Aleksandra Dugic

English Language and Literature

What Water is to the Body, Purpose is to the Mind. When Miranda became the purpose of my life I should say I was at least as good as the next man, as it turned out. When I met her I felt like my life finally had a purpose, and that purpose was love. The day she became my guest, the day she became mine was the best day of my life. I couldnt believe she was as beautiful close up as she was faraway, in my dreams. Seeing her always made me feel like I was seeing a rarity, something you got to see only once in your life, like an Orchid Swallowtail, she was as lovely as one of those. The days had passed; it was approximately a month since all that. The papers have died down, probably focused on another young pretty girl. And thats all she was; young and pretty. She had no real purpose. I was a pawn in her game of chess, she pretended to love me yet she was infatuated with a G.P. She is in the box I made, under the appletrees. Sometimes I still think of her, so I go to the appletree where she is buried and sit there. I thought I would go mad how many times I wished I could dig her up and join her. But Im not mad. Anyway I have Marian now. Sweet, docile Marian. The complete opposite of her; more simple but you cant afford to be picky. Of course I never let her take me in the way Miranda did, but Id say Im handling her as well as the next man could. What I am trying to say is, Marian is my guest. She doesnt draw pictures but Ive left all those art books in her room shes perfectly welcome to learn how. I could show her some of the pictures Miranda drew. Things have changed. The rooms cleaned out now and good as new, or I should say it is new. Ive painted over the orange walls (too bright) with a calming blue and rearranged the furniture. It really does look like a completely different room, which is good since Marian and Miranda are not the same, and neither am I. This time it isnt love but for the interest of the thing and to compare them. I just want to see. There was always class between us, me and her, but not this time. Marian is my equal; mine. Things will be better, proper, but we should see. I want her to know me and appreciate me and most of all, respect me. Well the other day I was in Lewes and I picked up the evening paper and there she was, Marian Edwards. She lived with her aunt (Just like me!) a Downs Syndromes sufferer who had recently died of a brain hemorrhage and left everything to her niece. I personally believe people like that should be put out of their misery as soon as possible rather than being left to suffer, but thats another story. I do wonder how Aunt Annie is. She and Mabel decided to stay in Australia with her brother, though shes said shed like me to visit I dont think I ever shall. They never understood me like Uncle Dick. I thought Miranda did but that goes to show people are deceptive. If more people were like me the world would be a better place. One reason I got fed up with Aunt Annie was I started to get interested in other things and she was not interesting in the slightest. It wasnt difficult getting Marian here. As soon as I saw her I knew I had to know her, show her who I really am. You would think she would thank me

for taking her away from her all that and introducing her to the finer things in life, she would be happy, thankful. Well at first she was scared. She cried in the beginning and begged me to let her go and leave her be. When I explained why she was here and how I was helping her she just looked at me. I began to leave, she made me feel uneasy when she burst out angrily that I thought I was some martyr, wasnt normal. She cried some more but I left. She would understand. I locked the door and pushed back the bookshelf that goes over it. I went upstairs to make myself some tea. She could have hers later when she had calmed down and took in the situation. She was my guest I had to make her feel welcome so I got out some biscuits I got at the market and made her a cup of tea. Spiceberry. I looked around the room. So many memories of Miranda. Where we sat and drank champagne, had dinner, played charades. That night it all went so wrong. If she had said yes I would have let her go, released her but she didnt so I couldnt. I opened the kitchen drawer and took out one of the pictures I hadnt hidden away safely with my observations diary. It was the first one I had ever taken of her. How peaceful she looked in her brassieres and stockings, like she was sleeping. A real sleeping beauty. Her hair long and sleek, paler than the morning sun, and her lips. It looked like she was smiling serenely, thinking of me. It gave me an idea. I had vowed to not let this be the same. This time it was different. I gave myself and everything to Miranda too freely. Wore my heart on my sleeve as some would say but not this time. If Marian wanted respect she had to give me some back. I went up to my room and took out my camera. I would give her food for a picture I decided. Going out back and down to the cellar I stopped and listened. Everything was quiet. Pushing back the makeshift bookshelf and unlocking the first padlock I listened. Perhaps she was all cried out and fell asleep? That was women for you, all temper tantrums and once thats blown over theyre exhausted. I opened the door to her room and saw in fact she was not asleep, but glancing casually at the pictures Miranda had requested me to buy for her. She seemed to be in her own world as she did not notice me at first. Who could blame her, Im no Burt Lancaster. I made a noise and she looked up expectantly, she was frightened I could tell that much. I had my camera in my right hand and the tray in my other but seeing the way she looked at me I couldnt do it. Not now. Maybe later. Putting down the tray at her feet I smiled encouragingly but she recoiled at my glance. I tried several times that afternoon to get her to speak, tell me some about herself but she just looked at me, like a feeble little mouse backed into a corner. I liked that. She was beginning to see who was in charge, not like Miranda who always challenged me and made me feel like a poor fool. Thinking back I should have realised that sooner or later it would have to happen. How could I know that I would be forced to take the matter into my hands and do what I did? What Im trying to say is looking back on that first week I wasnt to know what I would have to do in the end. How similar she was to Miranda. How she angered in a fashion so similar it would enrage me, until I couldnt help myself. I handled her as well as the next man could, but I was better than any other man. I had higher hopes for Marian Edwards.

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