‹ Prequel: Frontwards
Upwards
Tonight tonight tonight.
Thursday May 7th, 2008.
It all had to happen on my birthday, didn’t it? Right now as I’m sitting in bed and scribbling this all furiously down (and getting used to writing again) I’m still mentally digesting everything that has happened today.
I guess I should start at the beginning, as tradition dictates, along with that song in The Sound of Music. At least I think I have the right musical. The point is that it’s the very best place to start but whenever I sing it in my head I veer off into a song from Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.
So I was awoken this morning by Kate hammering away at my bedroom door at stupid o’clock.
“Nnngmmnnffffargrhhhhfuckoff,” was the sort of groan that I emitted, with my head still buried into my pillow. I was refusing to open my eyes and admit that my sleeping time was over. After you have a kid, you learn the true value of sleep. Amongst other things, of course. Like how to change a diaper. Who know THAT could be so hard?
“Happy birthday, bitch,” I heard Kate mutter as she let herself in. Shortly afterwards I felt her weight on top of my legs and when I finally opened my eyes and turned my head backwards to face her, she was looking about as rough as I felt.
“Abby birday, bitch,” came another, smaller voice from the doorway.
“Oh, brilliant,” I mumbled, waving Rosie over to the bed. “As a gift to me you’ve taught my daughter how to swear, have you? How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted?”
Kate rolled her eyes and I shifted around underneath her so that I could sit up. “Well I got you some other stuff, too,” she said snidely. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that Kate isn’t very useful of a morning. Some things never change, even when everything else does.
As I pulled Rosie up to sit on the bed next to me, Kate reached to the floor and presented me with two neatly-wrapped parcels. One was noticeably book-shaped, and the other was a fairly small cube.
“Here,” she muttered, throwing the cube in my direction while simultaneously rubbing her eye with her other hand. “This one’s from the kid.”
‘The Kid’ in question beamed as I tore slowly into the wrapping (which I suspect Rosie, being not-quite-2-years-old, had some help with because it was an absolute bitch to open). She was the only one in the family who was wide-awake as soon as her eyes were open. The rest of us need a few minutes and possibly some caffeine and/or sugar before we’re ready to face the day. But Rosie could climb out of bed and straight onto a playground, happy as a clam. It must be so nice to be a child.
Inside the wrapping was a red box, and inside the box was a silver necklace with a daisy-shaped pendant.
“Did you pick this out all by yourself, RoRo?” I gasped as I fingered the delicate chain. Rosie just offered a gurgly smile as a response, which I interpreted as ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re saying but sure why not’. “It’s so beautiful,” I continued, kissing her on the cheek as if she could understand every word. As if I truly believed that she had crawled all the way to the jewellers by herself, hovered around the glass cabinets for hours agonising over which necklace to buy for me, handed over the cash for it when, after a painstaking search, she was absolutely certain that this was the one, and made her way back home and into her crib before I even noticed she had been gone. And I was just going along with it. Because I’m a mum now and that’s just what mums do because that’s all we’re ever taught.
Kate was watching with a little smile as I attached the necklace to myself. She was holding the book-shaped present in her hands. “And this one is from me,” she said, a little too quietly for my liking. Kate is not generally a quiet person. She is only ever quiet for one of three reasons: a) she is unconscious, b) she is eating, or c) she is feeling especially nervous and/or guilty.
So I took the present cautiously, eyeing her inquisitively as I did so. She was trying to play it cool but she doesn’t have a brilliant pokerface. Every emotion she feels is displayed within her features, whether it is disgust at something she doesn’t like the taste of, or pure overwhelming joy at that scene in The Notebook when Noah and Ally kiss in the rain.
I put one arm around Rosie and let her ‘help’ me unwrap. Kids freaking love unwrapping shit. Then again, so do I. Maybe it’s something that never goes away. It’s a pleasure unrivalled, like popping bubblewrap or receiving a handwritten letter in the mail. Those sorts of things excite you no matter how old you are.
As we unwrapped, it slowly dawned on me what this gift was. It was very similar to a gift I had received a few birthdays ago. Three, actually. Exactly three.
I smiled as Rosie ripped off the last shred of paper, and I stared down at my beautiful new notebook. It is a lovely teal, with silver and pink roses adorning the cover.
“Rosie!” said Rosie, brimming with excitement as she pointed avidly.
“Yes, sweetie, those are roses, just like you,” I grinned. “Goodness me, you’re so clever, baby!”
Kate was looking at me with a half-smile. “I thought you might want to try again,” she said. “I can tell you’ve missed it.” She didn’t say that she’d seen me re-reading my old diary time and time again, but she didn’t really need to.
“Thanks,” I said, leaning forwards to hug her. “I can’t wait to start afresh.”
But sadly, I had to wait, because I’m a proper adult and shit now, so I have to go to work. No more wasting my days watching The View in my pyjamas now that I’m the breadwinner.
When I first started work here, I thought I could just slip under the radar and not have to talk to anybody. But oh no. The mathematics department is where nerds come to work so that they can socialise with the only human beings on the planet who have a hope of understanding them: fellow nerds. As such, I am pretty much forced to hang out with my colleagues. Which is not such a bad thing. They are, in general, lovely people. But some days you just want to keep your head down, do your job, and go home. So I guess I’m the fool for thinking I could do that today.
What actually happened is I kept my head down, did my work, and just as I thought I could sneak out to return to my home, I was then informed by the head of department, Alison, that I would be taken out for birthday drinks. Oh, fabulous. Resistance, as it turned out, was futile. Which is how I found myself perched on a barstool at 6pm with a martini in my hand and a vacant look on my face.
“Blah blah something about pi,” somebody was saying, and I’m not sure who it was or what they actually said so I’ve just filled in the blanks. I wasn’t really listening. I was staring blankly into the street and frowning, because across the street, a queue was forming outside of Electric Factory. For those of you unfamiliar with Philadelphia, Electric Factory is one of those grubby warehouse venues with a maximum capacity of around 3,000. Tonight it certainly looked like a whole 3,000 people were gathered outside the doors.
A few of my colleagues/friends started conversations with me but I couldn’t help but gravitate towards the crowd outside. They were a familiar bunch. Mostly just kids, angsty teenagers and whatnot. Mostly wearing black. Mostly looking extremely excited.
“Daisy, are you okay?” came a voice from behind me. It was Ed, a senior maths professor.
“No,” I replied distantly.
I wasn’t able to tear my eyes away from that crappy, fluorescent venue across the street. Because on that little white board attached to the building were three very familiar words.
“I have to go,” I said, jumping to my feet. I handed my almost untouched martini to Ed and passed around a sorrowful smile. “Here. I’m sorry. Thank you guys, but I really... I have to go.”
I left the bar without even a backwards glance. I even left my coat. But I didn’t care how cold the evening had turned even if I was only wearing a thin blouse. I was like a woman possessed as I crossed the empty street, swallowed my pride, and walked right up to the front of the crowd, squinting up at the sign just to double check.
Tonight:
My Chemical Romance.
It all had to happen on my birthday, didn’t it? Right now as I’m sitting in bed and scribbling this all furiously down (and getting used to writing again) I’m still mentally digesting everything that has happened today.
I guess I should start at the beginning, as tradition dictates, along with that song in The Sound of Music. At least I think I have the right musical. The point is that it’s the very best place to start but whenever I sing it in my head I veer off into a song from Joseph and His Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.
So I was awoken this morning by Kate hammering away at my bedroom door at stupid o’clock.
“Nnngmmnnffffargrhhhhfuckoff,” was the sort of groan that I emitted, with my head still buried into my pillow. I was refusing to open my eyes and admit that my sleeping time was over. After you have a kid, you learn the true value of sleep. Amongst other things, of course. Like how to change a diaper. Who know THAT could be so hard?
“Happy birthday, bitch,” I heard Kate mutter as she let herself in. Shortly afterwards I felt her weight on top of my legs and when I finally opened my eyes and turned my head backwards to face her, she was looking about as rough as I felt.
“Abby birday, bitch,” came another, smaller voice from the doorway.
“Oh, brilliant,” I mumbled, waving Rosie over to the bed. “As a gift to me you’ve taught my daughter how to swear, have you? How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted?”
Kate rolled her eyes and I shifted around underneath her so that I could sit up. “Well I got you some other stuff, too,” she said snidely. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that Kate isn’t very useful of a morning. Some things never change, even when everything else does.
As I pulled Rosie up to sit on the bed next to me, Kate reached to the floor and presented me with two neatly-wrapped parcels. One was noticeably book-shaped, and the other was a fairly small cube.
“Here,” she muttered, throwing the cube in my direction while simultaneously rubbing her eye with her other hand. “This one’s from the kid.”
‘The Kid’ in question beamed as I tore slowly into the wrapping (which I suspect Rosie, being not-quite-2-years-old, had some help with because it was an absolute bitch to open). She was the only one in the family who was wide-awake as soon as her eyes were open. The rest of us need a few minutes and possibly some caffeine and/or sugar before we’re ready to face the day. But Rosie could climb out of bed and straight onto a playground, happy as a clam. It must be so nice to be a child.
Inside the wrapping was a red box, and inside the box was a silver necklace with a daisy-shaped pendant.
“Did you pick this out all by yourself, RoRo?” I gasped as I fingered the delicate chain. Rosie just offered a gurgly smile as a response, which I interpreted as ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re saying but sure why not’. “It’s so beautiful,” I continued, kissing her on the cheek as if she could understand every word. As if I truly believed that she had crawled all the way to the jewellers by herself, hovered around the glass cabinets for hours agonising over which necklace to buy for me, handed over the cash for it when, after a painstaking search, she was absolutely certain that this was the one, and made her way back home and into her crib before I even noticed she had been gone. And I was just going along with it. Because I’m a mum now and that’s just what mums do because that’s all we’re ever taught.
Kate was watching with a little smile as I attached the necklace to myself. She was holding the book-shaped present in her hands. “And this one is from me,” she said, a little too quietly for my liking. Kate is not generally a quiet person. She is only ever quiet for one of three reasons: a) she is unconscious, b) she is eating, or c) she is feeling especially nervous and/or guilty.
So I took the present cautiously, eyeing her inquisitively as I did so. She was trying to play it cool but she doesn’t have a brilliant pokerface. Every emotion she feels is displayed within her features, whether it is disgust at something she doesn’t like the taste of, or pure overwhelming joy at that scene in The Notebook when Noah and Ally kiss in the rain.
I put one arm around Rosie and let her ‘help’ me unwrap. Kids freaking love unwrapping shit. Then again, so do I. Maybe it’s something that never goes away. It’s a pleasure unrivalled, like popping bubblewrap or receiving a handwritten letter in the mail. Those sorts of things excite you no matter how old you are.
As we unwrapped, it slowly dawned on me what this gift was. It was very similar to a gift I had received a few birthdays ago. Three, actually. Exactly three.
I smiled as Rosie ripped off the last shred of paper, and I stared down at my beautiful new notebook. It is a lovely teal, with silver and pink roses adorning the cover.
“Rosie!” said Rosie, brimming with excitement as she pointed avidly.
“Yes, sweetie, those are roses, just like you,” I grinned. “Goodness me, you’re so clever, baby!”
Kate was looking at me with a half-smile. “I thought you might want to try again,” she said. “I can tell you’ve missed it.” She didn’t say that she’d seen me re-reading my old diary time and time again, but she didn’t really need to.
“Thanks,” I said, leaning forwards to hug her. “I can’t wait to start afresh.”
But sadly, I had to wait, because I’m a proper adult and shit now, so I have to go to work. No more wasting my days watching The View in my pyjamas now that I’m the breadwinner.
When I first started work here, I thought I could just slip under the radar and not have to talk to anybody. But oh no. The mathematics department is where nerds come to work so that they can socialise with the only human beings on the planet who have a hope of understanding them: fellow nerds. As such, I am pretty much forced to hang out with my colleagues. Which is not such a bad thing. They are, in general, lovely people. But some days you just want to keep your head down, do your job, and go home. So I guess I’m the fool for thinking I could do that today.
What actually happened is I kept my head down, did my work, and just as I thought I could sneak out to return to my home, I was then informed by the head of department, Alison, that I would be taken out for birthday drinks. Oh, fabulous. Resistance, as it turned out, was futile. Which is how I found myself perched on a barstool at 6pm with a martini in my hand and a vacant look on my face.
“Blah blah something about pi,” somebody was saying, and I’m not sure who it was or what they actually said so I’ve just filled in the blanks. I wasn’t really listening. I was staring blankly into the street and frowning, because across the street, a queue was forming outside of Electric Factory. For those of you unfamiliar with Philadelphia, Electric Factory is one of those grubby warehouse venues with a maximum capacity of around 3,000. Tonight it certainly looked like a whole 3,000 people were gathered outside the doors.
A few of my colleagues/friends started conversations with me but I couldn’t help but gravitate towards the crowd outside. They were a familiar bunch. Mostly just kids, angsty teenagers and whatnot. Mostly wearing black. Mostly looking extremely excited.
“Daisy, are you okay?” came a voice from behind me. It was Ed, a senior maths professor.
“No,” I replied distantly.
I wasn’t able to tear my eyes away from that crappy, fluorescent venue across the street. Because on that little white board attached to the building were three very familiar words.
“I have to go,” I said, jumping to my feet. I handed my almost untouched martini to Ed and passed around a sorrowful smile. “Here. I’m sorry. Thank you guys, but I really... I have to go.”
I left the bar without even a backwards glance. I even left my coat. But I didn’t care how cold the evening had turned even if I was only wearing a thin blouse. I was like a woman possessed as I crossed the empty street, swallowed my pride, and walked right up to the front of the crowd, squinting up at the sign just to double check.
Tonight:
My Chemical Romance.