The Well

Sensitive content: mental health, allusions to abuse, family conflict.

No one had ever taught Hilda how to apologize.

Sure, there were words that one might be expected to string together like those paper-chain people so beloved by her second-grade teacher, Mrs. Billock. But those words fell flat whenever they tumbled out of Hilda’s mouth. Despite her best efforts, Hilda had never quite figured out how to then imbue them with the magic that others would receive as sincerity.

Perhaps it would have been helpful to witness some of that magic firsthand, to get a feel for its energy and texture. To hold in her hands its fragility, a seedling ready for her care and attention. Perhaps then, she could have learned the necessary steps for cultivating it as she had with her prized tomatoes.

Perhaps then, she wouldn’t be in this mess with her adult children, with all of them taking sides in a familial Cold War.

Alas, her parents hadn’t exactly been helpful in learning the magic of apologies. Her father, a man who loomed larger than life in her childhood, was indifferent at the best of times. After arriving home from his work at the factory, Papa would sit at their ancient dining table without a word, fork and knife in hand instantly. If there ever were a time when he had to get up and alter his routine to handle a tantrum or a fight between Hilda and her brother, Artie, he would do so with disdain written across the rough edges of his once-handsome face. His hands were sharp and his voice sharper. He never once apologized, not to anyone, not even when he had ruined Mummy’s nice dress with his dinner beer.

Mummy, meanwhile, moved through the world as though on a cloud above everyone else. Hilda thought maybe she floated like that to avoid becoming crushed under the weight of her husband’s indifference, but that was only once she was an adult herself and had experienced firsthand the weight of marriage on one’s state of mind. Mummy liked to hum to herself and act as though she couldn’t hear the knock-down-drag-out fights between Hilda and Artie. Those were not her jurisdiction, you see. So, when the fighting was over and the siblings were left panting on the shag carpet (or the field in the back of the house, or on the floor of the barn), neither of them knew what to do next. In fact, it often felt better not to do anything at all, lest Papa hear and feel obligated to do something about it for them.

Hilda reflected on her childhood while slowly drawing circles around the edge of her mug, the lukewarm tea inside rippling from the movement. The dim light outside her back window flickered slightly amidst the encroaching twilight, almost in sync with the rippling tea. What was she to do? Unlike herself and Artie, her children seemed more comfortable with the idea of distance between family members. She had always thought that it was just what one did – bear gritted teeth through childhood and learn to smile even when you don’t want to, and then continue showing up to family events year after year so that your parents felt cared for. After all, they sacrificed so much…

But Hilda had been learning that maybe it wasn’t so simple, after all. Maybe it could be true that parents were constantly sacrificing for their children and hurting them, regardless of their best intentions. It had been a scary – terrifying, even – thought when her therapist first brought it up as a reflection on her own parents. It had taken her months to chew on it, let alone digest it.

Now, alone in her dim-lit kitchen with all its precariously stacked clutter, she felt stuck.

Someone, please, just tell me what to do and give me the strength to do it, Hilda thought to herself as the tears started to drip, drip, drip down and mix with her tea. It wasn’t long before the tears became a cascade gushing from her tear ducts. Her vision blurred, creating a watercolor effect on everything around her. Her chest heaved and shuddered, feeling on the verge of total collapse.

Without warning, the feeling changed. A fire-hot warmth spread throughout her chest and something tugged at her from the perfect center of her sternum. Panicked, Hilda looked wildly around to find the source of the tugging. She saw nothing but a glowing light hovering right in front of her. It called to her just as much as it scared the daylights out of her. When she didn’t immediately get up to greet it, she felt the tug again, this time more impatiently. It was as though something was saying, Alright, get up already!

Ohhhh-kay, Hilda thought shakily, What have I really got to lose?

She followed the light.

Hilda had thought the tugging would dissipate when she reached the light, but as soon as she had, it flitted outside of her range again and tugged her along. She didn’t see so well in the dark, especially after letting her eyes get so swollen with all the crying, but Hilda chose to trust the light. Despite its shocking appearance, there was something comforting about it. It felt like what home was supposed to feel like – security and warmth, a returning to something bigger than herself.

The light led Hilda through her backyard all the way to the decorative well her husband had built decades ago in a fit of restlessness. She had always loved it, though she had lost the words to tell him so long before its creation. The stones looked as though they belonged to one of those adorable cottages in Europe, the wooden beams cut and stained with love. The kids had carved their initials into the wood in their teenage years, thinking it “cool” to mark anything they could reach at the time. Hilda traced the letters solemnly, the tears starting to pool again as her heart ached for the memory of them, so young and still living at home.

Tug, tug. Hilda looked away from the carvings and peered into the water, to where she suspected the light had just disappeared.

At first, she saw nothing at all, not even her reflection. Then, as her tears fell and created tiny ripples in the (admittedly stagnated) water, she saw an image beginning to form. A gasp pushed its way through her throat as she realized she was looking at herself, aged ten. Hilda was just beginning to wonder whether she had fallen for some demon’s trick (not that she believed in demons, but it was never too late to start) when her younger self’s reflection spoke.

I know you’re afraid, Young Hilda spoke to her mind-to-mind. I’m afraid, too. Have been for a long time.

How can you be here? Hilda asked herself. I thought you were gone.

I was never gone. I’ve been living within you the whole time, but you shut me out. You left me there, locked in all those memories of the childhood you decided to forget.

Hilda shook now, the guilt of it all rushing over her in waves. She wanted to run away, to hide, to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind lay the knowledge that this was her “pattern,” as her therapist had called it. When faced with something that could make her vulnerable, she fled.

Hilda took a deep breath. She squeezed her fists and her eyes closed tight, then released them as she exhaled.

I didn’t mean to – she started to reply.

I know you didn’t, but that doesn’t really matter, does it? You did it, her younger self said sadly. You can’t hide from this anymore.

You’re right, Hilda said, I can’t hide. What happened to us was not our fault, but that doesn’t make it okay that I left you behind. I’m so very sorry. And she burst into tears, heavier than ever.

Her younger self stayed silent for a time, letting her cry it out. Hilda thought maybe she felt a warmth on her arm, just below the elbow, like someone a little shorter trying to console her. She leaned into it gratefully, knowing it was just the beginning of their reconciliation.

Once the tears began to subside again, Hilda’s younger self spoke softly.

Thank you, she said. I’m not sure I can fully trust you again, you know. But I’d like to try. Will you come back to see me?

Of course, Hilda replied eagerly. She had never been more certain of anything before. I’ll come back as long as you’ll let me.

Young Hilda smiled and the water of the well glowed with an iridescent light, like those beaches that had that bio-lumi-something that her youngest (a scientist) talked about all the time in his early college years. Hilda watched as the glowing light rose up gently and floated straight into her chest, where the tugging had been.

It was then that Hilda realized she had found what she’d been missing all these years, that elusive magic. And she knew what she needed to do next.

The phone felt like a brick in her hand, heavy and awkward. This could go so poorly – it certainly had before. But she knew that whatever the outcome, she had to try. For her kids, for herself, for Young Hilda who had needed so badly to know she wasn’t alone. If she could just try, she knew it would be the start of something necessary and good.

She took another breath, searching for the glowing warmth in her chest, and dialed. After what felt like an endless cycling of the dial tone, she heard a click.

“Mom?”

“Hi, honey,” Hilda said, the nerves pitching her voice a bit higher than usual. “I have some things I need to say to you. Some things I should have said a long time ago…”