Julia Young - Solstice

Solstice

Julia Young

Copyright 2017 Julia Young

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

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ISBN 9781788030878

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Dedicated to my Dads Dad

James Young

Who was tragically lost to the dark

I

Solstice

Whether it was because my mum and dad were sleeping in the spare bedroom, or whether the antibiotics had finally made me feel better, four weeks after a Friday night that had precipitated the most fundamental deep review of my life ever, I had the chair in the bedroom drawn up to the window, curtains open, moon just past full and moonlight flooding in, the best of the stars rotating as we did. Not for a very long time had this happened.

A lonely girl made to feel afraid. The slates on the roofs opposite looked like they were covered with thin powdery snow the light was so bright. Everyone else was in Paris the other thing it reminded me of. This was the state of calm that I needed. November 27. Into the dark nights and shorter days. I reckoned it was 120 days til the clocks changed and we could be through the solstice.

Those nights were nights of being a sentinel. On myself. This was not a fairy tale. I could hear the fox for a start.

The first real question to resolve was why the bed, blank with its white sheet, but a couple of teddies in a bundle at the top (three, including Robin Prosper), did not strike me as being for me.

Looking out the window was not an especially surprising turn of events. When I was little younger about seven this vigil was carried out in the hope someone would arrive sooner but knowledge they would always arrive later. No fanfare mind, or rush to get me, but they did come back.

The window of this particular solstice served one main purpose calm. I wasnt expecting anything to happen, or anyone to come back and get me. It seemed like the bed had never been mine. If it did comfort it was by chance. There was no belonging. It hadnt been safe it had been claustrophobic and a place to be kept.

What to do? The stars kept silent. Imagining Id said something that I didnt say, picturing it, even though it didnt happen, the clock stopped ticking. I couldnt hear had become unable to hear anything subtle or quiet. Searching for the noise I released my mental grip and the ticking resumed. That was how bad it could be in an instant. I shook my head and looked at the shadows being cast by the things on the window sill. The bullfinch Id photographed at the Biologiska Museum in Stockholm. Forever asleep, but forever awake too. I really should go back to bed.

Lay my left palm face down on the surface. Make myself earth to something.

Luckily, the wind kept blowing. Great, hearty, forceful, knock you over strength power ballads of invisibility, roaring around me even when I was in the half moon shelter facing the sea, filling my lungs, shaking me, activating different sides of my neural network. When the wind was calm, I wasnt. Like a claustrophobe, I needed the rushes of air to make me feel released. The sound of the wind the greatest music Id ever heard. I kept the window open at night so it could wrap me up and help me sleep.

The fast moving dove grey clouds on the reserve, rocketing past shaky trees letting leaves go to join others on the footpaths and woodland floors, wiped the slate. Remember and turn your back! Do not turn around, dont think that someone might see you. There is no one. It would have been better to find a snug. A squirrel made a quick dash between me and some other walkers with such a stash of leaves in his mouth I could only guess he was living in some beautiful den. Somewhere hidden, dry, warm, safe. I wanted to be outside, to see, but to be hidden. Without that option immediately available, I hid in the open. Flask, gloves, binoculars. And a robin with a black line of feathers under his right eye. Little fella.

The car rocked in the dark. Having done better on basic tasks in my efforts not to procrastinate over everything, I had fifteen minutes before submitting myself to two hours of mental and physical easing. Inky sky. The lamppost was chinking as it waved wildly. Buffeting, rushing along the wetted street, I was just rocked by the wind and gave in to it. Lay back in the car seat. Allowed my eyes to absorb what was in front of me. The high stone wall. The wooden bench. The arches of the priory comparatively welcoming with soft light to my right across the street. I relaxed. Looked at the black. Out of the car sun roof. Any moment of avoidance welcome. Or, escapism.

Some people I did not want to speak to, I had realised. Others I really didnt want to speak to. I didnt want to hurt anyone though, and later felt sorry that my irritability had spilt over onto those who could perhaps least understand it. Couldnt rewind though and it wasnt clear cut either did they deserve it, albeit many, many years too late perhaps.

If I could be calm, really calm, in some ways then what was all the dreadful wrestling about all the time? Thrashing. Jonathan has said it wasnt the way, it wouldnt be productive he was right, but why did I just want to fold over then?

I folded over. Tried to let it all sink into the ground which somewhere below the layers I was on had seen bloodier conflicts over higher stakes. Youd never know, centuries later.

It was hard to see, driving home. Nothing had blown away. The Christmas trees on the shops in the high street looked beautiful, tasteful. I remembered to buy gifts from the deli exquisite, beautifully wrapped treats, for the people whod appreciate them the most. The beauty would be soothing. Restorative. Fill a gap. Make Christmas more magical, if just for a few moments.

Bed became more like home but thats how it is when youre sick. Given I was slim and athletic; youd think your legs wouldnt ache; but thats also how it is when youre sick. The challenge also lay in realising I was physically sick which I was, and not mentally sick which I had been and probably would be again but wasnt. Where did exhaustion come in between the two? Did mental exhaustion precede physical exhaustion, and Id succumbed to an evil virus? Why had I got pneumonia earlier in the year?

Was I doing too much and then fallen ill and then my mind had decided it wanted a break too?

It didnt matter in some ways. I couldnt exert myself; it was hard to rest both body and mind when I felt I needed to be attending to so much. Switch off the voice of duty, my heart had told me. And so I did.

Home was very quiet. Id bought a new little radio to avoid listening to seaside static, but could only stick short bursts. Spanish learning added voices which I was happy to listen to. Friends and family called rather than messaged which was better tonic than any medication or meditation at the present time.