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Falling In Love is Hard on the Knees	By : sarahjean Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > General Views: 3149 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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So I speak to you in riddles

'Cause my words get in my way.

I smoke the whole thing to my head

And feel it wash away.

'Cause I can't take anymore of this

I wanna come apart,

Or dig myself a little hole

Inside your precious heart.

- Staind, Epiphany

The sun was cruel. Very cruel. Of course, the sun is always cruel to me � I suppose that because I always used to be such a recluse, the lack of light took its toll on my skin and my mind � when subjected to a lot of sunlight and heat, I get awful migraines and blotches or welts on my skin. People call me a vampire, and I agree with them.

So, as you can imagine, as I trekked across this beautiful landscape with the Fellowship, the sun beating down on us, I was silently dying. I had the familiar tingling feeling on my forearms that told me I had welts there, and my head was slowly beginning to pick up an odd drumbeat. No one else seemed affected � they walked on and talked amongst themselves. I didn�t speak much to anyone � I knew if I did, I�d snap for no real reason. Sensing this, Tommy and Jack strayed off to question the Fellowship, even though in truth, they knew a lot more than they did.

I felt at the pouch at my hip, making sure my oddities were still there. Later that night, I figured I�d do a tarot reading to see what lies ahead. I at least liked to explore my options so that surprises had some of the edge taken off of them. I didn�t like surprises, not one bit.

Some time during the course of one long trek along across the lush greenery, Legolas joined me, not saying anything at first, but walking by my side. His presence was almost like cold water in the face � it woke me up, brought me back to reality, but also, in this heat, it was very pleasant � his mere presence made me feel better. There are some people like that, you know? There�s the people who naturally make you smile in their presence, like Berry � she always brings a Cheshire-cat grin to my face. Then there�s the type of people I called emotional vampires � when in your presence they drain positive feelings from you to fuel themselves, or just plain drain you. Maybe a little like Dementors in Harry Potter, but no, these people were real � Jack was rapidly turning into one, and I had a sneaky suspicion I was too, even though I actually worked most of my life to make people smile, not get depressed.

�How are you feeling?� Legolas asked.

�I�ve been better,� I said truthfully. �The sun � it kills me.� I showed him my enraged arm. �I�ve never spent much time outside; my skin isn�t really safe under the sun.�

He nodded, looking as though the mere thought of getting welts from the sun was something to cry over. �Are you okay? Are they painful�?�

�No, no,� I chuckled. �They just itch a little, and make me look like I�ve got fleas.�

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments, in which time I studied the Elf next to me. He seemed so strong, but also fragile, almost as though he was a delicate china ornament protected by some strong charm. His presence was both comforting, but it also made me kind of sad � he was a reminder of what I could never have. Even if he was like, �Oh, Carrie, I love you, let�s have loads of offspring�, what would happen if he knew of all my past and my, er, mental deficiencies? That I self-harm, that I tend to do crazy things that only proceed to make me seem crazy. He�d probably wrinkle his nose and run away to bath away all of the cooties I might have given him.

At the same time, I wanted to open up to him badly. It took a lot of self-control and fear of rejection to force my mouth shut. My feelings were confusing me. It isn�t easy to touch on personal feelings, not in my case, anyway. I always got top grades in English, I had a fairly good grasp at vocabulary, and I knew what I felt. But I couldn�t figure out how to voice it, and most of the time, I didn�t want to. To speak of my emotions, my thoughts, anything, was like ripping open my ribcage and allowing those present to rip my heart out, puncture my lungs, devour my soul. If anyone told me I�d done a good job so far on conveying my life, I would thank them, but I would tell them that I hadn�t even come close to hitting all of the feelings. Some feelings can�t be described � they�re just there, and though simple and common, they�re so powerful and overwhelming � Sauron has nothing on these emotions.

�When I was about five or six,� I said, �my brother Tommy moved away to live with my uncle and his flatmate � his housemate, roommate, whatever � for a while. My uncle, bless his heart, was a great man, but an alcoholic. He and his flatmate drank themselves into oblivion, and my poor brother would lock himself in his room, hating to see lives wasted, especially because my uncle had been cleaning himself up. Anyway, Tommy would sit on his bed, and he would listen to this song on the radio � called Streets of Philadelphia, by Bruce Springsteen. And these days, that song reminds him of uncle so strongly.� I swallowed. �Uncle died not so long ago. The alcohol affected his heart, and he passed away�it was so, so painful for everyone, and we were all scrambling for the memories of him that we could keep and hold close, fighting our precious guilt and trying to atone for the guilt that wouldn�t go away. But music is the most powerful memory�Tommy always looks subdued and tearful when he hears Streets of Philadelphia, just as I do when a memory is triggered.� I shook my head. �And one of my greatest friends, Mark, he died too�he was Jack�s friend originally, but�Jack seemed to neglect him after a while. He was soon mine and Tommy�s, and his passing struck us down once more. Thinking of him, songs like The Show Must Go On or Adagio for Strings make me remember��
�I think you should take the opportunity,� Mark said, through typing over the internet. I stared at the screen, knowing more was coming. �Make something out of yourself. Don�t let yourself be dragged into ruts like your stupid brother.�

I smiled bitterly. Mark knew of Jack�s American woman, that she was nothing but a fake. �I have been considering it, quite seriously, too. I�m afraid of the socialising�get rid of the kids and I�ll be fine.�

�Which would you prefer? College or school?�

I winced. �College, I guess. Since the students might be a bit more mature than normal��

�Precisely,� Mark typed. �And I think this is a great opportunity. If I were you, I�d snag it; make sure I had a future.�

�I�ll definitely think about it,� I replied.

~*~

I was playing computer solitaire. I was concentrating on the cards, trying to force my exhausted brain into gear, my ingestion of booze getting to me � it was Boxing Day, and I was reeling from merriment. Not much of that in our house, but I guess that when you�re under the influence of two bottles of Baileys, even a graveyard is merry.

The bedroom door opened, and my mother appeared in the doorway, her face tear-stained, her body shaking with sobs. �It�s Mark,� she said, her voice breaking. �He�s dying, Carrie.�

~*~

�Sit down, Carrie,� mum said, patting the floor next to her. Penny was sitting on the freezer, tears running down her face, matching mum�s own sadness. I was confused, and in my heart, I knew something bad had happened. �It�s uncle, Carrie�he was very sick and�he died��

A fresh sob came from Penny, but I ignored it. I stared at my mum for a moment. I was almost juggling the ideas of whether to cry or not, but then my face crumpled of its own will. I allowed my legs to buckle, and I fell to the floor, crying for my friend, advisor, a kind man, someone who had been mistreated but who treated others well. And I cried for my family � my father, my brothers, everyone � I even cried for the dogs. A gaping chasm was left in all our souls, and I could feel it. And it hurt.

~*~

So far so good, I thought. I hadn�t started crying yet. I was like the strong one of the group, the one who had listened to rock on the way there, the one who walked with a straight posture. But then I saw it.

The hearse was coming towards us slowly, and in the side window of the leading car, I saw flowers spelling MARK. That was it. I started to sob for all I was worth, my body shaking with the loss of someone who would eventually give me some happiness in life, a reason to live. He was inside that coffin, the one which seemed too small.

�He should have been here,� I gasped, glaring at the wreath. But Jack was in America. With his hussy. He had been warned in advance about Mark�s cremation, but he hadn�t changed the flights. I hated him at that moment. Almost more than I hated myself.
I couldn�t believe I was telling Legolas these private memories, as we lagged back from the rest, out of ear-shot. I stared at Jack�s back, and remembered how at that time I would�ve loved to have beaten the shit out of him. If anything should be appreciated, it�s a friend. Jack had cried at first, but he left for America. Me? Well, I spoke to Tommy a lot, and we grew closer over our grief. I would cry myself to sleep, trying to be quiet so as not to wake my mother, because my room was being decorated and I had to stay in her room.

I would ingest as much alcohol as I could lay my hands on, and constantly hold back tears. I remembered one time, I was speaking to Tommy as he drove me home, and he said, �I�I sent him a text message. To his phone. I knew he wouldn�t get it, or maybe, in some way, he did, but�I told him all of what he meant to me, how we�ll miss him��

As he spoke, the resolve I�d built up since that morning had cracked like a delicate egg shell. The tears came hard and fast, and Tommy comforted me as I cried over the loss of my friend, our friend. And when I got home, I sat at my computer, and sent an email to Mark. And I spoke of everything he did for me � and I ended with how I was going to go to college for him. When I sent the message, I wondered if his parents would find it. I didn�t care � I wanted them to know how much their son meant to the people whose lives he touched.

Those were times that I�d love to forget. But I can�t. I still remember heading for uncle�s cremation, in the car right behind the funeral car. I had a full view of the coffin, and though I didn�t cry, the pain was immense. None of it was real. But then�walking to the chapel�

��the priest, the woman who was doing the service, was standing at the doors, waiting for us�for all those people who turned up for him�and I realised then that it was real. Once again, my legs failed me. And Tommy caught me. It wasn�t the first time � nor the last � that he did. He had to practically carry me inside the chapel�those are people I�ll never forget, and the feelings won�t ever leave me either. Those men both saved me in some special way�� my voice cracked, and I shut up for a moment, trying to regain my sense of control. Tears were threatening to claim my cheeks, and the lump in my throat was painful. I had lived with that lump for months during the courses of the two deaths. �You asked me how I am, and right now, I can�t say. I don�t know why I�m here, and in some ways, I don�t know who I am any more. I�m here with one brother who I love and who I feel would protect me against all odds. And I�m also here with another brother, who used to love me, but then decided I wasn�t good enough. I wish I knew where I was going with all this.�

Shame washed over me. Spilling my guts out like this shamelessly. Legolas may have been the only one to hear, but in a way, that wasn�t all that good � maybe he really would hate me. But he merely lowered his head. �Death is always a curse, arwenamin. I have seen my fair share of it, and it never gets easier. The pain lasts forever.�

I nodded. �I once heard a story. A girl used to lose her temper a lot, especially to her mother. So one day, her mother handed her a bag of nails. She told the girl that every time she lost her temper, she had to hammer a nail into the fence. So the girl did, and soon, she discovered that it was easier and easier to control her temper than to hammer nails into the fence. So, when her moods had stopped, she told her mother. Her mother said that now, for every day she didn�t throw a tantrum, she could remove a nail from the fence. So she did, and when all the nails were gone, her mother came up to her, and she said, �look at the fence. Just like on this fence, tempers and rudeness leave holes in the soul, painful souls that cannot be covered easily. You can remove the nails, but the holes will still be there.��

�I have never heard that story,� Legolas said. �But it is very good. Death leaves imprints on the soul.�

But death also knows no pain, I thought. �What happens about the pain?� I asked.

�We are supposed to live with it,� Legolas said softly. �Some Elves may die of a broken heart, but those that don�t have to survive through the pain, and come out on the other side, scarred, but continuing their journey nonetheless.�

I glanced at Frodo, and suddenly felt a warm rush for the Hobbit. He would be feeling of these emotions after this War. Possibly worse. He had no more control over it than we did. People came into our lives and left just as quickly. We had family, those that love us and those that hurt us, and we had our own integrity and rules. But we couldn�t stop Death from claiming those that love us, that we love, and who are important. I might have given anything to turn back the time to repair my uncle and Mark�s illnesses, but I couldn�t. I had to live with the knowledge that what could have been wasn�t, and that if they could have, both Mark and uncle would have told me to stop grieving for the past and get along to the future � to help out this world, not because it�s a duty, but because I can. And sensing this, I realised that the mere fact that I was thinking this way showed how much I had aged.

I glanced at the Elf beside me, and I knew from the look in his eyes that I could trust him to keep my words secret to his dying day. I looked around at the Fellowship. My brothers, the cruel and the kind. The Hobbits, so innocent yet so brave and strong. The Dwarf, stout and proud. The Men, with issues but good intentions, even if they are spoiled by corruption and lineage. The Wizard, who was wise and strong. The Elf, so beautiful and stable. And me. Who was I? I�m Spiderman. Just kidding. To be truthful, I can�t say who I am. Maybe I never will be able to. The only word that comes to surface for me is this. Carrie.
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Falling In Love is Hard on the Knees