Annemarie's story
Stairway to Nowhere
She didn't want to look back at the room she had shared with three other girls. She didn't want to see it ever again. It would just be tempting fate - after all the last two times she had left with promises of a new family she'd returned to that room within a few weeks. Now she was not even excited; she merely hoped, yes, just hoped there was the faintest chance that this time it would be forever. So picked up her blue rucksack, which 'they' had bought for her, she followed her newest foster parents and this time it was meant to be forever because they said they had adopted her. They had taken her out quite a few times but now they loaded all her possessions into the back of their car. In fact her worldly possessions amounted to an old suitcase, that the home had given her, filled with her few clothes, some books and a few other knickknacks. The other girls hugged her and called out 'wished it was me going' and 'come and see us'; she hoped not, well not at the home anyway. She climbed into the back of the car and stole a look at her new 'mum and dad' in front of her. They were kind and they didn't shout at her like the previous couple who'd fostered her. Those two had shouted at her for not eating; they would lose their temper when she dropped things, often breaking things. She didn't do it on purpose, she just got so nervous and when they shouted at her she would scream back at them and then cry for hours. Within days they sent her back to the home, saying she was 'difficult and stubborn and badly behaved'. Nobody ever asked Ellie what the adults were like or how they behaved. But these two - well they were patient and spoke kindly to her and when she didn't feel like eating much they tempted her small plates of tasty titbits. They asked her about herself but she didn't want to think or talk about herself. Eight years spent being passed backwards and forwards between various foster families and the home and most of the time she felt forgotten, cross and lonely. She could not remember a real mother - or father. She did not know why she had ended up in the home. Yes, Mr and Mrs Marlin seemed to like her and even gave her hugs.“You alright at the back, Ellie?” asked Mrs Marlin, turning round with a big smile on her face. “We won't be going to the old house where you came before, because we have moved to the country; you're going to live in an old farmhouse and we'll have chickens, some pigs and maybe a cow. You know Mr. Bojangles, our old cat - well she's already there waiting to see you. Ellie smiled uncertainly but the smile went out as quickly as the sun is obscured by a fleeting cloud. So she would again be going somewhere new. She closed her eyes but whether she was really asleep, Mrs Marlin was unsure. She gazed at the girl - scruffy auburn curls falling over a round, freckled face, two somewhat skinny hands wound round the rucksack. A lump rose in her chest when she thought of the sad life of their new daughter. She and Bill had waited, waited in vain, then discussed and debated before fostering and finally they took the decision to adopt Ellie.“Here we are, darling. Wakey! wakey, Ellie. We're home, “ said Mrs Marlin, gently rubbing their new daughter's hands. Ellie rubbed her eyes and stared at the old stone house. She climbed out of the car and still clutching her precious rucksack she looked around a courtyard. A stone wall surrounded it with a big tree in the middle and suddenly a smile crept across her face as she recognised Mr Bojangles stretched on garden table. Dropping her rucksack she encircled the fat black cat with her thin little arms, holding him close to her face and smelling his fur, still slightly damp from a recent shower. She gazed around - at the blue door with baskets of summer flowers hanging either side, the windows with a light shining from within, at the gleaming red bicycle decorated with a red bow on the handlebar, round to the far wall where she saw a narrow stone stairway.
“Look, Mrs Marlin,” (she still couldn't call her Mummy). “ it's a stairway to nowhere; it's just wall, wall and more wall. That's so funny.”“Why don't you put Mr.Bojangles down and climb the stairway, Ellie?”She put the cat gently down next to her rucksack. Her skinny white legs carefully climbed up the rough stone steps, her hand grasping the somewhat rusty iron rail When she reached the top she came to a little platform and hidden behind a red hibiscus plant in an old chimney pot was a wooden chair. Seated on the chair was a large fluffy teddy bear holding a card which said in big letters : “Your home is NOW HERE for always, Ellie”. “So you see, “ said Mr Marlin (her new dad, Ellie thought to herself) “ it isn't NOWHERE but now here with us, your new forever family.”At the top of the stairs a smile spread over the little girl's face, stretching all the way up to her eyes as she fingered the words on the card - her staircase to now here.
Sarah's contribution:
stairway to nowhere 4 through the barn
(30.09.2020)
Through the barn, past the ranks of wood cut and stacked high for the winter, past the stairway, barely more than a ladder, leading to the gloomy upper regions, out through the green-light-filled door at the back, into the secret, grass-filled garden.
To the left, a small, rock-encircled planted place, with a few red begonias and some rhubarb leaves hiding their scarlet stalks. Beyond that a wall, and a rose tree with pale pink roses, and in the corner a little cabin made of stone, with a red-tiled roof. Whose cabin? For what?
Straight ahead a statue of a mysterious wooden man, peeping between the ivy leaves that almost clad and cover him—no, two men, for there is another peering over his shoulder. Our eyes moving still further right, a little wall that separates us from nothing, only a corner space with another wooden man among the greenery, slouching there, his hands in his invisible pockets. Silence, and not a soul otherwise.
On the right hand wall, in the very middle, between the brambled nook at the back and the closer corner, rich with tumbled weeds, or wild flowers if you will, a stone staircase. Dotted with pink begonias in pots, up it leads, and stops, before the wall. A stairway to nowhere.
Shall we go up? Picking our way carefully between the flowerpots, setting our feet down one after the other, we arrive at the top. Stretching our hand forward, we touch the wall. And it opens a crack. Pushing forward we pass through.
Into a swirling, screaming darkness, with no longer a support underfoot, or wall behind us, or path before us. Wind and noise, light and dark struggling for mastery. Only a light at the end, at the end of what? Far away and indecipherable, like a glimmer of hope.
All around us, demons howling, “Were you good? Were you bad?” Which way to go? Forward only, there is no going back. Whistling and shrieking: “Were you good?” How to answer? All we know is that the moment has come. As to the outcome, how it will end, as yet we know nothing. Is this then nowhere? Or it is something more?
+ 365 wds
Jackie's story:
A staircase to nowhere
A few years ago I realized, after talking to friends and even family that I had missed out on something important in my life. Something that everyone or almost everyone around me had been doing for sometime and in some cases years on end. I discovered that a lot of people around me had been seeing a ‘psy’ a psychologist for therapy sessions and some all through their life .
I had never worried too much about the work of psychologists or thought about what therapy could do for me. I imagined that if you had to see one, then you were ill mentally, had a problem , your life was in a turmoil or had a phobia about something.
None of these things applied to myself but listening to my entourage persuading me, who had, I began to think, thought I had a problem too – also, you know the feeling that “she’s doing it so I should do it too” syndrome. I was curious to find out what it was all about. They described their séances with the psy as mentally exhilarating, liberating and even a joyful “full of beans” attitude to life after their sessions.
So there I was, having been persuaded to take the jump and join the club of ‘psy’ users…………..
– I asked around and chose the nearest one to my home and it turned out to be the most expensive but off I went. I dressed casually, shook hands with a suave man’s firm handshake and installed myself on his red leather sofa. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and very tight slim jeans with a leather bow tie. His thick glasses had little wings on the sides edged in gold and turned upwards – hair sleeked back and gloss shone. He reminded me of a raven – notably the ones guarding the Tower of London; Watching every movement I made and ready to pounce. Immediately I felt unease and wished the dark hands of the clock ticking loudly on the wall behind him would speed up.
After asking me what was troubling me which I had a hard time answering (the bus was late …. it was raining and I had forgotten my umbrella …… the dog was upset at being alone etc. ) unperturbed at my attempted humour, he proceeded to explain the steps needed to put me on the path of my well being.
“Let us imagine”, he started and I thought “oh dear imagination isn’t my strong point - this is going to be interesting”
Visualize, he continued that you are on the first step of a staircase – there are 12 steps going up and each step represents a period in your life. Which, he explained, could become a guide to a new way of thinking. Today we shall stand on the first step and explore your childhood then up and up until the present day and conclusion …
So here I’m thinking each session to discuss one step and there are twelve of them at 600 $ an hour – this is going to ruin me just to climb a staircase, but we started.
About the time we had got to session 6 – the 6th step up the imaginary staircase I started to scramble, and going up found me out of breath climbing into past lives, searching, talking and explaining …. - boring. I began to fidget and constantly changed the appointments putting them off week after week.
The raven psy narrowed his black eyes and as he was about to pounce on my discontent, frowned, ruffling his jet black like feathers and reached for his pipe …..
My dear, he said we’ve come to a dead end – this staircase is going nowhere. Goodbye.
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