Down memory lane
It was a dark summer morning. Normally around this time of year the sun had fully come out of her winter shell. I walk outside and try to spot a little ray of sunshine somewhere, but no such luck. It’s just me and a grey day. I try not to let this weather ruin my day, but the truth is I always get quite influenced by the weather. I love a bit of sunshine. I adore the winter and the holidays, but I have always been and always will be a summer gal.
Before I had a preference for the seasons, however, I just ran around town in whatever weather there was that day. I did not care about it at all. I remember running around in whatever clothing my parents had chosen that day and with whatever people were around in the street. I was always meeting new people and new friends. By the time I was seven I had countless friends that I could play with anytime I wanted. I felt like the luckiest girl alive. Friends’ always told me about their families and their parents and their struggles. Friends told me that their parents sometimes fought. They would tell me that things would break and they would yell at each other.
I hated to hear those stories. When I came home I would hug my parents and thank them for not shouting. They would look at me strangely and then at each other. I think they knew what I meant. At the time, I didn’t.
It wasn’t until much later before I finally truly understood what I had said to them. What I was thankful for all that time. I sometimes look back to those days. Now, when I’m near 40 years old, I still know what it feels like to be a child with nothing to worry about. I know what it feels like to play. To run around and to jump in puddles. I lost that feeling for a long time. Like most teenagers, I lost the ability to play.
Well, I didn’t exactly ‘lose’ it, but I thought I did. I thought that all I wanted to be was cool and mature. I wanted to know how the world works and what my place in it was going to be. All I wanted back then was to grow up. It took me a long time to discover that growing up was not the solution I was looking for. Not at all. To be honest, I didn’t even know that I was searching for a solution until I stumbled upon my problem.
April 28th, it was raining outside and I was watching through the window. It was Friday evening and I had just finished work for the week. Or at least, that was what I was telling myself. I knew I would start again tomorrow with all the stuff that I hadn’t finished today. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was close to becoming a workaholic.
I loved the idea of a Friday afternoon where everyone is just happy and relaxed. They all looked forward to the weekend. All of them, except for me. I would laugh and join in on a drink with them, while discussing my plans for the weekend. It seemed like the typical after-work-get-together that people all around the world knew. And for the most part, it was.
I never enjoyed myself too much though and I never really let myself go. Because I knew, in the back of my head, that I would just go back to my work the next day. And the day after that.
It wasn’t like I never took any rest. That would be unbearable. I took some time off here and there. I would go on holidays and sometimes even a weekend in the countryside. But it never lasted long and to be honest, I had no Idea how to entertain myself when I was not working. When I had nothing to occupy myself with, I would just not do anything. You may think that is something envyable, but to me it most certainly wasn’t. Because whenever I allowed myself to do nothing, I found no joy in any of it. I could not relish in the absence of obligations. I wanted to feel busy, I wanted to drown in my work. Because then at least I knew my way out of it. I knew what I could do to feel like I was on top again. When I was alone with my thoughts, I was drowning without a single idea of how to get back to the shore.
On April 28th I had decided to take a few days off to go to my grandparents house in the mountains. The house had been in the family for a couple generations and it was a huge place with multiple bedrooms. We usually came up here for family reunions and the building was filled with happy memories. This time I came alone. It was November and the winter was approaching. The trees in the surroundings had all lost their leaves and all that was left was the brown tree trunk. The one that would defy the cold weather and the snowy days. The one that would survive the endless days of harsh winds to see the first day of spring in the next year. I had a difficult time at work and my husband came up with the idea that I could take some time off. I protested a lot, of course. But after a couple days of him insisting I gave in. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I came to the house when Autumn was almost at its end. The wind was getting colder and there were ominous looking clouds in the sky. I thought to myself that we would surely get some snow in the next couple of days. I had no feeling about that thought or about snow in general. It was just an observation. I parked my car, took my suitcase out of the trunk and opened the door. It creaked a little when it swung open and there was a little dust blowing up from the floor. It was obvious there hadn’t been any visitors for quite a long time.
We used to come here at least once a year with the family. Usually in the summer. But everyone had been very busy the last couple of years so we kept postponing it. I didn't mind until now. Now I saw what had happened to the place. There was so much decay in the place. I looked around and remembered all the beautiful memories this place held. Or maybe they were in my heart, but they only came to mind when I was here. Or they only came out at the house, because that’s the only time I allowed myself to think about them.
I lift my suitcase up the stairs and decide which room I want. I chose the one John and I stayed in the last time we were here. There is a buildup of dust here as well. The first thing I decide to do is to put some sheets in the bed. There is nothing like a freshly made bed. I look up all the cleaning utensils and get to working. I am never going to relax if I have to sit in a dusty room all the time.
When my bedroom is done I make my way down to the bathroom, stairs, kitchen and finally the living room. After I have worked my way through most of the dust the house looks somewhat more normal. It could use some work and a little paint, but it no longer looks like it’s inhabited by ghosts or vampires. I let myself glide onto the couch and close my eyes for a second. What now?
Before my thoughts have time to take over my brain I get back up again and sprint up the stairs. Time to unpack my suitcase. Yes, I know I said I was only staying for a couple of days, but I still had to pack a suitcase. I use more stuff than you think in just one day. And I didn’t know what kind of weather I would come across, so a bit of preparation is desirable. The clothes I put away in the closet and in some drawers. Even if I just stay for one night I always put my things in their intended places. Otherwise I lowkey go crazy. I stahs my toiletries in the bathroom and my shampoo and conditioner in the shower. I even brought my razor, because you never know. Not that I intend to shave anything while I am here, but it feels safe to just have it with me. Who knows. I may need it. Even though I can’t think of one reason why I would.
I have also brought quite some food with me since the nearest grocery shop is fifteen minutes away by car. Normally I don’t think twice about driving fifteen minutes somewhere, but for some reason it's always more of a thing when I’m here. Maybe it’s because of the peace and quiet. Or maybe we usually have too much fun to do the mundane tasks of everyday life.
I fill the fridge, but I come to the conclusion that I don’t have very much to work with. I am not feeling like going to the shops, but the alternative is to sit here and relax. So I hop in the car and drive the familiar streets in the village. The people look exactly the same as years before. Maybe time just stands still here. The grocery shop is still a local who does incredible business since everyone buys everything here. There is no supermarkt chain around here and I pray that it takes years before someone decides to pollute this place with one.
Inside it’s crawling with people and I find my way to the vegetables. The prices are amazing since the owner buys them directly from the farmers around town. And he is not tempted to make as much profit as he can. So the people stay happy and keep buying and he can support his family. I feel a calm fall down on me. The people around have not been infected by the money drive from the big city. They know what’s important to them and they set out to get it. No more and no less. And it works. There is no poverty around here because everyone just gets by. And if they don’t the community will help them out or find a job for them. I have forgotten what it was like to be helped by someone else who had no self-interest in helping me.
I finish my grocery shop without paying much attention to what I’m actually buying. I have done so many grocery shops in my life that it’s almost a habitual thing that I can do without active focus. When I walk to my car with the bags in my hands I realize that I have bought an awful lot for just a couple of days. I smirk and realize that I have bought the usual that I buy at home. Groceries for two people, enough for almost a week. That will be a surprise to John when I come home in a couple days with loads of food. He will probably look at me like I’m crazy, but then again, he always does that.
As soon as I arrive back at the house I clear up all the groceries. Meat, yogurt and vegetables in the fridge that is now cold. Bread in the pantry and toppings in the cupboard. I look around and smile. It almost looks like someone is really living in the house. I walk back upstairs, looking for something to clean. But the room looks great and I have no idea what I can do now. I do have my laptop with me, but I promised John that I wouldn’t do any work. Besides, I don't have WiFi so I wouldn’t come really far anyway. I take one of the books I bought from my nightstand and lie down on the couch. However hard I try, I can’t seem to concentrate on the words I am reading. My thoughts stray away to a different time. One I thought I had forgotten about a long time ago.
That may sound a little ominous, I know. It’s probably not as dramatic as you might think, but to me it’s a lot. I used to live in Birmingham when I was growing up. My parents were working class and we were happy. Of course there was some bickerring here and there. We didn’t agree on everything, but there was a lot of love in our house. I had an amazing childhood. I was aware that we didn’t have money to buy everything we wanted, but we had everything we needed. I played outside for a lot of my childhood and made friends with a lot of kids from the neighborhood. My older brother often joined and together we would make the streets a dangerous place. No sidewalk was safe from our chalk and no doorbell was left untouched.
As usual in England, the weather was often cloudy and it rained a lot. It didn’t matter to us. We were used to it and even started to like it. It was part of our life and we lived it to the fullest. It had been a long time since I thought about my childhood and tears were already streaming down my face. I had no idea that it was happening until I suddenly felt something wet fall in my hands that were in my lap. I stood up from the couch and went to make myself a cup of tea. While the kettle was boiling and I looked to the steam that was rising up, the memories started flooding back into my mind. It was almost physically painful to think back to that time.
I know that it is definitely not a sign of a healthy mental state to feel physical pain when thinking back to one’s childhood. I had just never allowed myself to face what I was feeling. I tried so hard to push every emotion away that they all came flooding in now. And that hurt like a bitch.
Surrounded by the hot steam my thoughts drifted back to my teenage years. It was a terrible time for me. I wasn’t popular or accepted by my peers, but more importantly I wasn’t happy. Back home all was still well. There were still arguments now and again, but they were still solved with love. A lot of love. Maybe that was the thing that I couldn’t handle. Maybe there was just too much love. Or maybe I had too little that challenged me. I still don’t know. After all these years, I still have no idea.
I closed myself off to anything and everything. I didn’t accept my parents' love and approach. I shot down the help of my big brother and never played with him again. And above all, I shut myself down from almost any other close human contact. I never let anybody get close to me after that.
You may ask yourself what had happened for me to suddenly act this way. And to be honest with you, I have absolutely no idea. Nothing happened. There was no tragic accident or a drastic change in my life.
