Writing for Fun
November 2015
It Takes Two - Gerry Miller
I don't know why I am standing at the window, just staring into space.This is meant to be a day working from home. I hear the mother and child long before they come into view and can't tell if it is a little boy or girl. But all of a sudden she was there skipping and laughing and wearing the most crisp and clean little green striped dress. They were obviously on their way to the river as mum was carrying a picnic basket and small size fishing net. It took just the two of them to be having such fun, and they were in their own little world. People, families mainly, were always passing by, some were happy and some not so happy, I remember trying to walk my worries away, but whilst keeping my body occupied my mind always manages to break free.
I thought about the first chapter of 'The Kite Runner' and at least on two separate occasions the main character had been very self-knowing and uses phrases such as 'I became what I am at the age of twelve' and looking back this character could state 'It made me what I am today'. It was always in comparison to someone or something else, the magic number two. Why could I not do that – what on earth makes me what I am today? And indeed what or who on earth am I? My mind wanders back to the green dress. I remember being three and standing on the kitchen table and my mum dressing me in a brand new green striped dress. Even now as I watch the mother and child disappear towards the river I can feel the crispness of my dress and the most wondrous smell of its newness. The day of my green dress had been special for me. That was the day I was run over by a motorbike, it came down the lane and over the hill and neither of us saw each other, but there was the two of us. I don't think that made me whatever I am?
Somehow I am back at the window standing here like a lonely soul looking in on other people's happiness? I don't know how often I do this – perhaps I need to keep a check on myself, was I having a life? Of course I am, what rubbish! Am I living my life to the full, that was the question? I watched the postman trundle down the path. 'More rubbish,' I mused to myself how many more rubber bands are going to come in the door? What a lucrative contract for the rubber band companies. No wonder the Royal Mail was giving a poorer service, no second delivery and the first class arriving at nearly lunch time. Oh dear God help me I am moaning again, even though it is to myself it's still a moan. See, it doesn't always take two. Where did that habit come from? How long have I been carrying on in such a way? I used to be such a happy child – where has she gone?
The post, as I expected, all rubbish, and since when was the postman delivering circulars and junk mail. The sign on the door says 'NO Junk Mail', but they obviously think that does not apply to them. I heaved a sigh – moan, moan, and moan. And for Pete's sake no one was listening – I wasn't even listening to me but still I carried on. I'm back at that bloody window again. Here comes that ginger cat from next door to sit on the window sill. I give him a fright, I tell you, and he was off quick as a flash. I could see he had already done his business in my newly planted tub. Was this how I was measuring my worth? – what on earth was I coming to? never mind what am I! More money to be wasted on cat pepper - not that the stuff worked – but at least I felt constructive. Oh my! Two of us again: me and that pesky cat.
The man next door who I see now and then told me to boot the cat up the rear end, but that clearly wasn't what his wife would say.Two of them who didn't agree; I didn't want to harm it – just wanted it to use its own garden as a toilet. Lazy people have cats for pets, because they hardly ever have to look after them. The cat could even feed itself by catching birds and mice – the latter I detested. I don't even know when that started but I knew that I had always hated any sort of rodent. I remember living with my nan, and you know what? my nan loved me. She was round as a barrel and very skilled. She taught me how to crochet and how to be nice to people you don't really like. One very clever person and I loved her to bits. When she died I went with my mum to lay her out in the old parlour – is that what made me what I am? Life is so full of oppressing questions.
I remembered moving from my Nan's and we stayed on a house boat in Broxbourne. That's why I live here by the river, it reminds me of dad. Hooray, my subconscious is working – he caught a rat once on the boat and I saw him kill it. That must be why I am so fearful of rodents it ran and ran until Dad got it, and he killed it there and then, Off with his head! The Queen of hearts has now appeared! Now it's me and her. I felt sick – maybe that's what made me squeamish. I can only kill flies, spiders and cockroaches, a human possibly, but certainly not an animal.Maybe that really makes me what I am, my Nan teaching me to be nice to everyone and to always be helpful; people never ever knew if I didn't like them. Mind you I made sure they knew it if I didn't like them a lot.
You would think this window was magnetic, I'm looking out again. 'Oh My God, here comes Rosie.' Quick as a flash I'm behind the curtain; shush, quiet. I hear the gate opening and her footsteps clip clopping down the path. I hold my breath, though I know she can't hear me. The doorbell rings. Why have I gone rigid, see I can't be a lonely soul otherwise I would let her in. Then there would be two of us. Mind you there is desperate for company and desperate for company. I slowly breathe out as I hear Rosie call through the letterbox. Why not just go away? and then all of a sudden she does. I hear the gate rattle as she calls out again. Oh for Pete's sake get lost Rosie! At last she is off, thank God for small mercies.
See I didn't learn from my Nan after all, it wasn't nice to hide from Rosie was it? So Nan didn't make me what I am. Mind you still no answers as to who am I? But do I need to decide what I am first? Right bullet points that's the easy way: female, fifty four, widowed, mother, aunt, grandmother, friend, business owner, driver and traveller. Was I kidding myself again? No I was all those things – yet Rosie could list most of these. Oh heaven help me don't let me be the same as her! Two like Rosie would be too much for this world. Was I kind, generous, polite, helpful, all of those so called character attributes? I feel that I am some of the time but definitely not all of the time. Yet so was Rosie and others I knew. This is so depressing.
Suddenly the penny drops. I know how I am different. With a smile on my face it's time for a break, leaving the window at last and heaving a great big sigh of relief, I put on the espresso machine. Time to reward myself with coffee; at last I am clear as to what I was, am and will be until I can do it no more. I made me what I am and I am fine with that! I understand that it doesn't take two, at least not all of the time.