lang=EN-GB>September the eleventh 2002, and in her spacious and well lit south
facing sitting room Ruth Madsen still sits on the arm chair of the very
endearing three piece suite. In her hand
is the third cup of tea that day, on top of the three cups of coffee.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She sits rigidly upright in a wide invitingly
soft armchair designed to have the legs pulled up from the floor and curled up
on the seat, the arms have extra cushioning for the head to rest on in one of
the many abstract but extremely comfortable positions that can be achieved in
such a luxuriously comfortable piece of furniture.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>Ruth chooses to sit in it like it is an electric chair, her death
chair, which it may as well be. Her eyes
on the television, her head slightly tilted, yet if we were to join her in that
empty rattling mind, we would see she stares through the television, her eyes
actually focus a few meters into next door’s side of the wall, about where the
twenty something man who owns it stands when urinates.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>The image she does not focus on is the building site, the hole in
the ground which, on this special day, plays host to foreign dignitaries and
the televised eyes of the world. A small
and constantly frightened president of the strongest country in the world
explains his plan to rationalise his fear, around him his notable guests nod
their heads, too afraid not to go along with him.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>The frightened president has declared a war on his fear; only, he
seems to think the whole world is frightened with him. The irony being that it
is this, and this alone which most of
the world is afraid of, this joke escapes Ruth, as does the time of day.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> It is half past one in the afternoon, and
Ruth is yet to have to have lunch, she is yet to have breakfast.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>The cup in her hand leans forward a little more as her detached grip
slackens just a little.
lang=EN-GB>Her eyes twitch, the irises tighten as she pulls her self into the
real world. A whole year and nothing has
changed, since the September the
eleventh nothing has altered. Three
hundred and Sixty-five days during which she has done this every day.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> From the unthinking place she has been for
the last twenty so minutes thoughts have been trying to get her attention as they
occur to her distant secondary mind, banging on the door.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> They have now kicked in and she blinks, once
as if to signify this.
lang=EN-GB>The hands tighten her grip on the cup, and then slacken and it
lurches dangerously over the side of the armchair.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>She blinks repeatedly, the first blink stinging her eyes which have
not moved, for…for…how long?
lang=EN-GB>Kids, tea… Andrews shirts, walk the three
legged dog, dust the dining room... She does these things now, but she would
only be doing them for herself and they will only need doing them again
tomorrow. Why do them now when she can save
them.
lang=EN-GB>Again she has drifted off.
lang=EN-GB>Is this a healthy thing to be happening?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Every day, maybe thirty times, she sits down,
to read, to anything, and half an hour later she snaps out of the stupor which
grabs her and takes her away whenever she drops her guard.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Where does she go?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She shakes her head and grips her cup of tea
tightly. The sting in her eyes fades.
lang=EN-GB>She has gone nowhere, absolutely nowhere.
lang=EN-GB>Her children, her husband, even her crippled dog have aged by twelve
months. Her face looks drawn, old,
tired, but then it looked that twelve months ago.
lang=EN-GB>A tear rolls down her cheek, it may from the sting of not blinking
for nearly half an hour, or it may be the apathetic scream of despair which she
would let out if only she could move.
lang=EN-GB>One year ago today,
lang=EN-GB>the eleventh of September 2001
had been one of the most exciting days of her year.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Not because she was an Al qui’eda
sympathiser, not because she had any vested interest or even connection with
the world trade centre or any of the corporations that had offices with in,
fuck she’d never even been to New York, but because something had happened.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
class=GramE>Something to
stop this day being like every other.
lang=EN-GB>She had been already sitting in front of the flickering screen,
dreading the next three hours until her children returned home and she had
something to do when… deliverance!
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> As the
day unfolded she did not leave her seat for more than a couple of minutes
because something was happening, she had not walked Jesse because something was
happening, she was glad to be in front of her television because something was
happening.
lang=EN-GB>Something was actually happening.
lang=EN-GB>Something that may even change the world, and she was to bear
witness to it. She moved her chair slightly
closer to the television. The world was
changing and she was watching it all, a constant action replay to last all
afternoon. She put a video in and
pressed record.
lang=EN-GB>Time and time again she watched the 737 as it entered the second
tower. Not as it crumpled up around the structure,
not as it mashed itself around the shape of the building but it just entered
it, like a car parking in a garage.
lang=EN-GB>As if there was a slot for it to slide into, as if it had been
designed for it. Then there was that second…
- was it a second or a moment? …when
nothing happened, the building was still.
Can you measure a period of time like that?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
class=GramE>Just
lang=EN-GB> too long to make sense to the mind?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>The gap, that was the word, the gap between the plane flying into
the building and the fire burst bursting out of every wall.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> As if God himself had just for a moment
reached down and held on, held it all in, before realising he must not
interfere, letting go, and allowing the world to change forever.
lang=EN-GB>Ruth had left her television, and run through to the expensive and
marble green kitchen to put a pizza in the oven and grab one of Andrew’s beers
from the ‘handy and convenient retractable snack storage unit’ she grabbed a
couple of bags and crisps, then ran back through, resumed her seat, curled up
tight with a cushion as word came in of fire and explosions in Washington
DC.
lang=EN-GB>Was this the end of the world she was witnessing?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Could it be, how glorious that would be, the
end of humanity. Bickering sides killing
each other until there was nothing left?
She had always thought that was how it would all fall down, bar the
outside chance of an asteroid hit or a massive flood.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The natural disaster theat
would happen one day if man didn’t do it first.
Now it looked like man would once again not allow ghimself
to be outdone by nature.
lang=EN-GB>She watched footage of that twerp of a president run like a coward
into the Nevada desert, but had found herself in a strange unexpected
admiration of the prime minister, who, despite the belief that
lang=EN-GB>London may be next,
came running straight back. The stock
exchange had been evacuated and the emergency services were on red alert, but
he came back, he didn’t run and hide in the Cotswolds.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She didn’t like the man, but that meant
something.
lang=EN-GB>Ruth had an afternoon to remember that day, stuffing her self with
pizza, beers, crisps, cream trifle. She
ate, sh actually ate, she actuly
could. She hadn’t dfeasted
like that in years. People were burning
to death, and yeah, it was sad, but it was being televised- for a reason, it
was great fucking telly! The BBC, as
well as showing the same footage over and over of a fire engine and an
ambulance racing past, showed film of people falling from the top floors.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>Hurling themselves out of the black smoke
that filled their office and choked them.
Did they know they were fucked?
Were they just trying to kill them selves or did they think they might
survive? In a lack of oxygen could
delirium set in to such an extent that they might think they could survive the
fall? If that was it, did they have
enough time to get fresh air into their lungs as they fell, at some point on
their way down did they realise the truth?
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Fucking amazing television.
lang=EN-GB>
lang=EN-GB>The revolution will not be televised but the end of the world surely
will be. Surround sound widescreen hell
and brimstone. That would be worth
videoing, only, afterwards there would be no TV to watch it on, shame.
lang=EN-GB>Then the new shot, a new piece of film and Ruth’s mouth froze in mid
chew. For half an hour now she been
watching people in the towers, above where the planes hit, trapped, waving,
jumping. Now though there was something
new, and Ruth found the horror which had escaped her until now banging angrily
on her mind. Now she saw death, plain
and simple, pure and unadulterated.
Before now the death had been incidental to the act itself but now it
was death that headlined the event, the grand finale and it was sickening to
behold. As first one tower fell and then
the other, she realised with a twist to her gut she was watching thousands of
people die.
lang=EN-GB>The pizza seemed cheap and clotty, the synthetic dough sticking to
the roof of her mouth. Was this horror
or terror? The voice of commentary told
her time and time again, they played it to her over and over again.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She stopped the tape.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>Why now did morality kick in?
Was it morality, it was more moral than the mass media induced
‘grieving’ that would kick in over the coming weeks.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> She wouldn’t be in the least surprised if
this turns into the new Diana. That was certain.
lang=EN-GB>She could not judge herself by those standards, they were not hers
to adopt, as and when she wanted to feel better.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Was it guilt, or shame?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Because she had watched and enjoyed, she had
no doubt the rest of the world had been glued to their television screens, but all crying, “oh god! It’s horrible,
somebody please film it!” Replay
class=SpellE>replay replay, more angles.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> There was just so many angles, surly they
could feed them into to a computer and it could create a here dimensional model
and then they could spin around Matrix style as it blew!
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Fucking outstanding
television!
lang=EN-GB>Here, now, one year later her guilt welled for herself, and because
of herself. Her guilt then,
was because her life was so little that something like that would be the
highlight of her year, and one year further on, she was still in the same
place. If it were to happen again, now,
she would fall on it in much the same way.
Her guilt then, that this was all she was, made her guilt now
worse. She had done nothing to change
it.
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>No, that’s not true I have
my pottery. That’s right, hold on to it.
lang=EN-GB>How has she ended up so empty?
Even though she knows it she still lets the media manipulate her because
she just has nothing better to do. Her
life has nothing.
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>What happened?
lang=EN-GB>She was a housewife, but that was not it… she…she…
lang=EN-GB>A tear rolls down her cheek.
She could turn the TV off. But
what else would she do. Rattle around
this house, this big expensive lovely house that her parents love so fucking
much, so suitable, such a perfect place to raise children.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The house that mocks and degrades
her. Every day sat in front of the
television watching mind numbing shit, and when Andrew gets home and asks ‘what
did you do today honey?’ with out so much as looking at her, what will she
say?
lang=EN-GB>She will say what she always says.
class=GramE>Lies.
lang=EN-GB>Make up a shopping excursion, or a friend, anything to hide the
truth.
lang=EN-GB>Whatever would he do if he found out what she does with every single
day? She knows what she would do, cry with shame.
Hr jaw clenches, fighting the tears now just thinking about it.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> So ashamed of her self, because her life was
something she was so ashamed of. But so
very good at hiding it, from Andrew, from her children, from her parents, even
from her brother, and on the surface from her self.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Only at times like this, did she know,
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>know the truth.
lang=EN-GB>Would he even care? Does he
even believe this shit, this happy la-la show she puts on for him, does he even
think about it?
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>No.
lang=EN-GB>Does he think about her when he’s at the office?
class=GramE>Absolutely
not.
lang=EN-GB>Did he think about her at all?
Ever? Or
was she just there?
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Absolutely do not cry.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Not for this life, not this empty life.
lang=EN-GB>‘But it’s all you have to cry for Ruth.’
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Closes her eyes and will not hear it.
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>No; I have more, I
class=GramE>am more than this.
class=GramE>‘Pottery?
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Fucking pottery, a dozen dried up dykes fondling
wet clay like they do each other’s loose, sloppy, old-’
lang=EN-GB>“Stop it!” she screams.
lang=EN-GB>Bang, like that, She’s back.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Deep breathes clutching her, suddenly
resurrected. Gasping,
class=SpellE>grippng the arms of the chair.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Breathing too deep.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Got to control it, or go and get a paper bag.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> There is nothing to be afraid of here.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> It’s alright.
lang=EN-GB>Where’s the cup? The hand on
the arm of the chair is empty. She leans
forwards and sees the spill fanning out across the expensive cream carpet.
lang=EN-GB>‘Oh dear.’ it smirks.
lang=EN-GB> Screws up her eyes and buries
her head in her jumper.
lang=EN-GB>‘Nasty stain that!’
lang=EN-GB>She grips her throat, her wind pipe and lungs twitching.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>It’s just tea, it’s just a carpet.
lang=EN-GB>‘It’s a nasty stained carpet, what have you done?’
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>It’s just a carpet.
lang=EN-GB>But she’s ruined, marked it…
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> The house watches, for all it has to do is watch
her, and all she has to do is be watched, day after day.
lang=EN-GB>‘You’ve stained my lovely carpet Ruth, look, LOOK!’
lang=EN-GB>And she can not even move to get the rags, the carpet shampoo tissue
to soak it up.
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Why can’t I move?
lang=EN-GB>‘Andrew’s going to ask what’s happened.’
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Doesn’t matter, I spilled
tea, so what?
lang=EN-GB>‘I know that, and you know that, just like I know and you know that
when he asks you’ll go to pieces like a little girl.’
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>No, it’s just a carpet.
lang=EN-GB>‘Gonna scream at your kids again Ruth?’
class=GramE>Nothing, she won’t answer, can’t give it the satisfaction
lang=EN-GB>, it would only feed, feed and become stronger.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> So trapped… day after day knowing she can’t
change this by herself. Why won’t
someone save her? Why won’t Andrew
see? Why won’t he whisk her up, like he
used to and take her away, Grab them all, her, Steph
and Aimee and Jesse, and just take us all away somewhere else?
lang=EN-GB>‘Ruth, I know you can hear
lang=EN-GB>Me.’ it whispers.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'>
lang=EN-GB>‘Gonna scream at little Emily?
Make her Cry?’
lang=EN-GB>Her face starts to go red, she’s gripping
her throat so hard, her chest twisting, and niggling, pushing it out.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Someone somewhere could save her from this,
surely, but who?
Who would even know she was here?
lang=EN-GB>‘Gonna make Emily cry?’
lang=EN-GB>‘That’s it Ruth.’ It persists, seeing how she weakens.
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>NO…
lang=EN-GB>‘Doesn’t want to fuck you anymore does he?’
lang=EN-GB>She grips her arms round her chest rosk
forwards, pushing back down what almost jiggles free and a strangled noise half
escapes her as she breathes. “Help
lang=EN-GB>me.” she murmurs
uncontrollably, knowing immediately her mistake.
lang=EN-GB>‘Do you think he’s fucking someone else Ruth?’ it moves over her
shoulder, in her ear now, she can feel it breathe.
class=GramE>no
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>… oh god when did I get so
small?
class=GramE>‘ALWAYS SMALL!
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> Always!’ it snaps.
lang=EN-GB>Her eyes welling, daren’t breath or it will all come out.
lang=EN-GB>‘Fucking someone else – Fucking Someone else - Fucking someone else
– Fucking
someoneelsefuckingsomeoneelsefuckingsomeoneelsesomeoneelsesomeoneelse!’
lang=EN-GB>She moves and it slips, bursting out while she breathes and nearly
choking her as her face falls, the tears behind her eyes building up.
style='mso-spacerun:yes'> she gasps to breathe
and tries to hide, from… from all, just wants to curl up and die, only no… no…
she doesn’t. She hasn’t given up hope,
not yet. Just wants out!
lang=EN-GB> ‘There we are… there we are,
you shouldn’t fight it you see, I always win.”
lang=EN-GB>Ruth lashes out, at the chairs at the floor, at that fucking stain,
slamming her hands against it until once more she can not move, or do anything
other than sob pathetically.
style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>
