Tuesday, May 19
Well, I haven't written in a week on account of forgetting my pink pen at home.
My apologies.
Allot has happened that i have wanted to write about since last Tuesday. I just haven't had the time... or the proper writing devices. I would like to get all 10 or so pages now, but I am in English class, so I obviously don't have the time.
My mother found out that I smoke, on Friday I believe. On Friday I went to boxing for the first time, and got a ride home with Tia when she got off work. When I arrived I called mum, said where I was, she casually asked me when I started smoking. I replied with an "oh shit." She laughed. It was weird, she wasn't angry, but said that I needed to stop, along with some other humorous comments. She told me that if I stopped smoking, and didn't smoke again by graduation, she would send me to Europe, and I agreed. I also spent the weekend smoking.
.
A new memory came to my mind for the first time, likely since it happened. During art class Kate and I were discussing smoking, as she smoked all weekend with me. That somehow must have flicked an on switch of this tiny part of my past.
In pre-school, before and after my 2 hours per day of school, I would go to my Grandmother's. Gramma and Grampa. Grampa died of Cancer, the summer before or after Kindergarten, when I was camping with Mum. It was just us and the orange VW van, and maybe some Danes.
One day on our camping trip, mum got a call on her cell. Although I don't recall her having a cell phone before or after that moment. Up until my 6th grade year, at least. But I'm sure she had one. Anyways, she got a call right before we were about to go swimming in the lake. It was a very hot and sunny day, and I was very excited. She suddenly looked very upset, and I was confused. I ended up writing a letter to my Grampa about how much I love him, and missed him. Then we burned it, so that the pieces and ashes would fly up to the sky for my Grampa. I honestly believed that he would get the letter. That he would know how I felt. I remember that I still felt really bad for still wanting to go swimming after that.
.
That wasn't the memory that came to mind in art class. But it came to when I was writing, so I went with it. This - what I'm about to write - is what I remembered. The 3 pieces of my past that will be in this entry, are basically about the same things, and people.
In pre-school when I was going to Gramma's, and having a father, we would sometimes do errands. Just Gramma and I. Sometimes we would go to the doctor, for my Gramma of course. I always loved going there, the big white building, with white, or pale blue walls. It wasn't the hospital, no we went to the clinic. But being only 4 or 5, it really didn't make a difference to me.
They had nice toys there. These cute little plastic people - one was a doctor - and a big yellow bus. The people had hollow bodies, and the bus had bumps, so that the two fit together perfectly. The doctor was always the driver of the big yellow bus.
.
I remember a little girl of only four or five. She is standing at her Grandmother's white window sill, which her head barely tops. I am 85% that I am that girl. I mean... I know that she is me, but I'm not her. That was a completely different lifetime. The two of us - her and I - have almost nothing in common. But at one point, that was me.
Looking out the window she can see her mother slamming the driver's door in her old van. Within moments the loving mother sees her young daughter. The child eagerly waves, and blows a kiss. Her mother 'catches' it oh so skillfully, and blows another to the little girl. Thus she (the girl) 'catches' the kiss, and blows another. This continues long enough for both of them to have enough kisses to last the day, and the mother to realise how late she will be for her job.
Every morning she had breakfast at her Gramma's.
Porridge.
.
See? There is no way that that could be me. My mother and I have nowhere near enough love for each other. Although I do say porridge, apposed to oatmeal.
No comments:
Post a Comment