Post by maggie on Jun 16, 2007 4:55:34 GMT 10
I initially started a Maggie/Abby fic just after my own mother passed away last year and ended up hating how it was turning out. After several renewed attempts, my Creative Writing teacher encouraged me to continue and I found inspiration in my muse, as usual, Alanis. Each chapter is a snippet into Abby's younger years, in no particular order, simply inspired by each subsequent line of the song. It's an experiment of sorts and a challenge for many reasons - delving into the terrifying first person, portraying manic depression in a light I hope will give insight to my readers, and tackling a story that has a lot of personal attatchments. This dedication is threefold: first, to my own mother, who minded my grammar from a young age and sent me into the world of writing with a fanatical obsession over proper form. Second, to the friends I have who suffer from manic depression, and in writing this I hope to spread awareness. And three, to my Creative Writing classmates and professor who encouraged me along the way and made me laugh in the process. Namaste.
“I Pray for peace”
Christmas Eve, 1987 (Age Eighteen)
We’ve been driving for nearly twenty minutes. I have no idea where I am, and the snow is picking up. I’m freezing without my coat, but I didn’t stop as I left. I just had to get us out of there.
Maggie begged me to come home for Christmas. I told her no, told her I was too busy, told her my friend had invited me to her parents’ house. But she asked over and over, and finally, she had Eric ask me. It was a dirty move. I can’t say no to my baby brother. So I drove to Milwaukee, three hours in the snow and sleet, in my 1978 Honda that shudders when I go over 50 miles per hour. The first day and a half were fine. Maggie seemed almost normal, baking cookies, buying a turkey. I took Eric sledding, and it was...nice. Like we were a regular family. And then I went to the store to buy cranberry sauce and all hell broke loose. I walked in to the smell of burned turkey. Baking sheets were strewn around the kitchen, crumbs everywhere, broken dishes. My mother sitting in the middle of the floor, crying and screaming, Eric backed against the wall looking shaken, tears running down his face. I took him by the arm and marched him out of the house, to the car, away from her. My blood boiled. He’s twelve years old and it’s Christmas eve. I won’t let her do this to him.
Eric has been silent the whole ride, wrapped in the front seat in a ratty blanket that was lying in my backseat. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know he’s the only thing that matters in my life, and I won’t let her hurt him. I see lights and people ahead. It’s Christmas Eve, and everything is closed, but here are people and lights and...it’s a church. I don’t think, I just pull into the parking lot and park the car. I turn to my brother, my beautiful, sweet, little brother who hasn’t done anything wrong and I finally speak. “Let’s go inside.”
He nods. Neither of us have ever been interested in going to church, but it doesn’t make a difference right now. It’s Christmas Eve. We might as well.
We sit in the back, my arm around him. We half listen, half gaze around at the decoration, and enjoy the warmth and comfort in this place. The minister tells us all to bow our heads in prayer. I close my eyes and rest my head on my folded hands as I’ve seen people do in movies. Before I realize it, tears are rolling down my face, dropping onto my lap. I bite down on my lip to keep from making a noise. I won’t let Eric see me cry. I begin praying, as best I know how. I don’t know who or what I’m praying to, I just know I need something to change. Some help. Some peace.
I wipe my eyes hastily as the minister speaks again. I turn to Eric and manage, somehow, to smile. “You want to go home?”
He nods, and I take his hand. It’s time to go pick up the pieces again.
“Pray for Peace”
Alanis Morissette
I pray for peace
They require me to kick into high gear
We may as well have had our phDs
My quickened pulse was never taken into account
I pray they let out or talk it out
She would give me a wink across the room
I would have made a really good lawyer
I had a really good strategic way to hide the holes in the wall
Thank God it was the god damn wall
We were the feminine forces
Who would calm my mother down?
Who would calm me down once I talked her through it?
My mother and I were the official peace makers
It was a full time job
I would send my mother directly to bed, do not collect 200
We'd talk about it ‘till 5am when I’d visit five years later
We would pray for peace
It was perfectly familiar and comfortable
Alanis Morissette
I pray for peace
They require me to kick into high gear
We may as well have had our phDs
My quickened pulse was never taken into account
I pray they let out or talk it out
She would give me a wink across the room
I would have made a really good lawyer
I had a really good strategic way to hide the holes in the wall
Thank God it was the god damn wall
We were the feminine forces
Who would calm my mother down?
Who would calm me down once I talked her through it?
My mother and I were the official peace makers
It was a full time job
I would send my mother directly to bed, do not collect 200
We'd talk about it ‘till 5am when I’d visit five years later
We would pray for peace
It was perfectly familiar and comfortable
“I Pray for peace”
Christmas Eve, 1987 (Age Eighteen)
We’ve been driving for nearly twenty minutes. I have no idea where I am, and the snow is picking up. I’m freezing without my coat, but I didn’t stop as I left. I just had to get us out of there.
Maggie begged me to come home for Christmas. I told her no, told her I was too busy, told her my friend had invited me to her parents’ house. But she asked over and over, and finally, she had Eric ask me. It was a dirty move. I can’t say no to my baby brother. So I drove to Milwaukee, three hours in the snow and sleet, in my 1978 Honda that shudders when I go over 50 miles per hour. The first day and a half were fine. Maggie seemed almost normal, baking cookies, buying a turkey. I took Eric sledding, and it was...nice. Like we were a regular family. And then I went to the store to buy cranberry sauce and all hell broke loose. I walked in to the smell of burned turkey. Baking sheets were strewn around the kitchen, crumbs everywhere, broken dishes. My mother sitting in the middle of the floor, crying and screaming, Eric backed against the wall looking shaken, tears running down his face. I took him by the arm and marched him out of the house, to the car, away from her. My blood boiled. He’s twelve years old and it’s Christmas eve. I won’t let her do this to him.
Eric has been silent the whole ride, wrapped in the front seat in a ratty blanket that was lying in my backseat. I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know he’s the only thing that matters in my life, and I won’t let her hurt him. I see lights and people ahead. It’s Christmas Eve, and everything is closed, but here are people and lights and...it’s a church. I don’t think, I just pull into the parking lot and park the car. I turn to my brother, my beautiful, sweet, little brother who hasn’t done anything wrong and I finally speak. “Let’s go inside.”
He nods. Neither of us have ever been interested in going to church, but it doesn’t make a difference right now. It’s Christmas Eve. We might as well.
We sit in the back, my arm around him. We half listen, half gaze around at the decoration, and enjoy the warmth and comfort in this place. The minister tells us all to bow our heads in prayer. I close my eyes and rest my head on my folded hands as I’ve seen people do in movies. Before I realize it, tears are rolling down my face, dropping onto my lap. I bite down on my lip to keep from making a noise. I won’t let Eric see me cry. I begin praying, as best I know how. I don’t know who or what I’m praying to, I just know I need something to change. Some help. Some peace.
I wipe my eyes hastily as the minister speaks again. I turn to Eric and manage, somehow, to smile. “You want to go home?”
He nods, and I take his hand. It’s time to go pick up the pieces again.