Status: Slow updates
Mama Killed A Man
Consciousness
Back home, I got in at whatever time I wanted, if I even got in at all. My mother had for years, chosen to ignore my absence just as she ignored my presence, and I wasn’t sure which felt worse. At some point I stopped caring what she or anyone else thought of me and began doing things for myself and myself alone. I became disciplined to my own criterion and completely forgot the art of conformity.
So the next day at 8am, when my bed linen was whipped off and my body leapt into a foetal curl, I couldn’t work out why I was being so ferociously shaken awake. My vision glowed cellophane red as bright morning light shone through my stubbornly shut eyelids.
“Amberlyn, wake up!”
I yawned and stretched, fluttering my lashes and twisting my body out of its curl.
“Amberlyn Kalya Cross, get up right now!”
The unfamiliar tone of frustration penetrated the woozy dreams fogging my consciousness and I jerked up suddenly, eyes wide, blinking hard.
“I’m awake!” I exclaimed, heart pounding with alarm. “What’s the matter?” I gawked up at my father and my brows quirked in confusion. His hair was a knotty mess, his jaw a hard, impenetrable line; his face was the colour of exhaustion and the corner of his top lip twitched as he struggled to keep himself under control.
“H-how dare you?” he sputtered, arms stretched out towards me, fingers grasping the air.
“How dare I what?” I asked softly, genuinely confused.
My father struggled with himself for a few moments longer before turning away and striding across the room, his cane rapping rhythmically on the floorboards. He paused and stood for a while, facing the blank television screen. I observed the furious rise and fall of his shoulders as he fought to contain himself, before swivelling around and charging back at me. I flinched.
“How dare you think me so stupid?” His voice was quieter now, yet evermore threatening. He shut his eyes and shook his head, as if reforming his thoughts, “The one thing I hate most in the world, Amberlyn, are liars.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Did you honestly think that a three-point-two million dollar house wouldn’t have security cameras?” He took a step closer and I felt myself shrinking back against the wall. “I saw you leave the house last night!”
“I-I’m not...” I coughed to clear the squeak, “I’m not sure I understand what the matter is.”
“You left the house, did you not?”
“Yes,” I admitted nervously.
“After dark with a stranger.”
I nodded slowly, heart falling.
“And you thought I would never know,” a trace of hurt was laden through the anger.
“I left you a note,” I said quietly. My cheeks went warm and my nose prickled; I couldn’t remember how to react. “I didn’t lie.”
My father rubbed his face with his palms and tugged at his hair. I heard him swear under his breath and he started pacing but stumbled over the upturned corner of the rug. I’d never seen someone look so frustrated and... hopeless.
Regaining his composure, he took a deep breath, “Amberlyn, I don’t know what to do.”
I wasn’t sure what to say so I stared blankly at my hands and picked at my cuticles.
“I really, really don’t. I’ve never done this before,” he gestured at me and then at himself, “I’ve never felt like...like this before.”
He hobbled forward and sat beside me, rubbing his knees in exasperation.
“Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?” he said gently. He turned his head and held my gaze, “If anyone finds out who you are, who you are to me...” he shuddered and I gulped down the lump in my throat.
“Help me out, Bambi,” he said softly, sighing, “I’m new at this.”
I raised a cautious hand and rested it on his shoulder.
“Me too.”
He looked up and held my identical gaze. His lips tweaked into a small smile and I could tell he was trying very hard to be reassuring. Then he looked away, as if being beckoned by another presence.
“Amber, I-“he cleared his throat, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” I nodded,
encouraging him to continue. He smiled softly, “well, about everything you’re going through.”
His forehead creased with concern and he took my hand from his shoulder, gently gripping my icy fingers.
“I want to let you know that I’m here,”
I nodded in acknowledgment.
“I know we don’t know each other well and I’m really sorry for that,” he sighed, “but I think I can assume that you’re not yourself right now.” Suddenly his face grew sombre and the light in his eyes sputtered out. The silence rang in my ears and I shifted uncomfortably. Inhaling deeply, my father carried on. “When I lost you and your mother, I wasn’t myself for years. I felt empty and cold and drained and just lost. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He gave my hand a squeeze, “But then your Grandad sat me down and told me that everything happens for a reason; that everything turns out right in the end and that all I had to do was get my head right first. So I did and now look at us,” he gestured at me and the surrounding space. “Karla might not be here, but she’s given me you,” he smiled lovingly.“We’ve got each other, Bambi, and everything will be alright now.”
I returned his smile and gripped his hand and told my heart that he was right. I told my heart that I could stop feeling cold, and I could stop feeling empty and I could stop feeling so hopelessly lost, because mum wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad. My heart replied that my mother wouldn’t have given a fuck. It wasn’t her death that had drained me, or left me feeling alone, it was her- her and her negligence! And now that I was fifty-hundred-million-miles away from distractions and face-to-face with the facts, it hit me like a tonne of bricks.
I closed my mouth and swallowed away the dryness before looking at my father and probing for a response.
“I have a Grandad?”
I hadn’t seen or spoken to John in four days, and that was all I could think about every morning when I woke up to a Dad-less house and Graeme cooking me Eggs Benedict or crêpes or anything else he’d learned at culinary school. After breakfast, I’d wander outside the house or peek over the living room balcony just to find the lifeless exterior of number 148.
And there I’d stay until four o’clock when my father rushed home to pick me up and take me bowling, or shopping, or just for a drive around Tempe. It didn’t matter that I was standing outside for hours on my own doing absolutely nothing, because doing something felt exactly the same as doing nothing. I felt cold, I felt empty, I felt drained and I was bored of feeling all of the above. I was just exhausted from being alone with my consciousness and I needed someone to snap me out of it.
John was the only someone I knew.
On the sixth day of my life on Gatsby, I swallowed down my last mouthful of poached eggs and hollandaise sauce before hollering a “thanks” at Graeme and stepping outside. The cement was hot and the burn felt spicy on my bare feet. I never wore shoes because it was nice to feel something that didn’t feel like nothing once in a while, even if it was just scorching my soles.
As I pulled open the gate and slipped through I walked face first into a broad chest before rebounding off and falling into the iron bars behind me.
“Amber, shit! Are you ok?” John grabbed my forearms and tugged me up towards him.
“Yeah, I think so.” I eased up the moronic smile that was tugging my cheeks and rubbed the part of my head that had made contact with the gate.
“I’m starting to see a pattern here,” he said, gesturing first to my head and then to my foot, “Maybe I should just stay away-”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly, “I mean, it’s not you. I’m just a klutz.”
John chuckled, “Me too,”
“Yeah, I remember,” I laughed, referring to our first meeting. The apple of his cheeks reddened and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“So uh, I just came over to say that I’m sorry for not coming around these past few days. I was with my Dad on his boat.” He eyed me sheepishly, “I should’ve got your number.”
“Your Dad has a boat?” I smiled, impressed. I’d never been on a proper boat before.
“Yeah, his brothers all chipped in and got it for him for his fortieth,” he grinned, “I’ll take you on it some time, in exchange for your forgiveness?” John pouted and his eyebrows disappeared beneath his shaggy birds-nest hair.
I giggled and mentally barfed at the sound, “Deal.”
John grabbed my hand and shook it. I wasn’t sure if I liked the way his touch relaxed me, or the way reality slipped away for the light lift in my chest.
“Deal.”
So the next day at 8am, when my bed linen was whipped off and my body leapt into a foetal curl, I couldn’t work out why I was being so ferociously shaken awake. My vision glowed cellophane red as bright morning light shone through my stubbornly shut eyelids.
“Amberlyn, wake up!”
I yawned and stretched, fluttering my lashes and twisting my body out of its curl.
“Amberlyn Kalya Cross, get up right now!”
The unfamiliar tone of frustration penetrated the woozy dreams fogging my consciousness and I jerked up suddenly, eyes wide, blinking hard.
“I’m awake!” I exclaimed, heart pounding with alarm. “What’s the matter?” I gawked up at my father and my brows quirked in confusion. His hair was a knotty mess, his jaw a hard, impenetrable line; his face was the colour of exhaustion and the corner of his top lip twitched as he struggled to keep himself under control.
“H-how dare you?” he sputtered, arms stretched out towards me, fingers grasping the air.
“How dare I what?” I asked softly, genuinely confused.
My father struggled with himself for a few moments longer before turning away and striding across the room, his cane rapping rhythmically on the floorboards. He paused and stood for a while, facing the blank television screen. I observed the furious rise and fall of his shoulders as he fought to contain himself, before swivelling around and charging back at me. I flinched.
“How dare you think me so stupid?” His voice was quieter now, yet evermore threatening. He shut his eyes and shook his head, as if reforming his thoughts, “The one thing I hate most in the world, Amberlyn, are liars.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Did you honestly think that a three-point-two million dollar house wouldn’t have security cameras?” He took a step closer and I felt myself shrinking back against the wall. “I saw you leave the house last night!”
“I-I’m not...” I coughed to clear the squeak, “I’m not sure I understand what the matter is.”
“You left the house, did you not?”
“Yes,” I admitted nervously.
“After dark with a stranger.”
I nodded slowly, heart falling.
“And you thought I would never know,” a trace of hurt was laden through the anger.
“I left you a note,” I said quietly. My cheeks went warm and my nose prickled; I couldn’t remember how to react. “I didn’t lie.”
My father rubbed his face with his palms and tugged at his hair. I heard him swear under his breath and he started pacing but stumbled over the upturned corner of the rug. I’d never seen someone look so frustrated and... hopeless.
Regaining his composure, he took a deep breath, “Amberlyn, I don’t know what to do.”
I wasn’t sure what to say so I stared blankly at my hands and picked at my cuticles.
“I really, really don’t. I’ve never done this before,” he gestured at me and then at himself, “I’ve never felt like...like this before.”
He hobbled forward and sat beside me, rubbing his knees in exasperation.
“Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?” he said gently. He turned his head and held my gaze, “If anyone finds out who you are, who you are to me...” he shuddered and I gulped down the lump in my throat.
“Help me out, Bambi,” he said softly, sighing, “I’m new at this.”
I raised a cautious hand and rested it on his shoulder.
“Me too.”
He looked up and held my identical gaze. His lips tweaked into a small smile and I could tell he was trying very hard to be reassuring. Then he looked away, as if being beckoned by another presence.
“Amber, I-“he cleared his throat, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” I nodded,
encouraging him to continue. He smiled softly, “well, about everything you’re going through.”
His forehead creased with concern and he took my hand from his shoulder, gently gripping my icy fingers.
“I want to let you know that I’m here,”
I nodded in acknowledgment.
“I know we don’t know each other well and I’m really sorry for that,” he sighed, “but I think I can assume that you’re not yourself right now.” Suddenly his face grew sombre and the light in his eyes sputtered out. The silence rang in my ears and I shifted uncomfortably. Inhaling deeply, my father carried on. “When I lost you and your mother, I wasn’t myself for years. I felt empty and cold and drained and just lost. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He gave my hand a squeeze, “But then your Grandad sat me down and told me that everything happens for a reason; that everything turns out right in the end and that all I had to do was get my head right first. So I did and now look at us,” he gestured at me and the surrounding space. “Karla might not be here, but she’s given me you,” he smiled lovingly.“We’ve got each other, Bambi, and everything will be alright now.”
I returned his smile and gripped his hand and told my heart that he was right. I told my heart that I could stop feeling cold, and I could stop feeling empty and I could stop feeling so hopelessly lost, because mum wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad. My heart replied that my mother wouldn’t have given a fuck. It wasn’t her death that had drained me, or left me feeling alone, it was her- her and her negligence! And now that I was fifty-hundred-million-miles away from distractions and face-to-face with the facts, it hit me like a tonne of bricks.
I closed my mouth and swallowed away the dryness before looking at my father and probing for a response.
“I have a Grandad?”
I hadn’t seen or spoken to John in four days, and that was all I could think about every morning when I woke up to a Dad-less house and Graeme cooking me Eggs Benedict or crêpes or anything else he’d learned at culinary school. After breakfast, I’d wander outside the house or peek over the living room balcony just to find the lifeless exterior of number 148.
And there I’d stay until four o’clock when my father rushed home to pick me up and take me bowling, or shopping, or just for a drive around Tempe. It didn’t matter that I was standing outside for hours on my own doing absolutely nothing, because doing something felt exactly the same as doing nothing. I felt cold, I felt empty, I felt drained and I was bored of feeling all of the above. I was just exhausted from being alone with my consciousness and I needed someone to snap me out of it.
John was the only someone I knew.
On the sixth day of my life on Gatsby, I swallowed down my last mouthful of poached eggs and hollandaise sauce before hollering a “thanks” at Graeme and stepping outside. The cement was hot and the burn felt spicy on my bare feet. I never wore shoes because it was nice to feel something that didn’t feel like nothing once in a while, even if it was just scorching my soles.
As I pulled open the gate and slipped through I walked face first into a broad chest before rebounding off and falling into the iron bars behind me.
“Amber, shit! Are you ok?” John grabbed my forearms and tugged me up towards him.
“Yeah, I think so.” I eased up the moronic smile that was tugging my cheeks and rubbed the part of my head that had made contact with the gate.
“I’m starting to see a pattern here,” he said, gesturing first to my head and then to my foot, “Maybe I should just stay away-”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly, “I mean, it’s not you. I’m just a klutz.”
John chuckled, “Me too,”
“Yeah, I remember,” I laughed, referring to our first meeting. The apple of his cheeks reddened and he rubbed the back of his neck.
“So uh, I just came over to say that I’m sorry for not coming around these past few days. I was with my Dad on his boat.” He eyed me sheepishly, “I should’ve got your number.”
“Your Dad has a boat?” I smiled, impressed. I’d never been on a proper boat before.
“Yeah, his brothers all chipped in and got it for him for his fortieth,” he grinned, “I’ll take you on it some time, in exchange for your forgiveness?” John pouted and his eyebrows disappeared beneath his shaggy birds-nest hair.
I giggled and mentally barfed at the sound, “Deal.”
John grabbed my hand and shook it. I wasn’t sure if I liked the way his touch relaxed me, or the way reality slipped away for the light lift in my chest.
“Deal.”
♠ ♠ ♠
<3