i drew a vent comic on a covid testing strip guide and it got some traction on twitter so i thought i’d post it here too . general consensus is Big Emotions Its A Lot so cw covid/trauma
i drew a vent comic on a covid testing strip guide and it got some traction on twitter so i thought i’d post it here too . general consensus is Big Emotions Its A Lot so cw covid/trauma
As an ex-fundie, every time there’s a conservative related tragedy, I just really want people to realize that there are two levels at which the religious right in the US operate.
There’s the select few that are using the movement as a means to coalesce power for themselves. They know what they’re doing, they understand it’s not rooted in religious morality, and you’re never going to convince them of shit.
There’s the much larger group of genuine believers and their beliefs are actually internally consistent much more than the Left would have you believe (saying this as a Leftist).
Per gun violence, yes many of them would indeed rather risk their child’s life ending (and in their view, them going to heaven) than limiting guns.
Something that doesn’t get a lot of media attention outside of fundamentalist churches is that most of them have an emphasis on what I can only describe as apocalyptic fascism. It’s this idea that the end of days have already begun and we’re living in the first phase of the apocalypse and ultimately the return of Jesus Christ. So people shooting up schools is a sign at that escalation and - while no one will admit it - there is an idea that if someone passes away, they’re being spared seeing the more grizzly impacts of the apocalypse as it progresses. That they’re kind of lucky.
They also think that any limitation on guns is more dangerous. They believe True Believers will be rounded up and exterminated at some point (yes, the irony is not lost on me). That one of the signs of the apocalypse escalating is that being a Christian will be effectively outlawed. The select few using the movement have framed protecting ones family as a intrinsically Christian value so - as you might see where this is going - any attack on owning guns is an attack on Christians.
I want to be very very clear that I’m talking about fundamentalist and charismatic Christian churches - not each individual fundamentalist and charismatic Christian, let alone all Christians. I can tell you from personal experience most Catholics and Episcopalians I’ve met when I related some of my experiences as a kid are generally respond with “what the actual fuck.”
So why am I writing about this at all? Isn’t this like a divination blog? Well, one of the Left’s favorite coping mechanisms after tragedies is to funnel that frustration in to picking apart the so called idiosyncrasies in fundamentalist Christian dogma. While I understand it, I just want to help dispel the idea that it’s in any way useful. I want to frame that reaction for what it is - a reaction, a sign that a community in mourning and under real material threat has unmet needs.
But the illusion that what you’re doing will impact people in some way, that being technically correct will protect you, is a trauma response and doesn’t actually take care of the trauma. It tends to make another group a monolith and create more fear and aversion in oneself. Which makes further trauma reactions more likely to less stimulus. And so on. It’s understandable but it’s also avoidable. I just hate seeing folks in my orbit set themselves up to deepen their trauma through participating in ineffectual means. Believe me, I have been there and…yeah. Trauma reactions never heal trauma in my experience.
So what to do instead?
One, vet the information you’re sharing. See if you can confirm it with a known valid news source. If you don’t have the energy to check, just pause on sharing things. You can always share later. It’s important people have accurate information and not info based on fear or theory. One the best ways you can help regulate your community’s nervous systems and not make potential trauma worse.
Two, if you have a personal relationship with people in or still connected with the fundamentalist Christian movement and if you are in a healed enough place to do it, they need your love and compassion. You want to know why my family is substantially more open to social support services and some gun restrictions than the average Fundie family? Because of good faith conversations. I didn’t police which words they chose to use and focused on arriving at a mutual understanding of each others positions. Over time, they’ve shifted. It took about 5 years but most now vote Democrat which would have been unthinkable years ago. They’ll never credit me and I am 100% okay with that. Cause that’s often what it takes to change hearts and minds.
These conversations need to be held in private, away from the public spotlight where people, in my experience, are more open to change. If you’re going to attempt it, the first couple attempts might be rocky. I encourage you to cut things off when you feel yourself getting too angry or you lose touch with compassion. Remember that it’s less about supplying them with facts and more about trying to understand their position. By trying to understand their reasoning alone, you’ll likely change how they think because the perspective your questions come from alone will generally cause them to think about their belief in new ways. Then give it time.
Trust the process. This is basically how my friends helped me begin to break free of fundamentalism as a teenager. By having those conversations, you are engaging in activism, because what most destroys the hold those select few have is their flock beginning to realize the nature of the wolf leading them.
This is one of the reasons I think one of most valuable things we can do as ex-fundies is to heal our relationship with Christianity enough to reengage with it. It’s almost like being bilingual. We know the language, we know what is culturally significant and why, we know what events are treasured and what causes fear. We have the ability to, if we get to a stable place, to best engage with them on their own terms. Which is why so many churches demand friends and family cut off contact with us. They know. They fucking know.
Three, if you don’t have personal relationships with fundamentalists, join larger efforts. I know a lot of people think of protests and they are good, but other work is often needed. If you can provide material support like money - do so. If you can’t or just want to do more, I really can’t understate how useful calling in, writing emails, and writing letters is. I’ve seen direct change from those efforts.
So yeah, this was…way longer than I meant it to be. But basically, one, the fundie political ideology is internally consistent so the nitpicking is just for you but it’s honestly not that good for you and there are ways to actually meet the unmet need you’ve got. For me, this whole process can intersect with shadow work which is why it’s been on my mind lately.
traumatic memories, especially traumatic memories from when you were a child, are notoriously difficult to access in their entirety. there are a lot of reasons for this- dissociation, injury, and memory deteriorating over time to name a few- and this can present a challenging question to survivors: how do i know i’m not lying?
people who are faking trauma or mental illness in general know they’re faking it. if you didn’t wake up one day and plan out what a fake traumatic memory you were going to have, and all the triggers you wanted to have, then you’re not faking.
processing trauma memories is difficult and frightening and confusing, but you are not a liar or a faker.
Words: ca. 8,000 Setting: mAU high school Lemon: no Content: violence, blood, past trauma Song: Terrible Things by The Hard Aches
===
She arrived like any other foster kid. Timid and uncertain. Stepping out into the unknown with everything she owned in a garbage bag slung over her shoulder. Rain poured like tears from the heavens, muting the sounds of traffic, creating the illusion that the world was momentarily empty. Under the dark, thundering sky, she didn’t flinch as her white-blonde hair soaked up the rain, turning shiny and slick against her face. She reminded Anna of a cartoon villain with her thousand-yard-stare, dressed in black from head to toe. Black hoodie with some faded death-metal logo. Black jeans, a single rip on the left knee, and boots that looked like they were made to stomp across a post apocalyptic wasteland.
In a tye-dye singlet and shorts, Anna ran bare-foot across the soggy lawn without hesitating, and reached for the girl’s garbage bag, “Here, let me take that for you-”
“-Don’t touch me.”
“O… kay.” Ouch. But Anna understood. That bag probably contained everything she owned in the whole wide world. She didn’t want some stranger touching it. Anna had a habit of coming on too strong, sometimes. It was something she was working on in therapy.
“Elsa.” The social worker spoke sternly, placing a hand on Elsa’s shoulder which was promptly shrugged off with a scowl. Anna couldn’t hear, over the pouring rain, what serious words the worker was saying, but she saw that they were met with an eye-roll and a heavy sigh.
Inside, Anna cosied up to her mother’s side with a placid smile as the worker presented her parents with a fat manila folder, no doubt containing Elsa’s whole entire life history.
“Oh, Gerda, I can’t thank you and Kai enough for accepting the placement. We were really starting to get desperate.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Gerda said. “We’re happy to share our home. Aren’t we?”
Anna nodded in genuine agreement, hoping to catch Elsa’s attention but only catching the worker’s.
“And you too, Anna. Offering to share your room again. You’re a special girl.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Anna waved the statement off, meaning what she said, but also a little concerned about poor Elsa being made to feel like a burden. “I like the company.”
“She sure does!” Kai ruffled her hair, “Still creeps into our bed sometimes when she gets too lonely!”
“Dad!” Anna’s cheeks burnt with embarrassment, but she tried to laugh it off. Wasn’t that what dads were for?
“Why don’t you go help Elsa settle in,” Gerda said with a comforting rub of the shoulder, “and we’ll be there in a minute.”
This was Anna’s cue to leave so her parents could discuss Elsa’s private information with the worker. Things Anna couldn’t know. Sensitive things. Medications, mental health, and of course, whatever terrible things had happened to her. How she had come to be in this unfortunate situation. Without a family to care for her, without a home.
Elsa stood in the center of the bedroom with a look of mild disgust. Again, ouch. Anna had put a lot of effort into making her bedroom cozy and welcoming, but keeping the decor open-ended enough that her rotating carousel of foster-sisters with their different sensibilities wouldn’t feel too much like guests in someone else’s room. She had pot plants in the corners and warm fairy lights tacked up on the pale green walls. The only personal touches she insisted on keeping were the striped blue, pink and purple curtains - a cheeky homage to the bisexual flag - and the small Wicked poster above the desk where Elsa’s eyes were now fixed.
“Do you like musical theater?” Anna asked.
“No. I hate musical theater.” Came the swift reply.
Damn. But no matter. She would find a way to help Elsa settle in. To connect with her. For a brief moment, Anna wondered whether her parents would let her paint the walls black. Perhaps install a few spider webs. “Okay, well… This is our room. Would you like the top bunk or the bottom bunk?”
“Isn’t one of them already yours?”
“I don’t mind.” Anna shrugged. She preferred the bottom bunk, of course. Everyone prefers the bottom bunk. “I just want you to feel at home.”
“Okay…” Elsa threw her garbage bag onto the bed with a weary sigh and headed for the shower, “um, thanks, I guess.”
===
Knock knock knock-knock knock.
“Do you wanna build a sandcastle?”
She’s persistent, this girl. And sweet, too, if I’m honest. Too sweet for her own good. In a different world, in a different life, I’d go to the beach with her and her stinky brother, build a sandcastle, jump over waves and eat ice-cream or whatever they do.
But not in this life. Not while I’m feeling like this. It’s so hard to control when it comes over me. It’s scary. I would hate to do something I regret.
I’ve told her to go away like three times. She sounded hurt, and I felt awful, but I just can’t be around people right now. It’s not safe.
So that’s why I’m here, in the bathtub. It’s not the most comfortable place to write and this whole journaling thing feels stupid anyway (especially doing it in a bathtub) but, Doc, you really think it’s gonna help me somehow, and the bathroom is the only room with a lock in this damn house. It’s funny how they call it a “foster home”. It’s not really a home. It’s just a house. A building. A dumping ground, really, if you want to be brutally honest. There is no home, not for someone like me.
===
Kristoff huffed and puffed and rolled his skateboard back and forth under his impatient foot. Anyone would think they were late to meet the president. “Come on, Anna. Let’s just go already.”
Anna looked down at her phone again. It was 3:48 and all the other kids were long gone. The line of cars had disappeared and the chaos of pick-up time had cleared to an almost eerie silent stillness over the empty school grounds. “We’re all supposed to go home together.”
“Yeah, but clearly Elsa doesn’t want to come home with us.” Irritation built in his voice, sparking an anxious flame in Anna’s chest. “Why should we get in trouble over some shitty new kid who’ll probably be gone soon and never see us again?”
Why, indeed?
It was true, Elsa had shown very little interest in connecting with the two of them over the past few weeks, but Anna simply couldn’t help herself. She had a habit of going after emotionally unavailable people, even when she knew damn well from the start she was only going to get burnt.
It was another thing she was working on in therapy.
“You go ahead. I’m gonna go look for her.”
Anna felt a bit like a secret agent, creeping around the empty school, searching for unlocked rooms. Perhaps Elsa had joined some kind of after-school activity and neglected to tell anyone. Or perhaps she was shooting heroin into her eyeballs behind the sheds. You never could predict, with new kids. Anna’s parents had a habit of taking the ones with “complex needs”.
Anna’s footsteps echoed through the empty hall past blocks of lockers and various deep and edgy art pieces on the walls. A face split down the middle into a bright, smiling side and a dark, evil side with pointed teeth. A silhouette of a pregnant woman on her phone, with a tiny fetus inside on its own tiny phone. Stuff like that.
She’d just about given up, expecting to find the same blunt resistance from another locked door. But it swung open wide and she hesitantly stepped inside, awed by what she found.
In the center of the room, bathed in slanted sunlight, Elsa was perched on the edge of a desk in one of the white, paint-splattered school smocks. The pale tone suited her. So did the tranquil smile. There was a vulnerability to it. Deep in focus, in her sanctuary of private expression, unaware she was being watched. It felt sacred and forbidden, like watching a goddess granting wishes.
She was painting a horse. A white horse, drinking from a glittering blue lake. Flowers, trees, birds and little mushrooms all scattered around. Some kind of fairy-tale castle in the background. As well as the technical prowess - the sense of depth, light and shadow - the scene itself was enchanting. It pulled Anna forward, beckoning her, as if she could step inside and find herself in a more beautiful, more magical world than this one.
Elsa’s brushstrokes were slow and delicate, each one dragged almost sensually over the canvas between pauses of careful thought and a cocked head. For a brief moment, Anna couldn’t help but wonder what it might feel like to be touched by those elegant hands, so lovingly. So deliberately. Without thinking, she whispered, “Wow.”
Elsa spun around and dropped the brush. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you! Because we’re supposed to go home together.” Her words tumbled out at lightning-speed, thrown by Elsa’s hurtful tone. “And I just wanted to make sure you were okay and everything. But that looks amazing.It’s so beautiful.”
“It’s stupid.”
“What? No…” Anna combed back through her words, trying to figure out where she went wrong. What misstep caused Elsa’s eyes to begin filling up with tears. Was just her mere presence that awful? “I- I wasn’t being sarcastic or anything, I think you might genuinely be some kind of prodigy.”
“No, I’m not. I’m shit!”
The palette knife ripped through the canvas with a gut-wrenching sound, and Anna winced to see something so beautiful destroyed. All that hard work down the drain. She wanted to intervene, to do something, anything, to stop the awful scene playing out in front of her, but found herself frozen in place, watching helplessly as Elsa smashed the painting on the table over and over until the wooden frame splintered and snapped. Tears streamed down her face as she tore what was left of the canvas, paint and oil spilling over the floor and covering her hands in ugly splatters. Like a crime scene. Like blood.
Eventually she ran out of steam and fell to her knees, sobbing softly, leaving rainbow streaks of paint on her face as she wiped her bloodshot eyes and looked up at Anna, defeated. “Why don’t you go home?” She whispered with a tear-scratched voice, “I’ll clean this up.”
But Anna couldn’t just leave her like that. She moved over to the sink and soaked two sponges in water, passing one to Elsa then dropping to her knees beside her. They worked in silence for a while, wiping up spilled paint and oil, packing up knocked over paint-pots, gathering up the demolished canvas and placing it in the trash. Nothing was salvageable.
“Why are you doing this?” Elsa asked quietly, and for once there was no malice or sarcasm in her voice. Just a sad kind of weariness. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Anna shrugged and smiled, trying not to make a big deal of it, “but that’s what sisters do, isn’t it? Help each other pick up the pieces?”
“You’re not my sister.”
Anna swallowed down the sting, knowing that it was only the truth, an objective fact, not a rejection. It should hurt like it did. She was being over-sensitive.
Again, therapy. Working on it.
She forced a smile as she finished washing her hands. “I’d like to be.”
===
Today was a bad day. Anna found me in the art room and I freaked out and wrecked my painting. I know you’re going to ask, why, Elsa? Why did you freak out because she saw your painting?
And I know you won’t accept “because I’m a freak” as an answer (even if it’s true).
Maybe it’s because every time I go to a new school or a new foster “home”, everyone says, “Oh, wow, Elsa. Your painting is so good.” But every time I leave, somehow, it’s never good enough for anyone to help me go back and get my paintings or prints. Even if there’s time, there’s never space to keep them anywhere. I’ve been calling my old school and no one seems to know what happened to them. They just disappeared, I guess. Like trash. Like me. It hurts.
Here’s the crazy thing, though.
I didn’t hit her. I didn’t swear at her, or throw anything at her, or tell her I wished she would die.
It’s almost like I’m actually making a tiny bit of progress or something crazy like that. Huh. Like all that wacky therapy shit is sinking in, somehow.
Here’s the thing, Doc, and this is truly terrifying. I think I kind of like her. Like, like her, like her. There’s something about her that’s just so… special. I can’t explain it. It’s a crush. It’s stupid. But in the impossible scenario that I were ever actually able to get my shit together and be a normal enough kid to date another kid, I’d want to date someone like Anna.
No, who am I kidding, not “someone like Anna”. I’d want to date Anna.
===
Anna walked with a spring in her step and hands in her pockets, whistling a lilting tune. It was a great day. After nights of hard work and extra effort, she’d finally managed to get an A on her English assignment. She’d been invited to a party on the weekend, found five dollars on the ground, and to top it off, she got a part in the school musical. Just a small part, but she had a few lines on her own and would get to wear a fun costume. The director even said he was thinking about accents.
The first rehearsal had run late, so she’d texted Elsa and Kristoff to head on home without her, opting to walk a few blocks down to the bus stop rather than bother her parents for a lift.
“ ‘Allo gov’ner. Bloody good cuppa tea, innit?” Anna wondered what accents the director was going to ask of them. She had a few up her sleeve, a talent sadly going to waste in her daily life.
“Bonjour mademoiselle, haw-haw-haw, may I ‘ave zee croissant?”
The trick with French was to give every syllable the same amount of emphasis. Italian was a little more challenging.
“That’s a spicy meatball! A sp- A spicy meat-a-ball.”
She took a shortcut through the alley behind the milk-bar to see a fat gray rat staring up at her from the edge of a dumpster, “Crikey, moite, she’s a beaut- Ah!”
Someone was tugging at her backpack!
“Hey, what the hell?” She spun around and her heart sank. It was Hans and one of his stupid brothers in their stupid varsity jackets. She tried to grip onto the bag, but it had only been dangling on one shoulder to begin with. The element of surprise had rattled her, and she was no match in strength for the star football player. Before she knew it, he was holding it up high, leaving her jumping like an idiot, grasping at the dangling straps. “Give it back!”
“Or what?” He sneered. “What are you gonna do, sing and dance at us?”
“Hans, please.” Anna still jumped for her bag, but it was basically just a performance at this point.
It had been like this for years.
With graceful athleticism, he tossed it over her head in a perfect arc through the bright blue sky into the practiced hands of his brother. And, like a well rehearsed performance, she ran to Wilhelm or whatever his name was, and jumped like an idiot for her bag. “Come on guys, I’m gonna miss my bus!”
“Come on guuuuys,” Hans imitated in a high-pitched tone, “I’m gonna miss my buuusss.”
Back and forth, like a pendulum, they tossed her bag and laughed as she ran between them, feeling like a dumb animal. Anxiety flooded through her chest as she thought of the rapidly approaching bus, the prospect of waiting for another one in the cold, or calling for a lift - the soul-shattering possibility of slightly inconveniencing her parents.
It wasn’t like they’d ever gotten mad over something like that before, but deep in her heart, Anna feared it was only a matter of time. It was a core belief she was working on deconstructing. In therapy.
“Drop the bag, boys.”
The low husk of Elsa’s command resonated in the alley-way, and her face was shadowy as the day she arrived at Anna’s house, with that same thousand-yard-stare. She stood unnervingly still. A dark, foreboding figure with the sun dipping behind her. It was very theatrical, actually. Also… a little bit exciting.
“Are you gonna make us?” Hans caught the bag again with deft hands.
“Yeah, what are you gonna do, goth girl?” Wilhelm chuckled, “Cast a spell on us?”
The boys laughed and tossed her bag between them one more time, but a sick feeling bubbled in Anna’s stomach. A sense of impending doom. And her impending-doom-senses tended to be rather accurate.
“I’m warning you,” Elsa said calmly.
The sick feeling grew.
“Did ya hear that? She’s warning us, bro!”
“Aw no, I’m soscared.”
“You should be.” Elsa’s hand emerged from her pocket, and a silver blade protracted, lightning fast, with a click. A switchblade. She raised it ever so slightly and took a step forward.
Wilhelm evidently wasso scared, now. He dropped the bag and laughed nervously, raising his hands in surrender, “Okay, man, it was just a joke. Chill out.”
“Yeah,” Hans similarly tried to laugh it off, but his backward steps and wide eyes gave him away, “it was just a little joke. We’re leaving.”
The two of them shuffled down the alley, muttering under their breaths, barely audible, “Fucking psycho.”
Anna’s heart thundered in her chest for some reason, as though she was the one who had been vaguely threatened with a switchblade. She picked up her bag, slowly, not making any sudden movements. Elsa was still standing there, stock-still, with her weapon raised, but her eyes were far away. Hollow. Like she was watching some kind of gory battle scene playing out.
“Elsa?” Anna took a tentative step forward. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Elsa lowered her arm, blinking herself back into reality and not sounding totally convinced by her own words. “Of course. Are you?”
“Oh, yeah! Just a bit of piggy in the middle. Keeps me fit, I guess. Who needs after-school sports when you’ve got the jocks?” Anna managed a feeble, unconvincing laugh. “Shall we, um, head home?”
“Yeah.” Elsa made a brief attempt at a smile and swallowed thickly. Snow had begun to fall, soft and silent, settling on the shoulders of her black hoodie. She reached out weakly for Anna’s shoulder but dropped her hand before making contact, instead turning away and leading them from the alley just as the snow turned to fat, cold raindrops.
“Come on!” Without thinking, Anna grabbed Elsa’s hand and led her to the old wooden playground across the road, ducking her head as though it might shield her from the rain. “Get in here!”
The tiny space under the play-castle was squishy, having been designed for children. It was also freezing and covered in profane graffiti and various initials carved into love-hearts, but dry and shielded from the rain. The drama of running for cover seemed to have broken the tension, and the two of them shared a nervous laugh. “It’s pretty cool, under here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Kinda like we’re in the dungeon.” All traces of the humorless, knife-wielding Elsa had vanished, replaced by soft eyes and a shy smile. “Sorry if I scared you, back there.”
“Takes more than that to scare me.” Anna bumped her shoulder against Elsa’s, trying to lighten the mood but suspecting she had just made it worse, somehow. Implying she had deep dark fears. Traumas. Issues.
Elsa raised an eyebrow.
“I just mean, you know, it was kinda valiant how you came to defend me,” it was one of those moments when Anna knew she should stop talking but her mouth simply continued of its own accord, “like a knight in shining armor. Actually kinda romantic, depending on how you look at it.”
Elsa turned to look quizzically at Anna, both eyebrows now raised. Crouched under the play-castle, their faces were so very, very close together, and, if Anna wasn’t mistaken, moving closer. Close enough to feel Elsa’s warm breath. Almost close enough for…
“Well.” Elsa cleared her throat and shuffled away slightly. Damn. “I can’t stand bullies.”
“Right.” Anna fidgeted awkwardly, trying to make sense of the sinking disappointment in her chest. “Fuck them bullies. So do you always carry, um, a knife?”
“Oh, Olaf?” Elsa pulled the blade again from her pocket and flicked it open, running her finger slowly over the silver blade, looking down lovingly like a mother with her newborn. “Yeah, he comes everywhere with me. Like a friend.”
“He’s got a name?”
“I have my sentimental side.” Elsa shrugged with a tiny half-smile, winked, and shoved Olaf back into her pocket. “Don’t tell anyone or I’ll have to cut your ear off.”
===
The rehearsal was grueling. Three hours of singing the same first verse, all together, over and over until every last voice was pitch-perfect. Every footstep precisely timed, movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Having already completed a long, tiring day of school, Anna’s feet felt like they were falling apart, and her mind wasn’t far behind. When the time came to sing her few lines, her knees wobbled and her chest fluttered, and her brain scrambled like eggs in a pan. She missed the note, again!
Crap.
She looked down at her feet, unable to bear the look of disappointment on the director’s face. Feeling so unworthy. So ashamed.
“That was good, Anna.” He had to say that because he was a teacher. It was crap, actually. “Let’s go one more time, and try to get that last note. It’s a funny one, because it’s a flat, so remember, we go down then we end back up here.” He sang the last words in the melody Anna had just previously messed up.
When Anna looked up, she had to do a double take. It was dark in the empty theater, but there she was, unmistakable, about five rows back. Nodding and smiling with calm approval on her face. Elsa. Funnily enough, it gave Anna the bolster of confidence she needed. She kept her eyes locked on Elsa’s and sang her line with a surprising warmth blooming in her chest.
It was hard to describe just why it meant so much. Anna was just a small piece of a larger picture, not a lead, not a star. The audience would be showing up to see Roger Swan and Daisy Duncan, to hear their angelic voices and watch their amazing chemistry. To see the fluid movements of the dancers and admire the intricate set. To show their school spirit.
But Elsa showed up just to see Anna. She could have waited outside. If it was cold, she could have sat up the back, slouched, on her phone, with headphones in - that was how she spent most of her time in class, on the bus, and at home. But she leaned forward on her seat, and her gaze never left Anna, not once.
It wasn’t exactly often that Anna felt special. Noticed. Like she mattered. It was just a small, unimportant moment in the scheme of things, but one she would hold in her heart for a rainy day when those feelings of being forgotten and cast aside threatened to drown her.
“I thought you hated musical theater.” Anna said later on as they dragged their feet over snowy sidewalks.
Elsa kept her hands in her pockets and looked down at the ground. She didn’t smile, but her voice had a softness in it. Increasingly so, these days. “I don’t hate you, though.”
Well, it wasn’t quite an ‘I like you’, but it was something.
For Elsa, possibly, something quite difficult.
It was enough.
===
I started sitting in on Anna’s rehearsals because I didn’t want to walk home with Kristoff. And that’s… still true.
He smells funny. And I’m about eighty percent sure he’s a furry.
But mostly it’s because I like watching Anna. I still hate musical theater, I swear. I just… I like her. I like everything she does. Her smile is like crack - not that I’ve tried crack, Doc, don’t worry. Just in the sense that I can’t get enough of it.
But anyway…
The other night, I had a panic attack in the middle of the night. A car backfired - it reminded me of my dad’s house, I guess. Of gunshots. She somehow woke up with her super-PTSD-spidey-senses and came down onto my bed and just… held me. I’d never felt anything like it - I don’t even have the words, Doc.
I can’t lose control again. I can’t mess up and lose this placement - I can’t lose her.
===
“How come you didn’t make me cupcakes on my birthday?” Kristoff sulked in the kitchen with his arms crossed.
“I knitted you that hat last year!” Anna knew he was joking, but part of her began to worry, regardless. A little voice told her he was upset with her. He would stop loving her. Would cast her aside, maybe even replace her with a new, better sister. “Do you know how long it took me to get those antlers right? And to get the wiring right so they would stand up properly?”
“I know.” Kristoff smiled sheepishly as his hands rose to his beanie-antlers, rubbing them absent-mindedly. “I was only joking, Anna. You take things too hard. It’s like you have no emotional skin.”
“Sorry.” She said, kicking herself. Not apologizing so much was another thing they were working on. “I mean, yeah, I know. My therapist says over-react to perceived threats of rejection.”
“Yeah?” Kristoff patted her shoulder, always missing the deeper meaning. “Mine says personal hygiene is a form of self-love. I think he’s a quack. It’s obviously a conspiracy to prop up the Big Shower industry.”
Anna chose not to comment, instead turning to back her bowls of icing. She had black, white, purple and red, and a Pinterest board full of ‘gothic cupcake ideas’ pulled up on her laptop. The tray had just gone in the oven, and she filled the waiting time browsing Tumblr, Reddit, Facebook and watching Broadway clips on YouTube.
One too many Broadway clips. By the time she smelled the smoke, it was too late.
“Shit!” She yanked the oven open and reached for the tray, cursing again when her fingertips screamed in pain. Stupid! She forgot the oven mit. Smoke billowed out from the open door and the fire alarm pierced her ears. It was chaos. Disaster. Catastrophe. She didn’t know what to do first, and her hand was beginning to throb, hotter and sharper by the second. Overwhelming her. Scrambling all coherent thoughts.
Anna had never been one to keep calm and carry on. When panic arose, it gripped every fiber of her being, ensnaring her like thorny vines, pulling her down into suffocating darkness. She curled up, helpless and alone in the corner of the kitchen, buried her head in her arms and let herself sink below the surface.
When the beeping stopped, Anna took a moment to register the sudden lack of piercing noise. She looked up from her arms to see Elsa resetting the smoke-alarm, calm as ever, opening the window and waving out the smoke. Finally, she stood with her arms crossed, inspecting the burnt, blackened cupcakes with a thoughtful, “Hm.”
“I’m sorry.” That’s all Anna could manage. She felt like a puddle of goo, down there on the floor. Useless and without substance.
“Why are you sorry?” Elsa asked, removing one of the blackened cupcakes from the tray with Olaf, and cutting it open to inspect the damage. “You haven’t hurt anyone.”
“I promised to make you spooky birthday cupcakes and I fucked it up. And now you won’t have any.”
Elsa crouched down, with that rare soft look in her eyes and a smile that Anna couldn’t quite read. If she was disappointed, she hid it well. “Anna. No one’s ever even thoughtof making me birthday cake before, let alone spooky cake. The fact that you even tried means so much to me.”
“Really?” A warmth spread through Anna’s chest. An odd relief. She was forever being told this mistake or that awkward moment wasn’t a big deal, no one was mad at her, and all that. But somehow, this time, she really believed it.
“Yeah, and besides,” a mischievous smile spread over Elsa’s face, “we still have all this icing.”
Anna gasped. “We can’t just eat the icing on its own!”
“Who’s gonna stop us?” Elsa dipped her finger into the bowl of black icing, then popped it into her mouth and pulled it out again in a slow, sensual movement that made Anna suddenly feel tingly in her belly. “The police?”
Whowas this badass person? Eating icing with reckless abandon, living so dangerously? And when did she become so alluring? Was she… sexy?
These were the questions Anna pondered as she found herself sitting cross legged on the kitchen floor, giggling like a child as this girl, who was once so cold, now booped her on the nose with icing and giggled with her as they finished all three bowls of the sugary paste.
===
Anna was often the last one to leave rehearsal, after staying behind to help pack up and everything. She entered the green room to collect her things, expecting to find Elsa waiting for her. Instead, she found Hans. Her stomach dropped and she backed toward the door. “What are you doing here? Come to cut holes in the butts of our costumes or something?”
“No!” He held his hands up in front of him, an oddly serious look on his face. “Actually, look, this might sound crazy, but I’m here to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Anna raised one eyebrow, skeptical. Hans had bullied her since they were small, and she suspected this to be some kind of practical joke. He would probably say he was in love with her next, then have his jock friends jump out and laugh at her or something. “For what, stealing my bag every other week? Spreading that rumor about me being a bedwetter last year, or squirting mustard in my hair the year before that, or, wait, the time you stole my shoes and set them on fire in the middle of winter and I had to walk home barefoot in the snow?”
He cracked a smile and his eyes drifted as though watching the memory, “Oh, yeah, that was fucking hilarious.”
A bubble of rage swelled in Anna’s throat, and she swallowed it down. Sometimes that’s all she could do. “Yeah, right. Thought so.”
She headed for the door but he blocked her with his bulking form, shaking his head, “No, wait, I’m sorry. It wasn’t funny for you.”
Anna sighed. “Hans, if this is some kind of elaborate prank, I’m not falling for it.”
“It’s not! For real, I know I’ve been an absolute ass to you since we were kids. And I know I can’t take that back. But here’s the thing, I’ve actually been in therapy.”
“You’ve been in therapy?”
“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? Because I seem perfect on the outside.” He said matter-of-factly, still blocking the door frame with his arm. It took all Anna had to contain her laugh. “But I’ve been working on developing my empathy, and something called prosocial behavior, I’ve got this whole workbook-”
The door opened with a creak and Elsa stood blinking in surprise. Still as a statue. Her eyes moved back and forth between Hans and Anna, and her voice was shrill. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” Anna squeaked. Well, crap. Now it seemed like something was definitely going on.
Elsa’s eyebrows narrowed.
“Oh, hey, Elsa.” Hans said cheerfully, evidently not picking up on Elsa’s shallow breathing or her thousand-yard-stare or any of the million other signs she was currently giving that something was very wrong. Evidently not feeling the same sick bubbling in his stomach that Anna was feeling.
If he had felt that same impending doom, perhaps he would have removed his hulking self from between the two girls. Removed his arm, at least. Recognised how it looked from the outside - he couldn’t entirely help it, being so tall and so clueless, but intentionally or not, he was standing over Anna, essentially trapping her inside.
He turned to face Elsa, and barely got out half a sentence, “We were just having a chat-”
Everything after that, Anna could only remember in flashes, like still frames, out of order. The glint of Olaf, the sound of the blade protracting and the rage - or was it terror - in Elsa’s voice as she choked out, “Get away from her!”
Elsa might have stabbed him three times, or thirty-three times. Anna’s brain froze up as crimson soaked through his blue and white varsity jacket. Her eyes met his in a split second of horrible recognition, as she tried to comprehend what this meant. What she was witnessing. How things could have been so normal a second ago, and now her tormentor was slumped against the wall, sliding down, gripping his shoulder and lost for words.
Just as soon as she entered her blind rage, Elsa returned to clarity. Olaf clattered against the hardwood floor as she stepped back, trembling, gazing upon the bloody scene with her mouth agape and eyes wide with terror, then down to her trembling, bloody hands. “What have I done?”
Faster and faster her chest rose, she shook her head, and for a moment it looked like she might vomit, but she didn’t. She just bolted out the door, frantic footsteps fading into the night.
“Anna.” Hans’ voice snapped her back to reality. It was surprisingly calm and steady, given the amount of blood gushing out of him and how pale his face had become. “Call an ambulance.”
“Right. Ambulance.” Anna’s phone slipped like a bar of soap in her shaking hands, but she managed, eventually, to call emergency services and follow their instructions. She managed to help Hans lie down, to apply pressure to the wound with all her weight, but either her weight wasn’t enough or she couldn’t figure out exactly where the wounds were, because his pale face took on a sickly shade of gray, his eyelids fluttered and his words began to slur, and the river of crimson blood spilled ever further over the floor, reflecting the fluorescent lights above.
For a moment, Anna thought he might die, and nothing he’d ever done to her mattered any more because he was a human being, and he was going to die, at seventeen, right here on the green room floor of Golden Plains High School before his life had begun.
What was left of her composure broke as the paramedics arrived, lifted him onto the stretcher and began to cut his shirt off. It was only once they were halfway to the hospital and her unconscious bully had been placed on a ventilator that Anna thought to call her parents.
“Mommy?” She began to sob harder and harder, squeezing cold air through her panicked lungs. “Can you pick me up from the hospital? Something’s happened…”
===
“Anna, sweetheart.” Gerda pleaded, holding her daughter in a tight embrace and stroking her hair. “We’ve done everything we can tonight. You need to get some rest.”
It was almost midnight and Anna had barely stopped sobbing. Her parents had all but forced her to drink some water and eat a bit of toast. Now, they were trying to coax her into bed. “Fine,” she said, trudging to her room with the hot chocolate she’d barely touched, now cold in her hands, “but wake me up if there’s any news?”
“Of course we will, sweetie.” Kai was a great hugger, and a great listener, but a terrible liar.
Anna’s phone was on three percent battery, and she never expected Elsa would actually answer one of her ten million texts asking where she was. But, eventually, she did.
In the dungeon.
There was no question. Anna had to go after her. She tip-toed down the hall, past the worried murmur of her parents’ voices and toward the back door, to find it blocked by Kristoff. Arms crossed. No-nonsense look on his face. “Going somewhere?”
“Just for a walk.” Anna shrugged. “To clear my head.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
Anna sighed and looked down at her feet. Evidently, it ran in the family.
“Anna, you’re not seriously going to follow her?”
“Sh!” Anna glanced down the hall, behind her, knowing her parents would absolutely stop her. “Of course I am. She’s out there all alone and frightened-”
“-That’s crazy! It could be dangerous.”
“She’s my sister, she would never hurt me!”
“Okay, first of all, no she’s not,” Kristoff said, but he was already pulling her coat from the rack and passing it to her, followed by her beanie which he took the liberty of pulling down over her head, knowing what she was like. Knowing he couldn’t stop her. “Second of all, she literally just stabbed someone.”
Anna swallowed thickly as the image of blood seeping through a varsity jacket and Hans’ pallid face flashed through her mind for the millionth time. She had no defense for Elsa, in that regard. She only knew that underneath the cold, hard, knife-wielding exterior, there was a sweet, sad girl who loved to paint and couldn’t stand bullies and ate icing straight from the bowl, and, even though she hated musical theater, sat through all of Anna’s rehearsals with a smile on her face and made her feel special.
“At least let me Uber you there. I’ll hang back so I don’t scare her, but I need to know you’re safe.” He looked up from his beeping phone. “Our driver Sven is four minutes away. Come on.”
The roads were almost empty, and no one spoke a word as the car rolled over slick, wet bitumen, into the quiet darkness of the winter night.
“Hey.” Anna ducked under the play-castle, now coated in shiny blue frost, and approached Elsa like she would a scared alley cat, on slow, gentle steps.
Elsa looked up with bloodshot eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Figured you could use a friend.”
“I don’t deserve a friend.” Elsa’s voice broke on every word. She looked so fragile and pale, curled up in a fetal position, as though she was the one who had lost a third of her blood. “I’ve just killed someone.”
Anna squished herself next to Elsa on the freezing pine bark, and took those trembling pale hands in her own gloved ones. “Hans isn’t dead.”
“Really?” Elsa’s whole body sagged with relief, and she crumpled into Anna’s arms, sobbing softly. “Oh, god, I can’t believe it.”
“Mhm.” Anna nodded, rubbing soothing circles into her back. “He lost a lot of blood and went into shock. And he’ll need a couple of surgeries. But he’s okay. For now.”
The playground outside rattled and groaned against the howling wind, and it truly did feel like they were in a dungeon, awaiting some terrible judgment.
“Elsa.” Anna removed her arms, only so she could hold Elsa’s shoulders steady and look into her bleary eyes. “It’s freezing out here. And dangerous. Come home.”
“I can’t.” Elsa shook her head, tears trailing down pale cheeks, eyes closed into sad semi-circles, “Don’t you understand? There is no home. Not for me.”
“Of course there is, Elsa.” Anna let her hands slide down Elsa’s arms to her elbows. “You’re part of our family now. And we’re still here to support you. All of us, me, Mom, Dad, Kristoff-”
“No, you’re not!” Elsa pulled away, shuffling back into the corner and speaking into the wooden bars of their play-prison. “And I’m not part of your family, that’s bullshit, and you know it. It’s not the same.”
“Elsa, please,” Anna reached out, but didn’t yet find the nerve to pull Elsa back, hugging herself instead and lowering her voice. “I know how hard it is to feel like you’re alone in the world, but-”
“-What do you know about being alone in the world, Anna?” The words stung like the icy wind whipping Anna’s cheeks. “You have this perfect family, these perfect parents who adoreyou-”
“-You know they adopted me, right? When I was ten.”
Elsa spun back around to face Anna with suddenly soft, wide eyes. Halted in her tracks. Listening. Anna generally avoided talking about herself too much, preferring to keep the focus on others, but in this moment, she had the sense that Elsa needed to know, somehow, in some sense, despite their many differences, that she wasn’t entirelyalone in her loneliness.
“My original parents left me at a 7-Eleven parking lot when I was five. Just… dumped me there one night. Never came back.”
“Anna…” Elsa shook her head lightly, mouth agape, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, I just assumed…”
Anna shugged. Ten years later, and she still had never quite figured out what to say when people inevitably gave her their sympathies. Luckily, this time, she didn’t have to. Elsa continued.
“That’s horrible. You didn’t deserve that.”
All Anna could do was shrug again, because after all those years, she still kind of wondered if she did. It’s one of those things she would probably be working on in therapy until she died.
“Were you scared?” Elsa faced her now, cross legged and calm, but somber. Gripping Anna’s hands, rubbing her thumbs over her knuckles. Holding gentle, teary eye contact. It still hurt - it always would - but the pain was satisfying, like kneading at a tight muscle.
“Yes. I was.” Scared didn’t begin to describe it. But now wasn’t the time to open up that endless void of terror and hurt that dwelled within the depths of Anna’s heart. Now, she had a problem to solve. “Are you scared now?”
“Yes.” Elsa whispered. “What if I go to jail, Anna?”
Anna lifted a hand to Elsa’s face and stroked a tear away with her thumb, “Then I’ll visit you every week. And send you care packages.”
Elsa blinked in surprise, letting out an almost-laugh. “W-what?”
“You’ll keep your head down, go to the gym every day, get buff, and read all the classics,” both of Anna’s hands now rested on Elsa’s cheeks, “and I’ll wait for you.”
No more words were spoken. There was nothing more to say. Against the backdrop of the terrifying unknown future, only one thing was as clear as the pure white snow all around. Only one thing could fit in the gentle silence of mutual understanding - a kiss. It was everything Anna hoped her first kiss would be - warm, soft, sweet, a little bit dramatic. Elsa’s lips fit perfectly on her own, Elsa’s hands fit perfectly on her back, and Anna’s heart felt safe in Elsa’s blood-stained hands.
===
“In addition to the pain and suffering, medical costs, and the emotional trauma caused to the victim and his family, the damage to Mr Westergaard’s shoulder is extensive and will require further surgeries and ongoing physiotherapy…”
The judge read from her notes in a droll tone, barely looking down at the bench. Anna could practically feel Elsa’s thundering heart beside her. She reached over and held her hand, down low, between them, as subtly as she could.
“Mr Westergaard will no longer be eligible for any tertiary athletic scholarships, and his future academic prospects have been severely impacted by this.”
On the other side of the courtroom, Hans looked sheepishly down at his arm in a sling, nestled between his teary-eyed parents. A bit precious, if you asked Anna. It’s not like he died. His bullying days were over, that much was for sure.
“Of course, I’ve also taken into account the fact that your crime was not premeditated, you are deeply remorseful, and to your credit, you pleaded guilty, saving your victim the added stress of going to trial. As your lawyer has impressed upon us, the impact of witnessing the violent murder of your mother at the hands of your father at the age of eight cannot be overstated in understanding what was going through your head at that moment, as well as the fact that you’ve been through so many foster homes and not had a safe and stable place to process this unfathomable trauma. However, this level of reactive behavior, at such a young age, is concerning and does need to be addressed.”
Much like the rest of the courtroom, Anna held her breath - this was the moment of truth. The moment when she would find out if she was going to lose Elsa. What consequences would shape her life from here on out.
“Due to your vulnerability and the level of support required, it is my ruling that you will serve a twelve month suspended sentence, during which you engage in intensive therapeutic supports…”
The rest of the words all blurred into the background, much like Anna’s vision, teary as she was. She only knew that ‘suspended’ was good. It meant not in prison. Not separated. Together.
===
The first time Anna was asked to sign in at reception and leave her bag in a locker, then frisked for sharps or drugs and led through several electronically locked doors, she admittedly freaked out a little bit. She understood that Elsa had been charged as a minor and given a suspended sentence, which meant she wouldn’t have to go to prison. What she didn’t understand was how this “secure welfare facility” was any different from a prison.
The worker insisted it was a home. A highly structured, therapeutic environment for kids with nowhere else to go, struggling with significant emotional and behavioral challenges - like stabbing people, for example.
Anna was skeptical - it sounded like prison with extra steps.
But she was pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the place. The coziness, the bright colors, comfy couches and big windows letting in sunlight. The friendly faces and kind words of the staff. The gentleness. And now she was used to her regular Saturday routine - wouldn’t miss it for the world. She knew all the workers by name, and today it was Julie who led her down the hall past messy offices, the classroom, the music room, the kitchen, the garden, the “calm down room”, the dining hall where a few kids sat at a long table, eating cereal and laughing, and the rec room where the sound of a TV meshed with the rhythmic thwack of a ping-pong ball.
As soon as Julie unlocked the door to the art room, Elsa turned from her latest wall-length masterpiece and ran to Anna, wrapping her in a warm embrace. A rather passionate embrace, with lots of hair stroking and nuzzling, until another kid yelled, “Get a room!”
Every week though, there would come a moment when the workers would turn their backs and Anna would get her sneaky (and a little bit dramatic) kiss, and it was worth the six days of painstaking patience.
The spare bed in Anna’s room remained empty. It, too, would be worth the wait, however long it would take until Elsa was ready to come home.
