Sunday 1st Oct
After last night’s tormented dreams spending the day cooped up in the suffocating atmosphere of home was unbearable. HE will be looming somewhere either nursing a hangover until the hair of the dog kicks in or watching the sport channel gulping down tins of whatever with his rowdy mates. After all, Sunday is the day of rest and he deserves to relax – not that he needs an excuse to ‘relax’
I caught snatches of sleep when my determination to stay awake faltered, luckily, my mind was kind for once and did not send me back into jail but by 6am I had had enough of tossing, turning and thinking.
My fingers still bore the marks of the dream and while getting dressed I noticed my bin on its side with litter strewn everywhere. Either the rat followed me back or I have been sleep walking. I will go with the latter theory. The thought of the long tailed creature invading my room sends shiver up my spine. Eew!
Even Google says there are logical reasons you wake up bruised. None of the dreams are real! I still can’t shake off the fear and the panic that follows me. The what ifs?
The house was relatively tidy, enough not to cause agro. Why it matters that the place is clean when his ‘friends’ come over, I am not sure as they just add to the detritus he makes but I can do without his rage today.
I grabbed my sketch book and supplies that would do for breakfast/lunch and I was out of there to my place. My sanctuary. My secret bolt hole – no.49 Willow Crescent.
I first stumbled across it in the summer when I retreated from a run in with JT and her gang. I can’t remember the taunts they spouted but I do remember the stinging eyes, ripped bag and the feeling of burning humiliated. Blind with tears I ran away, down streets I don’t normally go until I stopped at no.49. The familiarity of the green door made me stop. Neglected and peeling, it looked a sorry state compared to the fresh painted door of my childhood memories; jumping down the step in my stripey wellies while holding on to my mum’s hand. We were laughing as she locked up. Laughing seems so alien to me now. I can’t recall the last time I laughed or even grinned. How bad is that? The overgrown garden with the buzzing insects and riot of colour from the mass of flowers and highly floral smell of the purple lavender lured me in. I snuck around the back of the empty house to discover my oasis.
Many of the flowers have died with only faded lavender and stubborn blooms clinging on now we are in October. The overgrown shrubs still shield me from spying neighbours as I creep in. Soon I will not be able to hide here and gather my thoughts. I don’t know what I will do then. Probably go back to my previous place of calm the local library. JT would never dream of going there. Climbing up the large twisted oak, after nabbing a couple of apples off one of the fruit trees, I hid among the changing leaves and relaxed.
From my viewpoint I can survey the garden and house (I never look at the top left window), see the outlines of previous borders meld into to each other as plants battle their space with choking weeds, sketch/read until my bum gets numb and most of all, feel close to my Mum. This was her domain and I gather up the snatches of vague memories that come; hold them tight and remember once upon a time life was happy and I was loved.
Love Amber x