fact that her home sank into the sea, and what survived was scavenged and stolen. It wouldn’t change the fact that her people did not come together after the tragedy instead, the few that left fought amongst themselves, destroying what was left of one of the most beautiful places on earth. Nothing could change the fact that she was powerless to stop it and powerless to help. So, no, her freezing to death here held no credence. It wasn’t important; her existence currently meant nothing. Who would mourn her? Most already did and would probably refuse to do it twice. She opens the car door and plops into the seat, slouching with her arms folded over her chest. She hears George sigh as he rolls up his window. He looks back at her with pity or sadness but says nothing.

           They drive home in silence. George watches her through the rearview mirror, waiting for the perfect opportunity to speak. They arrive home in silence, and he hands her his coat as she attempts to exit the vehicle. She recognizes it as his favourite one. A leather one from back home. If she remembered correctly, it was a gift from her father to his best friend. One which George never lets out of his sight. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, sighing at the realization that he has nothing to say. He smiles gently at her, and she hugs herself again, feeling small under his gaze. There was no need for that. George never judged. He was a source of light, she contemplated saying this. Letting him know that she is grateful for him and that he has done a wonderful job given the horror they faced. She had changed his story, a tale written long before his birth. He was supposed to be the right hand of the throne, no matter who sat it. Yet here he is, driving a drunk girl home.

“Thank you, George.” She says, finally breaking the silence before opening the door and facing the cold.

She avoids the glances of his family as she enters the house. She pretends that she doesn’t hear his wife asking if she’s okay and the twins giggling in the corner. She rushes to her room, closing the door and sliding down along it. It is happening again. That overwhelming feeling that the room is closing in and the air thickening. She finds herself unable to breathe, and traitorous tears leave her eyes. There were moments where she considers every breath a traitor. Four hundred and fifty-eight people were dead, but she survived- how lucky.

“Alanna?” Michelle’s voice is always soft. She doubts the older woman has ever shouted. She is always calm, never faltering or shaking, and Alanna admires that.

“Alanna, it’s okay to feel what you are feeling, dear.”

Silence.

“And you are not alone. As long as George and me and the girls are alive, you will never be alone. And we understand Alanna, we understand why you have made the choices that you have.”

Alanna sits there, her wrists forming a fist, fighting the urge not to hit the floorboard. Her breathing, however, settles as she focuses on what she can see, hear, and smell.

“And we are so proud of you, Alanna. We are so proud of you for fighting and surviving and finding ways to live. We are so proud of your strength.”

“It isn’t strength,” she whispers, but the older woman’s ears are good.

“Of course it is sweetie-”

“No, it isn’t!”

The sound of her hands hitting the floor echoes in the room. Her action shocks her, and she shakes her head, trying to rewind time, yet she is still hitting the floor. The door knob turns and Michelle attempts to enter the room but Alanna’s body is still against the door preventing it from opening fully.

“Alanna, please. Let me in.”

“It’s my fault,t Michelle. It’s my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. You didn’t cause that earthquake, nor that Tsunami. You didn’t cause the greed or the bitterness in others-”

“But I wished it!” Alanna says, interrupting the other woman. Her voice is barely audible as she struggles to continue. The memories threatening to resurface. She takes a breath, trying to remind herself that it was over. That the pass can’t hurt her anymore, yet she sees his face, beaten and bloody. Then, she remembers the sound of her mother suffocating. The sound of the water splashing and her gasping for air.  “I wished that I didn’t have to be queen Michelle. I prayed every day for some miracle so I wouldn’t have to take the throne. I hated it, the smiles, the handshakes, the decisions, the duty, God I hated the duty. I was always messing up, always doing the wrong thing. I failed them.”

She pauses as the bile rising in her throat becomes too much and all she can do is sob. She lies there, paralyzed by the memories. The missed opportunities to thank her father or hug her mother rewind in her mind, laughing at the child resurfacing. She clings to the pain, reminiscing on her mother’s smile and consumed by her father’s strength.

Michelle pushes the door open and sits beside her, quickly engulfing her in a hug.

“You were a child, Alanna. You did not want that. It isn’t your fault. You must believe me. Please believe me, none of that is on you.”

“But I continue to fail him, Michelle.”

The words barely come out. The weight behind them floating in the room. They sit there like that, princess Alanna crying and shaking with Michelle hugging her, rocking them and shushing her. She doesn’t know when the night ends or even when her eyes close. The sun peeking through the window greets her. A new day announcing itself.

“What now?” Michelle asks, untangling them and standing with a yawn. Dry tears stain her blouse, and her own eyes are puffy and red.

“Now-”

Alanna pauses; the answer becomes increasingly clear. Her truth unravelling itself. The only one she had ever known and would ever know. At least it will take away the guilt and bring her peace. The irony shows itself; the path she ran away from is now the one she craves. For the first time in forever, she’s at peace. It didn’t matter that the path ahead would be painful and carry a lot of hurt. She sees his face again, this time wearing an approving smile. Her father was a great king

“It’s time to take back my throne, Michelle. Remove the chip.”