She sits looking out at the goldfish pool; it has rained recently and the air is damp but not cold, and looking out over the luxuriant plants, verdant hills  and Eden-like setting in the foreground, she almost feels at peace, and she almost feels free.  Then suddenly the chatter in the background almost ceases,the blue notes of a saxophone float around her and the chains  which bind her memories begin to fall away.

It was so nice at first, to live surrounded by perfection, to live in the sunshine of their love, but eventually there were changes which she could not understand as the grey mists of their displeasure closed in.  How did it begin, she wonders, why did it continue for so long and why did no one ever try to stop it? And how could she have lived for so long within the body of her pain?

She stares sightlessly at the goldfish swimming round and round in contented circles which seem to mock the dulled pain in her heart.  She stare into their fishy eyes and it is as if they offer some sort of solace her wounded being, because they know that existence can truly be chained by reality that one is a child,  surrounded by adults who believe that they know you better than you know yourself.  

The colours of her painting , purple and black with vivid yellow spots, reflected the certain knowledge that if she had only been born a century earlier, she would not have been kept alive by the miracle of inoculations and over-the-counter tonics.

“Tell me,” said Teacher, after the pause of an endless appraisal; “what happened to you?”

“Nothing,” she replied, drawing away from him ever so slightly in that way of hers which had been described as antisocialby the Principal of The Prestigious Girls’ School which she attended, but which her parents had pointed out was merely because she was being brought up strictly. 

 It is as if she can still hear Ma’s acrid tones repeating over and over inside her head, ” I’ll killlllllllll you if you everrrrrrrr tell anybodyyyyyy.”

And she never told a soul, but it was almost as if she had been killed anyway, for her spirit died; the sunshine went out of her life and in its place there were only shadows and mists…But how much of these were because of her own compliance or of Ma’s complicity, she did not know.

“The doctor said you are to take these pills.”

And take them she did, because she was such a passive, foolish fourteen year-old child.

“I’ll kill you if you ever tell anybody!”

She pours out the story into the blue notes wafting on the breeze; she bends sideways so that her gaze can come into direct contact with the goldfish in their ceaseless circling of the pool; and as the music rises to a crescendo, it’s as if the opening and closing of their mouths is the opening and closing of shutters of time…

“Don’t ever get into people’s business,”  Pa muttered, and she took the pills Ma gave her, thinking she’d forget.

For years and years she spoke dutifully to her Spiritual Adviser and followed all the counsel he gave her, yet the mists which clouded her mind never lifted. But even while they continued to swirl around her, it was as if she was crawling though them, hand over hand on her knees towards a distant light.

The goldfish mouths open and close as the sounds which flow freely around her suddenly penetrate the mists.  She becomes aware of a sudden silence, and then the MC speaks, with feeling.

“Let us now hold hands as we affirm the special time we spent here today.  Turn to your neighbour and say…”

“Can time really be unchained?” she whispers as their hands touch.

Afterwards, as they walk out towards the tour bus, she turns to him and says “Would you believe it if I told you that they tried to turn me into a prescription drug addict when I was 14 years old?”

“Why?”

“Because they didn’t want me to tell anybody that a classmate told me she was having an affair with a teacher.”

“But that was how your parents met?”

“Exactly.”

“Happens all the time,” he chuckles.

As their hands touch, and hold, she wonders, inconsequentially, ‘how long do goldfish live?’