This episode of my life starts off very slowly but please bear with me, after all this is my life I'm exposing to you. Things are starting to get better, whether my writing is, well that's a different matter but at least I'm trying.
*
Following a night of fitful sleep, I reluctantly managed to persuade my body that it was time to reenter the world. As per norm I had gone to sleep with the curtains wide open, and as the bright sunlight streamed in it caused me to wince and shy away from its intense rays. Judging by the lack of shadows I deduced that it was about mid-morning. "Fuck!" I uttered with a frown as I struggled to a sitting position, before adjusting the pillows in behind me for support as I listened to the noisy bustle of city life.
"No....this is no good," I thought to myself as I slowly swivelled out of bed before hobbling towards the kettle, grabbing hold of it I then made my way into the bathroom. As I filled the kettle I looked up into the mirror and what I saw under the stark glare of the lights shocked me; for what should have been the face of a young woman in her very early thirties all I saw was a dirty, scrawny, haggard face with eyes like 'two piss-holes in the snow.' As I looked at myself with a blank stare there was no recognition. Putting the kettle aside I slowly removed my nightie dreading what was to come.
Revealed in all my glory
(what a joke)
I looked a shadow of my once beautiful self. OK I had a great tan but my withered and wrinkled skin reminded me of those prisoners from the Second World War; god I looked a sight. Ok I knew I had lost a lot of weight but this was ridiculous, how the hell did I allow myself to get into this state and as for Izzy, I'll kill her for not telling me the absolute truth, ok she had said that I had lost a bit of weight but what I now saw was ridiculous; she was supposed to be my friend.
Slowly and methodically under the stark glare of the bathroom light I began to wash and study every wrinkle and crevice of my withered body.
As a reader I expect your thinking "I don't want to read about this crap," but this is life, things happen, people do go funny when a love one dies: Izzy may have put me on the road to recovery but the rest was up to me.
Once dressed and slapped on some makeup I left the hotel, grabbed a quick coffee and a bite to eat from the local café then continued on my way to father's apartment.
Apart from last night it had been five long years since I last stood outside my father's apartment. I should have done it immediately after his death but I just could not bring myself to do it so with a lot of apprehension I slowly opened the door and stepped in.
At this point, I wasn't really sure how I should feel anymore. Yes I was depressed, but I was also angry. The problem was, I wasn't sure who I should be angry with. I knew that I didn't really have a right to be angry at Izzy, because she wasn't the one who messed up. So I was basically just a big mess of confused emotions, and I didn't really know how to handle it; perhaps I should've waited for Izzy to be here with me for it seemed like my whole life over the past several months had been turned into a rollercoaster of drama, drugs and booze. Everything had been so simple before. Sure, having been an 'army' brat I had no true friends, and was miserable as sin. But at least my life in France was enjoyable.
Why does someone dying make life so distressing.
What made things worse was that on the surface, things seemed to be almost 'normal'. For I still expected him to talk to me, put his arms around my shoulders, or take me to his bed and fuck the life out of me. That's what I'll truly missed..
My earlier escapades will reveal all.
Dad had said I could still stay in his apartment anytime I was in London but now I didn't know if I could handle it. For it felt like I was in a state of limbo, and it was awful. Breaking up would have been easier, because at least I'd know where things stood, and I could start trying to get over it. But instead, I was left wanting and wondering. And I didn't have a clue how long I had to wait. Days? Weeks? Months? It wasn't fair. But then again, nothing in my life ever seemed fair. It was like God or whoever was sitting up there in heaven, thought only of ways to make my life more miserable. Hadn't I suffered enough?!
I needed to talk to someone, I wanted someone to tell me what to do. But who could I talk to? I could talk to Izzy but she was miles away, just like Chris or Dad use to be so, as usual I was left to deal with this on my own.
Getting through that first day was absolute torture, made only worse because I kept finding things which Dad had kept from when we were a true family, things which I had long forgotten about.
At times I just wanted to run out of there, head for the nearest pub and drown my sorrows but where would that get me, my problems would still be here and for another I would surely loose Izzy this time, especially after all the effort she put into my recovery; that was a devastating thought. It would be too awkward. No, not just awkward .... heart-wrenchingly unbearable.
"Fuck...it's quiet in here," I thought to myself, seeing Dad's CD player I grabbed the nearest disc, loaded it onto play before opening a few cabinets in the lounge. I soon found a bottle of whiskey along with a couple of other bottles of spirits. My mind was suddenly racing with a million thoughts. Shit! No! I daren't touch it for I knew that once I started I'll never stop. I'm not saying I'm a total alcoholic but without a guiding hand I soon could be.
Wallowing in self-pity, which at this moment I certainly was, the melodic tones of Elton John's, "If There's a God in Heaven (What's He Waiting For?)" from my Blue Moves album began to drift through the apartment.
If there's a God in heaven
What's He waiting for?
If He can't hear the children
Then He must see the war
But it seems to me
That He leads My lambs
To the slaughter house
And not the Promised Land ....
The pleading vocals and depressing lyrics only added to the depths of my despair. I listened to this for a few more second until its words really got too depressing. Quickly pressing the eject button I then began selecting a few other discs from Dad's collection. To my surprise he was quiet hip with his music, there were a few classics but the majority of his collection dated from the mid 70's. With Neil Diamond playing in the background I made steady progress with bagging up all of Dad's possessions, most of which would be going to the local charity shops but a few things would be staying in the apartment,
especially those from his bedside cabinet which I'll come to later.
As for the furniture, it was usable, not my taste but as I said usable, and the bottles of spirits, well they would stay in the cabinet as a reminder.
Tired and thirsty I made my way into the kitchen where luckily I found some coffee which hadn't congealed into to a gooey mass; having boiled the kettle to clear out the detritus I boiled it again then made myself a cup of 'instant'. It's taste was passable but not great so after a couple of sips I looked at my next challenge, the fridge; standing well back I cautiously opened its door, surprisingly it was quiet clean and odourless; father had had the sense to put all the perishables into storage boxes (part of his army training?) so it was a simple matter of throwing these straight into the bin, the milk bottle with its column of mould was carefully wrapped in cling-film then placed very carefully into the bin. Next came the freezer where most of the food here was well past its 'best by date' so that too followed the fridge contents. As for the rest of the stuff in the kitchen, if it was open or well out of date that too went into the bin. With bedroom, bathroom and kitchen cleared that only left me one other room to clear, the one which father called 'His office,' but that could wait for another day for I already had over 10 'bin-bags' to dispose of, some of which would go down the service chute but the rest needed lugging to the nearest charity shop before they closed.
Several hours later, tired, exhausted and for want of a better word I crawled into the café where I had stopped for coffee earlier. Grabbing a chair I nosily plonked my arse down and waited.
"What do'ya want luv?" mumbled a sweet non-registering voice...This was followed by a grunt then "Luv...what's your order?"
"Sorry, miles away," I mumbled in reply..."I'll have a coffee, and...and the Ham, eggs and chips please," having taken a quick glance at the menu.
"White or black?"
"Oh....white with cold milk if possible."
"No problem," came a speedy yet sweet reply.
With that I took my first good look at my waitress. She looked gorgeous, her long glossy black hair fell well below the waist of her diminutive body and her face just smiled at you. Her hands looked so delicate as she jotted down my order, she looked young but there again all Asian woman tend to look young for their age. Twisting to watch as she walked back towards the kitchen her arse moved 'like two ferrets fighting in a sack'; knowingly, she quickly looked back and gave me the cutest of smiles.
"You look all in!" My waitress uttered as she slid my coffee onto the table.
"Tell me about it," I replied casually, not expecting any reaction; after all to her I was just a customer and nothing more.
"I'm a good listener....may I?" she asked pulling out a chair before plonking her arse down.
For a few seconds I was gobsmacked then having reached across and placed her hand upon mine I, for some unknown reason, began to tell her everything; from how my father's death had affected me to where I was currently staying and how clearing out father's apartment was also affecting me. All this time she just sat and listened, occasionally she would either stroke my hand or grip it harder as the occasion desired but overall remained absolutely silent. It took the thumping down of a plate followed by a few terse words in an unknown language to bring me back into this world.
"Sorry have I got you into trouble?" I quickly enquired.
"No...No, it's just father. He says I spend too much time talking with the female customers and not enough time looking for a husband but I don't
WANT
men pawing all over me."
As another barrage of shouting came from the kitchen, I for some unknown reason quickly uttered, "I can be a good listener too!" as she walked quickly back towards the kitchen: taking another glance at her arse I'd swear that she put an extra wiggle to it just for me.
