Stimulus is in bold
It wasn’t until I found the box of old family photographs that I realised what I had done, and how much I had lost. The joy upon the face of my sister Rachel was reflected by the mood and tone of the vibrant pictures. I almost lost myself in them; draw inwards by the memories of a different time, until a wet feeling broke my concentration. My finger was poking through from underneath, the photograph torn with the aid of the tears that I was crying. I tried to pull myself together, but I could not contain the unmitigated regret that I felt.
We were all gathered around the large circular table. The grandparents were reminiscing, Uncle Mike was lighting one up, and the cousins were expectant of a tasty meal. In the centre of the huddle was Rachel, with a smile bigger than the moon. Everyone was happy and jocular, a spirit fitting of the occasion of the 13th birthday of my sister. As the lights were turned off for the presentation of the cak,e an apprehensive silence fell over the room. Everyone was connected and involved, but I did not want to be there. I was missing out on the party of my life, Kyle’s 18th. It was the place to be, loud music, free food and lots of gorgeous boys.
“Turn the lights back on Apolloina!” I faintly heard. “That’s the third time I’ve had to say that” Mum wanted me to be more included with the ritual, but I had no interest in these things. I was an independent woman, with more important things to do than perform a minor administrative role at this 13th birthday.
I did however sense from my parents actions that it was important that the procedure go as planned. Mum and Dad were still not quite on speaking terms, and at times you could have cut the string of tension with a butter knife. These things were always caused by petty little bits and peices that did not concern me greatly. Bills coming in for unexpected purchases, dinner not being ready on time, disagreements about whether I should be able to go out, and what I was allowed to wear if I did.
The guests were leaving, and the moment of my escape had finally come. I rushed to my bedroom, grabbed my bag and proceeded in a beeline for the car keys forgotten on the table. I grabbed them, and in doing so triggered the device my parents seemed to have surgically implanted. They instantly surrounded me and closed in with their questions reared like spears not giving me room to move or breath.
“Where do you think you’re going? Why are you taking the car? What do you think you’re wearing?”
It was all the same regurgitated trash. “I’m going to Kyle’s” I said “Like I told you ages ago.”
But what happened next did not go according to plan. Instead of the usual onslaught of further questions, the unexpected of the response shocked me. “With that kind of attitude I hardly think so.” My mother announced.
And that was it. They were gone without another word of discussion. I couldn’t process what was happening - it was so out of the usual.
The backup plan was swiftly engaged. I tailed Mum like a fox tails its prey. I asked, pleased and demanded a reason for the cruelty of their decision, but even with time I came no closer to success. The thought of loss and exclusion from the party was getting to my head and I became desperate. “Why don’t you ever think of me!” I yelled with unexpected force. “Dad is always so much more understanding than you”.
I was treading dangerous ground now. The reparations that the successful celebration had made were on the line.
“Do you really think that” Came the reply. The voice was sharper, harsher. I was teasing an existing wound.
“He actually cares about me.” I blurted. “You never do anything for me”
Then time slowed down. I still don’t know why I added the phrase. My meaning was complete without it.
“You selfishfuck!”
The word caught her entirely off guard. Of course we had fought before, but this was a whole new level. The unmitigated audacity of the words release opened a flood gate of emotion.
A slow, careful and tense response followed. “You think that all my years of caring, raising and nurturing you amount to nothing?”
I had that opportunity to fix everything, to rectify my mistake. I stood there in silence as mum’s eyes pierced like laser beams. She was looking for something, anything at all to indicate that I wasn’t sincere in my critique. But I gave away nothing.
Her heated face glowed incandescent with rage, however her voice was as cold as ice. “I think I understand” she said, emphasizing every syllable with a sharp and elongated tone. The door slammed. The hinges rattled. And she was gone.
The photo was going soft in my hand, wilting. The happy faces were disguised by the blotches. I looked over at the door, waiting and waiting. The sin took place years ago, but the opportunity for reparation had only now been presented.
She was more than half an hour late. All mum wanted was appreciation for what she did, and I took that from her. With one word, I was able to break the bonds of nurture in an irreparable manner.
I just wanted to tell her how I felt, how repentant I was. I just wanted to apologise.
But she never came.
It wasn’t until I found the box of old family photographs that I realised what I had done, and how much I had lost. The joy upon the face of my sister Rachel was reflected by the mood and tone of the vibrant pictures. I almost lost myself in them; draw inwards by the memories of a different time, until a wet feeling broke my concentration. My finger was poking through from underneath, the photograph torn with the aid of the tears that I was crying. I tried to pull myself together, but I could not contain the unmitigated regret that I felt.
***
“Turn the lights back on Apolloina!” I faintly heard. “That’s the third time I’ve had to say that” Mum wanted me to be more included with the ritual, but I had no interest in these things. I was an independent woman, with more important things to do than perform a minor administrative role at this 13th birthday.
I did however sense from my parents actions that it was important that the procedure go as planned. Mum and Dad were still not quite on speaking terms, and at times you could have cut the string of tension with a butter knife. These things were always caused by petty little bits and peices that did not concern me greatly. Bills coming in for unexpected purchases, dinner not being ready on time, disagreements about whether I should be able to go out, and what I was allowed to wear if I did.
The guests were leaving, and the moment of my escape had finally come. I rushed to my bedroom, grabbed my bag and proceeded in a beeline for the car keys forgotten on the table. I grabbed them, and in doing so triggered the device my parents seemed to have surgically implanted. They instantly surrounded me and closed in with their questions reared like spears not giving me room to move or breath.
“Where do you think you’re going? Why are you taking the car? What do you think you’re wearing?”
It was all the same regurgitated trash. “I’m going to Kyle’s” I said “Like I told you ages ago.”
But what happened next did not go according to plan. Instead of the usual onslaught of further questions, the unexpected of the response shocked me. “With that kind of attitude I hardly think so.” My mother announced.
And that was it. They were gone without another word of discussion. I couldn’t process what was happening - it was so out of the usual.
The backup plan was swiftly engaged. I tailed Mum like a fox tails its prey. I asked, pleased and demanded a reason for the cruelty of their decision, but even with time I came no closer to success. The thought of loss and exclusion from the party was getting to my head and I became desperate. “Why don’t you ever think of me!” I yelled with unexpected force. “Dad is always so much more understanding than you”.
I was treading dangerous ground now. The reparations that the successful celebration had made were on the line.
“Do you really think that” Came the reply. The voice was sharper, harsher. I was teasing an existing wound.
“He actually cares about me.” I blurted. “You never do anything for me”
Then time slowed down. I still don’t know why I added the phrase. My meaning was complete without it.
“You selfishfuck!”
The word caught her entirely off guard. Of course we had fought before, but this was a whole new level. The unmitigated audacity of the words release opened a flood gate of emotion.
A slow, careful and tense response followed. “You think that all my years of caring, raising and nurturing you amount to nothing?”
I had that opportunity to fix everything, to rectify my mistake. I stood there in silence as mum’s eyes pierced like laser beams. She was looking for something, anything at all to indicate that I wasn’t sincere in my critique. But I gave away nothing.
Her heated face glowed incandescent with rage, however her voice was as cold as ice. “I think I understand” she said, emphasizing every syllable with a sharp and elongated tone. The door slammed. The hinges rattled. And she was gone.
***
She was more than half an hour late. All mum wanted was appreciation for what she did, and I took that from her. With one word, I was able to break the bonds of nurture in an irreparable manner.
I just wanted to tell her how I felt, how repentant I was. I just wanted to apologise.
But she never came.
