The Street Urchin
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE from CAUGHT UP Truth and Metaphor | An Imaginary Tale
The Street Urchin
29
In her meditations, Petra combined the body-centered process she learned from Starr with Auntie Pat’s inner child-work. Imagining a visit with Victorianna, she walked a well-trodden path along a rugged cliff-line back to the yellow sand beach.
A full blue-moon illuminated row after row of translucent barrel waves, breaking with perfect symmetry in an eastward direction; the gravitational pull enticing the massive body of water toward a new horizon, some unknown Mecca, a holy city that housed the answers she longed for. Frustrated with her inability to deliver her four-year-old self the promised help, she contemplated a fresh approach. Victorianna, a speck in the distance, sat at the water’s edge, hugging her knees to her chest, staring out to sea. Their meeting, marked by a prolonged and uncomfortable silence, lasted through the night as they sat side by side, with nothing to say.
When the sun rose, casting long shadows behind them, she nudged the little one.
“I need to ask Simone and Petra for help.”
The child flinched.
“Please, no. Those two hate me.”
On cue, Twelve-year-old Petra stepped through an invisible veil from some other dimension, and stood towering over them, blocking the sun.
Arms crossed with a cigarette in hand, she said, “What are you playing at? Why would I help her? Her bullshit drove me to drink. Her and the other one.”
Interested in a potential conflict that promised drama, Simone crept up undetected, and sat down on a flat red rock several feet away.
“Those two girls are not the problem. It’s all the unresolved shit that happened to them. You want to help her, so you can help yourself. I know you pride yourself on that little buzz you’ve manufactured, just the right amount to give you a hard edge, but I’m telling you, it’s not enough. Like it or not, we’re in this together. If I don’t figure something out soon, we’ll end up dead.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Do I?”
Simone edged in closer.
“I locked them up real tight, so no worries.”
“Now who’s failing to see reality? Have you forgotten what happened in that hotel room? I’m sure you’ve seen me wrestling with compulsive urges to kill myself. If I die, you die. Get it?”
“On my God! You’re such a drama queen! You wouldn’t dare, not after that vision. You’re not allowed!”
“I’m trying to tell you, it’s not enough anymore. The impulses are getting stronger. Pretty soon, I won’t be able to control them. I’m stone cold sober and I feel everything. We have to uncover the root cause.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. I need your help. If we cooperate and help her, I guarantee she will turn right around and help us… Are you in, or are you out?”
“Okay, okay, okay… Stop your whining, I’m in.”
“One more thing. For this next session, we need be kind, exceedingly kind, to each other.”
—
“Today, we’re going to try something a little different,” said Starr. “I don’t want you to talk. Give your imagination full reign and let’s see where it takes you. I’ll be right here observing. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
—
The counseling office dissolves into a packed concert hall. The three girls, waiting backstage, peer out from the wings, watching the band play.
In the middle of a song, still accompanied by music, the female vocalist announces, “We have a very special guest tonight, a little girl. Her name is Victorianna, and she needs our help. She’s here with her sisters. That’s okay girls, yes, you come along too.”
Clasping her hands, Twelve-year-old Petra and Simone escort her to the front of the stage. They sit, legs dangling over the edge. As the vocals resume, the atmosphere, charged with electricity, sends swirling energetic waves from the crowd into the girls. African tribes-people march down the side aisles filling the space underneath the stage. Dressed in full ceremonial costume, they dance in a criss-cross pattern beneath their feet.
Nanny, reaching up, takes hold of Victorianna. Hugging her tight, she plants kisses on her forehead and cheeks before handing her off to the Shaman. He positions her on his shoulders as the lines of dancers push back into the crowd, forming a widening circle. In the center, Baby Anne seated in a tiny child’s chair, smiles her perfect, beautiful, radiant smile while her cat, Theodore, weaves his way in and around her ankles. The Shaman places Victorianna on an identical chair facing her sister. The girls knee to knee, lock eyes.
Like Alice in Wonderland, Anne increases in size, blossoming into a full-grown, luminescent being. Bending down, she picks up Victorianna, wraps her in loving arms, and cradles the four-year-old. With slow measured steps, she weaves her way through the dancers, pausing, allowing each one to bless the child. Afterward, she returns her to the stage snuggled between Simone and Petra.
Stepping back, Anne, in all her divinity, addresses all three.
“You are not alone. I’ve been with you this entire time. Please stop beating yourselves up. Everything is exactly as it should be.”
Following the concert, Victorianna invites her “sisters” and the Africans up to her house. They traverse a barren wasteland. In the distance, projecting out of the desolation, is an enormous stone tower; a giant castle-like structure shaped like a rook. It has a single weathered oak door, locked tight, and one circular row of tiny windows at the very top. Once inside, it is quite pleasant, with Persian rugs, oversized floor pillows, scented candles and piles of fairy tale records.
Multiple latches and a series of locks on the inner door guarantee an intruder-proof fortress. No one gains entrance uninvited. The Shaman and his tribe, far too many to enter such a restricted space (the circular dwelling is only twelve feet wide), dance and chant blessings around the exterior.
In the middle of the room, a pirate-style treasure chest secured by an oversized cast iron padlock perks Twelve-year-old Petra’s interest.
“Don’t touch that! It’s dangerous,” says Victorianna.
“What’s inside?” asks Simone.
“Guilt’s in there. Shame’s in there. Worse still, there’s sadness and loss. Whenever one of you gets triggered, the box blows open and those feelings go flying up into your world. For me, it’s like having a tornado inside my house. I don’t have to feel it anymore, I just have to clean up the mess. You guys get the brunt of it. There might be some good stuff too. No one ever draws on it so, I haven’t figured it out.”
Simone looks around, taking it all in. A spark of jealousy emboldens her curiosity.
“Who gave you this house?”
“The Africans found me on the beach years ago. They brought me here for safekeeping.”
“I only ask because my lodgings are nowhere near this nice.”
“Oh, please! Aren’t you forgetting something? You tossed me into a cave!”
“That’s not fair! As if…”
“Maybe you reap what you sow, is all.”
“Stop it this minute,” said adolescent Petra. “This isn’t helping. What about practicing kindness?”
Simone, mocking, mutters under her breath.
“What about practicing kindness?”
“I’m serious. She can hear you.”
The threat of adult Petra’s disappointment produced a seething silence followed by a spirit of resignation.
Petra had not adopted a sudden affinity for playing by the rules. It was a tactic, a distraction. What terrified her most was the inevitable moment when her younger selves diverted their attention from each other, shifted their dagger eyes in her direction, and pummeled her with their combined blame and rage.
—
In the week following the session, a significant change occurred, leaving Petra bewildered. Full of energy, not her normal condition, she barged into Starr’s office and plopped down on the sofa.
“Something weird’s going on. It’s a feeling that makes no sense. Kinda light and airy, a little bubbly, seems like it’s rising from a deep well inside me. It’s not a bad feeling, it feels kind of nice. I’m not implying I have a problem with it, the exact opposite. Do you know what it is?”
To which her therapist, in a stating the obvious sort of tone, replied, “Most of us would call that JOY.”
Try as she might to hold on to the newfound positive emotion, it was no use. An inevitable disintegration gained momentum and joy slipped through the countless unresolved cracks that plagued her. For close to a week following her vision, it hung on like the proverbial pink cloud people experience in early recovery. Life almost seemed worth living. As she watched it dissipate, she called on Anne and the Africans to help her, both in her sessions and her private meditations, to no avail. Strong currents kept pulling it underwater. Joy was in danger of suffocation and death by drowning.
She understood, from a psychological perspective, that her internal state was a complex disaster crammed with negative thoughts, painful emotions, and unpleasant experiences. Like a hoarder, she collected them in her subconscious mind, building kingdoms with elaborate storylines so intricately spun that only a master’s hand could unravel them. Now, it seemed, hidden treasure lay buried beneath the corruption, making matters even more complicated. A cache of positive emotion waiting to be unearthed like a delicate piece of pottery at an archeological dig.
“Oh my God, will this ever end? What am I not seeing?”
God, or Buddy Handler, she wasn’t sure there was a difference, took a rather firm stance.
“If you intend to pull your head up out of the sand and have an honest look around, be prepared to meet whatever you find with kindness. Are you ready for that?”
Of course, she was ready for that, wasn’t she? Hadn’t she, and her three younger selves, been treating each other with kindness and respect these past few months?
In the revelation that followed, Petra saw herself laid out prone. Her skin was opaque, revealing her organs, her bones and nerves, her muscular structure and every detail of her human anatomy.
In addition, she saw an intruder living inside her, a life-size parasite in the shape of a human being. It presented as a dirty, unkept street urchin whose anatomy wound itself around and through her bones, her nervous system and her muscles like an elaborate root system. To make matters worse, the exterior of each root had calcified and sprouted razor-sharp barnacles. The level of entanglement and the enormous strength of each root were nightmarish.
Twelve-year-old Petra exclaimed, “Oh, fuck me!”
Stunned and incapable of dealing, they relegated “the intruder” to a back-burner in some other universe. Besides, it was time to pack up their belongings.
“However, if something comes up,” said adult Petra, “we’ll tell it we’re working on a solution. That everything is going to be okay. And you, my little smart ass, you keep your comments to yourself.”
Moving to the beach was a welcome distraction. It quieted the voices and unruly impulses with hard work and adventure.
—
Unlocking and processing the memory of Anne’s death took close to a month, an unsettling month during which Petra survived by putting one foot in front of the other. Without her daily meditation practice, she may have landed in a psychiatric hospital.
The reason she resisted EMDR therapy for close to fifteen years was an experience she had with it in treatment. A single session with an overzealous, unskilled practitioner opened up a frightening deluge of flashbacks. It was similar to what she experienced, trapped in the car, following her and Tiziana’s accident. Too much, too soon; a recipe for disaster for someone with repressed trauma-related memories.
Note to the reader:
A disclaimer.
Petra never mentioned her suicidal tendencies to anyone, not even her therapist. She understood that a breach of confidentiality was permissible if the patient intended to self-harm or harm others. Terrified of being committed to an institution and medicated, she kept quiet.
Period. End of story.
It was her choice. A decision made in direct conflict with the recommended course of action.
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A harrowing tale, shot through with unlikely humor and fantastical creatures.
This autofiction (autobiography meets fiction) novel revolves around a lifetime spent underwater struggling to find the surface. The narrative follows the journey of an unlikely heroine from the bondage of childhood trauma to self-awareness and freedom.
It is a roller coaster ride from the depths of hell to triumphant success that finishes with a big Hollywood ending.