Showing posts with label A MOMENT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A MOMENT. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Inheritance
Just look at you,
do it this way,
do it that way.
What you need to do is this ... or that.
Like you know everything and your life is all in order and up for scrutinising. Nice house, all neat and tidy, two cars on the drive, no debt. Like you said so many times, your children will never behave like mine have. You would not stand for it. Just like you wouldn’t have MDF, only stripped pine, no cheap stuff for you. And so you went on, and on, and on.
Just like he did all my life, just like a dripping tap … torture.
So proper,
so sorted,
so structured.
The voice too,
the ‘Gooood Arfternooon’,
you know the one that goes with the china cups and saucers and the tea tray and squares of Madeira cake followed by linen serviettes to wipe the pinkies.
Nothing wrong with that,
except you deliver it with a spoonful of ‘See, this is how it should be done, therefore you fail’
instead of lump sugar and sugar tongs.
He was the same,
Hold your knife properly or else eat in the kitchen,
remove yourself from the table,
you disgust me.
I probably did,
disgust him,
that is.
After all I got it wrong from the start,
I was a girl, not the son and heir he wanted.
And what was all that ‘Breathe quietly, you are disturbing me or go to your room’
You want to try it sometimes, listen to how loud you are breathing and then work out if it too noisy.
Actually, don’t bother, I’ll tell you what it’s like, because you stop, breathing …
you stop and try and catch silent seconds of air,
just enough to keep you going until it is acceptable to leave the room.
Then you inhale like your life depends on it.
And it’s a tone of voice thing,
you both have it,
you and him,
makes sense since you are his daughter.
Authoritative verbal power.
My skin fails me,
lets me down,
because the words seep through my skin,
filter into my veins and use my body like it’s the worlds longest rollercoaster ride.
Spinning,
twisting,
running in and out of my brain,
up,
over
and through my heart
draining me,
weakening me so I cannot fight back.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
THEN AFTERWARDS ...
The house was quiet now, but it was not peaceful. The heated words between her husband and son were still echoing around the room desperate to escape. Both men had gone now, but the atmosphere lingered and seeped into Sarah's every pore, ran through her veins and attacked her heart like a chemical burning away at the surface. She rocked gently as she sat on the edge of the sofa, her arms hugging her chest as if to protect her heart from further pain. Her left hand stroked her right arm, softly, gently, offering a gesture of comfort. Her mother used to do that, stroke her when she became upset as a child, but she was alone now and her body seemed to instintivley try and comfort itself. The quietness of the room was lost to her, her mind was struggling to contain the flashes of harsh words spat in anger between the two men she loved. Her shoulders stiffened as if the reflex would somehow stop the tears burning behind her eyes. The rain lashed against the lounge window and Sarah wondered briefly whether Sam had taken a coat when he had stormed out of the house rather than raise his fist to his son. He would come back she knew that, and she knew why he'd gone, but he always just left her when she needed him, needed his arms around her. The floorboards above her creaked under the footsteps of her son James walking across the landing to the bathroom, probably to throw his guts up down the toilet. She wanted desperately to go up to him as she would have when he was a little boy, then she would have held him close to her and stroked his forehead until he fell asleep, safely in her arms. Now, they didn't touch, oh they were close, but they didn't touch, not anymore. Not since his grandfather had told James he must be a 'girl' still wanting a hug from his mother. Sarah understood, but understanding did not give her comfort. As she tried to remember the last time they had hugged each other,the tears that had been building behind her eyes began to fall.
.
.
.
.
SAME SHOPPING - JUST DIFFERENT DAYS
After she got promotion
Normally she hated supermarket shopping, but today was different. She had already collected a dozen items and the shop was not too busy. As the basket became too heavy for her, Jodie left it on the floor by the toilet rolls and went back outside to get a trolley. Returning back to it, she transferred the items carefully so as not to bruise the strawberries and bananas. Realising where she was, amongst the toilet tissue, she thought it funny that maybe one of those rolls may find themselves up her ex boss’s ass! It made her laugh aloud as she then pictured her supervisor at work as a toilet roll! Smiling to herself she moved on to get some ice cream to go with the strawberries, picked up the vanilla soft scoop, returned it and chose Walls Cornish instead, it was a ‘no contest’ choice. They had said that to her at work today when they offered her promotion, she was the best person for the job, that there was no competition that could have beaten her, no contest. She had won the prize of getting out of that office and got a pay increase! She smiled again seeing herself as Cornish ice cream, tanned and rich against the cheap white soft scoop! Laughing to herself at the analogies she had made, she took her shopping to the miserable looking girl at the checkout, knowing nothing could dampen her mood today.
After he dumped her
She hated supermarket and today was no different. The basket full of items weighed her down and made her ache even more than she did already. She went back to the front of the store, got a trolley and then squashed the strawberries as she was repacking the things from her basket. Taking them back to replace the punnet for a new one, she stopped to pick up some toilet tissue. There was an offer of a puppy with any pack of twelve quilted rolls and she picked two packs up and hooked them to the front of the trolley. Then she took two beige puppies from the display and wiped her tears with one of the paws. They were just the same as his dogs when they were tiny, when they jumped all over the two of them as they curled beneath the white goose down quilt he had bought her as a surprise. But now she would never feel her body entwined in his, or see the dogs again and her heart was breaking. Soft quilts, puppies, who would have thought that so many painfull memories could be awoken because of a toilet roll offer. She picked up some value vanilla soft scoop ice cream on the way to the checkout. She normally had Cornish ice cream, but today she picked the cheap stuff. Cheap, that was how he had made her feel, cheap, just like the ice cream.
Normally she hated supermarket shopping, but today was different. She had already collected a dozen items and the shop was not too busy. As the basket became too heavy for her, Jodie left it on the floor by the toilet rolls and went back outside to get a trolley. Returning back to it, she transferred the items carefully so as not to bruise the strawberries and bananas. Realising where she was, amongst the toilet tissue, she thought it funny that maybe one of those rolls may find themselves up her ex boss’s ass! It made her laugh aloud as she then pictured her supervisor at work as a toilet roll! Smiling to herself she moved on to get some ice cream to go with the strawberries, picked up the vanilla soft scoop, returned it and chose Walls Cornish instead, it was a ‘no contest’ choice. They had said that to her at work today when they offered her promotion, she was the best person for the job, that there was no competition that could have beaten her, no contest. She had won the prize of getting out of that office and got a pay increase! She smiled again seeing herself as Cornish ice cream, tanned and rich against the cheap white soft scoop! Laughing to herself at the analogies she had made, she took her shopping to the miserable looking girl at the checkout, knowing nothing could dampen her mood today.
After he dumped her
She hated supermarket and today was no different. The basket full of items weighed her down and made her ache even more than she did already. She went back to the front of the store, got a trolley and then squashed the strawberries as she was repacking the things from her basket. Taking them back to replace the punnet for a new one, she stopped to pick up some toilet tissue. There was an offer of a puppy with any pack of twelve quilted rolls and she picked two packs up and hooked them to the front of the trolley. Then she took two beige puppies from the display and wiped her tears with one of the paws. They were just the same as his dogs when they were tiny, when they jumped all over the two of them as they curled beneath the white goose down quilt he had bought her as a surprise. But now she would never feel her body entwined in his, or see the dogs again and her heart was breaking. Soft quilts, puppies, who would have thought that so many painfull memories could be awoken because of a toilet roll offer. She picked up some value vanilla soft scoop ice cream on the way to the checkout. She normally had Cornish ice cream, but today she picked the cheap stuff. Cheap, that was how he had made her feel, cheap, just like the ice cream.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
SIXPENCE ! 1959
.
Can I have ...
Eight of them
Six of them
Four of them
One of them
And two of them
Oh, and one of them then
Sixpence
Yeh, me granddad give it me
Bye
Eight black jacks
Six fruit salads
Four flying saucers
One sherbert dip
Two raspberry pips
And one lichorice stick
Down back alley
Friends
Come and play
They like me
On me own now
Playin'
With me jacks
And marbles
A Sixpence Mum?
No ...
On the fridge?
Eight of them
Six of them
Four of them
One of them
And two of them
Oh, and one of them then
Sixpence
Yeh, me granddad give it me
Bye
Eight black jacks
Six fruit salads
Four flying saucers
One sherbert dip
Two raspberry pips
And one lichorice stick
Down back alley
Friends
Come and play
They like me
On me own now
Playin'
With me jacks
And marbles
A Sixpence Mum?
No ...
On the fridge?
I 'aint seen it
.
.
one sixpence = 2.5p
.
NEW JOB IN AN OLD SETTING
‘Gosh, this feels strange, I feel like a fraud in this uniform. I don’t know anything’ said Pam nervously as she walked down the corridor towards the day room. The grubby green emulsioned walls offered a fragile sense of a natural setting, and smirking faces stared up from the wood block flooring in contradiction.
‘Well, they won’t know that. They will just see the badge and think you know everything!’ replied Julie with a smile.
‘Yeh, but it’s really strange’ continued Pam ‘The last time I was in here was twelve years ago and I never thought I would be here in a nurse’s uniform.’
‘Come on, big breath and here we go, a couple of sick minds to the rescue!’ said Julie as she pushed open the door to the day room. One of the long side walls was broken by six sash windows; years of over painting making them draught proof. Each window fell from the ceiling like huge a waterfall as the rain crashed against the glass, and then appeared to settle on radiators which looked like ridiculous oversized yellowing teeth glaring from a menacing smile. Brown fibre glass curtains with fiery orange psychedelic swirls hung at the windows offering an alternative reason for having a headache, as they clashed against the familiar sickly green emulsioned walls. It was just as Pam remembered it. She looked around the room at the empty drugged faces and shivered. ‘I am really not sure I can do this.’ she thought.
The grey carpet was still discoloured with an intricate map of individual encounters of coffee, cigarette burns, urine and chewing gum. The old black leather sofa still sat beneath the far window with a collection of odd chairs huddled around it. Pam remembered sitting there listening to Neil Diamond singing Porcupine Pie on the stereo while she had been crying one night, and Brian, the charge nurse, had made her a cup of cocoa. "Leave enough room for desert, Chicken ripple Ice cream". She remembered wondering why Neil Diamond was not in the unit with her if he wrote lyrics like that to songs. A coffee table now separated the furniture and was strewn with an incomplete pack of playing cards and few chipped mugs.
‘Another new lot again then’ said one of the patients to no-one in particular, while a cigarette perched warily between her lips ‘Always new bloody faces. They’ll want me name next, for the hundredth bloody time this month. Well, what you looking at then?’ she continued vaguely directing her words towards the girls.
Pam felt her heart skip a beat and her chest tighten as if it was an elastic band ball. She knew that some of these people had been in this unit for years and remembered being afraid once that she might end up the same. Now she was here on different terms, opposite terms, and she was not sure how her head was going to cope with the change. No-one would know her on this ward as it was short stay ward where no-one stayed longer than six months.
‘Ah, good morning girls’ called the Sister from the office door ‘Come on in, we are just about to do handover so you are just in time.’ Pam and Julie followed the navy uniform into a small compact office. There was barely enough room for its current occupants of Sister and the other nurses already sat in two of the small shabby chairs.
The girls nervously sat in the vacant chairs under the window. The small cracked window panes implied that they had long ago surrendered to forgotten screams from the adjoining room.
Although handover went smoothly, Pam found it difficult to remember which illness was related to which patient and felt overwhelmed by the whole process. She was given two patients to get acquainted with; Robert, who was struggling with his voices telling him to eat all the magazines, and Audrey, who had had a nervous breakdown.
Checking her name badge was still pinned to her uniform, Pam left the office and made her way to Audrey who was sat at a large Formica table staring at a part completed jigsaw puzzle nestling between several ash trays bearing the remains of multiple moments of denied relief.
‘Here goes girl. You can do this, you really can.’ she coaxed herself as she walked across the room.
.
.
‘Well, they won’t know that. They will just see the badge and think you know everything!’ replied Julie with a smile.
‘Yeh, but it’s really strange’ continued Pam ‘The last time I was in here was twelve years ago and I never thought I would be here in a nurse’s uniform.’
‘Come on, big breath and here we go, a couple of sick minds to the rescue!’ said Julie as she pushed open the door to the day room. One of the long side walls was broken by six sash windows; years of over painting making them draught proof. Each window fell from the ceiling like huge a waterfall as the rain crashed against the glass, and then appeared to settle on radiators which looked like ridiculous oversized yellowing teeth glaring from a menacing smile. Brown fibre glass curtains with fiery orange psychedelic swirls hung at the windows offering an alternative reason for having a headache, as they clashed against the familiar sickly green emulsioned walls. It was just as Pam remembered it. She looked around the room at the empty drugged faces and shivered. ‘I am really not sure I can do this.’ she thought.
The grey carpet was still discoloured with an intricate map of individual encounters of coffee, cigarette burns, urine and chewing gum. The old black leather sofa still sat beneath the far window with a collection of odd chairs huddled around it. Pam remembered sitting there listening to Neil Diamond singing Porcupine Pie on the stereo while she had been crying one night, and Brian, the charge nurse, had made her a cup of cocoa. "Leave enough room for desert, Chicken ripple Ice cream". She remembered wondering why Neil Diamond was not in the unit with her if he wrote lyrics like that to songs. A coffee table now separated the furniture and was strewn with an incomplete pack of playing cards and few chipped mugs.
‘Another new lot again then’ said one of the patients to no-one in particular, while a cigarette perched warily between her lips ‘Always new bloody faces. They’ll want me name next, for the hundredth bloody time this month. Well, what you looking at then?’ she continued vaguely directing her words towards the girls.
Pam felt her heart skip a beat and her chest tighten as if it was an elastic band ball. She knew that some of these people had been in this unit for years and remembered being afraid once that she might end up the same. Now she was here on different terms, opposite terms, and she was not sure how her head was going to cope with the change. No-one would know her on this ward as it was short stay ward where no-one stayed longer than six months.
‘Ah, good morning girls’ called the Sister from the office door ‘Come on in, we are just about to do handover so you are just in time.’ Pam and Julie followed the navy uniform into a small compact office. There was barely enough room for its current occupants of Sister and the other nurses already sat in two of the small shabby chairs.
The girls nervously sat in the vacant chairs under the window. The small cracked window panes implied that they had long ago surrendered to forgotten screams from the adjoining room.
Although handover went smoothly, Pam found it difficult to remember which illness was related to which patient and felt overwhelmed by the whole process. She was given two patients to get acquainted with; Robert, who was struggling with his voices telling him to eat all the magazines, and Audrey, who had had a nervous breakdown.
Checking her name badge was still pinned to her uniform, Pam left the office and made her way to Audrey who was sat at a large Formica table staring at a part completed jigsaw puzzle nestling between several ash trays bearing the remains of multiple moments of denied relief.
‘Here goes girl. You can do this, you really can.’ she coaxed herself as she walked across the room.
.
.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
SUNDAYS AT THE BEACH - 1965
This was written immediately after a counselling session with a Cruse counsellor. We were discussing what I considered to be normal for a child and ...
She said it might put things into perspective if I could see things as if they had happened to
someone else, rather than to me.
Would I be angry if some told me that when they were twelve their dad had taken her and her sister to the beach with his secretary and ...
Mum had stayed at home, too depressed to go out.
Didn't know the secretary went instead.
Dad had said it was a secret, not to tell mum, it would make her ill.
But she wasn't hurting her mum.
He was.
She went to the beach.
With her little sister.
To look after her.
That is her job.
To take care of her.
They had only had her to keep her company.
Dad had told her that.
'She is your responsibility' he had said
And she believed him.
So she must make sure she doesn't get hurt.
She is only ten.
At the beach the secretary undresses into her bikini.
Gaudy clashing flowers.
Not enough material, way too much flesh.
Her dad's hands stroke sun tan oil over her stomach
Inside her bikini top. Why?
Must get away.
Wants to be sick.
The bulge in her dad's swimming trunks, what is that?
Must go and get an ice cream, must get away.
This is wrong, mum is at home.
They should be with her.
Secretary touching him now, his thighs, his eyes have gone strange.
Must get away now.
Get the ice cream.
Go for a walk.
Collect shells.
Paddle.
Not look back.
It's a secret, dad's little secret.
Now it has to be our secret.
From mum.
Words nearly the same, secret and secretary ...
How weird.
The counsellor let me share lots of 'childhood moments' like this and the conclusion I came to was that even if I saw it as normal, it should have been different.
She said it might put things into perspective if I could see things as if they had happened to
someone else, rather than to me.
Would I be angry if some told me that when they were twelve their dad had taken her and her sister to the beach with his secretary and ...
Mum had stayed at home, too depressed to go out.
Didn't know the secretary went instead.
Dad had said it was a secret, not to tell mum, it would make her ill.
But she wasn't hurting her mum.
He was.
She went to the beach.
With her little sister.
To look after her.
That is her job.
To take care of her.
They had only had her to keep her company.
Dad had told her that.
'She is your responsibility' he had said
And she believed him.
So she must make sure she doesn't get hurt.
She is only ten.
At the beach the secretary undresses into her bikini.
Gaudy clashing flowers.
Not enough material, way too much flesh.
Her dad's hands stroke sun tan oil over her stomach
Inside her bikini top. Why?
Must get away.
Wants to be sick.
The bulge in her dad's swimming trunks, what is that?
Must go and get an ice cream, must get away.
This is wrong, mum is at home.
They should be with her.
Secretary touching him now, his thighs, his eyes have gone strange.
Must get away now.
Get the ice cream.
Go for a walk.
Collect shells.
Paddle.
Not look back.
It's a secret, dad's little secret.
Now it has to be our secret.
From mum.
Words nearly the same, secret and secretary ...
How weird.
The counsellor let me share lots of 'childhood moments' like this and the conclusion I came to was that even if I saw it as normal, it should have been different.
COFFEE,TOAST AND THREE PARACETAMOL
Coffee, toast and three paracetamol.
Is that all you can offer after that outburst?
You're the reason I've got this damn headache.
And you know I don't drink coffee or take paracetamol.
Or don't you know.
I've been telling you for years.
But that doesn't mean you've heard, does it.
Who does hear me, who cares anyway?
But don't get me started on that 'who cares' stuff.
In fact, don't get me started.
Leave me alone.
Give me some space.
Stop suffocating me.
I need to breathe, to live my life, my very own life.
Not yours, not anyone elses, but mine.
Make my own mistakes.
Find my own way.
Claim my own life.
Not live what you chose for me.
How can you know what I need, what I want, what my dreams are.
You don't hear me.
You give me coffee
and paracetamol.
Is that all you can offer after that outburst?
You're the reason I've got this damn headache.
And you know I don't drink coffee or take paracetamol.
Or don't you know.
I've been telling you for years.
But that doesn't mean you've heard, does it.
Who does hear me, who cares anyway?
But don't get me started on that 'who cares' stuff.
In fact, don't get me started.
Leave me alone.
Give me some space.
Stop suffocating me.
I need to breathe, to live my life, my very own life.
Not yours, not anyone elses, but mine.
Make my own mistakes.
Find my own way.
Claim my own life.
Not live what you chose for me.
How can you know what I need, what I want, what my dreams are.
You don't hear me.
You give me coffee
and paracetamol.
O O O
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