grain |greɪn| [ mass noun ] wheat or any other cultivated cereal used as food.
against the grain contrary to the natural inclination or feeling of someone or something
Here – in the space where she sits – there is only sound. Quiet, then the sway of wheat as the wind picks up, a scratchy hum all around her. This quiet is good, it blocks out certain thoughts somehow, holds the tears back, pushes them back even. This is all she needs – the quiet and the wheat stalks.
She hates how the shout disturbs the peace. “Tabitha!” that voice calls out again. But that won’t do anything to stop them.
Inside those four walls, she had felt like she was drowning. Out here it is the sound that drowns out those little demons. Thoughts swirl inside her head, then get dragged down the whirlpool. She doesn’t even need to will herself to concentrate on the moment, that state comes naturally.
“Tabitha, where are you?” That is Gwen shouting now, and she sure can shout loud. She doesn’t normally let that side show, Tabitha barely thought it was in her. Too bad it has surfaced in vain.
She hates the shouting but she hates hiding more. It’s only that all this is necessary.
“Tabitha!” that one is her mother. Her mother’s shouts sound like they hurt, scrape the muscle of her throat as she forces the sound through, hurt the air as the vibrations hit, they hurt Tabitha’s ears a little too. She is so far away, yet it starts explosions going off in those smooth hollows. A sudden gust of wind sways the stalks to the side. Her mother’s voice is one that reaches in and beckons her to move. It does not tell her to go elsewhere, but to return.
She still won’t stand though. There are things to lose if she shows herself.
“Tabitha!” she tries again, louder even than the last. Well, Tabitha thinks, she will just have to scream herself raw.
Photo by Alex Teuscher