By Mariam Khan
Dark. It was so dark.
The coffin of her mind, could no longer contain it all. The mask started to crack, the facade about to fall off, but then;
"Hi, Good morning!"
"Oh hey. Good morning!" A bright smile on her face as she greeted him. What was his name again, the one who greeted her? Right, Ezra.
"Seeing you after so long. You look radiant! And you've lost so much weight... Tell me, are you on a diet?" A short laugh at that joke, one which I made sure to echo with my own.
"No diet, just plain every day hassles. They work better than most diets."
“Truer words have never been spoken. Its all just work this and family that. No relief from these responsibilities, aye.” He patted his pockets as if looking for something and then almost immediately stopped. With a slight grin, he crossed his arms and said, “Used to smoke, you know. Left it only about a year ago, yet sometimes it feels almost as if years have passed. Old habits die hard.”
It was as if him admitting his flaw gave me the courage to share my story too, as if we were two soldiers exchanging memories of battles long since passed, ones where we fell and rose, lost and won.
Two conspirators basking in the shadow of a war which forged them anew.
The words flew from my mouth as if given wings which bowed to no will but theirs.
“I agree. Its not easy to leave the dark phase behind and whitewash the canvass of our memories just to start a fresh painting on your mind’s canvass. Some dark splotches still manage to seep through.”
"That’s deep." A slight twitch of his eyebrow as he stood there, awkwardly. Lost for words as he contemplated on his next words as if waiting for my reaction. Oh, how could I forget that these two things couldn’t be compared. He’d actually overcome something and here I was, comparing it to the silly battles inside my mind.
How Stupid.
How utterly Stupid!
I shouldn't have said that, and now all I could do was watch myself shatter again, shatter due to something so silly, so inconsequential; all the while waiting for that typical sound of someone uttering 'be positive, just chill', all various lies to hide the discomfort of truth. Of what it may mean to them, of what it may reveal. And with those thoughts swirling in my mind, I once more fell defenceless against the onslaught of the anxiety which reared its ugly head as the sound of sobs echoed in my ears.
A child, a sweet little girl, no older than five sat near the torn foot of her favourite teddy bear as heavy sobs rocked through her tiny self.
“What happened baby? Why is my Mar-Mar crying?”
“Pa, lo-look look,” every word was punctuated by the sound of sniffles as she tried to stop her tears. “Fern tore Mr. Snuffles. He got so much hurty hurt. Pa even baby Mar-Mar sad-“
“Hush sweety, now now, hush. No need to cry. Go play with the others. You’re Pa’s strong girl, right? And strong girls don’t cry.”
Why don’t strong girls cry when sad? She hated being strong.
A young girl, stepping on the thrush stone of adolescence lay on her bed as soft sobs racked her body. “Martha, what happened? Why are you crying again? What happened now?’’ Wiping her tears, she turned towards her mother. She’ll understand, won’t she? Afterall doesn’t she always tell me to speak to her? “Ma, am I stupid? Phoebe said that-” “Oh come now! Stop crying over what she said. If you let what she says get to you, that’s stupid. Stay strong sweetheart, many people will say harsh things to you and it only gets worse. You can’t go crying every time, can you? Now come on, give me a smile. Strong girls don’t cry.”
A hug and her mother’s comforting smile. That’s all she’d wanted.
A girl blossoming into adulthood sat staring at the mirror as periodic heaves racked her body. “Martha! Why are you crying girl? Who broke your heart? Let me go punch that idiot in the face!” “Nothing.”
“When did you start lying to your best friend? Are you, somehow, angry at me?”
“No, you idiot! Why would I be angry at you?”
“So?”
She could share it with her, right? They were partners in crime. Of course, she would understand.
“I don’t even know why I’m upset. It’s so stupid. It’s just that Shay said that I don’t-“
“Seriously Mar, why do you even care about what she tells you. You’re so much better than that. Don’t let it get to you. Chin up, Strong girls don’t cry.”
A simple day spent talking about it all was what she wanted. But that was just her impulsiveness speaking, wasn’t it?
A young woman, coming into herself sat silent as tears flowed a trail down her face.
“Martha, are you crying? What happened?”
“Nothing Bree, just tensed about some issues.”
“It’s alright Mar, just be positive. Let’s go grab a coffee and gossip about everything. Get your mind of this stress of yours.”
“Sure, Let’s go.”
Maybe she could speak about her problems there-
“And you know what? Be strong, and don’t cry. Strong girls don’t cry!”
Her pillow would once again be soaked tonight, but of course, She was making a big deal out of nothing.
A lady, set on her path to cement her identity, sat focussed on the screen in front of her.
“Are you fine Ms .Monroe?”
“Yes sir. I’m alright. Thanks for asking.” A statement which she accompanied with a smile which felt fake to even her as it formed, her eyes blurred with tears set on escaping the confines she so stringently managed to put in place; and yet for all her worth, she tried.
“That’s good. Now don’t you lose hope Martha. Let me share a trick of the trade with you, stay positive, work harder, and keep your head down. And you’ll see how you bag that promotion.”
“I sure will try harder.”
“That’s the strong woman I know. Come on now, push harder. Strong girls don’t cry.”
I wipe away that one traitorous tear which still managed to escape. After all, Strong girls didn’t cry.
It felt as if eons separated the memories of that girl from her, and yet no more than a curtain of gossamer stood between them. She felt as if hours had passed, spent trapped in her mind, but it was no more than a few blinks;
And then, piercing through the echo of the cacophony raging through me,
"I understand."
And there, a light at the end of the tunnel. She was finally home.
And she could cry, for here, she no longer had to be the strong girl the world expected of her.
By Mariam Khan
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