Someone Will Remember Us | Diana Barry & Anne Shirley

Chapter Eight | Two Weeks

[Next to last chapter! Heads up!]

After a while Diana went home. She flew past the hall and up the stairs to shut herself into her room.
"Diana?" Mrs. Barry knocked carefully on Diana's door. "Diana, what's wrong?"
"Go away!" Diana cried.
Mrs. Barry was taken aback. Just this morning, Diana had been happier than ever!
She suspected that a lovers quarrel had taken place. Mrs. Barry sighed, feeling sorry for her daughter. Love sure is hard. But she knew Diana wouldn't be reasonable in this state, so she decided to come back later, when Diana would be all cried out and she'd have gotten a little more time to process whatever it was that had happened.
Diana heard the sounds of her mother's steps die away. She buried her face in her hands and collapsed in her bed. She tried to scream into one of her pillows, but the sound that emerged from her lips was pathetic. Instead, she cried. For every tear it became harder to breathe. Diana thought it would never stop.
Finally she tired herself out, and fell asleep.

Later that day, when Mrs. Barry paid yet another visit to her daughter, she didn't bother to knock.
The door flew up, waking Diana, and she stormed into the room.
Diana, who had just woken up, was confused for a moment. Mrs. Barry stood tense, arms crossed, and she seemed to have something on her heart. Something that seemed impossible to express, since she simply stood there, silent, while she repeatedly opened and closed her mouth. But before Diana could guess what her mother had on her heart, Mrs. Barry spoke.
"Tell me."
"Tell you what?" Diana asked sleepily.
"Tell me it isn't true." Mrs. Barry's voice was shaking. Diana still didn't really comprehend what her mother was getting at. "Tell me, Diana!" She nearly screamed. In pure desperation Mrs. Barry grabbed her daughter's shoulders and shook her lightly, as if she could shake it out of her. "What everyone is saying about you, tell me it isn't true!"
The anger in Mrs. Barry's voice almost seemed like a pretence to her real feelings - Diana saw in her eyes that she was sad. Hurt.
Her hands captured Diana's face, each hand placed on one cheek, that were swollen and red from crying.
Their eyes locked. An intense silence grew louder between them. Diana felt a tear falling down her cheek, touching her mother's hand.

"I can't."

Diana's voice was quieter than a whisper. But Mrs. Barry heard.
She held onto Diana for a little longer, fixed on her eyes. It was as if she was examining her, looking for some kind of proof that Diana was lying. She found none.
Diana's cheeks were sweaty when her mother finally let go of her. She kept looking at her, with saddened eyes, but Mrs. Barry looked anywhere but Diana. Her mouth fell open and closed. Open, and closed again. Not a single sound came out. Diana saw how she wiped her hands on her dress' skirt before she left the room.
Diana couldn't, she didn't want to think or feel anything at all right now. Instead she embraced the unconsciousness, and fell back asleep.

After a while Diana had to give in to her growling stomach. She went down to the kitchen to find something to eat but instead found her parents present in the kitchen, drinking their afternoon tea. Diana froze at the threshold, holding her breath. Perhaps waiting for some kind of reprimand. They stayed silent.
She walked past them to make herself a sandwich. Diana tried to be quiet, but she wasn't sure why. It felt like a sound, even a little one, would maybe be the spark to a raging fire. What kind of fire, she didn't know, nor did she want to find out. Mr. and Mrs. Barry stayed silent, not even acknowledging their daughter's presence.

When Diana was about to leave the kitchen her father called after her.
"Wait for just a second, dear." Mr. Barry said with a sugary sweet voice Diana didn't recognise. "There's something we have to tell you."
Diana turned around at the door. Her father stirred his tea, with an insecure but big smile plastered on his face. Her mother was knitting, focused on her work which laid in her knee. Neither made eye contact.
"We're... We're sending you away." Mr. Barry continued.
Diana's mouth fell open. "What?"
She looked at her mother, hoping for an explanation. Mrs. Barry was busy with her knitting.
"What do you mean?"
Mr. Barry took a long sip of his tea.
"Well, there's this special school in France..."
"In France!" Diana interrupted. "But..."
"In France," Mr. Barry repeated, speaking over Diana. "that helps people with, well, that illness of yours."
Diana's heart sank.
"But, but father, please..!"
Mr. Barry rose, and finally met Diana's eyes. His stare made Diana feel small.
"This isn't our daughter." He announced confidently. "We know our Diana, and she's not like that."
Diana didn't know what to say. She turned to her mother, trying to find comfort, help.
"He's right Diana." Mrs. Barry said instead. "This isn't you! But don't worry honey, they'll fix you! Before you know it, you'll be back. And everything will go back to normal."
Now it was Diana who avoided eye contact.
Go back to normal. A few days ago, maybe even a few hours ago, she would have done anything to be normal. But now, she didn't know. She didn't feel good about this.
"You'll leave in two weeks."
Those were Mr. Barry's final words.

The following two weeks Diana spent in her room. Her parents were busy with the work of Diana changing school, something Diana was not a part of. During this time, many thoughts travelled Diana's mind. Hopeless, cruel voices had taken over. They kept yelling, and Diana kept listening. Until one day, when the voices silenced.

There was nothing left to say.

Diana sat up in her bed. She realised that she had been afraid all this time. Of her feelings, and of what others thought of her. She was afraid that they would be cruel, but now Diana realised something - no one could be more cruel to Diana than Diana had been to herself these last weeks. This enemy she had built up in everyone else was actually living inside her. Right now, the thought that scared her the most was going to that school. To be fixed.
Fixed.
The bare thought made Diana shiver, though she wasn't sure why. She just didn't like it, not one bit.

Diana suddenly remembered Aunt Josephine. She remembered Aunt Gertrude, and the people at the soiree, who were like her. And she remembered Anne, and Cole, who hadn't seemed to care. Aunt Josephine had not only been like Diana, but she had been proud. Would liking girls really be that bad? If yes, why? It was just love, after all. If Diana was happy with a girl, shouldn't the people who loved her be happy for her?
Diana suddenly felt sad. Not because of Anne, or because of the school in France, or because she liked girls. But because there was so much hate in this world, in its people. It would be easier to love, one would think.
With these thoughts, Diana found hope. If she only could find someone like her, someone that would mane Diana happy and forget all about the ideas of her being wrong... Then what would be the problem? Diana couldn't imagine how her relationship would affect others. If she simply could find comfort in loving a woman, and if she could surround herself with people who didn't care as long as Diana was happy, she could find peace.

In this moment, Diana found acceptance. She still had a long way to go, but she finally could see a road ahead of her where she would end up being okay, being worthy of love. Even if she liked girls. She felt like she could be safe, if she only surrounded herself with the right people. This lit a spark in Diana, a spark of hope. Ideas were born in her head: maybe she could live with Aunt Josephone, pr get over Anne but run off with her and they could live together as kindred spirits with their soulmates...
Even though none of the ideas stopped Diana's parents' determinations to send her off to that school, they gave Diana hope. They helped her, she didn't want to give up anymore. Diana had always taken the easy way, accepting the road everyone else had expected of her. Now she understood that there were things that were worth the trouble. She was prepared to fight.