In My Forest

As she wanders, she remembers and reaches towards the memories of realities, but remains in her forest.

“I’ve gotten used to it.”

What did I say after that? I walked by her, didn’t turn around and look at her again. Something was cradled in my hands. And maybe I shook my head. But I can’t recall. And though her presence stands before me, I reach out my hand, staring at a silhouette radiating light and grasp only wisps of the wind’s whispers, which rush past me. Before I can call her, I realize my voice has disappeared. “See ya later,” she calls.

The world became a forest and for months, the further I wandered, the more the sun faded and night consumed all light. At times, the night’s nightmares moan at my back, covering my eyes in shadows, but every once in a while, amongst these endless, rustling shadows, light streams in patches, but when I reach them, it’s cold and the light has faded. Only today, I saw the sunlight, feeling the heat on my skin as I lifted my head and smiled, finding I must shield my eyes from the sun. The shadows bristle and branches are brushed aside, and sunlight streamed through white and gray clouds, falling on the moist soil, gently gliding its hands through the forest.

As of late, my surroundings have become familiar once again. The trees no longer smolder me between their masses. My feet don’t graze stones or pull through bushes or slip into overgrown roots. Jagged leaves don’t crowd my vision and branches don’t snag my hair or slit my skin. The shadows aren’t wandering at the corners of my vision and animals don’t pounce on my back or bite my hands, dragging me down and cornering me on the ground. Even though I catch myself sighing, I can look at myself, see the cuts healing and dance on my feet, unafraid of needles against my ankles or fear latched onto my spine. When I look around, leaves depart from the branches and swirl around their trunks.

“That’s not good,” a voice echoes. Another voice calls out, “Once you’ve gone through IB, you can handle anything. Because you’re sleep deprived and food deprived.” A footstep sounds on hard floors, followed by chuckles as a teasing voice cries, “What is it with you people?” Hands wave in the air. “There are remnants.”

Colors on silhouettes appear, but I can’t remember any faces. I see their movements and watch their gestures, copying before they fade from my sight. None of them I reach out to, letting them fall and ride on the winds wiping them out of my mind. “I still have to take care of you.” That one voice I latch onto fades before I see the woman. The leaves toss, turn and dance, insignificant and unwanted, but in the speeding winds, I know she’s there.

She’s not a presence, a sound or an image. Yet old feelings flutter inside my chest, beating a steady pulse and throb, reminding me how much I need her presence, how I hold onto the sound of her voice and the sight of her expressions. Tears flow as I realize, I hear her voice, but have lost the words. I see her face, but I’ve turned away and only see what’s in my mind. Who is she…this stranger?

She is light, a frame of a person whose existence pervades me. I gaze at her, wondering who is she that sits in this corner, always reading or tossing comments at the TV. Even when I know “mother” is the word for her, it’s a word and yet, nothing like that comes to mind when I think of her, not who she is and what she likes, what she cares about and what she fears. Mother is a word I can’t define. She was beside me some time ago. I could reach her if I tried.

I hold out my hand, wriggling my fingers, anticipating the heat and soft skin, only to realize the air is cold. My hand rests at my side, a figment of my imagination making me believe I had ever held it out, knowing at the back of my mind a sad truth I should deny for my sanity, but would not, feeling denial and refusal would just make it hurt when the illusion arises again. She’ll never notice my hand. Even when I lean on her, try to be close. Her warmth is there, but I’m scared. To her, I’m nothing because she’s too far to see me. That’s it, I think.

I open my mouth, wanting to call her, yet my voice disappears around her. We’ve become two planets, revolving around each other, spinning on axes, never meeting one another. If she’s the earth, I’ve transformed into Mercury, burning with the sun at my back, staring at this distant world bursting with life, but try as I might to watch, the sun blinds me and I am forced to turn away, spinning with glimpses of her visage, wondering if she notices me when I can’t see her. What is she feeling? What is she thinking?

The leaves settle amidst the clearing, either resting on the ground or rolling with the winds. Clouds have hidden the sun, casting shadows over shadows. Without thinking about it, I move on, forgetting.

When I glance at the forest floor, I realize I should pick up the leaves, salvage what I can, but of the great mass, I can only hold so many in my hands. Salvaging, sifting through all the colors and patterns, I take a handful or select some here and there, only to release them and look again. But as I pull them out, they become torn and battered, so all I hold when I’m done is a number of leaf fragments, so few intact and clear.

“It’s up to you.”

Memories of old feelings rock in my chest, moving like the waves along the beach, surging forward and receding along the walls of my heart. I listen when she doesn’t know I’m listening. I watch when she doesn’t know I’m watching. The moment I pause, standing in the middle of a staircase as her voice trails to me, keeping still as if those last remnants of words were tweeting birds, fluttering about until they fly away, fading into the skies. Stopping in the midst of space, listening to a radio play through the ceiling. Pausing amongst the creak of boards, a soft glow at my feet, unwavering but hidden by a door, her steady breaths drift through the entrance, but I only stop a moment before I continue and descend.

She didn’t know, I believed, of those moments when I cried without tears and screamed into darkness, but nothing echoed. I needed her. My mother. I wanted to be the small child again who runs to her mother, greet her good morning and smile, looking up to see her wide smile, be encased by her strong arms, believing no one is stronger, instead of hearing only the meaningless laughter that has remained with nothing, no link between us, wiping out all trust and comfort, leaving a brittle print on my side, crumbling with every thought of how far she’s drifted, or how far I’ve drifted. Somehow, I know she is the only one who can understand me, the only one I can relate with, but questions taunt me, leaving my hands forgotten and thoughts in disarray. She becomes forgotten and used.

Does she know I once considered cutting all ties to everyone else, become cold and unfeeling to everyone, a rigid mass that doesn’t care for anything?

Everything except her?

Awareness floods my veins, whenever I see her walk upstairs or see her car drive away, wondering if this was the last time I had with her, ready to cry, hoping to God he doesn’t take her, when I see her back, wanting to say something and see her face again. What expression does she have? Her face is so hard to recall, but then, everyone’s is. Names, faces, words elude me and I know that’s why I can’t remember.

All of her words are wisps of the wind on my flesh that has long disappeared from the clearing. She isn’t made of ideas or feelings. My mind has nothing to latch onto. That scares me because it means I have lost her, I’ve been lost to her. Maybe she wants to speak to me or hold me, lend her hand for me to hold, but I’m too afraid to know, crying in my corner of existence, sobs trapped in my chest because I don’t want her to hear, or to know.

I want to speak with her, but I realize this is a stranger. Times arise when I want to ask her “who are you,” yet retreat, too scared to learn her reaction and ashamed that I, her daughter, have ceased to know her. I’ve forgotten what mother and daughter define. What is a mother? What does she do? I want to learn it, discover how mothers can be so gentle and caring, make memories that are more than the patterns of the leaves.

I want to be the small child again and curl in her mother’s side, embraced by warmth as she dreams of impossible things, but too content to care that they can’t be attained, to be oblivious and forget for once, the pain I feel I’m causing this woman with my selfish whims and unseeing eyes, or uncaring heart, able to reach out with untouched innocence, accepting all of her and having no care for what others may say and tell me in whispers when she is wound up, growing old and bearing the physical pains of a body that’s falling apart, which I hope I am one of the many motivations for staying strong and alive.

What can I do for her? There’s plenty, I know, but insecurities have turned my hands and legs to stone, so I watch. That world has disappeared. Mercury can do nothing for earth.

I shiver. The day is becoming colder. Above me, the trees sway and the tips of their branches graze my cheeks like the caress of caring hands. Something inside urges me forward as the sunlight dims and travels on over the hills rising from the soil. I forgot something. What was I thinking about?

A chill blankets me. I force myself to stop shivering, a skill I’ve tailored since I came here, losing the world outside this forest and choosing to reside amidst the trees.

When my hand lifts into the winds, I smile and think of her because a glimpse flashes across my mind of her. Someday I’ll know this presence, learn their fears and concerns, their likes and dislikes, be able to speak with them without the wall of silence separating the space we live in. I think I remember.

If I become the moon, earth will notice me, right? But that’s another day, isn’t it.

God.

Don’t take earth from me

Turn me into the moon

And one day, her birds will reach me

I’ll do my best. Learn not to fear.

No barrier to say I’m not here.

I’m here and I remember

Earth is always with her moon

Reviews

[Lady]

I have some great advice for you but first I must say that you have a gift with expressing vivid emotion through imagery. I completely feel this girl's sadness, her longing for her mother's attention and affection. I love the comparison you used with the planets, and the ending idea of becoming the moon to her planet Earth - so that maybe she'll be noticed. Very beautiful.

My advice for you would be to cut back on the detail and shorten some of the sentences. Most of them feel like run on phrases, and some of them could be edited to be read much easier and feel smoother and cleaner. I myself felt like I was being consumed by this forest she was describing. It was too all over the place. For a while I wasn't even sure what was going on. And actually, this entire chapter felt like a gigantic description. Just too much going on. A lot of it needs to be edited out so it's easier to comprehend and make it through to the end.

"The world became a forest and for months, the further I wandered, the more the sun faded and night consumed all light."

Try this version instead:

Months passed and the world I once knew became a forest; the further I wandered, the more the sun seemed to fade out against the tall trunks and the thousands of leaves that lay stretched out above me. And before I knew it, the light was entirely gone, blocked out and replaced by an unfamiliar darkness.

This is more clear, I as the reader can understand the parallel between the overgrown forest and the girl's relationship with her mother. And you know what, I'd say after one small paragraph like this, you can be done with the comparison off the forest. Describe the mother more now. And be clear about it. Give your readers a direct example of why their mother, daughter relationship has been ruined. What exactly has the mother done?

I love what you've done here, but I strongly suggest you clean up this piece by eliminating the unnecessary descriptions. Less is more!

Keep up the beautiful writing! Hope this helps.

Lady