the little people inside

“I see you” He says. His voice is soft. Careful. Their bodies are tangled up as they lay there in the tall grass, bedded down among the aspen trees. The mountains are watching. He is stroking her arm. His face is close to hers, watching her, waiting for their eyes to meet.

“You do not.” She says. Her voice is hard. Steady. She will not look him in the eyes. She knows he is right, and she is mad about it. She wants to pout and stamp around, like a child. She wants him to feel her anger and her hurt. “If you see me, why do you leave me?” She wants to ask. “Why do you not want to stay?” She wants to ask. Her magic is twisting to get out, looking for ways to keep him here.

She holds her magic inside. She watches the grass and the leaves instead, as they move in the wind and the sun. She listens as he starts to hum. Tears begin to leak out of her eyes. She is mad they betray her. She wishes they could stay forever. She had let herself believe they could, for a moment. Another reason she is mad. Mad mad mad. The anger is like a shield.

“You do not see me.” She says again. Her voice is hard. Indignant.

“I think I do.” He says. He knows he is right. His voice is still soft. Kind. He is wiping away her tears as they roll down her face. He is gentle with her. A part of her loves that about him, pulls for her to soften and let him in. “I see you. Look at me. I am here. I am here, right now. Be here with me.” He says. Her magic is still twisting, reaching for him. She does not let it out.

She knows here will be over soon, and then they will both be there. Separate. Away. And he will not remember her. He will not remember. He will not remember. He will not remember. She tells herself this again and again to stay hard. (Note: The fucked-up thing is that she chose him for this reason – because he will not stay, and he will not remember.) He wants her to be soft, but she will stay hard to keep him out. She must, for protection.

He is still watching her. He is wiping away the tears, humming quietly, patiently waiting for her to find her way back. He is so good and soft right now. She knows it is her magic that brought this part of him here, and it will not last. She is not magic enough to get this part of him to stay. Her magic will not work once they leave this place, and he will not remember her. He will not remember. He will not remember. He will not remember.

“You do not see me.” She says again, whispering this time. And she knows she is right. He does not see her, and he does not love her. He keeps himself safe by going away. She feels sad for him. For both of them. She remembers how scared he looked last night when she found him with her magic. She wants to hold him. Tell him it will be okay. That she can help him stay. She feels the desire to soften again, let him in.

She takes a breath. Her tears have dried up. She looks him in the eyes. She touches his face gently. Kisses him softly. She feels her magic pulling, looking for ways to keep him here. She holds it inside. She is softer now, but she keeps a part of herself closed to him. Closed, closed, closed. She must, for protection.

Days later, she is alone, and she is sad. She has so much she wants to tell him. She has so much magic she wants to show him. Love she wants to give him.

 “I do not care. I do not care.” She tells herself. She puffs up her chest and sticks out her chin. She thinks she is keeping herself safe by holding all this anger, using it as a wall to contain her magic. She feels the magic pulling – it wants to find him. Find him and bring him back, hold him, love him. Or find him and make him feel what she feels – angry, hurt, lonely.

She looks at the little one and the teenager, knowing these feelings are theirs. The one who wants to love and the one who wants to punish. She wants to help them with her magic, but they want such different things. She isn’t sure how to help. She is confused. Overwhelmed. She looks up to the sky. “It is okay if he does not remember us. I am magic. I am magic, and I am enough.” She almost believes herself as she says it.

 She feels sadness growing, coming from the younger one. She looks at her. She is little, with big, scared, lonely eyes. “Why are we not enough for him?” She says to the magic one. Tears start to leak out of her face. “Where did he go? I want him to hold me. I want him to hold me. I don’t want him to leave. I want him to stay. Why won’t he stay?” She feels scared. Desperate. The magic one can feel her panic, and it makes her afraid too. She is drowning in the sad and the lonely and the fear. “Why won’t he stay? Why does he not love me?” She is so little, and so scared. She just wants to be held. Loved. She does not understand.

 “He does not see us.” The magic one says. She does not believe herself. The little one does not believe her either; she knows he saw her. She felt it. She gets smaller, sadder. “Why won’t he hold us? Why does he leave? Why won’t he stay and play and hold me? Why does he not love us? Why? Where does he go? Why hasn’t he come back for me?” The little one is sad. She is sad, sad, sad. She wants to be loved. She does not understand why he has not come back for her.  She doesn’t understand, and she wants the magic one to help her.

 (The little one is alone, sobbing. Darkness is all around her. She cannot see her way out. She is at her parents’ door, scratching, pleading. “Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.” She is so afraid. She thinks she might die out here. It is so dark, and she is so alone. She does not understand why they won’t come out to rescue her. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. She does not know what she does to make either happen. Maybe they don’t hear her? Maybe they don’t understand? She gets louder as the fear gets bigger. Her eyes are big, trying to see the monsters in the dark. “Please. Mom. Please.” Her voice is little. She feels desperate. She thinks she will die out here. The hallway is so long and dark and scary and filled with monsters. She sobs harder and the aloneness gets bigger. She is trapped here, alone in the darkness.)

 The magic one listens and feels for and with her. She does not know what to do. She showed him her magic, she showed him all her magic and he still did not stay. She does not know why, either. Is she not enough? She wonders. Maybe she did not use her magic right. Maybe she needs more magic, different magic. She wants to go and find him. She will find him, and she will make him stay. She will use her magic and he will see her and stay.

 But she knows she cannot. She is learning the boundaries of her magic. And that makes her sad, sad, sad. She has a tendril leaking out, still seeking, seeking, seeking. It’s small. And it’s sneaky. But it is there. Looking, looking, looking for him to return. The tendril knows how to find him, and it wants to do that. She feels the little thread of connection. What if she tugs on it? Will he respond? Her magic gets excited; ideas start for how she could make him stay.

 No. She cannot. She sets her chin and grits her teeth. They will be okay. She will not let him take her magic. She looks to the teenager, and sees she is mad. No, not mad. Fed up. Agitated? Hard to say. She doesn’t want to be defined. Don’t tell her what she feels because you won’t be right. She doesn’t understand the point of any of this. Why are we thinking about him? We’re wasting energy. All of it is pointless. He doesn’t care. Even if he does, it won’t last. He is going to leave. She would rather accept that reality now. She would rather seal herself off. She is cold, hard. She doesn’t care. She’s fine on her own. She has her books to keep her company. Music. She draws sometimes. She has a few friends. She’s fine. She doesn’t need or want him.

(Just like she didn’t need or want her mom. Who cares that mom went off the rails? That’s what people do. Not our problem. That’s between mom and dad. We’re fine. Sure, maybe it would be nice to have someone to help her… she can admit that. But it’s fine. She will help herself. She learned how to make a grilled cheese the other day and taught her little sister. That’s pretty badass. She doesn’t need help. She has her books. Music. A few friends. She’s fine. She doesn’t need or want mom to help her. Too unreliable. People are too unreliable.)

The magic one is inclined to agree. She likes the cold, hard feeling because it helps her. She turns back toward the little one. “I will entertain us. I will be enough. I am magic.” She reminds her. And she pretends like she does not want him to come back, starts doing tricks to distract the little one.

Behind her is the little tendril, sneaking out, looking, looking, looking. And she is not sure when she’ll pull it back.