Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Fil.

MistWeaver: Every time I appear here lately it's been mistier and mistier.
Voice: That's because lately you've been bringing your material world more and more into focus, and the mist is trying to reject it.
MistWeaver: That would explain a lot. Every time I've disappeared into here, I've nearly done exactly that: disappeared.
Voice: But for some reason, you're here now, successfully.
Weaver: I know why that is.
Voice: Why?
Weaver: It's because of him. Fil.
Voice: A new paramour?
Weaver: My father.
Voice: Oh.
Weaver: And to a lesser degree, my mother. Oh, how I love my mother. She's strong, and she's holding on tight. But she doesn't recognize the mist for what it is. She doesn't embrace it.
Voice: Many people don't recognize the mist. Why don't you tell me your story?

MistWeaver nods and sits down on the stone obelisk-chair that appears.


Weaver: I have only half an hour, but I'll tell as much as I can.

You see, my parents are getting Le Divorce. My mother, as I mentioned, is strong and beautiful and great. My father is only nice on the outside. He's a compulsive liar, remembers next to nothings, and lives in his own world. And his world is based on what's supposed to be. Who determines that? In his mind, society does.

He's been abusing my mother for years. Not physically, but emotionally and mentally. He never believes anything she says until it's been repeated for him by another source outside his family. He's had her second-guessing every move she amkes, everything she does, since I was born, or even before. Although he has no real friends, my mother had many of them, and because they would do anything for her and wouldn't let her put up with his crap, he moved her all the way across the country to a place where, three years later, she still has no support base.

He's a subtle man, a business man. Almost anybody who hasn't lived with him will say that he's a decent, good man. When he lies, he twists his words until it's my mother's fault, or anybody else's fault. He's suave, handsome.

But everything about him is so wrong!

My mother made him a labradorite pendant. Labradorite is a beautiful glowing stone that absorbs negativity.

It turned black on his neck.

The stone slowly turned blacker and blacker, lost its fire, and charred. Not from any heat but that of his body. Labradorite has a 6.5 hardness. This is no soft little stone.

What more proof is needed? He said it was the negative energy between him and my mother, but my mother has had a large labradorite pendant for years, and it still glows bright gold on her neck with its inner fire.

A few months back, they finally agreed to get a divorce. My mother wanted it to be the happiest divorce in history. She wanted to throw a divorce party. She didn't see why there had to be any hard feelings. They'd been married for 23 years, after all.

My father wants revenge. He wants to clear her out of everything she has, including my brother and I and all of her friends. A few weeks ago when she asked him to move out and threatened to put his stuff in the garage for him to pick up, he called the cops on her. He told them that she had threatened him with a knife and he feared for his life. When she heard of this and called him, he told her he'd make the charge go away as long as she agreed not to touch his stuff.

She hadn't been going to. My mother isn't vindictive. He filed charges anyway. The cops dismissed them. Apparently random accusations happen a lot with divorce cases.

MistWeaver sighs, and her seat charges from hard stone to cool mist, wrapping tendrils around her. A song by Hungry Lucy starts to play softly in the background.

MistWeaver: That's the background. But since my brother and I are old enough to have the choice of who to live with, he has to woo us over. Let's not forget the fact that a good father-child relationship is what all the self-help books and all of society say is needed!

In short, I'm not cooperating with his plan.

My time is almost up, so I'll try to wrap up my story.

His latest thing is emails. He's been emailing me, asking me what we can do to spend more time together, asking me to make a go at having a great relationship with me, telling me he loves me.

Voice: Sounds sincere.

Weaver: That's the problem. He always sounds sincere. He sounds sincere when he tells my mother that he's going to take her kids away from her. He sounds sincere when he tells people that my mother is crazy. He sounds so sincere that a great many of them believe him.

He doesn't make me angry. He makes my skin crawl.

As she speaks, the mist stirs, as if swirled round by a giant invisible hand.

MistWeaver stirs.

MistWeaver: I have to go now. School awaits. And another email awaits from him too, I'm sure. Thank God he's away until Thursday.