I sit on the tube eating cockles individually from a cockle jar full of vinegary water. This has to be the most impractical choice of a tube snack and I'm bemused as to why I chose it. Cockles remind me of my stepfather and I don’t think my purchase is a pure coincidence. I don’t want to be eating them either. It feels like I’m offering a tribute to him and right now, I don’t much feel like saluting him.
I make this journey every Wednesday to see her, past the Halal butchers, fast food joints and staring teenagers along the Uxbridge Rd. It’s become a ritual, a comfort blanket that I throw around my shoulders weekly. An opening, a quiet moment, sitting opposite her in my chair, the presumptuous box of tissues on the table by my side. I won’t take one of these tissues on principle. I don’t like them assuming I’m going to cry.
In the beginning, I fought with her. Despised her cool, blue gaze. Felt she was judging me. Asked her as many questions about her own life as she did about mine. Wanted her to prove her worth. Wanted to know that if we were going to drag up shit that I’ve never talked about, that it wouldn’t do me more harm than it would do me good.
I almost didn’t notice the questions when they came. Clever questions that made me think differently, that hit nerve endings and scattered hot salty tears of recognition into my lap.
I tell her about the dream, the document and my stepfather. She doesn’t need to encourage me to understand what it means. I already know. We’ve discussed it. We’ve discussed the fact that back then; I didn’t really get a choice in what happened to me and my family, about who came into my life and who exited it. We’ve discussed too that now, as an adult, I do get a choice. I get to make lots of choices about who I want to let into my life and who I don’t. And slowly, tentatively, things are changing. I’m becoming more demanding. But I assumed that if I asked for more from people, I would lose them. That they would turn around and walk away. And maybe some will, but if they do, then they were never really worth having in my life to start with were they? I’m not saying I’m a dab hand at it yet. But I’m better at it. And things happen when you make choices. Blue Moon hasn’t walked away. He hasn’t said that he’ll stay either. His head is as full as mine. But he’s offered more. He’s let me out of my ‘dinner date’ box. We’re going to the beach tomorrow, out of London. We’re staying at his mum’s. We’re both a little scared I think. But it will be OK. We both love the sea. Tomorrow we’re going to see the sea together. That's worth smiling about. And out of principle, I won't be eating cockles.
I make this journey every Wednesday to see her, past the Halal butchers, fast food joints and staring teenagers along the Uxbridge Rd. It’s become a ritual, a comfort blanket that I throw around my shoulders weekly. An opening, a quiet moment, sitting opposite her in my chair, the presumptuous box of tissues on the table by my side. I won’t take one of these tissues on principle. I don’t like them assuming I’m going to cry.
In the beginning, I fought with her. Despised her cool, blue gaze. Felt she was judging me. Asked her as many questions about her own life as she did about mine. Wanted her to prove her worth. Wanted to know that if we were going to drag up shit that I’ve never talked about, that it wouldn’t do me more harm than it would do me good.
I almost didn’t notice the questions when they came. Clever questions that made me think differently, that hit nerve endings and scattered hot salty tears of recognition into my lap.
I tell her about the dream, the document and my stepfather. She doesn’t need to encourage me to understand what it means. I already know. We’ve discussed it. We’ve discussed the fact that back then; I didn’t really get a choice in what happened to me and my family, about who came into my life and who exited it. We’ve discussed too that now, as an adult, I do get a choice. I get to make lots of choices about who I want to let into my life and who I don’t. And slowly, tentatively, things are changing. I’m becoming more demanding. But I assumed that if I asked for more from people, I would lose them. That they would turn around and walk away. And maybe some will, but if they do, then they were never really worth having in my life to start with were they? I’m not saying I’m a dab hand at it yet. But I’m better at it. And things happen when you make choices. Blue Moon hasn’t walked away. He hasn’t said that he’ll stay either. His head is as full as mine. But he’s offered more. He’s let me out of my ‘dinner date’ box. We’re going to the beach tomorrow, out of London. We’re staying at his mum’s. We’re both a little scared I think. But it will be OK. We both love the sea. Tomorrow we’re going to see the sea together. That's worth smiling about. And out of principle, I won't be eating cockles.
1 comment:
This is very exciting. I'm so glad things are moving forward with Blue Moon. And it sounds like you've got your wits about you at the same time. Have a great weekend SL, I'm sure you will xxx
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