Glass Eels

I stood there and tried to make her breathe again. Tried to make her chest move.

Nothing happened.

So I reached out and pulled her eyelids up, to get her to open her eyes and look at me. But her eyes had rolled back and there was just the whites.

I tried to pull the lids back down but they had stuck.

I had to go upstairs and into my dad’s room. I had to tell him to come with me, to see what I’d done.

He followed me down and I showed him.

He saw and then he turned and grabbed my arm, too tight.
He shook me and screamed at me, told me I shouldn’t have gone in. And then he hit me. Here. (Touches face.)

Some things that happen to you, you get them in here. (Touching head.) And you can’t get them out.

I wish you could take it out so I didn’t have to remember it.

I started going down at night and if we had one in I’d lift the sheet from their faces.

KENNETH: Did he know?

LILY: No.

I used to think if I looked at them long enough I could bring them back to life, make them breathe again.

One night there was a new one there. I took the sheet and peeled it down. Stood and stared.

It was my mother.

KENNETH looks.

No. Don’t look at me.

It had happened late at night and no-one had woken me to tell me. That’s how I found out.

Her skin was streaked with mud. Her hair still damp from the river. A piece of weed in it.

Pause.

I started going down at night and if we had one in I’d lift the sheet from their faces.