The Ghost of Memories.
Sophie.
Donna quickly became my confidant, over the years. I don’t remember a lot of when I was very young, obviously, but I knew Gerard. Donna said that Gerard started getting depressed in his last two years of high school. I’m so glad I don’t remember that. To me, it would be as odd and disturbing as seeing a dog walk on his hind legs and casually wander into the kitchen and make himself a cup of coffee while enjoying a Jaffa cake.
Soon, Gerard got into Art College in New York. While Donna tried to persuade him that he wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of living with me there, he refused to leave me in her temporary care.
While my dad was at college, his good friend, Sophie, cared for me. Sophie was one of the most caring women I’ve ever met. Sophie was ever so pretty. I remember her well. She had long, dirty blonde hair, and a seemingly flawless face. She would wear tight t-shirts, and randomly coloured skinny jeans. She was also unpredictable, but I enjoyed the unstable routines I was in. I was never bored around Sophie. One day, she’d help me bake cookies, and the next, she would smile happily as a three year old me danced around the room listening to her favourite record of the day. The most common artists were Black Flag, The Misfits, Metallica, Nirvana and Iron Maiden.
I never really watched kiddie’s TV with Sophie. I knew the high pitched and patronising voices of the children’s channel annoyed and irritated her. I rarely even asked to watch them. I watched loads of the TV when Gerard was home. In all honesty, I suspect he had no idea of what else to let me do. He’d always try and cook me at least a half healthy evening meal. My favourite was always fish fingers, mash and peas. Dad always did real mash potatoes, not the sachet powdered stuff. He’d sometimes read me a comic book, or show me some of his drawings, when he had drawn something brighter than usual. He tried to keep me as innocent as possible, unbiased by his love of dark and violent art. Let me tell you, it was a shock to him, hearing a four year old ask if he could put The Misfits on, when I had supposedly never even heard them.
Soon, Gerard got into Art College in New York. While Donna tried to persuade him that he wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of living with me there, he refused to leave me in her temporary care.
While my dad was at college, his good friend, Sophie, cared for me. Sophie was one of the most caring women I’ve ever met. Sophie was ever so pretty. I remember her well. She had long, dirty blonde hair, and a seemingly flawless face. She would wear tight t-shirts, and randomly coloured skinny jeans. She was also unpredictable, but I enjoyed the unstable routines I was in. I was never bored around Sophie. One day, she’d help me bake cookies, and the next, she would smile happily as a three year old me danced around the room listening to her favourite record of the day. The most common artists were Black Flag, The Misfits, Metallica, Nirvana and Iron Maiden.
I never really watched kiddie’s TV with Sophie. I knew the high pitched and patronising voices of the children’s channel annoyed and irritated her. I rarely even asked to watch them. I watched loads of the TV when Gerard was home. In all honesty, I suspect he had no idea of what else to let me do. He’d always try and cook me at least a half healthy evening meal. My favourite was always fish fingers, mash and peas. Dad always did real mash potatoes, not the sachet powdered stuff. He’d sometimes read me a comic book, or show me some of his drawings, when he had drawn something brighter than usual. He tried to keep me as innocent as possible, unbiased by his love of dark and violent art. Let me tell you, it was a shock to him, hearing a four year old ask if he could put The Misfits on, when I had supposedly never even heard them.