Recording Start 🔴
The title
Recording Stop ◽
Recording saved 25/02/21
Recording start 🔴
Well, I feel a little obligated to explain this recording. I know what its about, but the date perplexes me. I know it's referring to the aftermath of some events that took place on the 14 of February, a Sunday after another incident.
Essentially, my mother, a racist and idiot through and through, blamed our neighbours for the destruction of two of our cars, as a south asian man had sped his car through the corner of our street, crashed into my dad's ute, then reversed into our family car before speeding off.
The racism comes into play as my mother saw the slightest amount of pigment in the man's skin and had instantly assumed 'black'. Then she proceeded to shout at the group of our 'neighbours' (A family of three, a mother, father and single child, had turned into the father and his drunk friends after an earlier, unrelated incident). This would spark a seed of hostility that would then fuel Sunday's events.
I see that this explanation is getting needlessly lengthy, so I'll summarise the rest of Saturday: The police arrive after about three hours (they're specialised for crashes like this?), question me and my mother, who saw the man, I am shaken and talk on a discord call to a friend, trip on a wire and damage my computer, and go to bed feeling anxious and sick. How unexpected.
Now for Sunday. My father, an ex-panelbeater and miraculous fixer of cars, and anything with an engine or wheels, is getting parts for our cars, which are only covered by third-party insurance.
It's the afternoon now, the sky is melting from baby blue into a light pink, the clouds dyed a sherbet that lifts my spirits along with the thought of sweet petty revenge, performed simply by getting back up at our problems.
I'm holding up the grey car door of the ute. Well- kinda, I'm mostly resting it against the front bull bar of the minorly damaged vehicle, but I had to hold it still as my father took parts and glass out. Or at least I think that's what we were doing, the memory is fuzzy now, but I was strangely enjoying it, that positive pettiness fueling some of my smile.
While I was assisting my dad, I lifted my head at the sound of a car. It was just one of our neighbour's friends pulling out of his driveway to finally leave. Finally. Most of them didn't leave at all, they'd stay, drinking and talking, no- shouting- all night long. I guess it was better than driving away drunk...?
Nothing alarming about the sight, I turned my head back down to the door I held, but only for a moment. The slightest, quickest sound of revving of an engine caused me to perk my head up once again.
Then the impact caused me to freeze. This wasn't the first time a car had been intentionally rammed towards me, if anything this should have been the less frightening of the two instances, but I didn't feel anything the first time.
This time the push of the parked car against the door I was holding set something off inside me. It wasn't rage, I wouldn't have been strong enough to show it if it were, nor pure fear. I didn't know what to do, but I did. I clumsilyy and confusingly picked up the door, now feeling lighter, only to rest it against the bull bar once more.
Our car hadn't moved many inches, that was too small, but it wasn't far enough to say metres either. But it had moved, and it had hit my father. I stood still for a moment witnessing as my dad, in a reaction so far from my own, run to the car and throw open the drivers door, whilst still holding his screwdriver.
