The Heart Weeps

A woman creates a getaway for rich children, but feels as though she is failing

She was afraid because he kept pulling her hair, but he was harmless. He comes to the hills with us every weekend and scares the new girls. I could see the tears welling; threatening to spill over, then he would laugh in that raucous manner and the whole camp would wake up and laugh at her.

“Ron stop” I said, in a tired voice because my heels were bruised from the new sneakers I wore. My hair was tangled and my brush was broken, so I too felt like crying, so I knew her pain. He continued, he poked her arm and she let out a wild animal cry that made us all jump. I swore I felt warm liquid trickle from my inner thigh. 

He was taken aback and jumped onto the small bonfire holding the promise of a delicious snack for midnight, which was only two minutes away. I saw the fear sweep across his face and the slight perspiration on his forehead. She lunged at him, I froze because the dainty little red head was now hissing and growling at Ron. Her Marc Jacobs watch glinted in the dark and dangled on her small, thin wrist. When she flicked her arm I saw the marks of fragility and insecurity etched deep within her wrist, then she started crying and the whole camp, who stumbled from their tents with cards gripped in their palms started laughing loosely and carelessly, but I was still afraid.

I took her in my arms, trying to calm her shaking shoulders and her uncontrollable sobs, but she wasn’t having it. She Jerked violently from my embrace and ran into the deep, dark trees.

“Kelly” I called, my voice breaking at the first attempt, but she was gone. I held my head in panic. I moved, and the blisters on my feet made me cry out in agony. Everybody was looking on in a nervous and regretful gaze.

“Marlene” Ron held my shoulder and steered me to face him, but I shook him off in anger. The tears were flowing onto my sweaty, hot cheeks. He tried to hold me with his pale strong arms, but I pushed him off and ran towards the trees, uncertain of the danger that lurked.

I created the idea of the camp for rich kids to escape their spoilt lives on the weekends, for them to understand the world, but I was failing, my rent was due and my husband was hanging on by a thread.

The trail was dark and wet. I could hear the moans of animals awake and hungry. I could just see her wild hazel eyes trying to find a support, a place to sit and cry without much effort. I walked faster trying to get my eyes to stay open and my mind alert.

“Kelly” I bawled, five times without a reply.

Then I heard the whimper, the painful cry and the breaking of branches. I stepped into water gushing past and felt around the empty darkness. I felt a hand, soft and pampered. I felt the hair moistened by the cold damp air and the cheeks stained with tears.

The hands gripped mine and then she slumped. I heard the heavy breathing and the wheezing as she exhaled. She was exhausted and the outside was too much and a little too cold. The moon stared at the pitiful creatures in the wet, dark woods holding each other without saying anything.

I could see myself refusing the cheque, as the man, probably in a dark, structured suit looked at me in confusion. I could, at that moment see the little red head with the gold watch dangling, staring at me from behind the imported curtains. She has been scrubbed clean and the bonus would mean that the woods would never see her again, because of the scratches on her knees and her eyes temporarily red with pain.

At that moment I felt the tears run down my own cheeks as the impact of failure sets in and laugh mockingly at me. She held on to my wrist and I felt the nails dig into my thin skin. Our hearts were still beating rapidly at the fear we encountered. She, at this new wilderness; Me,  facing the pain of failure again and again.

We finally sighed and walked sorrowfully back to the camp site. The marshmallows were burnt beyond recognition and the soothing sound of snoring escaped the sleeping bags and tents. Her hair limped at her shoulders and her clothes were stained with the colour of Earth and decorated with the imprint of leaves.

She stared at me and smiled, and then she laughed loudly. I laughed along and then we were both silent and the fatigue kicked in.

“I failed” I said and coughed

She was silent which meant it was probably true

“No” she said in that small weak voice. But she did not go on. She only sat on a log and the moon shone on her small sad face.

“I did” she murmured, and then her arm turned over and exposed the damaged wrists with the raised veins, a pattern of confusion.

A knife slid from her pocket, smeared with the deep red that flows within. I picked it up and wiped the wasted blood on my faded jeans, and then she slowly bowed her head and rested it on her palms. I could hear her breathe, trying to force back the now monotonous sound that pours from her every night, unable to escape the barrier and lock of a door made from finest wood.

I started a fire once more. My hair was clinging to my face, but I didn't brush it away. I felt the truth crawl up, the nightly reminder that I was the one who needed help. The crazy woman who wore 90s jeans;  the young woman with sliver streaks all about her head. She comes here every weekend, claiming to help, but maybe for herself