Open Letter to Quiet Night

Open Letter to Quiet Night

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Tuesday February 7th, 2012 -
For one night of the year; a night of a snow moon and a wishing moon I will write this open letter to a quiet night.
There was once a house with a pink door on a quiet road named ‘telegraph street’. The house was in the midst of a small hamlet nestled between woodland and ancient mining land in the south west of England.

My mother and I lived here, with Sophie the tortoiseshell cat. My father moved back to the city of smoke when I was still a baby. Him and my mother never married and they parted ways somewhat amicably. I grasp greedily at the fragments of memories from my early childhood; birthday parties at No. 95 Bygrove, splashing in the paddling pool with the boy next door, visits to my auntie’s house (her tortoise once confused my finger for a piece of lettuce), feeding the swans on the steps of the harbour, holding a rainbow swirl lollipop at the seaside, a gull snatching a teacher’s sandwich on a school trip to the beach, karaoke with my older cousin, my grandmother’s cat sleeping in my dolls house, emptying chocolate eggs into a saucepan for a ’midnight feast’, mother reading from a giant book of fairy tales, sighting a ghost for the first time, evenings in the local park and the name ‘sugarplum‘.

1996 - I am seven years old and I don’t know where I belong.

I remember raised voices, dark moonless evenings hiding under a duvet with my blanket, sucking on my thumb for comfort. The man drags me down the stairs, shouts and paints a coat of this foul smelling polish onto my thumb nail. You are too old to be sucking your thumb he says. Mother stays in her bedroom, like a rabbit caught in the beam of headlights, not daring to move. I return to my bed, curl up in a foetal position and cry.

I will tell you a little about the man. He was malevolent and I was powerless in his presence. He had many children and his life was spent sowing the seed and leaving loved ones behind. Three of his children were younger than I and they would often stay over from time to time. I feared those occasions.

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My sister was born an Aquarius on February 9th 1996, a short while before midnight. I wished to protect her and I wished to be her guardian angel. Despite it not being a fault of my own, I felt that I had let her down when I closed the door on my bedroom in the house with the pink door for the very last time. My grandparents collected me and my belongings from my mother’s house. It was midsummer and my sister was six months old. My mother had shattered her maternal bond and I crossed oceans of time until it was rekindled nine years later.

Sixteen; is the age I returned to my mother.

Sixteen; is the age my sister turns in two days time.

This letter is for her, not for me and the pain I feel as I let the days blur into one. Both of our fathers are no longer a part of our lives, but we have each other. I will be here when you marry your love, have your first child, make mistakes and gain success. You are kin and I will cherish you forevermore.
The night is waning and the stars are whispering goodnight so I must pen these words fast. I have wanted to die and I have wanted to live. The key to living is to carry your loved ones in your heart, always. See the world as beautiful, despite its flaws and most importantly have the courage to believe in yourself and others will follow suit.

(Forgive but never forget. Love and try not to hate)
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I created a shrine inspired by the character ‘Weetzie Bat’ (from Francesca Lia Block’s Dangerous Angels) for her sixteenth birthday and lent her a copy of the book in the hope that she learns to wish on everything. I decorated the kitchen with heart shaped balloons, a suitcase full of faux pearls, costume jewellery, chanel nail polish, blush cheek tint, a pocket watch and a flower circlet, tarot cards, playing cards, crystal tiara, butterfly tea light holders, wishing angel figurines, a stone egg, trinket boxes and red heart shaped sunglasses, a wizard of oz tin, a book on the language of flowers, purple glitter butterflies, an alice in wonderland teapot, dried red rose petals and pink carnations.

We dined on butterfly cakes with cream frosting, strawberry fondant fancies, liquorice pencils, a teapot filled with white chocolate jazzles, coconut mushrooms, flying saucers, jellied sweets in the shape of cherries and hearts, marshmallow cones, dolly mixture, chocolate cake and pink lemonade in cocktail glasses with paper umbrellas.

(I was inspired by the title ‘Open Letter to Quiet Light’ by Francesca Lia Block)