Jaguar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kittydesade) wrote2012-11-13 04:00 pm
kittydesade) wrote2012-11-13 04:00 pm
(no subject)
First, there's that moment where you heard the words but the rest of your mind is still processing them. They were in English (or one of the several languages you speak) and you know their literal meaning, even the semantic meaning, but the part where they affect you has yet to hit; it's just so much noise in your ear.
Then there's the chill and the suddenness, when everyone's talking around you and finding things to say and you're standing there with your hand over your mouth going but... that can't be right. But that's not possible. But... and your mind goes round and round in circles. And everything gets pushed to one side while you stare at nothing and try to find where you were standing a second ago, because that place was solid and good and roughly room temperature.
Then comes the moment when you start to cry. And it's one or two tears at first, and you're sort of recovered and you go about your business, making extra careful sure to do things properly the first time, double-checking each step, because this is a prime time for something small to screw up. But you do the fiddly small things anyway. With tears pouring down your cheeks because now you've started crying and you can't stop. And your mind is still catching up to it. Like your body has reached the tears pouring down stage (as everyone quietly moves around you and pretends you're not crying until it looks like you need a hug.) but your mind is still standing there with a hand over your mouth.
And then your mind catches up and now your mind's sobbing uncontrollably but the tears have slowed to a trickle, and your mind's sobbing and begging and going but I was just going to look her up! But I just got here again! And you try to scrabble around for all those memories of sitting around playing stupid D&D type board games and curling up on the floor watching movies you really weren't old enough to see, and curling up on the window seat of the weaving room that you weren't barely tall enough to clamber on. And making that stupidass movie when you were eight that had at least a decent script for a bunch of eight year olds but when you were thirteen you were mortified. And making dreamcatchers. And making painted decorated gourds. And gluing crystals onto every fucking thing that would stand still. And making fried pies. And then eating them, with your fingers all sticky. And going to Dollywood. And curling up at the end of a long day and singing songs around the fire. And swimming in the pond. And going riding. And watching her punch that horse in the nose for trying to bite the kids, probably not as hard, you think, now that you're an adult, as it seemed like when you were a kid but goddamn she was badass. And that horse was a mean little shit. And helping groom the horses. And bouncing on the stupid trampoline while she watched with that 'don't you fall and break your fool neck now' look. And learning how to be good. And learning how to be wise. And learning woods skills from the Cherokee hunters she knew, and tanning deer hides, and making drums and masks out of things and sitting around the fire with your drums and masks and telling stories and singing more songs. Because you were little apprentice magical people then. And she taught you how to be magical.
And now you sit here crying hysterically because some stupid doctor who doesn't know how badass she is said she has stage four cancer of the liver, spine, and breast. And at first when he came in to tell you all the news all you could do is stare at this old man with all the gray-white hair but still the same lanky frame and still the same ridiculous amount of denim and go is that .... that can't be. Is it? Because yeah, that's your old whatever. None of the languages you know have words for this. But that's him, and that was her, and now she has cancer.
So, that happened.
If I'm scarce for the next few days, you know why. I might pull my routines over my head and scream NO NO NO NO NO THIS ISN'T HAPPENING to myself, so it might look normal. Not sure yet.
Then there's the chill and the suddenness, when everyone's talking around you and finding things to say and you're standing there with your hand over your mouth going but... that can't be right. But that's not possible. But... and your mind goes round and round in circles. And everything gets pushed to one side while you stare at nothing and try to find where you were standing a second ago, because that place was solid and good and roughly room temperature.
Then comes the moment when you start to cry. And it's one or two tears at first, and you're sort of recovered and you go about your business, making extra careful sure to do things properly the first time, double-checking each step, because this is a prime time for something small to screw up. But you do the fiddly small things anyway. With tears pouring down your cheeks because now you've started crying and you can't stop. And your mind is still catching up to it. Like your body has reached the tears pouring down stage (as everyone quietly moves around you and pretends you're not crying until it looks like you need a hug.) but your mind is still standing there with a hand over your mouth.
And then your mind catches up and now your mind's sobbing uncontrollably but the tears have slowed to a trickle, and your mind's sobbing and begging and going but I was just going to look her up! But I just got here again! And you try to scrabble around for all those memories of sitting around playing stupid D&D type board games and curling up on the floor watching movies you really weren't old enough to see, and curling up on the window seat of the weaving room that you weren't barely tall enough to clamber on. And making that stupidass movie when you were eight that had at least a decent script for a bunch of eight year olds but when you were thirteen you were mortified. And making dreamcatchers. And making painted decorated gourds. And gluing crystals onto every fucking thing that would stand still. And making fried pies. And then eating them, with your fingers all sticky. And going to Dollywood. And curling up at the end of a long day and singing songs around the fire. And swimming in the pond. And going riding. And watching her punch that horse in the nose for trying to bite the kids, probably not as hard, you think, now that you're an adult, as it seemed like when you were a kid but goddamn she was badass. And that horse was a mean little shit. And helping groom the horses. And bouncing on the stupid trampoline while she watched with that 'don't you fall and break your fool neck now' look. And learning how to be good. And learning how to be wise. And learning woods skills from the Cherokee hunters she knew, and tanning deer hides, and making drums and masks out of things and sitting around the fire with your drums and masks and telling stories and singing more songs. Because you were little apprentice magical people then. And she taught you how to be magical.
And now you sit here crying hysterically because some stupid doctor who doesn't know how badass she is said she has stage four cancer of the liver, spine, and breast. And at first when he came in to tell you all the news all you could do is stare at this old man with all the gray-white hair but still the same lanky frame and still the same ridiculous amount of denim and go is that .... that can't be. Is it? Because yeah, that's your old whatever. None of the languages you know have words for this. But that's him, and that was her, and now she has cancer.
So, that happened.
If I'm scarce for the next few days, you know why. I might pull my routines over my head and scream NO NO NO NO NO THIS ISN'T HAPPENING to myself, so it might look normal. Not sure yet.
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