What I remember.

Weekends was always nice. No school in two days. Sleeping as much as I liked. Peace and quiet. Saturdays was always like this: porridge at noon, candy at six, home made pizza at eightish in the evening. Always the same. I loved it. It made me feel safe and guarded. My family was always there, we all loved Saturdays. The only peaceful day, and the only day that was the way I liked it.

As time went by, I grew up. Started my teens. Started wanting more. Friends was never my specialty, but I had some. One at least. It was a puzzle, because I lived in the middle of a neighborhood full of kids. Some was younger, some older. A few my age. As a teenager I started taking walks. Just walking. Specially late Saturday afternoon, before bedtime. I remember opening the door, shoes and coat on, and hear music. Music from the neighborhood. From the nearest house. As a child I spent a lot of time playing instruments, I could hear that it was not a recording. It was someone playing together. Guitars, bass, drums and singing. A band. My neighboring kids had a band. And I was alone.

This happened nearly every Saturday evening, for some time. I will never forget THAT feeling of loss.

But I never questioned my loneliness then. It was a feeling I needed to get used to growing up I supposed. Today I know why. The bass player had laughed at my actions up in my face. The guitarist threw away a drawing I made for him as a child in disgust. I never gave away drawings again. The singer, always destroyed everything I made. There was no need to make snowmen in my neighborhood. He would tear them apart. Every time. With a silly smile. I wonder till this day what I did wrong.

Thinking further; I liked giving away beautiful things as a child. I usually left wild flowers at my aunts when she was out. Never heard anything from her about that. One time I found the first flower of the year, and run to my cousin to show him. He ripped it apart and put it in some mud cake he had going on, laughing. He was good at laughing. One time I asked him if the cock laid eggs. He never answered, just laughed up in my face.

I did not think of my sadness as bad or wrong or a hazard. It had always happened.

Today I can not stand these people. I know they are grown up now, and probably good people. But this is not about logic or intellect. This is childhood pain. And compare to them, I have to live with it. Rest of my life.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s