4.2.2014 Journal Prompt

Image from Short Cuts
Image from Short Cuts

April 2, 2014: Sometimes they got like this.

4 Replies to “4.2.2014 Journal Prompt”

  1. Mostly they didn’t talk. Not past the politeness of good morning and have a nice day and I won’t be back till late. They kissed some mornings, air kisses mostly, and I think that was for us, so we’d think our mom and dad were normal. But they weren’t. And me and Lucy, we were fine with that.

    But there were days that came out of nowhere and out of nothing, like the cat ambushing birds, and those days we never understood. Days they were when the world was turned on its head and it made less sense than it ever did. They were feast days or holidays and mom and dad started drinking early – champagne and orange juice with breakfast. Then, when we were dressed, we were to go out and play on the street, but we kept a sharp and sharper eye on them, peering through the corners of windows, and creeping like spies and trying not to be seen, and making small reports to each other on how things were.

    Mom and dad were dressed in just their underwear and they didn’t suffer any shame for that. Mom had these bras that pushed up her diddies so they looked plump as puppies and dad had a lump in the front of his shorts and I knew what that might be but I didn’t tell Lucy. And they were all touching and kissing and laughter. Like they had lost their wits and were both of them mad as hatters or hares. And falling over or not standing straight so they leaned into one another, and their words were all slippy and slur and slump.

    They left our lunch in boxes on the front step, for they were not to be disturbed. Sandwiches cut into crooked triangles and apples made into crescent moons and cookies still in their packet and cartons of juice with short plastic straws. We sat with our backs to the front door, listening to the sounds of our parents being fools and feeling like we didn’t really belong.

    Stupid with drink and without their clothes and they ended up in the same bed and making the sounds of horses blowing air after a canter, and mom moaning like she was in pain or sick, and dad saying fuck and fuck and fuck. And then the two of them laughing and then sudden quiet and we knew it was safe to go inside then.

    Lucy and me creeping and careful and not kicking the empty bottles that lay discarded and hidden, like booby traps on the floor. And on tip-toes and whispering we climbed the stairs to see where they were. And dad was lying on top of mom and one hand on her loose diddie, and the two of them sleeping. Me and Lucy scouted the room for things we could take – money from dad’s wallet or mom’s purse; or jewellery that would not be missed; or little blue pills that we sold to old Tom down at the garage.

    Then we left them and we went outside again and it was our turn for laughing.

    When they woke and it was near to dark, their heads were sore and dad went silently to his own room and mom was back to who she really was. And mom said we could have whatever we wanted for tea and she talked under her breath and she talked to herself and she called herself daft and she said shit and she said never again, and maybe she meant the drinking and maybe she meant letting our dad into her bed. And she said to us she was sorry and we said it was ok, which it really was.

  2. Thanks, Judith. It is so nice to have you back. I think this is the first comment on my work here in about 50 flashes (not that I do it for comment)! Glad you liked this one.

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