Rattlings in my head
Soo. It's never easy to have a half-insane Muse rattling away in your head, partying with your evil twin and generally making a mess all over your relative saneness. Then again, I guess it's better than the alternative. May be. Bleh. Going back to my corner with my thumb now. BTW: DOn't know where this is going, only that it's going.
ME
She'd found the amulet quite by accident. It was displayed along with a myriad of other trinkets at the annual Flea Market and Bazaar. It was the intricate, elegant design that caught her attention. It almost looked Celtic, but not quite. To the untrained eye, it looked just like the other cheap metal trinkets.
She knew better. She'd gently picked it up, feeling the weight and noting the discolorations on the metal were consistent with aged tarnish on pure silver. She'd turned it over, not expecting anything but more tarnish. Tarnish there was, but inscribed in a small, neat script she saw "Amsera has na yn golygu at hynny a wedi bod yn gefn addoed". She'd absently paid the Hispanic vendor the five dollars he asked for as she frowned at the unknown language in puzzlement. Then her attention had been diverted by a bickering spat erupting between her husband and her 16 year old daughter. She'd shoved the amulet into her jeans' pocket and, with a sigh of resignation, stepped forward to intervene in what she mentally referred to as her daily torture routine. Outwardly, she gave the appearance of playing referee to the step-father daughter squabbles while in her mind's eye; she envisioned a television set tuned to an endless Bevis and Butthead marathon.
She'd long since stopped feeling guilty for labeling her family a walking synonym for the late '80's cartoon. Her biggest conundrum with the reference was trying to figure out which one was Bevis and which one was Butthead. It seemed to change without warning. However, it kept her evil twin persona vastly entertained and well-leashed. This was the all-important goal in her opinion. If her evil twin got loose, she tended to leave mayhem and chaos in her wake, and not the good kind. She'd even given her evil twin a name. Esmeralda. Esme for short. Her therapist had raised an eyebrow at this small tidbit that had been thrown in during a session. She'd evaded all attempts to return to that particular subject, directing the focus instead to dealing with that silly diagnosis of PSTD with dissociative anxiety. And really, wasn't that just an oxymoron? How one could experience disassociation in one's reality, yet still have anxiety about it? In short, she had decided the therapist made it up to satisfy the insurance company's requirements of coverage eligibility.
While her internal self-continued musing over the confusing practices of psychologists, her outer self-had finally managed to calm the spat between her spouse and her offspring, though neither one was happy about it. Subtlety, she steered them in the direction of the exit. They were still pouting like a couple of unruly toddlers by the time they reached the car, but at the mention of Pizza for dinner, both immediately forgot they were mad and began clamoring for her "Special". Outwardly, she flashed a playful smile as she insisted she'd forgotten how to make it, while inwardly her evil twin rolled her eyes at the T.V. set's rendition of a classic Bevis and Butthead giggle fest.
The drive home was considerably less tense and the next few hours actually passed bicker free as she made dinner, they ate, watched a movie, and generally did what all normal families do in the evenings. It was only after her daughter had gone to bed and her husband had fallen asleep over his beer for the countless time that she remembered the amulet in her pocket. She pulled it out, looking at it curiously.
With a small smile, she rose from her seat on the couch and padded into the bathroom. One of her mother's friends had taught her a simple trick with toothpaste that cleaned most tarnished metals. She found an extra toothbrush in the vanity drawer and very patiently got to work. Within the next half hour, she was pleased to have gotten most of the grime off the metal, enough to see more detail, at least. She dried the amulet off and went back to the living room and her computer. It took her even less time to find the basic gist of the strange language on the back.
"Time has no meaning to those who hold no fear of Death" She murmured, tracing the letters and runes on the back of the amulet. "No, I suppose not. We figured it out. It's basically hurry up and wait. Might as well stop worrying about when she gets around to collecting your ass and learn to appreciate where you're at in the moment."
With an almost whimsical smile, she tied the amulet around her neck then opened her email in-box. Her smile faltered into a frown as she clicked on a new one from her mother. She read it without expression or any feeling, really. At 45 years of age, she was used to her mother's near bi-polarness. One minute, her best friend, the next, her worst enemy. She went back to her in-box and the next email, this one from her former best friend. There were no words, just a picture of Animal from the Muppets over a birthday cake with no candles. The subject line of the email read "To my favorite Moppet". She did smile a genuine smile then. Her best friend for over 10 years, he'd stuck with her despite her best efforts. His first words to her when she'd snarled at him over his dragging her away from the accident victim she'd been trying to resuscitate had been "Listen, Animal, don't make me collar you! He's gone! It happens! You can't save them all! Save the ones you can and never make your partner your enemy!" Her snarls had abruptly turned into sobs and she'd jerked herself out of his arms and gone back in. She'd screamed with all the pent up rage she had bottled up inside her soul and had brought her fist down as hard as she could on the man's chest. His eyes had popped open and he'd dragged in a scared, hard breath, trying to sit up. She'd held him down, snapping and snarling out orders left and right that the other EMT's scrambled to follow. The next day, her partner had left a spiked collar and a Muppet doll in her locker with a note that said "Go get 'em, Animal". It had made her laugh, though she'd tried to hide it. He dragged her home to meet his wife and his family, making her his honorary little sister. They were rather obviously bemused that their warm, outgoing and cheerful family member would befriend such a prickly natured person such as herself. For his sake, they'd learned to tolerate her presence in his life, especially when it became clear she had no romantic designs upon him and all the small children and animals in the family absolutely adored her. She might have been gruff and prickly with the adults, but with the children and animals, she was extremely gentle and careful. He'd been there for her for her first marriage, the birth of her daughter and her first divorce. He'd been there for her during this marriage and all its problems. She'd once asked him why he was her friend and he'd merely shrugged, smiled, then said "Animal was always my favorite 'cuz underneath the scary he was a big cuddly love bug."
Then the accident had happened. They were working an accident scene when a drunk driver had barreled right on through the cautionary flares and policemen, heading straight for her and a victim. There'd been no time. He'd sprinted for her, getting there to shove her out of the way just as the car reached them. He'd been struck a glancing blow, but it was enough to shatter his hip and send him flying. The prone victim of the first accident died as the car tires crushed his rib-cage. She'd been the one to scramble to his side and frantically begin to work over his injuries. She'd stayed at his side all the way to the hospital and only stopped when the nurses threatened to call security on her. She'd been frantically pacing the hallways when his wife had arrived. She'd started to offer her apologies when the other woman had slapped her across the face. Speechless, she'd stared as the wife of her best friend unleashed a verbal assault on her, blaming her for her husband's injury. She'd gone home in shock. She'd been put on leave pending an investigation, as his wife made some serious accusations against her about their working relationship. He was in a coma for nearly 3 months before regaining consciousness and setting everyone straight about what had happened. But the damage was done. She'd quietly resigned from a job she loved and moved back to her husband's home town at his urging. He'd taken a job at Amazon.com's warehouse facility and she'd started working part time at an animal shelter cleaning cages. She'd left a letter for her best friend in his locker, along with the collar and the Muppet doll. She'd deliberately left out any contact information, though she knew he had her email address. She'd only answered him once, and that was to say "There's nothing underneath the scary anymore. Animal's gone. Save the ones you can. Good-bye." That had been over 6 years ago. He still sent her emails, only they came on her birthday and at Christmas.
Suddenly, she felt tears prick her eyelids. She missed his friendship. She missed him and his family. She hated trying to keep up appearances with her husband's family. It was exhausting. Then there was the whole incident with her husband's drinking habit getting out of control one night and him picking a fight with her over her refusal to try to obtain another EMT license in the State of Nevada. Something in her had snapped. Her memory wasn't really clear on the particulars, only that there was massive amounts of duct tape involved and her being shackled down to a gurney while four very large individuals struggled to control her. The rest was hazy. She'd come back to full lucid awareness frowning up at a somewhat somber looking doctor who reminded her of a big teddy bear.
"Oh, God. Fozzy's real." She'd blurted out in a somewhat slurred tone. The doctor's somber face had crinkled into a brief, yet delighted smile, then he'd began asking her the standard questions one asks a patient to determine their mental state. Several hours later and an admittance to a 72 hour hold in the mental ward, he went to go tell her husband and her father-in-law that she had a severe case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from the accident years ago. She had to admit, he'd made her husband understand that it was serious, even 6 years after the fact. Things had calmed down with his drinking for a while. She'd come home and it was business as usual, with therapy thrown in for her. Time marched on, things settled into a routine and then her daughter turned 16.
It had to be a universal affliction, she thought. Turn 16 and shove head firmly up ass. Of course, she really didn't know what her husband's excuse was. Turn 46 and shove head firmly up ass? Regardless, both of them had begun to bicker and pick at one another incessantly. At first, it had made her feel more than a little sideways. Thoughts of duct tape surfaced frequently. Esme was recognized, acknowledged and then firmly leashed. Then the Bevis and Butthead references started up inside her mind as she refereed more and more spats and squabbles. And Fozzy labeled her with dissociative anxiety disorder along with the Post traumatic stress disorder. Then started giving her the speculative, raised eyebrow look that said "I'm just waiting for a snap". So she kept Esme on a tight leash and herself on a careful path.
Glancing back down at the email, she impulsively hit the reply button. She typed a line, and then hesitated before hitting the backspace key. With a heavy sigh, she slowly typed "Only more scary underneath the scary. But, at least Fozzy's real." Then hit send. Absently, she turned off her computer, then reached for her red sharpie and crossed the day off on her desk calendar.
"Happy birthday to me." She sighed softly, fingering the amulet at her neck. "I wish I could have a do-over. One with all my memories up to now intact. I'd make sure Mitch never ran across that road. Hell, if I had a do-over, I think my entire life would be different. Just think of the mistakes I could fix. Oh, well. Happy birthday to me."
She got up and turned off all the lights just as the grandfather clock in the hallway reached the last chime of midnight and went to bed.
ME
She'd found the amulet quite by accident. It was displayed along with a myriad of other trinkets at the annual Flea Market and Bazaar. It was the intricate, elegant design that caught her attention. It almost looked Celtic, but not quite. To the untrained eye, it looked just like the other cheap metal trinkets.
She knew better. She'd gently picked it up, feeling the weight and noting the discolorations on the metal were consistent with aged tarnish on pure silver. She'd turned it over, not expecting anything but more tarnish. Tarnish there was, but inscribed in a small, neat script she saw "Amsera has na yn golygu at hynny a wedi bod yn gefn addoed". She'd absently paid the Hispanic vendor the five dollars he asked for as she frowned at the unknown language in puzzlement. Then her attention had been diverted by a bickering spat erupting between her husband and her 16 year old daughter. She'd shoved the amulet into her jeans' pocket and, with a sigh of resignation, stepped forward to intervene in what she mentally referred to as her daily torture routine. Outwardly, she gave the appearance of playing referee to the step-father daughter squabbles while in her mind's eye; she envisioned a television set tuned to an endless Bevis and Butthead marathon.
She'd long since stopped feeling guilty for labeling her family a walking synonym for the late '80's cartoon. Her biggest conundrum with the reference was trying to figure out which one was Bevis and which one was Butthead. It seemed to change without warning. However, it kept her evil twin persona vastly entertained and well-leashed. This was the all-important goal in her opinion. If her evil twin got loose, she tended to leave mayhem and chaos in her wake, and not the good kind. She'd even given her evil twin a name. Esmeralda. Esme for short. Her therapist had raised an eyebrow at this small tidbit that had been thrown in during a session. She'd evaded all attempts to return to that particular subject, directing the focus instead to dealing with that silly diagnosis of PSTD with dissociative anxiety. And really, wasn't that just an oxymoron? How one could experience disassociation in one's reality, yet still have anxiety about it? In short, she had decided the therapist made it up to satisfy the insurance company's requirements of coverage eligibility.
While her internal self-continued musing over the confusing practices of psychologists, her outer self-had finally managed to calm the spat between her spouse and her offspring, though neither one was happy about it. Subtlety, she steered them in the direction of the exit. They were still pouting like a couple of unruly toddlers by the time they reached the car, but at the mention of Pizza for dinner, both immediately forgot they were mad and began clamoring for her "Special". Outwardly, she flashed a playful smile as she insisted she'd forgotten how to make it, while inwardly her evil twin rolled her eyes at the T.V. set's rendition of a classic Bevis and Butthead giggle fest.
The drive home was considerably less tense and the next few hours actually passed bicker free as she made dinner, they ate, watched a movie, and generally did what all normal families do in the evenings. It was only after her daughter had gone to bed and her husband had fallen asleep over his beer for the countless time that she remembered the amulet in her pocket. She pulled it out, looking at it curiously.
With a small smile, she rose from her seat on the couch and padded into the bathroom. One of her mother's friends had taught her a simple trick with toothpaste that cleaned most tarnished metals. She found an extra toothbrush in the vanity drawer and very patiently got to work. Within the next half hour, she was pleased to have gotten most of the grime off the metal, enough to see more detail, at least. She dried the amulet off and went back to the living room and her computer. It took her even less time to find the basic gist of the strange language on the back.
"Time has no meaning to those who hold no fear of Death" She murmured, tracing the letters and runes on the back of the amulet. "No, I suppose not. We figured it out. It's basically hurry up and wait. Might as well stop worrying about when she gets around to collecting your ass and learn to appreciate where you're at in the moment."
With an almost whimsical smile, she tied the amulet around her neck then opened her email in-box. Her smile faltered into a frown as she clicked on a new one from her mother. She read it without expression or any feeling, really. At 45 years of age, she was used to her mother's near bi-polarness. One minute, her best friend, the next, her worst enemy. She went back to her in-box and the next email, this one from her former best friend. There were no words, just a picture of Animal from the Muppets over a birthday cake with no candles. The subject line of the email read "To my favorite Moppet". She did smile a genuine smile then. Her best friend for over 10 years, he'd stuck with her despite her best efforts. His first words to her when she'd snarled at him over his dragging her away from the accident victim she'd been trying to resuscitate had been "Listen, Animal, don't make me collar you! He's gone! It happens! You can't save them all! Save the ones you can and never make your partner your enemy!" Her snarls had abruptly turned into sobs and she'd jerked herself out of his arms and gone back in. She'd screamed with all the pent up rage she had bottled up inside her soul and had brought her fist down as hard as she could on the man's chest. His eyes had popped open and he'd dragged in a scared, hard breath, trying to sit up. She'd held him down, snapping and snarling out orders left and right that the other EMT's scrambled to follow. The next day, her partner had left a spiked collar and a Muppet doll in her locker with a note that said "Go get 'em, Animal". It had made her laugh, though she'd tried to hide it. He dragged her home to meet his wife and his family, making her his honorary little sister. They were rather obviously bemused that their warm, outgoing and cheerful family member would befriend such a prickly natured person such as herself. For his sake, they'd learned to tolerate her presence in his life, especially when it became clear she had no romantic designs upon him and all the small children and animals in the family absolutely adored her. She might have been gruff and prickly with the adults, but with the children and animals, she was extremely gentle and careful. He'd been there for her for her first marriage, the birth of her daughter and her first divorce. He'd been there for her during this marriage and all its problems. She'd once asked him why he was her friend and he'd merely shrugged, smiled, then said "Animal was always my favorite 'cuz underneath the scary he was a big cuddly love bug."
Then the accident had happened. They were working an accident scene when a drunk driver had barreled right on through the cautionary flares and policemen, heading straight for her and a victim. There'd been no time. He'd sprinted for her, getting there to shove her out of the way just as the car reached them. He'd been struck a glancing blow, but it was enough to shatter his hip and send him flying. The prone victim of the first accident died as the car tires crushed his rib-cage. She'd been the one to scramble to his side and frantically begin to work over his injuries. She'd stayed at his side all the way to the hospital and only stopped when the nurses threatened to call security on her. She'd been frantically pacing the hallways when his wife had arrived. She'd started to offer her apologies when the other woman had slapped her across the face. Speechless, she'd stared as the wife of her best friend unleashed a verbal assault on her, blaming her for her husband's injury. She'd gone home in shock. She'd been put on leave pending an investigation, as his wife made some serious accusations against her about their working relationship. He was in a coma for nearly 3 months before regaining consciousness and setting everyone straight about what had happened. But the damage was done. She'd quietly resigned from a job she loved and moved back to her husband's home town at his urging. He'd taken a job at Amazon.com's warehouse facility and she'd started working part time at an animal shelter cleaning cages. She'd left a letter for her best friend in his locker, along with the collar and the Muppet doll. She'd deliberately left out any contact information, though she knew he had her email address. She'd only answered him once, and that was to say "There's nothing underneath the scary anymore. Animal's gone. Save the ones you can. Good-bye." That had been over 6 years ago. He still sent her emails, only they came on her birthday and at Christmas.
Suddenly, she felt tears prick her eyelids. She missed his friendship. She missed him and his family. She hated trying to keep up appearances with her husband's family. It was exhausting. Then there was the whole incident with her husband's drinking habit getting out of control one night and him picking a fight with her over her refusal to try to obtain another EMT license in the State of Nevada. Something in her had snapped. Her memory wasn't really clear on the particulars, only that there was massive amounts of duct tape involved and her being shackled down to a gurney while four very large individuals struggled to control her. The rest was hazy. She'd come back to full lucid awareness frowning up at a somewhat somber looking doctor who reminded her of a big teddy bear.
"Oh, God. Fozzy's real." She'd blurted out in a somewhat slurred tone. The doctor's somber face had crinkled into a brief, yet delighted smile, then he'd began asking her the standard questions one asks a patient to determine their mental state. Several hours later and an admittance to a 72 hour hold in the mental ward, he went to go tell her husband and her father-in-law that she had a severe case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from the accident years ago. She had to admit, he'd made her husband understand that it was serious, even 6 years after the fact. Things had calmed down with his drinking for a while. She'd come home and it was business as usual, with therapy thrown in for her. Time marched on, things settled into a routine and then her daughter turned 16.
It had to be a universal affliction, she thought. Turn 16 and shove head firmly up ass. Of course, she really didn't know what her husband's excuse was. Turn 46 and shove head firmly up ass? Regardless, both of them had begun to bicker and pick at one another incessantly. At first, it had made her feel more than a little sideways. Thoughts of duct tape surfaced frequently. Esme was recognized, acknowledged and then firmly leashed. Then the Bevis and Butthead references started up inside her mind as she refereed more and more spats and squabbles. And Fozzy labeled her with dissociative anxiety disorder along with the Post traumatic stress disorder. Then started giving her the speculative, raised eyebrow look that said "I'm just waiting for a snap". So she kept Esme on a tight leash and herself on a careful path.
Glancing back down at the email, she impulsively hit the reply button. She typed a line, and then hesitated before hitting the backspace key. With a heavy sigh, she slowly typed "Only more scary underneath the scary. But, at least Fozzy's real." Then hit send. Absently, she turned off her computer, then reached for her red sharpie and crossed the day off on her desk calendar.
"Happy birthday to me." She sighed softly, fingering the amulet at her neck. "I wish I could have a do-over. One with all my memories up to now intact. I'd make sure Mitch never ran across that road. Hell, if I had a do-over, I think my entire life would be different. Just think of the mistakes I could fix. Oh, well. Happy birthday to me."
She got up and turned off all the lights just as the grandfather clock in the hallway reached the last chime of midnight and went to bed.