thethemeis: Idols
theauthoris: Aaron Twentythree
We should have known their relationship wasn’t healthy from the start. She was obsessed with him, dependent on him, following him everywhere like a lost puppy. Her eyes grew wide and tearful and her body recoiled into an invisible shell even when he just left the room. When he went to work for the day, she would hardly be able to lift herself from the sofa, sitting there all day barely saying a word and biting her nails. You could encourage her to open up, try as hard as you could to charm her out of her basket, but she just wouldn’t be happy until he returned.
So we tried to wean them off each other. When two people are that close, you can’t just tear them apart; but we tried to ease in a kind of space between them, a small amount of slack so that they both had space to blossom independently.
Obviously, when he was offered that three-month placement in Slough, we encouraged him to take it with zeal. He was unsure how she’d react being so far from him for a quarter of a year, but we told him it would be great for her, and that by the time he came back she’d be a new girl. So he left, and the hell started.
At first, she threw a tantrum every day. Not twenty-four hours could go by without a plate being smashed or a glass being thrown against a wall. All her frustration was aimed at us, the people who had torn her from her idol. We thought it’d pass, that it’d make her stronger, but it just got worse.
Soon, she’d leave the house and go missing for a couple of days and come back in messy clothes with a handful of stolen goods. She’d come back smoking two cigarettes at once with FUCK THE WORLD written across her forehead in lipstick. I begged her, implored her to straighten up and fly right; but she didn’t want to know. She wouldn’t be happy until he was back.
Then, with only two months before his return, we got a phone call from the police, telling us to come to the church down the road as soon as possible. “There’s a situation,” they said, “that requires your attention.”
She was standing on the roof, screaming at the top of her lungs, incomprehensible wailing that I could only guess would translate to “bring him back”. I would have been reluctant – the first rule of parenting is never to give a child something they’re screaming about just because they’re screaming about it – but when that child is standing on the roof of a church screaming it, looking ready to jump, you just oblige.
He arrived three hours later, tired from the drive and slightly irritated that he was dragged away in the middle of a work day, and spoke to the attending police officers for a while before climbing the stairs to join her on the roof. From down there on the pavement, we saw him approach her cautiously, trying not to step as close to the edge as she was. We saw him talk slowly and calmly to her, persuading her to step away.
We saw her posture ease up, the tension slowly drain out of her. She was happy again, now that her idol was back. Just when she needed him, he had come; and she was noticeably happier already.
After a few minutes of talking, it seemed to be resolved. She stepped back from the edge just a foot, and he embraced her in his arms. She nestled her head into his chest, and their hug displayed a love so infectious that all of us on the pavement jumped up and down with relief. Some people clapped. I saw a lady police officer wipe a tear from her eye.
Then she jumped. With her arms still around her brother, my daughter launched herself from the roof, dragging him down toward the ground with her. Head first, streamlined, like a falling dart, they rushed toward the concrete floor a hundred feet below, and the crowd fell silent. All relief was obliterated, and a mere second later, so were both of their heads. They hit the ground with a thud, and I was too shell shocked to react until minutes later.
I guess she wanted to ensure that she’d never have to be without him again. I guess she hoped that by dying together, they would be together forever. But whatever she believed, she’s left me childless and feeling like I have no purpose. All because I wasn’t sensible enough to nip her obsession in the bud.
So we tried to wean them off each other. When two people are that close, you can’t just tear them apart; but we tried to ease in a kind of space between them, a small amount of slack so that they both had space to blossom independently.
Obviously, when he was offered that three-month placement in Slough, we encouraged him to take it with zeal. He was unsure how she’d react being so far from him for a quarter of a year, but we told him it would be great for her, and that by the time he came back she’d be a new girl. So he left, and the hell started.
At first, she threw a tantrum every day. Not twenty-four hours could go by without a plate being smashed or a glass being thrown against a wall. All her frustration was aimed at us, the people who had torn her from her idol. We thought it’d pass, that it’d make her stronger, but it just got worse.
Soon, she’d leave the house and go missing for a couple of days and come back in messy clothes with a handful of stolen goods. She’d come back smoking two cigarettes at once with FUCK THE WORLD written across her forehead in lipstick. I begged her, implored her to straighten up and fly right; but she didn’t want to know. She wouldn’t be happy until he was back.
Then, with only two months before his return, we got a phone call from the police, telling us to come to the church down the road as soon as possible. “There’s a situation,” they said, “that requires your attention.”
She was standing on the roof, screaming at the top of her lungs, incomprehensible wailing that I could only guess would translate to “bring him back”. I would have been reluctant – the first rule of parenting is never to give a child something they’re screaming about just because they’re screaming about it – but when that child is standing on the roof of a church screaming it, looking ready to jump, you just oblige.
He arrived three hours later, tired from the drive and slightly irritated that he was dragged away in the middle of a work day, and spoke to the attending police officers for a while before climbing the stairs to join her on the roof. From down there on the pavement, we saw him approach her cautiously, trying not to step as close to the edge as she was. We saw him talk slowly and calmly to her, persuading her to step away.
We saw her posture ease up, the tension slowly drain out of her. She was happy again, now that her idol was back. Just when she needed him, he had come; and she was noticeably happier already.
After a few minutes of talking, it seemed to be resolved. She stepped back from the edge just a foot, and he embraced her in his arms. She nestled her head into his chest, and their hug displayed a love so infectious that all of us on the pavement jumped up and down with relief. Some people clapped. I saw a lady police officer wipe a tear from her eye.
Then she jumped. With her arms still around her brother, my daughter launched herself from the roof, dragging him down toward the ground with her. Head first, streamlined, like a falling dart, they rushed toward the concrete floor a hundred feet below, and the crowd fell silent. All relief was obliterated, and a mere second later, so were both of their heads. They hit the ground with a thud, and I was too shell shocked to react until minutes later.
I guess she wanted to ensure that she’d never have to be without him again. I guess she hoped that by dying together, they would be together forever. But whatever she believed, she’s left me childless and feeling like I have no purpose. All because I wasn’t sensible enough to nip her obsession in the bud.
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