Post by Deleted on Aug 22, 2012 7:02:55 GMT -5
Meredith pushed the door to the auditorium open a few inches and peered into it. For the other students, today was no special day, so as one might expect, the large auditorium was completely empty. It was so empty that Meredith's footsteps echoed loudly even though she tiptoed surreptitiously into the room. The sound of the door shutting behind her was amplified by the room's vacancy as well, making Meredith jump a bit as she proceeded onto the auditorium's stage. She was more on edge today for multiple reasons. The first reason was that she knew she was not supposed to be in the auditorium. Classes were in session at the moment, but today was one of the few days when she couldn't bear to sit in every class staring at each unoccupied desk and silently wondering which one would belong to Reese if she were still alive.
The second reason was that today marked two years since Reese's untimely death. Most people assumed that Meredith had moved on, and in a way, she had. One had to move on in order to stay alive, and her human survival instinct wouldn't allow her to choose the alternative. Therefore, she recalled fond memories, and she smiled, and she laughed to herself. What the others didn't realize, however, was that she also thought about Reese's death every day. She thought of how brave yet stupid Reese had been in her confrontation with the Battle Front student. She thought of how, by the time she had found her sister in the infirmary, the infection in Reese's wound was too severe for Meredith's powers, which were weaker at the time, to do any good. She wondered: if she had worked up the courage to try to become a prefect along with Reese, and if she succeeded, and if she had been beside her sister that day, would she have been able to save her? People didn't know that every time these thoughts returned to Meredith, as they did daily, she was racked with guilt. But of course, every day, like a routine, she had to once again release her guilt and move on. Move on, move on, move on.
Today, she didn't feel like moving on.
Grief is a strange thing. At first, all the griever cries. The griever wakes up, remembers his or her loss, remembers that life will never be the same, and is angry and distraught with the world, and at this stage, that anger and distress translates into tears--powerful, passionate tears of sorrow and rage. It feels good to let that emotion pour out of the body. Then, eventually, the body has no more energy to cry, and for a while, it is content. That stage of grief was long gone for Meredith.
Meredith had reached the stage of grief in which the loss was distant, far enough in the past where she could not cry. She could feel the pain of her loss. She could realize over, and over, and over again that Reese was never coming back, that life would never be the same, but she could not force that ache to translate into moving tears that would drain the life out of her and numb her mind. Although the pain was duller at this stage, most grievers would say that it was sometimes worse. Pain that could not transform into passion was a terrible thing.
That was why, on the one day in which she had decided to skip her classes, Meredith found herself on the stage of the empty auditorium, seated in front of the grand piano. Her rusty hands rested on the cold keys. Meredith had never been a prodigious pianist by any wild stretch of the imagination, but when Reese's powers began to overshadow her own, she had felt the need to have something to call her own, and the piano was that small thing. She could play simple melodies, nothing special, but it was something that Reese couldn't do, and it gave her that little reminder that she needed, once in a while, that she could some day be more than just a shadow.
Today, however, playing the piano had nothing to do with separating Meredith from Reese. Today, playing the piano was the closest that Meredith could come to shedding waterfalls of tears. It was her new outlet, her new way to translate the pain to passion.
"By the time I was your age, I'd give anything..."
Meredith softly sang the lyrics of the song as she played the simple melody. Mayday Parade had been one of Reese's favorite songs when she was alive, so it seemed appropriate to play their saddest song that day. As Meredith's hands felt the pattern of the song and seemed to play the notes automatically, Meredith allowed herself to feel the words of the song, to share the singer's anguish and blend it with her own.
The song ended, and the auditorium was silent. There was no applause, but that wasn't what made the moment so anticlimactic. On Reese's first death anniversary, Meredith had managed to wring tears out of her eyes that had been dry for a while. But today, after two years, no tears fell from her eyes, even after the delightfully depressing music.
She had officially become numb.
The second reason was that today marked two years since Reese's untimely death. Most people assumed that Meredith had moved on, and in a way, she had. One had to move on in order to stay alive, and her human survival instinct wouldn't allow her to choose the alternative. Therefore, she recalled fond memories, and she smiled, and she laughed to herself. What the others didn't realize, however, was that she also thought about Reese's death every day. She thought of how brave yet stupid Reese had been in her confrontation with the Battle Front student. She thought of how, by the time she had found her sister in the infirmary, the infection in Reese's wound was too severe for Meredith's powers, which were weaker at the time, to do any good. She wondered: if she had worked up the courage to try to become a prefect along with Reese, and if she succeeded, and if she had been beside her sister that day, would she have been able to save her? People didn't know that every time these thoughts returned to Meredith, as they did daily, she was racked with guilt. But of course, every day, like a routine, she had to once again release her guilt and move on. Move on, move on, move on.
Today, she didn't feel like moving on.
Grief is a strange thing. At first, all the griever cries. The griever wakes up, remembers his or her loss, remembers that life will never be the same, and is angry and distraught with the world, and at this stage, that anger and distress translates into tears--powerful, passionate tears of sorrow and rage. It feels good to let that emotion pour out of the body. Then, eventually, the body has no more energy to cry, and for a while, it is content. That stage of grief was long gone for Meredith.
Meredith had reached the stage of grief in which the loss was distant, far enough in the past where she could not cry. She could feel the pain of her loss. She could realize over, and over, and over again that Reese was never coming back, that life would never be the same, but she could not force that ache to translate into moving tears that would drain the life out of her and numb her mind. Although the pain was duller at this stage, most grievers would say that it was sometimes worse. Pain that could not transform into passion was a terrible thing.
That was why, on the one day in which she had decided to skip her classes, Meredith found herself on the stage of the empty auditorium, seated in front of the grand piano. Her rusty hands rested on the cold keys. Meredith had never been a prodigious pianist by any wild stretch of the imagination, but when Reese's powers began to overshadow her own, she had felt the need to have something to call her own, and the piano was that small thing. She could play simple melodies, nothing special, but it was something that Reese couldn't do, and it gave her that little reminder that she needed, once in a while, that she could some day be more than just a shadow.
Today, however, playing the piano had nothing to do with separating Meredith from Reese. Today, playing the piano was the closest that Meredith could come to shedding waterfalls of tears. It was her new outlet, her new way to translate the pain to passion.
"By the time I was your age, I'd give anything..."
Meredith softly sang the lyrics of the song as she played the simple melody. Mayday Parade had been one of Reese's favorite songs when she was alive, so it seemed appropriate to play their saddest song that day. As Meredith's hands felt the pattern of the song and seemed to play the notes automatically, Meredith allowed herself to feel the words of the song, to share the singer's anguish and blend it with her own.
The song ended, and the auditorium was silent. There was no applause, but that wasn't what made the moment so anticlimactic. On Reese's first death anniversary, Meredith had managed to wring tears out of her eyes that had been dry for a while. But today, after two years, no tears fell from her eyes, even after the delightfully depressing music.
She had officially become numb.
