then - shattered
c. 1988
the room has blue and yellow curtains, a tall single bed with a wrought iron bedhead and a wrought iron cot. the room is lovingly decorated and has blue walls.
it has in my memory anyway. but perhaps the details of the room are incorrect. perhaps that’s because i’m not looking at the room.
through a veil of curtains and tears i’m looking out the window. at that damned car. it’s white and fairly old. a commodore? a falcon? the number plate is sealed on my brain for years. everytime i see it driving by i know it’s him.
i’m about 8 years old.
and i know my mum is having an affair. and i know it’s with him. i hate him. and i hate her just a little bit too.
i especially hate the time i hear my parents fight. in my memory it’s that same night. dad cries.
it’s the only time i can remember them fighting.
their marriage was a mesh of people - too many people.
This felt so familiar to me. It turned out I was wrong about which parent was having the affair, as it happens. That blew my mind.
Anyway, the graininess of this memory - you expressed it so well.
Thanks again Guilty - it’s one of those memories that is both clear and muddled at the same time. I can’t remember how I knew what was going on, but I did. It’s strange what you forget and what you remember, hey.