Marginalia
A story about rediscovering creativity, redefining priorities and overcoming indoctrination.
When I was a child I had a deep connection with the magical, the spiritual and the heretical.
I would summon a pathway to the fairy lands on the glittering motes of dust that danced in my window. Once there I would explore the shifting, vibrant beauty of the land that stretched lazily beneath the eternally star-freckled sky, watched with unknowable intent by the gentle, amber sun or the three chaotic moons: pale white, algae green and burning red.
Sometimes I would ride a unicorn. Sometimes a narwhal would allow me passage across the vast oceans. I mostly explored on foot. Once I rode a pegasus, flying and laughing at the poor creatures below us, ensnared by the cruel, leaden grasp of gravity.
It was a world of unknowns and eternal discovery and mischievous trickery and benevolent friendships, forever changing and unpredictable.
When I was a child I believed all this to be real.
My superiors were patient with me during this time. Occasionally a firm hand was required to turn me away from my fantastical journeys, guiding me towards The Truth and the promise of greatness it held for everyone who sought it.
It was initially disorienting, finding myself pulled away from the addictive vividity of the fairy lands with a gentle and persistent forcefulness. Large, hairy hands, depositing me with careful lack of ceremoniously into a hard, grey, plastic chair tucked under a hard, grey, plastic desk in a sleepy, over-air-conditioned classroom.
But I got used to it.
I would rock on my hard, grey, plastic chair to stimulate my mind. This got me in trouble. I would have to push the chair away and kneel on the floor for the rest of my lessons that day, so that I could learn, through my bruised knees, to properly respect the property of my superiors.
I would draw pictures on my hard, grey, plastic desk to help me connect my learnings with my thoughts. This got me in trouble. I would have to stay in during what my superiors called my “free time” to clean the pictures off.
That was an odd concept to me. Free time. I did not understand how time could be designated as mine, or my superiors, or "free."
But I got used to it.
The older I got the more The Truth dominated my focus. Even when I explored the fairy lands I no longer needed another’s hands to pull me out. I learned to schedule my explorations into smaller and smaller allocations during my “free time.” I had gained a cognisance of my responsibility to productivity. I slowly weaned myself off of my delusions, turning towards the confident certainty of The Truth to guide me instead of the fluid chaos of my fantasies.
I was grateful to my superiors for their persistent patience in their guidance over the decades.
My increased dedication to The Truth was rewarded as my superiors recognised my attempts to emulate them. They recognised an image of themselves in my growing competence in my application of The Truth. The Truth was static and strong and iron-willed in its protection. It gave me a divine certainty and confidence that grew my social standing and I grew into a productive adult, the fairy world forgotten.
I married Sylvia, whom I believed to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Together we had a bright and bubbly and sparkling daughter, Cleo. Cleo had not yet been guided to The Truth and often spoke of fairies and goblins. I did not begrudge her the fantasies of her youth. She would be guided to where she needed to go in time.
I felt like the luckiest man in the world.
I pondered my good fortune while on a video meeting. It was a Saturday. I was not supposed to be working but the matter was urgent and required immediate attention. Cleo had asked me to play with her in the garden, her small hand had clutched mine greedily and pulled me towards the door when we were interrupted by a call from Kevin. I was needed immediately. I had to prise my daughter's selfish hand loose and called for Sylvia to take her so I could retreat to the study.
I hated to hear Cleo cry, but my responsibilities took precedence.
The sense of urgency Kevin had on the phone belied the mind-numbing simplicity of the meeting. It was a struggle to maintain my focus. The stakes were low.
My mind wandered to playing with my daughter. Maybe I could find some time to pretend to find fairies in the backyard with her some day. I began to idly scribble in the margins of my notebook, careless lines taking on the rough outline of insectoid wings, a smattering of graphite glitter and a miniscule creature in a tattered but colourful dress.
The meeting droned on as Kevin tried to find the fifth way to repeat Gail’s ideas, modifying the terminology to present them as his own. I touched the winged creature that I had drawn and wondered if Cleo would like it. It fluttered. I jumped back in my seat. The image three dimensionalised with a pop and a burst of graphite-grey light.
“Everything alright in there, Charlie?” Kevin’s voice tugged on my attention.
I realised my mouth was hanging agape. I closed it, then opened it again to respond, realised I couldn’t find any words to say, so closed it again. I’m not sure how often I repeated this process, but it seemed to be enough to cause Kevin some concern.
“If you’re not well, we can always circle back to this tomorrow after we’ve had some time to reconceptualise.”
“Works for me.” Gail responded.
“I, I, I…” I watched the incomprehensibly alive drawing fluttering around my room on iridescent dragonfly wings, wondering if the others could see what I saw. “I…sure…” I turned my attention back to the screen to see Kevin's and Gail’s images blip to black.
I stared at the screen for a moment, hoping that this did not mean a missed opportunity for the business. My desktop provided no answers. I snapped my gaze from my now vacant computer to reexamine the mobile drawing that had potentially cost me a commission, but it was gone.
“All your tests are normal.” The doctor looked up from her paperwork “have you made an appointment with the counsellor yet?”
“I saw her yesterday.” I lied, slumped in the consulting room chair bouncing between disappointment and relief at the lack of conclusive evidence that there was something wrong with me.
Dr. Kaur paused for long enough to give me an opportunity to say more, but I didn’t know what she wanted me to say, so the silence stretched just long enough to be uncomfortably awkward before she gently probed.
“How did it go?”
“Yeah... good.” I nodded unconvincingly. “She reckons I might be stressed.”
“That’s definitely possible. When was the last time you took leave?”
“Oh! Uh…” I rubbed my neck to try to make it look like I was trying to remember. “A while ago.” I finally said.
I had not taken leave.
“I can write you a sick certificate if you like?”
“No, no, I’ve got plenty of annual leave saved up. I’ll use that.”
I had no plans to use my leave. There was too much work to do.
I began to have difficulty sleeping.
They say that seeing is believing, but I could not reconcile what I had seen. I stayed at my desk in my home office late into the night, combing through any literature I could find that could explain what had happened.
When I was not at work I was at my desk searching for answers. I searched through libraries, both physical and online, looking for instructions that had guided my superiors in their wise guidance of my youth.
I did not limit myself to the recommended reading of my superiors though, I looked to the works of their fathers, their father's fathers and so on. I was determined to find answers—if I couldn’t trust my own senses, what could I trust? How many opportunities had I lost at work without even knowing?
It was after six months of doing this that young Cleo came to me one night. She had had a nightmare and, seeing the light on in my office, came to me for comfort.
“Papa, what are you doing?” She asked from her perch on my lap.
“Well, Papillon…” I paused, trying to collate my thoughts and explain myself to her without revealing my insanity. “...I’m studying.”
“What are you studying, papa?”
There were always follow up questions with children. The discipline of The Truth was not yet ingrained.
“The works of the great men of history, Papillon.”
“Why?”
Not having an answer that I was willing to share I decided that bribery was the better part of valour.
“Would you like a hot chocolate?”
“Hotted choc!” Cleo cheered
She followed me to the kitchen where I made us both hot chocolates. Maybe this would help me sleep through my obsession for the night. Cleo had other ideas though, she may have forgotten about her nightmare, but she would not let me go.
“You’ve been away, Papa.”
“I’ve been right here, Papillon.”
“No!”
I cradled my hot chocolate, momentarily unwilling to drink it in case the sourness of my guilt had seeped into the milk. I thought about how much time I had been spending locked away in the study, focused on correcting my… whatever had caused my hallucination. I needed to be a parent.
I needed to do better.
Cleo took my hand and I allowed her to gently guide me through the back door, towards the bottom of the garden. A hazy, lazy rainbow mist slowly seeped through the foliage, gently touching us as it emerged shyly to hug and kiss and caress us.
I was baffled at the prismatic Newtonianism of the fog and wondered how it was possible for me to see it so clearly at night. My brow furrowed and I bent closer towards the phenomena as though proximity would force its secrets out.
My attention was broken by a laugh that danced and bubbled through the air, bouncing around me and infecting me with incomparable joy. I looked up and saw Cleo running through the fog.
Over the garden!?
“Cleo!” I said a little too sharply, concerned about the new shoots that had been emerging under Syvlia’s care.
Cleo stopped and firmly clamped her joy behind her quivering lips.
“Papillon, get out of the garden, please.” My words were more gentle this time, blunted by regret.
“But Papa, I’m not in the garden.” She smiled, turned, and ran away from me into the impossible fog.
“Cleo!” The sharpness had returned, honed by panic as I thought of her running full pelt into the garden fence.
I didn’t know how much a hospital visit would cost or what effect it would have on our lifestyle. Mentally sending a prayer of forgiveness to Sylvia, I stepped into the garden, into the enchanting fog, following Cleo on her adventure that I hoped would not end in pain and tears. The kaleidoscope swirl of the colourful fog brushed gently over my skin, cool and calm and comforting. Ahead of me I could hear Cleo’s laugh, its infectious joy freed from the weight of my worried disapproval.
I pushed forward, wandering blindly through the thickening haze and wondering why I had not yet reached the garden fence. Our garden was not this large. Slowly, as I pushed through the fog began to thin and I noticed shapes, gradually progressing into a bright, colourful landscape illuminated by three moons: pale white, algae green and burning red.
I blinked slowly, adjusting my eyes to the light. My mouth hung agape, and my limbs were paralysed with uncertainty. My mind tripped over itself clumsily trying to understand how I had found myself back in the fantastical realm of my youth—how could this possibly fit within The Truth? Awe and wonder overwhelmed me until an emergency brake slammed my thoughts into the present.
I could no longer hear Cleo’s laugh.
“Papillon!” I called into the once-familiar terrain, the bright and vibrant colours now adding to my growing anxiety. “Cleo!”
Adrenaline forced movement into my paralysed limbs. I needed to rescue Cleo from this place. I needed to get back to reality. I needed to reconnect with The Truth.
“Cleo!” My voice pinballed over the horizon, finding no one. “Cleo!”
“She’s fine, darling.” A soft, feminine voice came from behind me.
Startled, I jumped and spun around to see a beautiful young woman with honey-coloured skin, frizzy, black hair and bright, gold-flecked brown eyes.
“Who are you!?” My voice had an unconvincing threat, introduced by embarrassment. My hot face sign-posting the vulnerability I was desperate to hide.
“I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t…” I stifled the lie before I could finish it. “Sorry. You’re fine. Who are you?”
A smile spread across the stranger’s beautiful, rounded face. “I am Farah.”
“Charlie." I responded abruptly "look, my daughter, I don’t know where she is…”
“She’s safe, darling.” She placed her hand on my arm. “She comes here quite often.”
“I, uh…”
She gave me a knowing smile, full of a warmth that filled my chest better than any hotted choc.
“Come with me, darling. Let’s have a spot of tea.”
I hesitated for a moment, thinking about Cleo.
“She’s fine, darling. I told you, she comes here a lot. She knows what she’s doing.”
I trusted her. The way her eyes creased when she smiled made me feel safe. So I followed her.
She led me down a pathway that meandered lazily through the vibrant land that was hazily familiar in my mind. This place couldn’t be real, so Cleo had to be safe, because we weren’t actually here. Maybe playing along would bring this wild hallucination to an end.
Farah’s home was nested cosily at the edge of a forest filled with a wide variety of trees that my non-botanical mind tried and failed to identify. The floor of the woods was speckled with colourful mushrooms and flowers and various shrubbery.
It was a cosy looking thatched cottage with a sprawling, boundary-less garden that looked to have a chaotic order and a door painted a soft, faded, happy yellow. The door opened with the soft, welcoming creak and Farah ushered me inside.
"Cup of tea?" She asked, making her way to the fireplace where an old-fashioned black kettle hung.
"Why not?" I said. If this place wasn't real anyway what harm was there in having a spot of caffeine before bed?
She gestured me towards a seat while she busied herself around her cupboards. I inhaled the scent of basil and cardamom and cinnamon and cloves and lavender and garlic and other spices that I could not quite make out. The furniture had a home-made feel, covered in hard to notice imperfections but sturdier than what I was used to.
"So," I said, tapping the table unmelodically, "where exactly... are we?"
Farah stopped briefly to look at me, one eyebrow raised in amusement.
"You've been here before. You used to spend as much time here as little Cleo does."
"I..."
I tried to speak but had nothing to say. So I sat in silence until Farah brought two cups of tea to the table, placing one in front of me and sitting across from me, blowing the steam gently off of her own cup.
We sat in silence for moment, quietly sipping our tea until it cooled enough to take in larger mouthfuls.
"I know that you think this place isn't real." She finally said, holding up her hand as I opened my mouth to respond. "Charlie, how is your life going?"
"I... I... well, thank you." I stammered unconvincingly.
"Charlie..." Farah's voice had an edge of reproach.
"I have a good life." I responded with practiced confidence. "I have a good job, and a beautiful family."
"You mention your beautiful family. How much time have you been spending with them lately?"
I sipped my tea, knowing that if I spoke I wouldn't be able to keep the guilt from my voice.
"How has your research been going?"
"Are you going anywhere with this?"
"I'm trying to help you, sweetheart. I know you've been working hard. I know that you've been searching through the learnings of all the great men of the past. I know that Sylvia has been supporting you through this, through your absence at home."
I cut off a harsh response. I couldn't argue with the truth.
"When you consider these great works by great men, do you consider the contributions of other people in their lives?"
I paused for a moment, thinking. "I've been going over work that is on the recommended reading list." I said slowly, trying to think if there had been anything I missed.
Farah laughed. She laughed with her full body and filled the room with the music of joy. I knew she was laughing at me, but the joviality of her ringing joy infected me and spread across my face in a smile and bubbled through my oesophagus as a small chuckle.
"W-wh-what've I missed?"
"You limit yourself to an approved list. Approved by whom? Your superiors?"
"There is a reason they're superior."
"And what reason would that be?"
I had no answer for her.
"They are superior, because they limit your world to theirs." She answered for me.
"W-wh-what do you suggest?" I asked, unsure if I was willing to follow through on her answer.
"Look to the inspiration for the great works by these great men. Look to the margins of their writings. The information pushed to the side to make room for the superior egos of superior men."
I nodded slowly and finished my tea. It sounded like all I needed to do was review what I had already been working on, but with a different lens. I could do that. I felt a twinge of hope that I could find a cure for my insanity. This may all be a dream , but it was certainly a useful one. Hopefully one I wouldn't forget.
I put my cup down as the front door swung open. A dark-skinned woman stood in the doorway, straight black hair cascading down her face, spilling off of her red and gold sari, onto the small figure held tenderly in her arms.
Farah's face lit up with impossible brightness as the woman entered. "Nidhi!" She sang, standing and rushing to embrace the newcomer.
"Careful!" Nidhi whispered nodding at the figure in her arms. She turned her attention to me and smiled. "Charlie, Cleo is sleeping. It is time to take her home to bed."
I nodded silently and gingerly took Cleo into my arms. Before I could say goodbye and thank Farah for the tea, the two embraced with the same passion that Sylvia and I had done before I had lost my grasp of The Truth.
Nodding awkwardly I left the cottage, the door leading not to the garden that I had entered from, but instead to Cleo's bedroom.
This had been a wild dream.
I lay Cleo down to bed, and made sure that she was tucked comfortably away, and then made my way to my own bed. As softly as I could I nestled in beside Sylvia, not wanting to wake her. She snorted and rolled over. As far as I could tell she was still asleep. I fell asleep thinking about how happy I was when I chose to spend time with her. And how distant I had been from her for the past six months.
Farah had been right. There was much more to the recommended reading than what I had been instructed. What I had previously read and accepted without question, under the instruction of my superiors, held greater depth than I had first thought.
The first work I read was of the exploration of the new world. A treatise on the new civilisations that had been encountered at the time. I had accepted this work as a work of The Truth when considering these civilisations. However, the author of this work had been entirely truthful in citing their sources: they had never encountered a person from this civilisation. The sources for this work was third-hand accounts from travelers who had heard tales from explorers about these peoples.
This was not how I had been told to approach this work by my superiors. And the author had written with such confidence that any question in my mind on it's veracity had been non-existent. Until now.
I was about to reach for another book but stopped for a moment. I walked to the kitchen where my beautiful Syvlie was preparing dinner. I couldn't quite make out what she was making, but I could see that there were dishes starting to pile in the sink. I began washing them. One less task for Sylvia, one less burden I place on her. It didn't make up for the past six months, but it was a start.
I focused on the dishes, but feeling her nearby, feeling the energy from her, I felt happier than I had in a long time.
As I continued my investigations I found more evidence that the recommended readings for the The Truth had not been as all encompassing as my superiors had taught me.
An author on the recommended reading list had had a collection of letters excluded from the list. Amongst these letters were love letters to another man, flying in the face of my superior's stance on homosexuality.
Another author had a biography, excluded from the reading list. He was in fact not the author, the author was his wife. The books were published under his name because publishers of the time would not have published a book written by a woman, flying in the face of my superior's stance on the role of femininity to The Truth.Previous publications of other works showed that the version I had been raised on had undergone significant editing to narrow their focus and exclude the contributions of people who were the wrong sex, gender, heritage, sexuality—o
r to hide the sex, gender, heritage or sexuality of certain authors who said what was deemed to be the right things.
It was about six months of studying when I was confident, not in my knowledge, but in my lack of knowledge. The firm, guiding hand of my superiors towards what I had believed to be The Truth had guided me off mark. I knew I needed to find guidance elsewhere, but I could not neglect Sylvia and Cleo as I had done before.
Surprising even myself, I submitted an application for a small amount of annual leave from my ever accumulating entitlements.
"I'm disappointed." Kevin had said on my last day of work before starting my leave. "There's so much to do; a big tender, and you're just going to drop off just like that?"
Excitement was building in the household, we were finally going away together; all three of us. But all I could think about was what Kevin had said to me on that last day. I thought for a moment about how I had allowed myself to spend the entirety of my daughter's life without going on a holiday with her, but the guilt of unfinished work that I was leaving behind for this holiday dominated my mind. No matter how much progress I made, it was never enough.
I wondered if I should cancel my leave. What would happen while I was away?
I sat down for a moment, thinking about work while Sylvia and Cleo moved around the house preparing for our time away.
A shock ran through my chest, a sharp, painful panic that stole my breath from me.
Sylvia knelt before me, noticing my sudden pallour, she cupped my chin in her hands, guiding my gaze into her eyes. "you okay?" Her voice was low, and vibrated through me, easing the pain in my chest.
I felt too embarrassed to admit that I was worried about work when were about to head out on holiday. I just nodded and lowered my gaze from hers.
"What's wrong?" She pressed again.
I smiled. I knew I couldn't hide from her. Her keen perception was one of the reasons I fell in love with her, but it would seem that today this petard was certainly hoisting. "It's..." I shook my head, feeling a heat coming to my face "...it's stupid."
"You're worried about work."
I paused for a moment, considering lying, but I knew Sylvia was too smart for that so I finally nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Big tender."
"I see." she said. "What happens if you're not there for the tender?"
"Well, it's a lot of work and we might not get it."
"And what happens if you don't get it?"
"We'd be missing out on a lot of profit."
"So there won't be any other tenders at all?"
"Yeah, there'll be more..."
"And when you're *at* work, have you succeeded in winning every tender?"
"Well, no, but..."
"So it seems that the stakes aren't really all that high, are they?"
"I..."
Sylvia stood, patting my knee "get packing, sweetheart."
A slow smile spread across my face. Syvlia's talk had made me feel better. The stakes *were* low. They always had been. The urgency of work had always been manufactured. And why would Kevin need me? Gail was more than competent. They'll be fine without me, and if not, there would be other opportunities.
Our holiday was cosy. We had hired a cottage in the countryside with a fireplace, a well-tended green garden full of bright colours and scents, and the calming trill of insects and birds. It reminded me a little of Farah and Nidhi's home. I thought about how the two of them embraced, and how it had reminded me of my passion for Sylvia. I smiled, turned to my love and pulled her close to me. She gave a surprised little "oh!" and returned the embrace.
I felt a relaxation in muscles that I did not know had been tensed.
Cleo ran through the garden, no doubt chasing imaginary fairies through the flowers. Sylvia and I watched her for a moment, before calling her into the cottage so we could unpack.
Later that night, after Cleo had finally fallen asleep, Sylvia and I sat in the cottage's living room, sipping port in front of the cosy fireplace. We remained silent for a little while, just enjoying each others company in the moment. Sylvia smiled at me, twirling her finger through her hair until a jasmine petal began growing from her hand, twining its way through her hair like a beautiful garland.
I stared at her, speechless, my glass stalled halfway on its journey to my lips. She had had a connection with the magical all along, and in all my years with her I had not once taken the time to learn this. My jaw hung open as she stood and approached me, the smell of jasmine covering me like a comforting blanket.
A smile slowly spread across my face as I summoned my own jasmine, the vines intertwining with hers. We pulled each other together in a passionate embrace. In all my time studying and trying to find The Truth, nothing felt truer than this moment.