Word Count: 1,349
Rating:
PG.
Category:
Angst.
Story Status:
Complete.
Summary:
Jeannie finds some old poems - by her brother?!
Beta:
Thank you to Jayne Perry for
the beta-reading.
Scribblings
By Leesa Perrie
It said:
‘five people today; all shouted at me.
anger, hatred; all the same.
tonight I play; music,
sad and lonely.
myself to blame, only.’
It was dated 1980 and written in a ratty old notebook, buried in a box
of stuff; things from childhood. A box placed in the
basement,
and forgotten about, until now.
Jeannie was clearing out the old family home, her mother having died a
few days ago. Kaleb would be coming over to help tomorrow
whilst
a friend looked after Madison. Meredith would not be coming, though. He
said he couldn’t face it; the past. She’d
been angry,
but not surprised. Mer had changed, she had seen it herself,
but
this was an old wound, and painful. More painful perhaps than
she
had realised.
Mom had never liked her son, and Jeannie had known that. Had
heard the arguments between her parents, had heard the blame placed
squarely onto Mer, by both, but mainly by Mom. She knew that
she
had bought into it at first, believed her older brother was to blame
for all that seemed wrong in their home. But adult eyes had
opened up and seen the game for what it was; that he had merely been
the pawn in their ongoing war.
It had hurt when he’d walked out of her life, and yet it had
not
surprised her. Mer was the result of the arguments and the
blame,
the bullying at school, the loneliness he wrapped around himself,
protecting himself from further hurt. Dad had mellowed before
he
died towards his son, but not enough to patch up the
relationship. Mer could at least speak of him from time to
time,
but he never spoke of Mom, and she had never spoken of him, once he had
moved out. No mellowing there, only hardening in her old age.
Jeannie knew she herself had made life difficult at times, the way
little sisters did; blaming him for things she did and knowing that
they would believe her, not him. But still he had cared for
her,
tried to shield her from the arguments. Had tried to be a
brother
to her, but now she knew; he had not truly known how. And
even
now, after all this time, he was still struggling with that; still
learning.
There was another scribbling, a poem in her brother’s
handwriting, and oh, how he must have hidden that talent from them
all. It was dated a few weeks later.
‘today I lost my dream,
music gone silent.
no art, no hope, no feeling.
choose a new dream.
a new scene.’
She remembered after she had returned to Earth, the story that Carter
had told her. They’d kept in touch, trading science
mainly,
but also stories of a certain astrophysicist. The piano story
was
one she had not known; had wished she had.
And she wished she had tried much harder to know her older brother;
truly know him. And she hoped that she could rectify that
now;
that his new life, in that far off city, did not take him from her
before she really had the chance to know him.
There were more of these poems, telling a story of a boy pushed aside,
ignored, misunderstood, and struggling to find an identity.
He
had succeeded in finding an image to show to the world, an identity
based on his intelligence, but oh so fragile. So insecure
below
the surface.
‘they shout, they accuse, they blame.
I am not guilty of their lies.
they hate that which I am.
but I am not so bad.
not so mad; just sad.’
Tears pricked her eyes, and fell. This was more than just
teenage
angst. This was pain, raw and powerful, and
undeserved. In
the basement of the old family home, she finally started to get it; to
get him.
‘curse me, if you must,
I am who I am, for good, for bad.
you have made me
into what you feared.
I am truly weird.
by your standards
I am the strangest child
by your beliefs
I am smart, not quite sane;
I am your bane.
this is your doing,
not mine, so not mine.
I become what you fear,
so curse me, if you will.
swallow the cursed pill;
you made me.
now leave me be.’
She lost track of the time, reading the outpourings of a broken
heart. Despair, anger, confusion, pain; gradually moulding
the
brother she had never truly understood, until now.
So engrossed was she in the past, the revelation, she did not hear the
front door open, did not hear the footsteps or voice calling upstairs,
did not hear the man who came down the stairs, and stood beside her.
“Oh,” a quiet voice, hesitant, awkward,
embarrassed.
“I thought they’d have been thrown out by
now.”
“Mer,” she breathed, hardly believing he was there.
“Yeah, I…um…I didn’t think it
fair
to…you know…leave all this to you.
Thought I should
come…and help, maybe,” he stuttered out in his
endearing
way. “Hope they never read those,” he
added.
“No, I don’t think they did,” she
answered
sadly. “When they packed up your things, it was
done
quickly and…I doubt they stopped to read anything.”
He didn’t need to know the unkind words that his parents had
said, the way they had stuffed things into boxes not caring if they
broke anything; wiping his existence from the house. She was
surprised they had left it down here and not thrown it all out in the
trash; was glad it had been left for her to find.
She smiled at him through her tears, pleased that he had come and
knowing full well how hard this was for him; to come back to this
house, these memories. Placing the notebook down carefully,
she
reached out and hugged him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears silently
falling. “I never knew how bad it was for
you.”
“You were never meant to,” he replied, voice tight
with emotion, awkwardly returning the hug.
And with those words, she realised just how much he had protected her
as she had grown up, proving he was not so hopeless a brother as he had
seemed. Protecting her not just from the arguments, but from
his
own problems; his fear, his pain.
He could so easily have turned her against their parents, and in doing
so, turned them against her. Made her life more like his own,
adding to the unhappiness in the family, but he had hidden it from
her. Protected her.
She could understand now why he had been so difficult, so angry, when
she had left college and married Caleb. He saw her as
throwing
away a promising career, everything, for something he
couldn’t
understand; family. Had feared she would end up like her
parents,
unhappy in their marriage, and taking it out on their eldest
child. It still didn’t excuse him from walking away
from
her, but perhaps now she could better understand his fears for her, and
how he had become a person who put achievement above all
else.
Something that had changed, and was still changing, due largely to his
friends, his surrogate family, on Atlantis. And how sad was
it,
that he’d had to leave this galaxy to find a home; she was
glad
that he had, despite the dangers the place held.
The healing that had started on that alien city, spread further; and
amongst the painful memories that the family home stirred up during the
next few days of sorting and packing and clearing out, good memories
emerged, just a few.
And he left her a new poem, that she found just after he had left to
return to his new home, with a note apologising for its roughness, not
having written anything like this for many, many years, and hoping that
it would be okay. It was, very much so, in fact.
‘you give me another chance,
forgive the unforgivable.
and set me free
from guilt and pain;
help keep me sane.
I bury the past
and live now, at last.’
