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Musings

Summary:
The thoughts and observations of Twilight characters at strategic points in their existences.


Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its wonderful characters. So sad.


2. Esme

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Musings

Esme

August 10, 1921

Dear Diary,

When Astrid gave me this book and asked me to write down what I was feeling, I thought that I might have burst out into tears right there at my desk. Is it really that obvious that I’m utterly miserable? It must be, because otherwise ten year-old girls wouldn’t walk up to their teacher and bestow them with gifts. But now that I’ve had time to reflect, I realize how much of a blessing this little blank book is. After everything that’s been inflicted on me, it’s good to have someone to tell, even if it’s only this book by day and my pillow at night. I shall make a list of my problems right now, on this page, and make it my mission to address and eliminate each one.

1. I’m a “widowed” and destitute pregnant woman.

2. I’m running low on tea bags.

3. My family is searching for me, yet I don’t want to be found.

4. I have no more red ink to mark papers with.

5. No man I know of will even look at me. Am I really so awful to look at now that I’m pregnant?

As for the first one, well, there’s nothing I can do about that. Charles… he deserves being left alone. That man is the root of all my troubles, and – I dare myself to write this – I hope he puts himself into a situation that ends up with all his hopes for a future stripped away, one by one, until he’s reduced to nothing more than a sobbing, blithering idiot.

Strange. I do believe I heard the Hallelujah Chorus. I must write similar things in the future.

It’s time to go. I have school to teach.

Esme Anne Platt Evenson

August 11, 1921

Dear Diary,

I woke this morning with the distinct impression that I was sleeping under a boulder. Further investigation revealed that no, it was just my baby again. Sleeping with a child in your belly is the only part of pregnancy that I really don’t like. Wait— that’s a lie. I don’t like being without a husband in this nothing town, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I got up with great difficulty, as I’m in my eighth month. I wanted to make myself some tea, but there were no more bags in the little jar. A minute later I found that there was no food in the icebox, either. As I write this, I am eyeing one of my pupil’s lunches…

…what a darling. She gave me her apple. And a certain someone will be receiving very high marks for as long as I’m a teacher here.

These happy children before me make me think of who I was so long ago. I was happy, truly happy. I ran about and sang silly songs, and even had a few infatuations. There was this doctor… I still think about him. Maybe, if I fall off out of a tree again, he’ll appear in the middle of the night at the hospital I’d be sent to, and he’d take me away to whatever heaven he came from. Yes, diary, he was that handsome!

Oh, the girls are watching me.

I just told them that I was writing about “my husband”. In your wildest dreams, Esme. That was ten years ago, you goose of a woman.

Esme Anne Platt Evenson

August 13, 1921

Rain. Rain. And still more rain. My roof is leaking, the windows rattle, and my small yard is not much more than six-inch deep mud. And guess what? I had an attack of morning sickness this morning, and now my pillow is completely useless until it stops raining and I can actually do some laundry. Disgusting.

It’s Saturday, so I may as well take all sixty cents of my savings and go buy groceries. Here’s a list:

-Tea bags (Earl Grey)

-Greens

-Dried apple

-Thread/Needles

My umbrella fell apart in the last windstorm, so I must sprint to and from the store. Wish me luck, diary!

Oh Lord, I’m conversing with an inanimate object.

Esme Anne Platt Evenson

Later That Day

I can hardly hold my pen, I’m shaking so much. It was while I was at the store, and—let me start over at the beginning.

I ran to the grocer’s(eight months pregnant—that must have been a sight), only getting a little bit sopped on the way. After wringing out my dress, I composed myself and walked in. I bought all of my things, and I even had a little money left over to buy a cookie with. Things were really starting to shine with me. It was still raining, of course, so I had to calculate the quickest way through the gale.

The second I stepped into the rain, my footing gave way in the mud, and I slipped down into the muck and rocks of the road. The entire front of my dress was ruined, and my food was instantly inedible. Nearby teenagers were laughing and staring, and I was more humiliated then than I had ever been in my life. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard this gentle voice beside me and a hand carefully pulling me up. “Are you alright?” a young man asked. I looked up at the owner of that hand, and saw the second most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.

His hair was reddish brown, like brass. His eyes… were just like that of the doctor in my dreams: gold and gentle. His skin, though, was a very unhealthy bone white. He couldn’t have been more than 18, perhaps even 17. I simple stared for a minute until a sharp pain on my elbow jerked me out of my stupor. I looked down at my muddy arm and could clearly see a tiny cut on my elbow. A miniscule amount of blood was in the corner, yet the boy jerked suddenly, and I swear that his eyes darkened, odd as it sounds. He stood up so fast that I almost missed it and half-ran away, towards the outskirts of town. When he had gone about a dozen yards, he broke into a run. I sat there, rain running down my face, making my hair stick. My undergarments were visible through my dress, and my purchases were lying in the street, forgotten.

It took every ounce of will I have to get up and walk home. I don’t think I can take much more of this. I’m staking everything on my baby. Boy, girl, I don’t care. It’ll be just me and my child. Oh, my heart is beating like mad just thinking of it! I could sing.

Drat. The roof is leaking right over my bed. Again.

Esme Anne Platt Evenson

August 14, 1921

It’s stopped raining! Praise the Lord! I am right now sitting in my absolute favorite place: Horizon Cliff. Supposedly, the cliff is called that because you can see the horizon from anywhere on it, but I know that that’s not true. There are too many trees blocking your view on three sides. It’s only on the highest part of the cliff that you can see the whole state.

I love it here. I’m above all the noise of human life and smoke from fires. It’s so… peaceful. Only here, I think, can I find happiness. Oh—random thought: I accidentally fall off the cliff, and the handsome doctor saves me.

Esme, you are such a swoony ninny.

What can I see from my cliff…

Fields

A river (not sure which one)

A railroad

Mountains

A neighboring tow—

No. Oh, please God no. It’s too early.

I think my water just broke.

I’m in love. My sweetheart is in my arms right now, in fact. He has a mop of light brown hair, and angelic face, and he’s only a little bit shorter than me.

His name is Carlisle.

Did I mention that the doctor who set my leg ten years ago was named Carlisle? When the nurse was writing the birth certificate, she asked me what I wanted to name my child, and I didn’t even think about it. Without looking up, I just said, “Carlisle David.”

Carlisle for the man whose face comforts me, and David… because it means “beloved”. And that couldn’t be truer.

When I looked down into my son’s face, I started to cry tears of happiness—I never thought I’d cry tears like that again. And you know what? I knew then that as long as I have Carlisle, I would never ever be truly sad again.

Esme Anne Platt Evenson

August 20, 1921

Babies are adorable! Everything they do is small and cute! Carlisle’s hands are so tiny, they can’t even wrap around my finger when he holds my hand. His tiny eyelids flutter when I gently blow in his face. His hair is so fine and downy that I just run a finger through it in wonder. When I do this, he looks up at me with his curious blue eyes as if to say, “What are you doing, silly woman? You have your own hair to mess up!”

He’s going to be a heart breaker when he grows up. I’d bet that all the girls are going to be throwing themselves at him.

Even his little coughs are cute! Oh, he’s coughing again. I’ve never heard a baby so young cough before, so it’s all new for me.

Esme Anne Platt Evenson

August 22, 1921

How odd — Carlisle is coughing a lot, it seems. I think I’ll take him back to the doctor for a check up. It’s probably nothing.

You know, I’m in such a good mood, I think I’ll buy some tea bags. And if the weather tomorrow permits, I might just take a walk to the cliffs with Carlisle.

Just baby Carlisle and I, forever!

Esme Anne Platt Evenson, aka Mama