A Kiss In Time

11-10-2014 Saturday
Today my neighbour, Ms Irwin, decided to declare her love to me for the umpteenth time and I have no idea what to do with it as she won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Ms Irwin is a nice lady, but about 15 years older than I am and from a totally different planet. She’s the apple and I’m not even a fruit. We have very little in common, but she fails to see it that way. For the past years she’s been trying to convince me of the so-called fact that we are birds of a feather and should flock together. If it were up to her we’d do more than just flocking.
I always call her Ms Irwin to keep some sort of distance and she keeps asking me to call her Elaine. Today, when I got home from the shop and was just about to turn the key to my door, she came running at me with her cake. Well, running might be a big word; she was just fast compared to her every day pace/ Which more or less meant she was walking at an average walking speed but moving her one free arm about very fast to give the impression she was actually running at an incredible speed while balancing a plate with a cake on it in her other hand.
Today she came round with a homemade cake.
‘Felix! Felix!’ And it’s always as if she is singing my name. I could not deny the fact she was calling me, because the whole street was looking in my general direction.
‘Felix! My love, I have got something for you! Wait up!’
I looked at the key in the lock and my hand on it as if it was their fault I was not inside of the house in time. Without her noticing it I let out a little sigh before I turned round with the biggest and best of smiles.
‘Ms Irwin, how nice to see you.’ After many years of training I have learnt to use some standard phrases people use in small talk. This was lesson 1,’ When meeting someone, tell them how nice it is to see them again.’
‘Please, Felix, call me Elaine.’ And she kind of hid her head behind her shoulder when she said this. I copied her move and said in more or less the same sing song voice,
‘Only if you call me Mr Bent.’
She let out some girlish giggles, waved her hand at me in some sort of strange way and I still have no idea why someone standing so close to me would want to wave at me. Especially when she wasn’t even really leaving. She told me about the cake, then, again, she invited herself in in her own special way. It’s no use trying to lock her out; she’s too fast. She manages to get into the house every single time and at least once a week for over the passed 4 years. I don’t even have to bother making tea anymore, because she does that herself. Sometimes I think she knows the way around the house better than I do. And I live here for crying out loud.
We had tea and ate some of the cake. She asked me if I liked the cake and I said it was delicious. It was; I didn’t even have to lie about it, because it was a good cake. Then she started telling me that it was because of all the love she had put into making and baking it especially for me and she went on about has she has had the hots for me ever since I moved here. That was when my socially awkwardness kicked in and I guess I must have started pulling weird faces as she thought I was about to have a heart attack. I told her a piece of cake got stuck in my throat. I think I got away with it.
Another thing she always does is that she tries to kiss me when I show her the door. I don’t like being kissed (not even on the cheeks). She is much shorter than I am – and I am not really that tall – and when I open the door for her, she stands on her toes, puts her arms around my neck, tries to pull down my head to give me one on the cheek. Sometimes she gets lucky and catches me off guard a little thus manages to pull me down far enough to give me one. I know it’s supposed to be sweet, but I am just not used to this kind of affection and I don’t want to give her the wrong impression.
It’s getting late and it’s time to sleep. Thanks for reading and see me tomorrow.

Boredom Is The True Enemy*

10 – 10 – 2014
If I remember correctly a new school year was more important to us than New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Resolutions. Our resolutions were made at the end of August, when a new year of torment was about to commence. On the first day of school kids would be like ‘this is going to be MY year’. They’d have new notebooks and ring binders; new pens, pencils, pencil sharpeners and pencil cases and of course they’d all be according to the latest fad; new school uniforms, new school bags full of new ideals and resolutions that I knew were going to be lost in that same new bag amongst all the other stuff that they just seemed to cram in there with it. I have heard some people say that kids seems to be getting smaller and schoolbags seem to be getting bigger each and every year. If you’d ask me, I think they should do some serious research after this phenomenon.
That year I decided not to bother with those kind of resolutions and I just went to school with the same old junk in my bag as the year before. Which more or less meant that there was a pencil case with half eaten pens (yes, I chewed on them to fight boredom – the true enemy*), pencils and stubs; something that used to be a rubber, but was completely covered in ink so would probably leave more stains than you wanted to get rid of; notebooks with torn out pages that held last years … drawings, because I hardly ever wrote down anything; ring binders that were about to fall apart because I tried to stack much more in it than just pieces of paper. Tests that were marked and handed back found their way either into the ring binder, the schoolbag or the litter bin and there was not really another system for it than looking at the mark and deciding whether I wanted anybody to find out about it.
Diaries, they deserved a special treatment. Of course everybody wanted to have the best diary, whatever they meant by that I don’t know. Mine was usually the one that had the most comics in it and the one that has the most room to make my own drawings. Writing homework in a diary was optional and usually for the nerds. The fashionable people put fashionable stuff in there – ladies usually kept a little mirror hidden inside of it. I have no idea why some of those women wanted to their own faces so often. My guess is that a lot of those ladies would have looked a lot better without all that instant and temporary plastic surgery.
So, I forgot about all those new school year resolutions and decided to continue the way I had always done, just being Arthur, because that was what I was good at. I guess boxing had had one good side effect. I had learnt to accept who I was and what I stood for. I was that socially awkward guy at the back of the class that nobody really noticed and I liked it that way. There wasn’t a teacher who ever complained about me making silly drawings of them in my diary, simply because they never noticed. I had that power, the power of invisibility and I guess that was quite enviable.
Thanks for reading, see me tomorrow.

Demons Need Exercising

08-10-2014 Wednesday

I’m awfully sorry. I was supposed to post this yesterday, but I was caught up in work too much. Besides that, Ms Irwin from next doors invited herself over for a cup of tea at 22.30. She can be worse than a Jehovah’s Witness sometimes; she was in before I had even had the chance to tell her I was actually quite busy and didn’t really have the time. It’s amazing how that woman can talk for hours on end and still have nothing much to say. Mum would have probably said that this woman got injected with record player needles. I have never understood what she meant by that.
Well, I never became as good a boxer as Rocky Balboa, but at least it got me a little into shape. I lost the extra pounds and even though I never got really thin or slim – which wasn’t my goal in the first place – I got into shape and I don’t mean that bag-of-potatoes shape. I liked boxing, even though it didn’t last very long. I guess a couple of months and when thing started getting serious I started getting seriously injured. That was when I figured it was time to throw in the towel.
Mum was relieved, Grandma couldn’t care less. She was still madly deeply in love with Rocky and I still can’t believe that she even tried sending him a package. If it hadn’t been for Mum, she would have. Mum found the package in the kitchen the other day and asked Grandma whom it was for. When Grandma ducked all of Mum’s questions like a boxing champ, she got a little suspicious. When Mum opened it she found a love letter inside, some sexy silken underwear (which had probably been worn), and some photos of Grandma. As Mum didn’t want to show them to me, my guess is that they were not just pictures of Grandma in her Sunday best. The only thing missing in the box was Grandma herself. The reason for this being that Grandma didn’t have a bigger box.
It is said that boxing is good for your self-esteem. I don’t know how much is true about this. I lost a lot of weight, but gained bruises, broken bones, black eyes and I guess if I hadn’t quit it would have cost me some brain cells, too. To some respect, I missed my chubby body at times. Some people were really surprised with the way I looked and they complimented me with it. It made me feel better, but it also made me shyer than ever. I had never gotten so many compliments so when suddenly people started complimenting me, being the socially awkward guy I was, I just didn’t know what to say. I would give an uncertain smile and nod a little. I guess I still do that.
One more thing and then I’m off. Somebody asked me about this and at the moment I am wondering what ever did happen. When school started after summer holiday I sort of, kind of, missed the old Evelyn. Not the new unrecognisable wench that had taken over Evelyn’s body overnight. Rumours had it the family went to Liverpool, but those were only rumours. Others said they had taken Evelyn to an exorcist to exercise the demons. I guess demons need exercising, too. I could have recommended the parents a good boxing school, but they never bothered to ask me. A good knuckle sandwich in those days might have just knocked some sense into that woman again and I would gladly volunteered for it. Evelyn in I never kept in touch, not after the way she had been behaving. Maybe we’ll meet again at a reunion or something. Who knows!?
Thanks for reading and see me tomorrow.

Boxing Day

07-10-2014 Tuesday

All’s well if it ends well, right. School was over, I got to live to see another day and look forward to another school year, summer holiday started and I felt like Chuck Berry, as the both of us had no particular place to go. Grandma said she wanted to take Mum and me to France and Spain if we wanted to, but we couldn’t. Don’t ask me why, but ‘we just can’t,’ is what Mum kept saying, while I was looking at Grandma trying to pull a face that read,’ Please, take me!’ It made me feel like those moments in Phys. Ed. Where I was always one of those people who got picked last. At the start of your school career you pull that pick-me face all the time and then after a couple of lessons and depressions you just decide not to bother anymore and pull a long face instead.
When holiday started I had lost quite some weight. I don’t know if you remember this, but I started to watch what I was eating and work out a little in the evening. Not too much, just some press-ups and sit-ups and the likes, which was why I was still a little on the heavy side, but not fat anymore. It took me some time to be able to admit to the fact that I was just fat even though I kept saying that I was chubby. That is why I decided that, since we weren’t going to go anywhere anyways, I’d spend my summer holiday getting into shape so that during my last two years at school I’d not be the last one on the bench every time pulling one of them faces and getting mocked a little. Mum said I was crazy, Grandma said she’d be willing to train together with me and Cheddar had no clue what I was talking about but wagged its tail in agreement.
Rocky was a real inspiration in those days, and I must say, I think he still is a big inspiration. I begged Mum to let me take up boxing even though I wasn’t really the type for it. On the other hand, if I had to choose anything based on what type people think I am, I’d probably be fishing or collecting stamps. There’s nothing wrong with those hobbies, but it might take rather long to get into shape collecting stamps. Luckily Grandma was a big help when it came to pleading. She had no idea who Rocky was at first, but when I showed her some pictures of him in his boxing outfit, she started drooling, then she gave me a fiver for the posters. Mum gave in when Grandma started walking round in her underwear hitting lamps and eventually knocked out Mum by accident when she jumped in between Grandma and the antique lamp in hall.
The fact that Mum is still alive at this very moment and Grandma sometimes still walks around in her underwear hitting lamps and orderlies (and I believe she still keeps the posters some place), means that Mum wasn’t injured that bad. She didn’t even have to go to hospital. Grandma did feel guilty for a minute or two, until Mum regained consciousness. Mum made a deal with Grandma, she’d let me take up boxing as long as Grandma would start walking round the house wearing clothes and stop hitting everything. At least Grandma stopped hitting everything.
See me tomorrow.


Just Deserts With Cream and a Cherry on Top

06-10-2014 Monday

That school year flew by like a summer vacation but different to that respect … I kind of liked summer vacations and still do. Evelyn and I broke up, she started messing around with a guy whom I believe was called Zack and she became quite the popular girl for a brief moment. It’s amazing how some people can change overnight and how some of us work very hard their entire life to make change happen; yet we stay the same no matter what. Evelyn started out the daft girl at the back of the class and ended up that hot chick everyone wanted to go out with (still rather daft, though). Don’t ask me how or why, I thought it was witchcraft.
Even though the situation was terrible I managed to get good marks on tests and to do well in school. I guess it was one of the few things I could do to keep my world sane. It had rules, it had routine, it had some sort of order and it was a safe haven. I wasn’t really being bullied, kids just let me be and I let them be. I could totally lose myself in books and schoolwork, because they made me forgot the troubles around me. Of course there were problems at school as well, but they were of a different order and – more importantly – not mine.
I remember Ms Williams, who used to be a Mrs but was having affair with Mr Owen and then became a Ms. After Ms Williams had got divorced they both more or less lost interest in one another. It wasn’t very long after that Mr Owen found another true love, namely Ms Quinten. She was the young perky math’s teacher who claimed to have a boyfriend nobody had ever seen. I guess we were right; she didn’t have one. Ms Williams and Ms Quinten hated each other to bits and their hatred could be felt throughout the entire building. Ms Williams soon started seeing this rich old man who always picked her up in his Chevrolet after school.
I don’t know if you have ever had the same thing at your school, but we sometimes had these 20-year olds waiting outside of the building on their mopeds or sometimes in a car and they would come to collect their so-called girlfriends. Imagine a row of 20-year olds with their crummy dirty and hazardous looking vehicles waiting for their much younger girlfriends and then somewhere amidst them this 80-year old bald dude in a Chevrolet wearing sunglasses and shiny false teeth. It was kind of pathetic. I don’t know which was more pathetic that sight or Mr Owen and Ms Quinten sneaking out the back door to avoid the Chevrolet Dude and his Barbie.
Like I said, that school year flew by and I managed to pass. Evelyn, however, failed that year. Her parents moved out of town, although I have no idea if there was a causal relationship between her not passing and them moving house. Zack was devastated for at least an entire day. It wasn’t the blackest day in his life, I’m sure, because he started dating Veronica the day after. I’d rather have had a million paper cuts a week than date a girl like Veronica. I know love is blind, but I guess it is also deaf and stupid. Pouring salt into those paper cuts would have hurts less than hearing Veronica’s nagging and irritating high-pitched voice. I guess some got their just deserts and some might still be waiting for them to be served.
That’s it. See me tomorrow.


I Forgot The Title

05-10-2014 Sunday

‘Dad has flipped his lid,’ is what Grandma said when we moved into her place. After two or three weeks at Grandma’s a moving van came by – unannounced, I might add – to bring us loads of stuff from our house … Dad’s house. There was no note, no nothing, just some furniture and boxes with clothes, toys, and random stuff that belonged to either Mum or me. Mum got pretty emotional, Grandma too, but in another way. She started ranting and raving. Normally Mum would have covered my ears during such a rant, but she was in the kitchen crying her eyes out. Being the boy I was, I covered my own ears. Just in case I shut my eyes, too.
The men unloaded the van and put everything in the house. Grandma had them move everything into the right rooms, because we would have never been able to do that ourselves. I kind of looked up to those guys, but not because of their jobs. They were really strong and they threw heavy stuff around as if they were made of feathers. I sometimes have trouble lifting my schoolbag. If Mum hadn’t been so emotional I’m sure she would have been drooling over their muscles. It shall always remain a mystery to me why she had married Dad in the first place. He was everything she didn’t want a man to be.
I guess it was one of the last things I heard of Dad, although I am really stretching the meaning of the word ‘hear’ here. He did sent me that letter that I read half, because Mum got hold of it and threw it away and told me never to bring that letter or its content up to anyone, not even Grandma. Other than that letter and the moving van, I had and still have never spoken to him or written anything to him. Last I heard was that he got married and moved to Spain, but those were Grandma’s words, so I don’t know how much truth there was in it. It could well be that he’s still living in the same house opposite the same old Unice and having the same old boring job, whatever it may be.
Dad and I, although I was obviously a lot more intelligent and handsome than he was, did share some of the same character traits. I always say I only got the good parts. Mum fears for my future as she thinks I’m going to turn into the same kind of ‘maniac’ and workaholic she now says Dad always was. Yes, true, he was a workaholic, but a ‘maniac’? I don’t know. When somebody uses the word maniac I always get visions of men wearing white overalls covered in blood, running after a young half clad lass with an axe. I guess Mum and I don’t share the same definition of ‘maniac’ and I hope she doesn’t think I’m going to run after girls with an axe. I hate running.
That’s it for tonight. See me tomorrow.

Felix Bent

Help Me, Don’t Help Me

04-10-2014 Saturday

After the divorce papers had been signed Mum started looking for a new job which wasn’t very easy as she had been a housewife most of her life. I figured she would get a lot of alimony and Grandma told her she didn’t have to find a job, because Grandpa had left enough money to support the three of us. Nobody really knew how much money Grandpa had left behind and nobody really knew where that money had come from – or where it was going for that matter. Still Mum wanted a job, even if it was voluntary work and she ended up at a company called Oxfam. I had never heard of it back then. I do remember that it sounded to me like she was going to work at a hoover shop. Mum said she was going to make the world a better place. I thought she meant cleaner.
Now, the weirdest part, after the Mum and Dad broke up, was that I was offered counselling, because Mum and Grandma were convinced I needed help and that the situation had to be tearing me to bits. I wasn’t the one getting a divorce; Mum was the total wreck. I didn’t (and still don’t) know about Dad, but didn’t my parents need that counselling more than I did? When Evelyn and I broke up it never even crossed anybody’s mind that I was hurting and that I could have used some advice or somebody to talk to. Now somebody else broke up and all of a sudden I’m the one who needed guidance and counselling. Go figure. It’s a mad mad mad mad world.
Mum took me to this woman specialized in teenagers and divorces. She got the number from somebody at Oxfam so naturally I wasn’t very surprised to see a room cleaner than the Operating Theatre at St Bart’s. Everything looked brand new and most of the furniture was either made of dead animals or dead trees and it was all shiny and bright. The only thing bothering me was that the room smelt a bit of smoke mixed with cheap perfume and there was sock lying under her desk and it sure wasn’t hers. This lady who was going to help me was probably having some issues herself. How could somebody who claimed to know so much about the brain, not refrain from a bad habit like smoking? And what was that filthy looking sock doing under her desk!? Already I doubted her skills as psychiatrist and she hadn’t even begun to work her magic yet. It goes without saying that we didn’t last the full hour and Mum had to come and collect me sooner than she had hoped. It took me exactly five minutes to make the lady break down in tears. It must have been something I said. I sneaked out of her office and asked the lady at the desk to call Mum and go check up on the so-called professional.
When Mum arrived I was sitting in front of the big building talking to this lovely old lady who had been walking around with a shopping cart full of junk. Actually, she was doing all the talking. Mum rushed out of the taxi, took hold of my arm and more or less dragged me to the black cab. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye. She waved at me as she saw me drive off in the taxi and I waved back. I never saw her again.
Back at Grandma’s Mum asked me to explain what had happened. I said that the woman started crying when I asked her after the sock, the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume, and after her own marriage. Seeing that she was going to help me get over somebody else’s divorce, I deemed it not more than logical to know something about that person’s own married life. With a bit of a weird look on her face Mum threw away the piece of paper with the phone number on it and murmured something like ‘I can’t believe this, I just … how!? Why!?’ or something like that. Then she went upstairs, and left Grandma and me behind in the kitchen. I still have no idea what it was all about.
See me tomorrow.


The Waving of The Wand

03-10-2014 Thursday

Ever since I decided to continue writing on Arthur’s blog, I have been asking myself whether to write something about my life now or whether I should first continue and finish Arthur’s stories. In other words, continue what happened after Mum had left Dad while Dad had actually left Mum, but he couldn’t leave because the house was his and Mum just had to go. And me? I just had to go, too, because ‘F U’, I recall, were the two letters he uttered when Mum asked why she had to move out and take me with her.
Mum was devastated when we arrived at Grandma’s with our fully packed suitcases and our worn-out faces. Grandma opened the door sitting on a broom. She let us in and said we could help ourselves to a cup of tea and biscuits. Mum dropped her suitcases on the floor, headed for the kitchen, while Grandma ran around the house with a broom between her legs waving a wand about screaming,’ Dust Be Gone! Be Gone Ye!’ I think I recognized the wand. By the way, the Harry Potter books hadn’t been written then and the film Troll wasn’t due till 1986 (a film in which the main character was also called Harry Potter, now isn’t that a big coincidence!?), so where Grandma got her ideas from … don’t ask me.
I remember Mum crying over a cup of tea the entire evening and night. The tea must have tasted awful, because she had only taken a sip or tea when it was too hot to drink and never touched it again afterwards. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the tea had tasted a little salty from all the tears she’d spilt in it. When I tried to take the cup away from her to poor her a new cup, she desperately held onto it as if it was the last thing in the world. Half of the tea came splashing out and the cup nearly broke in two, but Mum was desperate to hold onto it and keep the cup. I let her have it and poured myself another one instead.
Grandma had, by then, finished flying about the house on her broom and joined us for a cuppa. I wish she hadn’t. She has a knack for making Mum feel worse. She knows exactly how to say the wrong things at the right time. I believe that she walked into the kitchen, saw us sitting there and started waving her magic wand about using some weird words that contained a lot of ‘be gones’. I felt that that was my cue to leave the room and until today I still wonder if it was me who decided it was time to go or whether it were Grandma’s incantations and the waving of the wand.
It took some weeks for Mum to cool down a little and it wasn’t until the divorce finally had gotten through that she started living a little again. She never found another husband, then again, she never really made any effort in finding one. She did lose a lot of weight and looked a little less like an opera singer after Dad and she split up. Maybe each cloud does have a silver lining. And I know that there were plenty of men around that would have been more than willing to love her long time. Everywhere we went Grandma kept playing Cupid asking random men what they thought of her daughter and if they were married or willing to marry. Mum was not too happy about this.
It is time for me to pull the curtains, feed Crackers a late-night snack and go to bed. See me tomorrow.

Felix Bent

The Impeccable Grandma

03-10-2014 Thursday

Let me start by saying that living with a grandmother like mine wasn’t always easy. When my parents were still together and we were still living under the same roof together, I used to only see Grandma every now and again. Like when she was visiting us or when we were over at her place. Suddenly I had to live with her every single day in the same house under her rules. Worst part was that she had the habit of waking me up by entering my room, turning on the light, pretending not to know I was sleeping in the guest room and just walk into the room bare naked going through the cupboards at 6.30 in the morning looking for her undies she knew were not there! Waking up at 6.30 and seeing your Grandma bending over forward in the altogether is not a good start of the day. Her behaviour was quite understandable the first week, but after five months I kind of got the feeling it wasn’t an accident anymore.
Mum was devastated after the break-up with Dad, but Grandma didn’t really seem to notice. Most often when she saw Mum crying out her eyes, she’d ask her if she had something stuck in her eye and then she’d say that Mum should see a doctor about it because maybe it was infected or something. Mum snapped a couple of times screaming how hard the break-up was and that Grandma wasn’t really helping Mum to get over it by making stupid remarks. Grandma would shrug and say,
’ When Ivor died I didn’t cry so much.
’ Then Mum would say,’ Ma, he was your cat! And you still keep his ashes in that urn!’ Grandma would look at her, roll her eyes in a very weird way (I think I saw something like it in a horror film once) and say,
’ Cats, husbands … same thing. Would it help if we put him in an urn for ya?’
‘ No Ma! No! That would not help. My husband is still alive.’
‘ That’s a problem we could easily solve.’
As you can see, there was just no reasoning with this woman. Grandma had her very own world and there was just no getting through to her sometimes. To that respect she hasn’t changed a lot, well, maybe it has gotten worse a little.
Grandma also had her sweet moments. Sometimes she’d try to help me with my homework, if you can call it helping. For some reason doing homework on my own always went quicker and I’d not have as many mistakes as when Grandma had helped me. With each and every subject she’d say,’ I used to be so good at this in my days.’ Eeeeuh, yeah, Grandma, that was like 40 years ago and times have changed. The only thing she was really good at was at history. But that was probably because she was there when history was made. After a couple of weeks teachers started noticing. They knew when Grandma had helped me with my homework and when I had done it myself.
This one time our maths teacher had written down something in my notebook next to a wrong answer and Grandma called him up to tell him how wrong he was and how right she was. She didn’t have any other argument than having lived through two world wars and that that should be enough to know a thing or two about life and maths. I can’t recall the entire conversation, but I do recall my maths teacher to apologize for his mistake and that he would never write anything in my notebook again. I still have no idea what made him change his mind about my answers, they were, after all, still not correct.

See me tomorrow.

Felix Bent

Orderly, Orderly!

01-10-2014 Wednesday

Maybe you are wondering what happened after Mum and I moved out and in. Which is a good question. First let me say that, even though Grandma is still alive and kicking – literally kicking the orderlies if they don’t do as she pleases – she has either improved her skills of taking the Mickey out of people or she really does suffer from a severe case of Alzheimer’s Disease. She is more in hospital than out of hospital, as her body’s giving up on her as well. Though this does not keep her from having fun as she is often seen being chased by orderlies because she managed to escape again in her nightdress and in her motorized cart. It’s amazing how a woman with Alzheimer’s disease, brittle bones and in her 90s can still outwit and outrace the young orderlies. I think she deserves some kind of medal for this.
Unfortunately the things I am about to tell you, I will have to tell you from memory as I have nothing written down and not many pictures of those times. Some of the things I tell you may therefore be blatant lies, but they are as close to the truth as you and I will ever get. I’m sure you’ll understand that it is impossible for me to account for each and every day and I’ll most likely skip parts as well or I may even contradict myself here and there, because … I just don’t remember everything. By the way … Mum, Dad and Grandma still have no clue that they are actually quite famous here on the Internet. Grandma thinks the Internet is the name of new shopping centre and she keeps on asking us when we’re taking her there and Mum says that all that modern technology is going to be the death of face to face communication and therefore she wants to have nothing to do with it.
We moved out of our house, left Dad to his own devices and moved into Grandma’s. As far as I remember Grandma was very happy with us moving in, except for the dog. They never got used to each other. Mum was happy we could live with Grandma, but not very happy about the entire situation, but would have loved to have had a place of her own. I had no clue what was going on and why everything was happening the way it was. I was kind of happy about the fact that we moved away from Unice, because she was really getting on my nerves. Somehow I suspected Dad from having an affair with her, I don’t know why and I hope I am wrong.
Dad and I grew apart as far as we hadn’t grown apart already before we left the house. Maybe we had never even grown towards each other in the first place. When Mum and I left the house he kept to himself much. Never once did I visit him for he never asked me to come and visit him. He wrote me a letter one day to try and tell me his side of the story. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Something about ‘the cat’ not being the reason but ‘the pussy’ was. When Mum saw the letter she tore it apart and threw it away before I was able to finish it. I guess she kind of knew what he meant and didn’t agree with it. That was the last contact we had. That it is for now. See me tomorrow.