Memories
I was rereading myspace blog entries and I read this one and just thought meh, I’ll post it. It happened last winter, so just under a year ago…and the second flashback is to when I was pregnant all those years ago…
…I can feel that the sun’s going to be rising soon now. I can barely stand and my head’s spinning,
but I’m not that drunk anymore right now.
He looks at me and says, ‘You know, I get the feeling you’re just going to hurt me.’
I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but inside I think ‘No shit ay, what’re you think I’ve been doing this past year with guys?’
He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s seeing an alien or something, like I’m something mesmerizing that he just can’t work out. I just stand there feeling nothing but sick and wanting to go home and sleep. My boyfriend comes back to me in five or six hours.
Then they go and smoke weed again, all of them, and I just sit there on a brick wall and watch it getting light. I don’t smoke weed and I refuse to be around that stuff, he should’ve known that. But no, they’re all in there getting high, other than me.
I just want to go home. I watch it get even lighter, the colour of the sky becoming softer, like the dark blue is melting into white or something, some random sounds begin to be heard here and there; the passing of a train, cars.
I should never have left that flat in Ga, I should have stayed there. It would’ve saved me so much pain and so much worry. It’s only a second’s reach from here. In fact, sometimes I think I’m actually there instead of here, lying on that small double bed with my barely showing belly and the fan whizzing above me in the heat rather than sitting here on this cold brick wall…But I was younger then. I actually cared…
I’m sitting on the old lovely couch in my lovely living room that’s only a few steps long, and the floor is high on one side and low on the other side. It’s so warm, it’s so lovely, I just love my new place, with it’s colourful bright 50’s window, that are all open as a matter of fact, because this February is really hot, or maybe it has to do with me being pregnant.
The fan’s on in the bedroom, and we’re going to buy a cot, and there’s going to be a little baby:). I’m learning to cook nice things, I’m going to take a year off home schooling when the baby’s born, and then I might go to uni, or TAFE, or work, if we need the money, but it’s all going to be okay. I love my little baby.
The baby’s kicking me, and I laugh. The sky’s so blue outside, there’s barely a cloud, it’s just all sun shining and a nice breeze floating through the home. “Hello in there”, I smile. “Liza are you? Or Al? Which one are you going to be?”
But I don’t think he’ll be here though. I can’t imagine life without him, but it’s all looking like I might have to do this by myself. He won’t talk to me. Every night I spend here by myself. I know he doesn’t work til four; I hear noises downstairs at night, I sometimes get a bit worried, I hate being here by myself, but I think that’s the way it’s going to have to be. Oh well, screw that. What’ll be will be. It doesn’t matter. I love my little baby. It’s kicking me. It seems to be responding when I talk. I’ll talk and then it’ll kick, and then I’ll talk, and then it’ll kick again.
And then he comes. I run over to kiss him, I love him so much, just like my little baby, but he’s like a wall of ice.
Then we’re on the bed. He’s feeling so sorry for himself. His mother found out. I don’t remember how.
“You can have an abortion. She’s made an appointment with a Russian doctor for Saturday. He’s good.”
I don’t even shake my head. I just turn away the blue blue sky and the neighbor’s next door talking can you hear baby? Can you hear what your father just said? It’s all quiet in there, who would want to speak to those words of murder?
“Ka? Ka, come on, have an abortion, please. My mother’s so upset. We can have seven or eight later, like rabbits, we can…”
He tries to touch me, but for the first time in my life, I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want to be near that murderer. That murderer wants to kill my baby. He’s made an appointment.
“I’m five months pregnant! I told you to leave me at three months if you couldn’t take this. I can do this myself, you don’t know how strong I am; just not now. I’m not having an abortion, you know I said I would never have one.”
…”My mother’s so upset. My dad’s just died! And this! If you loved me, you’d do it. My mum was five months pregnant when she had an abortion, because my dad’s dad had just died, and he was so upset! She did it because she loved my dad! You’d do it if you loved me!”
“I don’t care what your mother did! I don’t care! I’m not your mother! I’m not killing my baby just because you’re mum’s psycho enough to murder her children! She’s never have being able to have Ol and Ka if she had an abortion that late!”
“Don’t call my mother that! You’re a psycho! We can’t have a baby, we’re too young!”
…And now after this talk about abortion, he wants to have sex with me. This murderer wants to touch me. I feel disgusted in my mouth. I tell him no.. You have no clue what pain is.
The sky
is blue…
I’m sitting on that brick wall, and then to my surprise, the door I thought was abandoned opens behind me, and one of Wa’s housemates steps out.
“Sorry,” I say standing up and walking away. Up to where they’re still smoking weed.
After Wa kicks out the two weirdos that tagged along with us, we go inside leaving his friend outside.
He wants me to stay. I need to go home. I need a rest, just a little one, my head is hurting.
Stay here, he says, sleep here, we’ll go to the train station later at seven or something. Come on.
For ten minutes we barter, but then I agree.
And then he’s kissing me, and I’m not kissing him back, and he’s still doing it.
I just fall asleep on his bed, just as the longest night of the year is ending. I really don’t care how he’s feeling or what he wanted out of me staying here. I know I must look a fright after being so absolutely plastered. My mascara must be all over my face and my hair is all over the place.
One month ago, I made the promise to be celibate. I’m sick of forgetting what people’s names are. I’m sick of doing this just because I’m angry at men in general. And I’m keeping it. I don’t care what he wanted out of me for staying until seven he’s not getting it…
And he never did.
Boy, haven’t I changed since I wrote that last year. And in a positive way I believe. And that rule about celibacy has stuck in my head for sure. Not because I’m frigid or have no human emotions or desires whatsoever. Just because I respect myself for who I am and for what God gave to me.
