Memoirs

In memory

-Clyde

The heavy rain was a reminder I would have to leave soon. But I liked the feel of it hitting me through the open window, it felt like a moment.

And I secretly liked the fact that this was turning into a day I could possibly have. It was mine to keep.

I smile at the thought.

I get up knowing I've spent to long thinking.

I quickly throw on my clothes, close her window and leave knowing which step to miss because of the creaking sound it made.

I head to the the red body of my moto Guzzi the one thing that was left behind. I wonder if they planned to leave a long time ago, everything was planned way to well and I knew better to think that my Mom could come up with a coherent plan without messing it up.

She had a rare talent of failing in life. A talent I'd taken from her aswell.

Turning on the rusty engine, I flip the stand and take off unsteadily.

I lied. The leather jacket was another thing they left behind and I was adamant I'd never take it off.

I close my eyes briefly taking in the cool air. I hardly felt much of anything anymore, the pills took care of that but what was left of me I savoured momentarily.

I could feel the turn I needed to take move in closer and I open my eyes then.

Letting myself go.

-

"I can't believe the nerve of that women,"

I open the backdoor in time to hear Aunt Ginger cussing in Welsh. I was hoping she would be asleep by now since it was almost nine at night and she had work the next day. With my luck I should have known.

And like the family cat she was named after her hearing was beyond weird.

The backdoor was between the garage and the small hall opposite my room, which was far from the kitchen. Too far for anyone to hear anything but somehow she heard me and before I could lock myself in my room she stands at the end of the hall.

Her hands tightly bound around the house phone, the wire looked ready to snap at any moment.

I nod absently at her, "Your pulling the cord,"

I open my door and she hisses at me. I raise an amused brow at her.

"Use your words,"

"Your mother is a huge bitch," she snaps and frowns at herself.

"I know," I say casually.

"Okay say it," She says almost panicked and I wondered for what was probably the ten thousandth time since I've met Aunt Ginger how her and my mother were ever best friends. There obvious age difference was enough but I still couldn't put two and two together.

I frown matching her. "Huh?"

"Repeat what I said,"

"My mother is terrible," I say not repeating what she asked. I looked at her for a second knowing why she wanted to say it.

"Your guilt is not going to go unless I say it?" I ask cautiously. At times Aunt Ginger reminded me of something broken. She was bold and crude but usually worried about the repercussions of her actions.

I didn't get it, but maybe it was because of the way I was brought up. My parents taught me never to be sorry and never to worry. My brows crease thinking of how they applied this to me.

Disappearing in the middle of the night was a move we'd always pulled together when they couldn't pay the bills they'd racked up.

I just didn't think they'd pull that move on me.

Aunt Ginger nods and I groan relinquishing her of any previous worries by saying the magic word.

I frown as she hugs me tightly and turns swiftly to continue her cussing match to whoever was on the phone in Welsh.

Another thing about Aunt Ginger was that she was a hugger. She'd hug everything and anything given the chance. I was the unfortunate donor to her donation of free hugs.

I was uncomfortable but I didn't say anything, out of all my relatives every single one of them refused to take me in.

I was on my last pack of tater tots when the door bell rang.

There were three reasons why anyone would visit us.

One we owed money.

Two we owed money.

Three we owed money.

I was already on high alert, the items I owned were mostly stolen when we went 'shopping' and I had already packed everything.

I was surprised to hear the brash voice of a swearing female claiming to be my Aunt.

After hours of her trying to convince me through the broken letterbox. And after showing me some convincing photos of my parents. I'd agreed to go with her.

In all honesty and still to this day I couldn't believe that someone out there would want me. She told me my Mom left her a cryptic message about leaving me behind and how she hired a private investigator to find me.

Nonetheless not being bound by blood, I would never understand her loyalty. She was merely an old friend of Mom's.

Aunt Ginger grabs my arm and nudges me to the kitchen. I could already smell the sweet smell of sweets baking and I turn to give her a small smile.

I had a sweet tooth and weird cravings at random times. And for the ten months I've been living here she already knew more about me then my parents did.

Her head was tilted between the phone and her shoulder, she smiles puckering her lips while patting my cheek mouthing.

"Only for you my monkey,"

I roll my eyes at the nickname, not liking it one bit but I couldn't help but smile a little.

-

It was happening again.

I blink rapidly as warm hands encased around my heated cheeks.

The images flashed by like passing cars and I couldn't catch up to the disappearing pictures as they faded.

I was always left behind.

I could hear the shuffling of panicked hands. I could feel and hear everything and I wanted it to end. I felt alive. To alive and I couldn't bear it.

I couldn't breathe through this version of life.

I needed it to go away.

And it did with several pills and half a litre of water later.

I blink as the pain subsides and I close my eyes finally feeling tired.

I just wanted to be alone and I get that after Aunt Ginger hugs me from behind whispering words of encouragement.

She left soon after. And so did I.