Wow, almost a year and nothing. I actually haven't been able to write anything specifically for this yet, but I did write up something for a class during fall quarter, so I figured 'what the hell?' Here it is in all it's Helvetican glory.
Think of a warm summer night. And in this night there are two women, not in the same place you understand. One sits in her living, the rain patting down on the windows outside. The other sits out on the porch, the night air dry and warm. One is aging, while the other maintains the appearance of youth. One is named is named Sorrow, and the other is named Regret. This is Sorrow's tale: "I remember the day that I left home. I was only seventeen, but I was ready to go, I was ready to leave. I was ready to leave my siblings, whom I'd half-raised myself, I was ready to leave a mother who could not keep a husband to save her own life. I was ready to leave the family gatherings that always devolved into shouting matches. Yes, it was time to go. I left my old home and I grew up, I went to college and got a career. My brothers and sisters grew up after me, but not all are here tonight, and I am. To describe why, is to describe why despite leaving home, I could not escape from my family disfunction. One brother burned down my mother's house, another ate his own gun. But my sister was the most tragic, leaving behind two young sons, after she had too much of a prescription drug. After that I left it behind, I lost contact with all remaining ties to the family, what little remained. It gave me time to reflect, to resolve to never have a family like that. To treat them with love and respect, always be there for them. A simple task when put forth like that, but something which was never given to me. And now I have a family, what's left of it, though in a good way. They grow up so fast don't they? And I have slowly begun speaking to my remaining brother again, though slowly, as he reminds me why I left. But still I am left with these defining questions. Who am I? I am a mother. How have I grown? I have learned from my own experiences, to better the lives of my children. I am no longer the young girl who ran from home. I have gained perspective in my years between here and then, and now I am a woman, grown and aged. But still I wish that my earlier years could have been different" Sorrow continues to write as the rain pours down on the windows. The weather seeming comfortably far away, but memories of old childhood transgressions uncomfortably close.
Meanwhile, Regret sits on the second step of her porch. The night sky is cloudless, and the moon is full. She leans back as she writes. This is Regret's story: "I'm surprised. I have a few moments to myself to write this, but I must keep this short, as my little one will need me before long. My family was always dysfunctional, the generational split of the sixties and seventies only increased this. But ironically it was after this that things began to go wrong, we were all adults and we were all ready to put the past behind us. Well, most of us were. One of my brothers could not let it go. Being the youngest he was the pampered one. He manipulated our mother and father against each other in their most difficult of times, he wanted his way. When that eventually failed, he asked for my loyalty against our parents. When I did not give it he demanded it of me. This was not new, he had been like this since we were children, when I had shied away from him. He took away my confidence, but not this time. He flew into a rage, but again this wasn't new. He'd always thrown tantrums when he did not get what he wanted. He made a few useless gestures, he sued our father, he hit our brother, he terrorized our sister. And then he left. We have not heard from him, and we hope to never hear from him again. He took away my fire, but I took it back. I saw how much of a child he still was, and why. And to think that for most of my life I had been scared and in awe of him. But he was still a child. My only wish is that I could have seen this sooner."
You may ask what the significance of these two women are, and I would not have an answer, but is the why it important? This was the personal stories of two people. Were they not worth knowing?