THE COO November, 2006 Megan McCook The pretty, blue eyed baby would lie in her bed and coo like a homing pigeon. She was just trying it on for size. She would form her little mouth into an O and just push the air out gently.
It made her feel safe but she was too little to know what unsafe could feel like. It was the same feeling when her mother would hold her tight in her arms.
The first time the young mother heard it; she tilted her head to the side and wondered what that could be.
It was such a sweet sound. Such a tiny bird she thought to herself, for she was also safe. Her life was going just as she had planned. A happy two year old boy to follow in his father’s footsteps and a little girl to dress up. Life was warm. Life was good. More babies came, more shoes to find and schedules to meet and places to go and the mother forgot the sound of the coo.
Each child would emerge into their own selves. Some always happy, some searching for their God, some always wanting to do the right thing.
The little blue eyed girl grew up with many sides in her head.
She wasn’t feeling as safe as she used to but she was too young to know that. As she grew so did the voices and the visions and she just thought everyone had this going on in their heads.
At first it was a source of amusement.
Like flipping through a book of paintings. Colors bright and vibrant and as dark as the farthest corner of the basement. So she took it as far as she could go. It was the generation of sex and rock n’ roll and she was one of the best. It felt good to lose control. She was like a cowgirl riding her painted pony across the wide flat plains.
Chasing the horizons. Wild like the winds. Whipping the pony so she could go faster and faster and faster. Her tears could roll off the sides of her face and leave big dirty streaks and blow off behind her. As long as she kept riding the tears wouldn’t pool on her lap and into her hands and she wouldn’t see her own reflection in the collection.
She spent years trying to stay ahead of herself.
One day the pony just stopped. She pulled the reins this way and that and kicked his heaving sides but he couldn't go any further. He just stopped running.
She took a deep breath and formed her lips into an O and breathed out a coo. It seemed like no one heard.
Her mother, who lived across town, tilted her head to an old memory and wondered if her little girl had safely gone home. This is a story about my sister who was schizophrenic. She committed suicide in 2004. |
