An Evening of Unfortunate Events
Karina Kamran
©
Copyright 2018 by Karina Kamran
|
 |
In a big white house on a quiet
street, a pen furiously attacks each blank page. Wielded by a magician
on the rampage, her stories must be told and their magic needs to be
spread. Smiling as she weaves another tale, her desire for caffeine is
real and her stomach’s demands for pizza ought to be met.
The
shaking had begun to take hold. My palms were sweating as my head
began to spin. Unable to tell what direction was up, down, left or
right, my feet desperately sought solid ground. Planting my shoes as
firmly as I could into the carpet, the rocking sensation grew within
the pit of my stomach. Standing had become an unfeasible task. I knew
I had to get to my room as soon as possible. Glancing up, the stairs
resembled an unsurpassable mountain. My legs began to buckle as my
hands grabbed fist-fulls of fibres from the carpet. I had to do this,
I must get upstairs! The climb was a struggle – an ever
increasing reminder of the delicate balance between life and death.
Would I make it? Survival was the only option, but it wasn’t
guaranteed. A single grain of rice can tip the scale into or out of
your favour.
Dizzy
with relief at having made the impossible climb, the humbly sized,
but largest bathroom our family of four shared became my sanctuary as
‘early breakfast’ came up to greet me. I should have
heeded my mother’s words; she’d warned me that this would
happen - children don’t eat McDonalds past midnight! However,
the scent of chips had offered the comfort I’d so urgently
needed an hour or so ago. It’d been an eventful evening –
rather unfortunate events in fact. Clinging onto my bear, that night
I knew I’d survived - though I was surely never to be the same
again. The person I’d woken up as that morning had fallen down
‘Alice’s rabbit hole’ and we all know what happened
to Alice in the end.
The
world ‘unfortunate’ is synonymous with many
meanings and ‘terrifying’ accompanies
expectations, but ‘childhood’ is full of sweet
nostalgia. You may be wondering what these three words have in common
and (ordinarily), I would state that there isn’t much at all.
However, one day in particular the term ‘a series of
unfortunate events’ was to take on an entirely different
meaning altogether.
You
see, long ago before the dawn of social media and the current
unrelenting invasion of technology, we had to make our own
entertainment. Parents were forced to interact with their children
and children understood that responsibility was taught to you by
mimicking their matured role models. Therefore, by being told
‘respect your elders,’ you’d been gifted a
golden nugget – something that could indeed help you try to
take over the world in a way that the two laboratory mice: Pinky and
The Brain, were never quite able to. I must be sure to take this
moment to highlight how WRONG that piece of advice
was: wisdom
does (hopefully) come with age, but it doesn’t mean that all
adults are wise! Need more convincing? Small babies are not given the
term ‘senile’ to describe their behaviour, but an adult
behaving in the same way is deemed to be on the verge of insanity.
Adults
are interesting people to young ones. We look at them much like you
do an exhibit at a museum. Our noses pressed up against the glass, we
long to grab hold of that ancient allure. My mother raised us to be
neat, polite little children – the kind you read about in books
from long ago where they say ‘please’ and ‘thank
you’ and wouldn’t think to slam doors or throw a tantrum
in public. Family outings and getting dressed up to meet ‘aunts’
and ‘uncles’ or people we referred to as such out of
politeness was normal. Every week or so there was usually some kind
of an outing – whether with family to the shops, or to meet
friends just because humans had the disposable time and patience to
socialise. The weekend was the weekend: a time for rest,
fun and excitement. I looked forward to that time more than
anything and school holidays were a gift from the heavens, because
they were many weekends rolling by one after another. All the
possibilities each day held and the opportunities for greatness would
make my body tingle with so much excitement that it’d be almost
impossible to sleep.
On
one such particular day, I remember getting ready to meet an old
friend. My twin and I were washed and dressed promptly. Putting on
our long blue coats with navy fur around the collar and cuffs, we
slipped matching blue berets from an aunt onto identical heads of
springy black curls. Today felt different somehow. It was later in
the evening and all that I knew was that we were going for a drive
somewhere far away. It was usual for us to go on drives. We’d
look at the lights at Christmas, view fireworks during the winter and
go to the river in the summer. The usual ‘uncle’ arrived,
picking us up in his car. Uncles were usually kind, but much more
serious. Uncle Banana on the
other hand, liked to fool
around. He invited us over for pizza every weekend, lifted me up to
walk on the ceiling and allowed me to make imaginary phone calls to
my grandfather. That is… until the day we realised the phone
(with no dial tone) which supposedly didn’t work, had been
responsible for a very angry redial from that same grandfather,
demanding to know why this number insisted on prank calling him so
often. It was at this point I’d surmised Uncle Banana was bad
news.
The
drive was rather pleasant despite the fact it was raining. We were in
central London somewhere and I remember sitting in the back of my
Uncle’s car with my mother and twin, eagerly viewing the
scenery around us. There was much to see and although I was secretly
a very nervous child…I felt quite at ease. That was, until my
father called Uncle Banana’s name, snapping his attention away
from his phone and onto the roadwork ahead of us. Uncle Banana hit
the brakes hard, sending us flying. I wasn’t sure if we’d
actually hit the cordoned off area, or merely come within an inch of
doing so, but it didn’t matter – the blood rushed to my
ears just the same. It sounded so loud that I thought there was a
river in my head. The tyres screeched and made a sickening grinding
sound as they came to a halt. I didn’t quite have the courage
to get out in the middle of a busy road to see if we’d left
tyre marks upon the tarmac, but it wouldn’t have surprised me
if we had. I remember the oxygen levels in the car felt as though
they’d decreased suddenly as our heavy breathing reminded us we
were still alive. Looking around, checking our limbs were all still
attached and functioning, I caught my dad giving Uncle Banana a
menacing look through the rear view mirror. Back in those days it
wasn’t illegal to be on your phone and drive if you were being
safe, but now that it is, I can safely say my childhood self is very
much relieved. I wished we’d turned back right there and headed
for home. Pleading with the air currents to take my silent prayer to
my parents, I sat in shock, certain that we wouldn’t continue
on any further, but fate has an interesting way of surprising you…
Thankfully,
the remainder of the drive was (in comparison), uneventful.
Remembering the look I’d seen on my father’s face, I
worried (mostly for my Uncle’s safety) had it not been. A look
can say a thousand words and that particular glance told me that he
wasn’t best pleased at my Uncle’s foolishness. The sun
had now set and lights were twinkling past us as the drive picked up
speed on the motor way. Lampposts and headlights were likened more to
stars in a dark, moving cosmos of pollution. Rocking along on our
journey, my vision became hazy.
The
car stopped, but I didn’t quite understand why as there weren’t
any buildings around us. My twin and I were told to come out of the
car so we could observe a river. As we approached the side of the
bridge, it was possible to make out gentle waves lit softly in the
dusk of evening. It was rather relaxing watching the light dance on
the water as it tenderly swayed beneath us. I began to feel as if by
watching such a scene, I too was in the water: a magnificent mermaid
bopping along to wave at other little children who would (no doubt),
be looking down from the bridge at me too. I’d just lost myself
in these reveries in fact, when something whipped my attention back
to reality. It felt as though a great bird had swooped down at me
from above and had picked me up in its talons. My stomach went one
way as my body went the other; it took a moment for it to settle
before my senses re-aligned. I wasn’t looking across at the
water anymore, but rather… down at it! Uncle Banana’s
laughter was loud and somewhat manic as he held me above his head.
“I’m
going to drop you,” he joked. “I’m going to drop
you.”
I
went numb with fear. My heart raced at humming-bird-like speed as my
pupils focused on the dark abyss beneath me. My legs were dangling
under me like a limp ragdoll.
Please,
I thought. Please don’t let him do it.
I pleaded
with the heavens that he wouldn’t lose his grip. I’ve
never been able to swim, although I doubted that I’d survive in
such a large expanse of water even if I could. The
river is
dirty. It has germs that can kill. No child with a
body as
frail as mine would want to take their chances in those waters! I
cannot be sure of the exact amount of time that I was in that state
between consciousness and unconscious hysteria caused by fear, but it
felt like a lifetime. When my feet did eventually reach solid ground
again, my legs almost buckled beneath me - having most certainly been
replaced by jelly.
I
didn’t want to get back in the car after that. Nor did I want
to be around another living soul. My home, my things, my bed –
back to safety: I longed to return to this place. I didn’t
understand what I was to do now as it certainly wasn’t possible
to trust the adults around me to keep me safe anymore. Nor did I
trust that I wouldn’t come to any harm from interacting with
others. It took a lot of self-persuasion to continue the drive, but
when confronted with the choice of being left in that spot or
hopefully going home…common sense became the driver and I
returned to the seat beside my sister (being sure to strap in tight
just in case there were any other ‘accidents’).
Our
final destination was a shopping centre (the name of which I cannot
recall), but it was late and most of the shops were closed. From my
childhood memory, I think we went to a shop that specialised in beds,
although it’s possible that it could have been a general
furniture store as children aren’t always the most perceptive
of creatures (especially when scared witless on two previous
occasions in rapid succession). In this store I attempted to stay as
far away from Uncle Banana as possible – for fear that he’d
decide to drop a banana peel on the floor to watch me slide through
the aisles in some bizarre form of amusement. It would have worked
too! He attempted to get me to take a bite out of wax display food
(fruit if my memory serves me correctly), but I recognised the scent
and appearance from previously having made candles for mother’s
day at school, and a plastic garlic bread roll set out in a breakfast
tray. I knew better than to take heed of any of those suggestions at
this point and did well to remember to stay by my mother’s
side.
It
was an impressive shop. Beds of all sizes were crammed so close
together that it felt much like going on a treasure hunt! We weeded
our way through the narrow pathway between each of them, not stopping
to test any lest they be an elaborate trap. I followed my mother over
to a large black, mahogany bed. It had four posters and a canopy –
just like a princess bed. MY gaze followed the
height of the
bed from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Having to hold the
back of my head for support, it was almost as tall as a circus tent
(or so I thought). Expertly made with satin covers and fluffy
pillows, I marvelled at the height of the mattress. How great it
would have been to bounce on such a structure…
As
if hearing my thoughts out loud, again I felt my body being lifted
into the air. This time, however, I was raised behind Uncle Banana’s
head and held - only a moment, before being propelled forward. No!
I heard myself cry in my head. This time, he really
had let go!
I hit the mattress hard, attracting disapproving looks from staff,
the store manager and my parents. I felt hurt. ‘Adults know
best’ that’s what they say, so why was I responsible
for an adult making idiotic decisions?! It made me wonder if that’s
how a bullet felt when it’s shot from a gun, but I had no real
wish to find out the answer … the mattress rippled due to the
velocity I’d hit it with and I could only be grateful that it
hadn’t been open water. Now my nerves really were shattered,
much like my self esteem and any real piece of mind I would ever
have.
We
left the shop in disgrace: with my uncle chuckling to himself and my
head hanging so low in shame that I could see my own reflection in
the shoes mum had polished earlier before putting them on me that
evening. I just want to go home,
I thought. Please,
please take me home now… The sun had set and it
felt
very late. Uncle Banana decided that before he drove us home he
wanted to eat McDonalds. I’d never been to McDonalds this late
before and although I’d eaten a good dinner before we’d
left, I took Uncle Banana’s advice to ask my mother for some.
No mother would have agreed.
“It’s
late, you don’t eat at this time and especially not this kind
of food,” she warned.
My
nerves were still bouncing around my body, forcing my back to stay
straight as though a rod had strung me upright. I was jumpy and
couldn’t relax no matter how hard I tried. The scent of chips
felt comforting and as consolation was what I craved at the time, I
wanted them inside of me to calm the mammoth moths bashing around
inside my rib cage.
Luckily,
we did make it home in one peace – only for me to wish I’d
observed my mother’s words. The chips I’d eaten were
vomited straight up within a few minutes of walking through the door.
Finally being able to feel at ease, my body let go of the stress (and
everything else) in an immediate expulsion. That night I slept
fitfully and although it was only one day in an entire childhood:
that day has stayed with me even into adulthood. Heed the warnings
your intuition gives you and be weary of bad influences. Bridges
still make me nervous and I am not very fond of heights. Sometimes I
find myself thinking of very strange scenarios and I wonder if it’s
because this day opened up my imagination to a whole new world.
I
leave you, dear reader, with these last few words: be kind to one
another and consider the impact of your actions. Share all your
stories without judgement because it’s true what they say: ‘the
truth is often stranger than fiction! ‘
I
write with the happiness of a true addict and always enjoy looking for
new stories to tell. I’m very fond of books and appreciate the scent of
a good read!
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)
Book
Case
Home
Page
The
Preservation Foundation, Inc., A Nonprofit Book Publisher