I've been taking a free writing course online during lockdown, to improve my writing style particularly for the blog. It's been interesting - and my most recent homework was to write "A memoir", that is, write a memory (as opposed to a whole-life biography). I wrote the following - a defining memory in my life, my childhood. Critiques of my writing, or how it made you feel, would be very welcome!
An Expulsion
So today's the day. I wonder why? Perhaps it's because she spoke to him at orchestra practice... out of politeness, because she had to, and now he thinks it was an invitation? So drunk he can barely stand. I can see it so clearly now. Never used to notice, because it was his default, it was all I knew - but I see it now, clear as day. And here he is, at the door.
He wants in. I won't let him. He might get her to, but not me, and I'm at the door.
"I'll break the door down!"
I'm not sure my giggles are from the hilarity or a sign of hysteria. I'd like to see you try!
"I'll sleep in the hallway!"
Fine with me, but a potential problem in the morning when I've got to go to school.
This is hysterical, I am on the verge of breaking into hysterical laughter but I know I need to stop it, it would take me over. I'm excited, elated, I'm powerful! I will not let him in. I will protect her. She's weak, afraid... but not me. I'm a child, protected by law, I'm the reason she is still in this flat which is actually his - what can he do to me? I'm doing this.
I'm calling auntie. After three husbands, she'll know how to handle this.
Auntie says she'll call police and be right there, with them. I go back to the front door to tell him - he doesn't believe me. My belly turns cartwheels. This will be big.
He waits. We wait. Finally, voices downstairs. Police! They're making their way up. He shoots to his feet, unsteady. Through the hole, I watch him fumble in his pocket, find a chewing gum, too drunk to unwrap it he sticks it in his mouth with the wrapper. I am hyperventilating. This is happening.
The policeman towers over him.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to get in."
"Do you live here?"
"No..." he wants to explain, but he's made his mistake.
No indeed, he hasn't lived here in a year or so, not since I tricked him out. That was another exciting night. He was nearly drunk enough to go to bed, sitting in the kitchen with his beer as always, wearing only his underwear. I told him there was someone outside, come look. He did, I closed the door, done. Threw some clothes down the balcony so he could get dressed, and told him he was no longer welcome. He was too drunk to find the clothes in the dark and wandered off. Later I heard he took the train, in his underwear, to his mother's. And a few months later he got a rental. Only a rental because our place was his. And tonight he thought he'd make it his again. But he answered no to the policeman! I mustn't giggle or I won't be able to stop.
Policeman wants to come in. I open the door for him - my father sees his chance, tries to weasel past, but bounces off the policeman's belly and back into the hallway. I hyperventilate again.
A few minutes later, police decide to drive him back to his mother's house. Because we're able to give that address, not the one of his rental, and he's too drunk to remember. I later hear that he didn't want to get out of the police car and face his mother this drunk.
He never tried this again.
 |
| My mother's keeper... this is at about the age that this happened |
Comments
Post a Comment