Memories Leave Scars, Not Wounds

by Aadhya Karthik, Canberra Girls Grammar School

I waited in the wooden chair, nervously fidgeting. What questions would she ask? What should I say? I glanced at the clock. Thirty more seconds. I took a deep breath and willed myself to stay calm. Just then the door swung open. A friendly woman stood there waving. I got up and hurriedly went into the room. The smell of fresh vanilla filled my lungs, instantly calming me. I stared around in awe at the plants and paintings she had on display.

“Welcome,” she said. “I hope you’re doing well. My name is Bethany and I’m so glad you decided to come here.” Her voice was soft and gentle; the way she spoke was almost musical.

“Thank you,” I whispered, afraid to break the tranquility that encapsulated this room.

“This is a safe place where you can share anything,” she continued. “As a counsellor I will make sure of that.”

I nodded silently.

“Your parents told me that you’ve had a rough past month,” she said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head instantly. I had no intention of reliving those horrible memories.

“The best way to get over something is to talk about it,” she paused, “but if you’re not ready, I understand.”

I stared at the floor. An awkward silence stretched over us.

“Could you tell me what happened?” she began again. “You don’t have to go into detail. The vaguest explanation would be fine.”

I really didn’t want to think about the memories I had buried deep down, but this woman was not going to give up until she had answers.

“I was in a bushfire,” I responded.

Her eyes widened in surprise; clearly she wasn’t expecting that answer.

“I see how that could be traumatising,” she said. “Do you mind telling me what happened during the bushfire?”

I shook my head immediately, but it was too late. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to fight the memories that were threatening to come back. I didn’t need all that grief, anger, frustration and sadness. Stay strong, I whispered to myself. Stay strong. But the memories and emotions were too strong. Stronger than I was. They washed over me like a tsunami.

I remembered it like it was yesterday. My mum, dad, brother and I were in the house. We lived in a small town that was surrounded by trees, trails, and animals. My brother and I were watching TV, or trying to watch it, because the Wi-Fi was erratic in our town. Every five seconds it would glitch like crazy. I slammed the remote down furiously and stormed outside. I sat down on a large boulder just in front of our house.

I looked up into the sky expecting to see the familiar shades of blue, pink, and orange but instead I saw wisps of grey in a bright sky. I didn’t think too much of it at first. Maybe they were just rain clouds? But we rarely ever got rain, and we definitely wouldn’t get any in summer. Confused, I looked back up. Now the patches were darker. I tried to ignore them and went back inside.

“Are you alright?” my Mum asked, worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” I replied. But I wasn’t fine. The uneasy feeling of the dark grey patches in the sky lingered.

When I woke up the next day, I was shocked to see that the sky was completely engulfed in grey. I ran into the kitchen. “What’s happening?” I inquired.

“Nothing!” Mum said, reassuringly. “It’s just the smoke of a bushfire that occurred a while away.”

“How do you know it’s not going to spread here?” I asked nervously.

“You just have to stay calm,” she replied, avoiding the question.

I glanced out the window to see the sky slowly darkening. Terrified, I ran to Dad. I found him filling buckets of water. My worst fears had come true. He heard me and looked up.

“This is just a precaution, okay?” he declared. But I knew that it was much more serious than my parents were saying. Suddenly, we heard screams and alarms from across the street. My dad grabbed two buckets and ran inside. I followed him, my heart racing. My mum was holding my brother’s hand and a bag of supplies. She handed us all a wet cloth and told us to be careful.

“There is a bushfire and it has, unfortunately, spread to us,” she started.

“We’re gonna die!” my brother wailed.

“No, we’re not,” my dad said firmly “We’ll fight it while its small.”

But as soon as we stepped onto our front porch, we saw that the fire was no longer small. It had destroyed cars, trees, and houses. Warm tears coated my face. These places, where I had lived my entire life, were destroyed instantly. No matter how many buckets of water we threw, the fire never went down. Glowing flames blazed through houses burning them to crisp. Most people ran, fleeing for their lives. The fire was too great to be tamed, its heat demolishing everything in its path.

My parents quickly ushered us into the car. Through the window, I could see the fire roaring into our street. It licked our house and burned right through it. I screamed and screamed, feeling so helpless and hopeless as I watched everything I’d ever known burn to crisp.

How did everything change so fast? Just yesterday, my family and I were living happily in our house. Now, my family and I were in a car driving away with no plan and no home. I couldn’t help but feel guilty. If I had told them about the smoke I saw the day before the fire, could we have been more prepared? I chided myself. The guilt and sadness were overwhelming. No matter how many months passed, those emotions never faded.

“Are you alright?” Bethany asked, snapping me back into reality. I wiped the cascade of tears from my face and tried to compose myself.

“I’m fine,” I managed to croak. I glanced at the clock to see the fifteen-minute session was already up.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here,” she said as I stood up to leave.

I nodded and opened the door. As I walked out, I realised that I felt a bit lighter. All those memories I had buried deep inside, came up again. I confronted them. I would never forget my past, but it didn’t have to be a wound that I was afraid to reopen. It could be a scar.