Think Forward - FROM SIGMA IN WELSHPOOL

Sigma pens a letter to her parents that is almost as overdramatic as she is. Genre should really be Magical Realism, especially since the fantasy elements are so downplayed in this. This is part of my "Think Forward" series.

Dear Thomas and Lucy,

            I hope Germany is suiting you, because Wales is just awful. The past few days have been too rainy to do anything but stay indoors, and of course it’s that sticky rain that makes everything uncomfortable. I suppose it came just on time, because the weather at commencement was absolutely perfect. By the way, I would like to sincerely thank you for coming to my commencement. Unfortunately, you didn’t come. So I’d like to thank you for at least letting me know in advance that you wouldn’t be there. But you didn’t do that either.

            I suppose I should reintroduce myself, as you’ve obviously completely forgotten that you even have a daughter. My name is Sigma, which is short for the truly horrendous “Sigmunda.” I look undeniably like my father; wildly blond, pink skin, tall like a boy and slender. But I have Mum’s violent green eyes. There are white lines on the back of my legs from where I worked off all the baby fat you let me accumulate at home. A faintly pink scar on the outside of my left little finger marks where Father cut off my skin instead of my nail as a toddler. I spent my first seven years in Mum’s dance studio and have been addicted ever since.

            Although really, the most important thing to know about me is that I’ve spent the past two years waiting. When you moved to Iphofen to take care of Opa, I understood why I had to stay. You see, I am a reasonable person, and I realize the idiocy of leaving secondary while in the Sixth Form. I needed my A-levels and it was easier to stay at Christ’s College rather than transfer. But I hate where I am; Powys is so rural, and Brecon especially so. So I have been waiting these two years, for when I finish the Sixth Form and may go where I please. As an only child who was never home to be spoiled by her parents, who has lived at her school for roughly the last decade, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to be a bit selfish now. I would like nothing more than to leave Powys and never return. But for some reason, the people who should care about me the most in the world have done their best to thwart me.

            I was invited to live with Gwen in Cardiff; she’ll be attending there in the fall. You may vaguely remember her as the girl I’ve roomed with for the past few years. She’s quite practical; she knows how to manage her own funds and such. However, you claim that I am too young to live on my own. My second course-of-action was to join you in Iphofen, as there is nothing left for me to do in Wales. I could live with you and get a job, and save money for when I move out. When I suggested this, I don’t think you even bothered to listen. Both of you have insisted that it is absolutely necessary for me to attend university. Despite my boredom in academia and how resistant I am to further education, you have refused to settle for any other option. To prove how truly cold and uncaring you are, you swear that German university is too expensive and say that I have to attend in Wales. And since I am not allowed to live my own life, you’re sending me to live with the Parrys.

            I truly have to wonder if you love me at all. In all honesty, I can’t even lie to myself about it anymore. I don’t believe that you care about me in the slightest. Neither of you have done anything to make me think otherwise. I tell you that I want to leave Powys so you send me deeper in. I mention being relieved to finish school so you force me to continue. If I express interest in anything, you push it away as fast as you can. I have to admit, your logic is entirely over my head. For that matter, it’s probably over yours as well.

            But I could have forgiven you of everything, even for making me stay with Uncle Haydn and Aunt Meredith, if you had just come to my commencement. It was the one thing in my academic career that meant anything to me, and should have meant something to you as well.

            You don’t know how special that day was. My classmates had been preparing all month for the ceremony, planning where to take pictures and where to go out for dinner afterwards. If there was one thing I liked about Christ’s College, it was the atmosphere; we students were all quite a family. I have all of their addresses in a little book and more than a few of them have welcomed me to stay with them. As much as I wanted to leave Brecon, I do miss those kids. But you see, I wasn’t partaking in the normal commencement plans, because I had other things to prepare for. I was readying myself to see you again. For me, that day wasn’t just about finishing school, but about a chance to get out of Wales.

            My plan was solid. I had practiced it so many times in the mirror, while Gwen was in the study lounge, that I had dreams about it. Of course, it was contingent on you actually being there. First, I would go about commencement in the expected fashion; pose for pictures on the front steps, tear up during the headmaster’s speech, and accept my certificate. When the ceremony ended, I would follow you to your rental car and, just before you said good-bye, I would throw the most graceful temper tantrum ever seen. I planned on accusing you of not loving me, of being selfish and ignorant for forcing me to stay in Wales and apply to university. I was willing to kneel, in my pleated skirt and all, and beg to be taken home. Your excuses had already been anticipated; that I’m too young to know what I want or what’s best, that Iphofen is probably smaller than Welshpool. You wouldn’t have been able to ignore me, causing a scene in the parking lot. You would have been forced to realize that your only daughter is suddenly a legal adult, and you hardly recognize her in person anymore.

            It would have been quite perfect, really. The ceremony went so smoothly. Everything just fell into place; the weather, with the spacious front lawn green-gold from spring turning into summer; the haunting cloudless sky, so richly blue that it made me feel dizzy to stare up at it. There was a careful breeze, only slight enough to ruffle my skirt and my loose hair. When I stood before the class to receive my certificate, I looked for you. Aunt Meredith was easy to spot, waving from the back, next to Uncle Haydn and a bouquet of roses. The crowd was large enough for a secondary graduation, and I told myself that I couldn’t find you because there were too many parents. But for the rest of the night, my fingers were numb and my mind itched. The day felt wasted.

            My classmates were so eager to leave home and their parents, and define their own lives; I suppose it’s easy to want to get away from what you experience all the time. Do you remember when I was eight and Mum drove me back to school after term break? How I cried to go home? Mum thought I had forgotten to pack my books, but really I hadn’t kissed Father good-bye before he left for work that morning. I thought perhaps he would think I didn’t love him and would not, in turn, love me.

In some ways, Welshpool isn’t all bad. The night I arrived, it was late and everyone was eager for bed, but they treated me quite well. Uncle Haydn helped me carry in my trunks. “Lift from your knees,” he instructed. “Not your back, or you’ll pull something.” Uncle Haydn acts distant and is quiet, and sometimes when he speaks he comes off being rather gruff, but really he’s just very fatherly. He’s somewhat like a rock with his emotions, which is a sharp contrast to Aunt Meredith with her notoriously tight hugs. While we were moving my things inside, she went ahead and heated some supper for me, without being asked. Before I went to bed, she gave me a good-night hug and kiss, which I’ve noticed she does regularly in this house. Aunt Meredith is just the mothering type; a nice change, in my opinion.
            Of course lately I’ve heard all about the closest universities and different degrees and financial aid. Uncle Haydn has really done his research for me. I haven’t told anyone yet that I don’t want to continue school, only because they’re so cutely enthusiastic about it, and I have a feeling that it’s because Ruby rejects that sort of attention.

On the subject of Ruby, I think she must be the most sullen sixteen-year-old I’ve ever met. And I went to boarding school. To be honest, I was somewhat excited to be living with her, which may just be a mark of how little I had to look forward to. After all, we used to get along quite well. We could pass hours at the park, playing Ruby’s dream game.

Do you remember when I was seven, the day Mum and Aunt Meredith took me and Ruby to Cardiff for a play? We were on the train when Ruby pointed at you and smiled very clever for a girl who had just turned six, and said “Aunt Lu dreams of choking on the fleece of the other sheep in her herd.” I laughed to think of you as a sheep, Mum, and don’t be angry because we weren’t trying to call you ugly. We made you quite nervous, though. “Nice little girls should stay in their own heads,” you said, looking down your nose. (I still remember seeing you like that, peering at us so high and mighty.) Of course Aunt Meredith encouraged us by asking what we thought she dreamed about.

Ruby always had a penchant for the strange, which makes sense now, seeing as she’s a Dream Sneaker and is well versed in the dreams of others. But the game was before that.

Sometimes when I’m bored, I remember Ruby’s dream game and make my own predictions in private; I did this all throughout commencement, in fact, at least until I realized you were absent. And I was excited to remind Ruby of the game when I got to Welshpool. Is it strange that all the girls from school were only friends to me, but I was expecting Ruby to be a sister? Really, I should have learned from you to keep my expectations low. As it turns out, Ruby works day in and day out for a wealthy family as a maid, and the result is that she’s unbearably cranky when she gets home. The first night I spent in the house, I did my very best to bond.

“Perhaps tomorrow you could show me around town? I would rather like to find a job. I know I’m supposed to be applying for schools, but between you and I, that’s low on my list.” I might have been talking just to be talking, because the house was so silent and Ruby wasn’t even looking at me. “What is there to do in Welshpool? It seemed quite dead outside. That’s why I would prefer to be in the city; I’m not too fond of quiet places. I do like your little table lamps, though. Why do you have so many dreamcatchers on the wall? I didn’t know a person needed more than one…”

Of course, I wasn’t expecting Ruby to be so touchy. “Sigma! I have to be back at work at six in the morning, and I should like to fall asleep some time before then. Welcome to Welshpool and all, but I have other things to do for the time being. Maybe we can talk later.” Nobody told me, but Ruby’s only ever home long enough to sleep. So I have to stay by myself in her strange bedroom, with twenty dream catchers on the walls and multiple night lights.

At least the triplets are quite sociable. They often want me to play games with them, and I’m so bored here that I have no choice. I don’t have a job yet and they aren’t in whole-day school yet. Typically it’s alright, until I stop to think that I spend my days with five-year-olds because there is no one else.

I hope you realize how pathetic my life is at the moment, and that it’s your fault. You didn’t even give me the chance to convince you to bring me to Germany. Can you imagine what it’s like to finish your A-levels, be standing before your school, and realize that your parents didn’t bother to tell you they couldn’t make it? I ignored my friends and obligations after that. As soon as the ceremony ended, I made a beeline for Aunt Meredith and flat out asked her where you were. “I expect they’re in Berlin still,” Aunt Meredith said. Her eyes rolled backwards slowly as she shook her head. “Your grandfather had some sort of testing done this morning. Didn’t they tell you that they couldn’t make it?” And of course, you hadn’t told me anything. “I’m surprised she even told me, really,” Aunt Meredith continued. “You know how non-confrontational your mother is. She’ll avoid someone for years for fear of a small argument that no one else remembers.” A sheep indeed. I realize that Opa’s appointments are important, but I think you could have at least let me know about the conflict. Instead, I was left to watch my grand scheme dissolve, like sugar into water, among smiling families on the steps of Christ’s College.

In all honesty, I’m not feeling particularly nice toward either of you right now. It’s probably a good thing that I’m not with you because I just keep thinking of how unfair you are. If you were to show up before me right at this moment, kissing my feet in apology, I’d likely still jump on you. Whenever I think of you, I feel a nagging on my shoulder where it meets my neck. It makes me want to run around screaming and clawing at my head to satisfy that itch which spreads everywhere under my skin. Every day is a tightrope between complete boredom and anger so strong that it hurts.

You owe me an explanation, at the very least. Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t you come to visit me at school? Why is it so important that I do things your way, even though you don’t associate with me? If my education means so much to you, why won’t you stick by me through it? But most of all, why don’t you want me? Aunt Meredith falls over herself to please Ruby. She thinks about her during the day and takes her defense when Uncle Haydn criticizes her. Ruby’s situation may not be ideal, but Aunt Meredith brags about her to neighbors and sneaks into our room sometimes to kiss her good-night. Ruby doesn’t even notice her half the time; she doesn’t know how lucky she is to be loved and wanted.

I don’t think that I’m asking for much. I don’t think that wanting your attention is unreasonable. The awful thing, though, is that I know I won’t get it. There isn’t any reason I can find, only past experience. It infuriates me to think that I can work for something that I want so badly and never have it. When I think of you reading this letter, I only get angrier because I know it won’t make enough of an impact. But I’m more frustrated at myself for not even being angry enough to send this. For some reason that I don’t understand, more than the thought of you not caring, I hate more the thought of my letter hurting your feelings. It’s not as if you don’t deserve it, I’m sure, but perhaps not at my hands.

In short, I feel myself dying in Welshpool. But I will wait here, growing sick on the country and turning rotten from sharing a room with sixteen-year-old spinster. Once again I’m waiting for you, for the day that you call me to Iphofen, to the soft German-born air and the scent of strudel.

 

 

 

 

Sigma Baer