Goodbye

8:04pm

I will describe what happened as accurately as I can.

 

I didn’t know her name. I almost died when I realised how stupid I’d been. But it didn’t matter in the end.

I was standing outside the front gate near the buses, trying to keep out of earshot of the other waiting parents, when she appeared. There were two lines of children following a teacher escorting them to the buses, she was somewhere in the middle of the line. I couldn’t back away, I knelt down and as the lines passed, gently tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around quickly, surprised, I knew she would be anxious not to miss the bus, so I walked in the same direction, and spoke quickly. By now the adrenalin had taken over, I couldn’t afford to be nervous, it was as if I had run out of nervousness anyway. I asked her if her mum was Monica. She looked hesitantly at me, she didn’t recognise me. But she said yes all the same. I then told her that Monica had asked me to pick her up. She stopped. She looked back at the teacher in front of the line who was now shepherding the children through the bus doors, and back at me. She was very small.

“But aren’t I meant to catch the bus?”

I wanted to tell her everything then and there. I told her that the bus was going somewhere else today, and that her mum was working, so she needed me to take her home. Though she looked slightly nervous, this seemed to convince her. I was so relieved.

I led her to my car, she sat in the back seat. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

My anxiety had returned, I sat down in the drivers seat and almost dropped my keys trying to start the car. I drove away from the curb, in front of the still-loading bus and was silent for a few seconds. I couldn’t speak.

She broke the silence herself, “Are you sure this is the right way?”

I wanted desperately for her not to be scared, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what to say. Somehow I must have assumed she would understand what was happening.

She started to fidgit, “Um, I think you’re going the wrong way.”

“Don’t you remember me?” I finally blurted out

“What?”

“I’m the man from the bookshop, remember? We talked?”

“What bookshop?”

“You don’t — you don’t remember? You.. you talked to me, you don’t remember?” I stammered, she could sense that I was uneasy. I could see it making her uncomfortable. For a second she glanced around the car, then looked back at me, she still seemed nervous but she was calming herself.

“Oh yeah, actually, I think so.” She had no memory of me. Maybe she was just being polite, she wanted me to settle down too. She was trying not to make Me less anxious. There was another silence.

“Sorry what was your name?”

“Sophie.” Her name was Sophie.

“Um, ok, Sophie, there’s.. something important I need to tell you,” I started, she was looking at her legs. I was circling the suburb, I couldn’t really concentrate on any particular destination.

“You see, I’m… well, I’m your dad.” How did I ever think that would be the best way to start?

She looked up suddenly, and stared at me curiously for a few moments. I must’ve sounded so damn stupid.

“No you’re not.” she said, confused

“Well, the man you live with, you see, he isn’t actually your dad. Your real dad is, me.”

“Nah. You’re not my dad.”

My mind was scrambling, I wasn’t thinking in a straight line any more.

“Wouldn’t you rather be with someone who… You can come and live with me, you don’t have to stay at home.”

“What? But I want to go home.”

“But I’m your real dad!”

“I don’t know who you are.

 . . . Why are you crying?”

 

“Because… I’m very… very stupid”

There was a long pause, I’d stopped the car.

“Sorry.”

“No it’s not… don’t worry, it’s not your fault”

“I’m sorry you’re not my dad.” I couldn’t look at her. “I can’t go with you now, I have to go home. Maybe I can be your friend instead?” She wanted me to stop crying. I begged her to forgive me.

 

I drove Sophie home.

 

I caught a glimpse of Monica when I dropped her off. I’m sure she saw her get out of my car. It doesn’t matter any more.

Sophie said we could be friends.

She doesn’t need to worry any more. I will never bother her again.

I will never bother anyone again.

Matthew Nicolas Parr

Panic

2:34pm

I am waiting outside her school for class to finish. It is a Monday, so she would usually catch the bus home by herself. The school bell will ring at 3:05 and the children catching the bus will come out at around 3:15. I am parked a few metres behind the bus stop, I managed to get a good spot, I arrived about an hour ago. I will meet her before she reaches the bus, and I will tell her that I am here to take her home. That I am a friend of her parents.

I’ve never been so anxious. I have been wiping the sweat off my palms on the sides of the car seat for about 20 minutes now. This is it. I can’t believe I’m actually going through with it. I know exactly what I’m going to do, I’ve gone over it a million times, but I still can’t see myself actually doing it. But I’m here. I’m writing now to take my mind off it.

I feel so criminal, it’s like all those ‘don’t ride with strangers’ warnings from back at school. Damn I’m hyperventilating. But this is different, this isn’t abduction, this is freedom. She wants to talk to me, she made that clear I remember, but she doesn’t know how important it really is for us to meet again.

This is destiny, I can’t do anything else, there’s nowhere else for me to go. I have to talk to her. This impending conversation is one I’ve had countless times over in my mind, for weeks now. There’s a lifetime of things I want to say, things she must know, things she’d want to know. Eventually we can make up for all the time we’ve been apart; this is the first step. She doesn’t have to suffer any more, she will find this out soon.

My hands are shaking so typing is becoming difficult. Ok maybe if I stop thinking about it I’ll calm down.

Exile

10:41

I am currently on my laptop. I have been sleeping in the car for a couple of days now.

Jo kicked me out.

 

 

It’s been hard to post, I haven’t been able to find a decent internet connection.. also I didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t make any progress in the job hunting, there were a lot of “sorry to inform you” calls.. this didn’t go down well with Joanne. I don’t know how long she was planning on doing it. It might have just been a spur of the moment thing. I don’t know all the reasons either, maybe the whole job thing had a lot to do with it. Maybe not. Maybe there’s another man, a rich and handsome lawyer friend. Maybe they’ve been planning this together. Her father could’ve had something to do with it, I wouldn’t be surprised. I don’t really know.

Whether it was part or all of the reason, I do know what set it off.

 

 

She found the photos.

I don’t know how, she wouldn’t say. They were stashed at the bottom of one of my drawers, one of the few parts of the house Jo never attempted to tidy. Maybe she stumbled upon them while looking for something else. Maybe she was looking for them.

It led to a number of very exasperated and awkward questions. She remained in control of herself for the most part, she raised her voice a few times. It was a bad idea to tell her not to shout.

She asked me where I got the photos, what I’d been doing. She asked me who I was. I couldn’t think of a reply. She called me a pedophile. Then she kicked me out.

I am Not a pedophile.

 

 

 

 

 

I took this photo the other day. It was a terrible storm, and sitting alone in a parked car, I really felt it. But then the sun started to set, and the sky looked like it was on fire. It was beautiful. It wasn’t until a bit later that I realised why this had uplifted me; it was a feeling of hope. When everything is coming crashing down, and the day is ending, something beautiful and amazing can still emerge as a result.

This girl, my daughter, is all I have left now. I can’t think of anything else worth living for.

I have never felt more alone, and yet I have never had so much hope. I have a drive that keeps me going, I am calmed by her now, I know what I must do. Somehow, being out here, sleeping in the car, in her street, waking up to the sunrise in the morning, has freed me from the hesitation and constraint I felt before.

I have nothing to lose. Nothing that I value anyway. I look at this photo now and I know I have the strength to finally approach her.

Parr

Witness

 

 

1:22pm 

It was a friday, she was wearing her sports uniform.

I waited almost an hour before she came, no one was walking her home.

I couldn’t keep it on when I started to cry.

Love and pride

7:54pm

I have something now that I think may help people understand, I will try to upload it tomorrow.

The wife has kicked up a fuss. A number of issues about employment have been raised and apparently I’ve been distracted and ‘wasting a lot of time’ over the past couple of weeks. Things have been going fairly slow for a while I’ll admit but I still don’t have any idea how she could suspect me of being ‘distracted’. I haven’t exactly seen her all that much lately, so it’s probably nothing; I’m not going to jump to conclusions. The outcome was though, that I get a job or two on the side while things are… slow. The last few days have been fairly busy. I hate job interviews, there is not one thing I like about them. But if it keeps Jo off my back then it’s worth it, I guess. Though I can’t help but feel completely useless during the whole process. I doubt I’ll even get a place at Coles.. actually I think I walked out of that interview.

The only thing sustaining me through this week of hell has been the girl. I’ve come to accept that she is my daughter. There is no escaping it, once the thought took hold I couldn’t shake it. I should’ve known, I should’ve found out a long time ago, not in this way.

But knowing now is such a wonderful feeling, to think that such a perfect child could have come from me. She gives me so much hope; that there is a part of me that she represents. Maybe once upon a time I was more like her. This is what I could have been.

But it didn’t last. Purity like this should not have to be lost, but I can see the same things from my childhood happening to her. I don’t want her to turn out the way I did. If I have a chance to save my girl I will.

She is the only thing left in me that I am proud of.

I remember the boyfriend Monica had in Year 10, 1991. Jarred White, a thug with no brains. He didn’t know my name, but he wouldn’t have cared anyway. I’d always thought Monica was too good for the kind of trash she dated. I caught him making out with another girl after class one day, no one knew, I was too scared to tell. He wouldn’t have made a good father.

I have been returning to the house when I can, and in doing so I’ve noticed a few things. I’ve noticed that the man on most nights arrives home quite late, presumably he works long hours, but you never know. How someone could stand to be away from his family so much, away from this girl, I can’t understand. There is another child too, a baby, though I have only seen it once. That one must be his own.

I also noticed one night, shouting coming from inside the house, it sounded like a man’s voice. Sometimes my girl comes home with bandages on her knees.

I was almost surprised, somehow I didn’t really expected my suspicions to be so accurate. I had never been sure about this girl’s suffering, and I’ll admit I suspected myself of jumping to conclusions early on. But here it is, Monica has lived up to her reputation and married another dickhead.

It makes me so angry to think about it, and so isolated too. Maybe he knows that she isn’t his daughter, maybe he’s angry at Monica, and me, someone he’s never even met, and he takes it out on the child. He has no right to do that, I’d much rather it be me who is suffering.

I can’t help but think of my own father. I cannot let her turn out like me. She’s been so strong to maintain such a purity for so long, there is a strength in her that I didn’t have. But I know she needs me now. I understand that the life I could give her would only be marginally better than the one she has now, but at least she would be with someone who truly loves her, and that may make all the difference.

But then I hit a wall. Although I have learnt much over the past week, every time I return brings with it a greater sense of helplessness. The more I think about helping this girl, the more fantastic my imaginings become, and the more I realise how foolish and impossible my desires are. I assume that perhaps tomorrow will hold the answer, it never does, and so each day feels wasted. I want very much to hold this girl in my arms, to tell her I love her, that I will protect her. But I don’t know how.

Regrouping

2:42pm

Maybe I’m not sure about what I’m doing.

I’ll admit that the comment made on my last post shook me somewhat. I was going to post again sooner but… yeah, I dunno.

I’ve been feeling a bit stupid. I guess I’ve just assumed that I could write down these things and that whoever I was supposedly writing to would somehow understand. Or maybe, stupidly, I’d just forgotten that people might hear me anyway.

But people don’t care, people don’t naturally care or want to understand I think. Adults aren’t naturally compassionate. They have to have a good reason to be, and even then they change their minds. I think a child is different. Or, I think This child might be different. The world would be a happier place otherwise… as it stands I don’t think people understand children properly. I know she couldn’t judge me like that.

I regret that it is impossible to communicate what this girl means, to people who lack the will or capacity to understand. And I shouldn’t worry about it.

There is nothing wrong or sick about a father trying to reach his daughter.

Ruminations

5:02pm

I drove to her house again this morning. The trip felt more real this time, which unnerved me for some reason. I ended up falling asleep quite late last night and slept through the alarm I’d set, arriving a little after 9am. There was no one at home.

It was a little frustrating and I spent the rest of the day trying to suppress the impatient anticipation I had of returning.

I went back around 2:30 in the afternoon and waited again in my car. It did feel different to yesterday. Then, I was caught up in the excitement of the moment and the awe of my discovery, as if I was meant to be there. This time, as I sat in my car, sitting low so as not to be seen, I felt a little stupid, guilty almost.

I’ve noticed in public people are looking at me. It’s just paranoia, but they all act as if I’m foolish. Who cares if I’ve been down that aisle three times because I can’t find the cheese? It’s not their business. But I have noticed that most people are stuck up in one way or another. Most adults anyway.

So it was very comforting to remember the reason I was there, I’d almost forgotten. This girl may well need my help, and I was going to find out why.

I just sat there for a while, dwelling on this. Soon I turned on the radio to pass the time. A car rounded the corner into the street at 3:25.

It caught me off guard, I hadn’t noticed or remembered this car from yesterday, but it must have been parked in the driveway in front of the station wagon. It stopped at the house. A man in his mid thirties stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was quite tall, dark hair, and not bad looking I guess. But he had something about him I didn’t quite trust. The sort of person you look at and can assume they wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with you in school. The man made his way around the car and opened one of the back doors.

I got the first good look at her since that day. The contrast between her and this man was gorgeous. She looked like I had remembered, except her hair was tied back and she was wearing a tiny school uniform. The dark green school bag she carried was almost as big as she was. She had a wide rimmed hat that hung back around her neck by a chord. She looked tired.

At that moment I felt the greatest urge to run out and hug her, talk to her, at least let her see me, so she’d know I hadn’t forgotten. But I couldn’t. I was trapped behind the unlocked doors of my own car.

It was then I realised that if I was going to help this girl, I had no idea how to go about it. But this thought swiftly made room for a new revelation. Something which, I must admit, has been a possibility weighing upon my mind ever since I first saw Monica in the bookshop.

I knew Monica before the party 7 years ago, she went to my high school. I don’t know if Jo ever knew this… actually I’m not even sure Monica did. What I hope neither of them knew is that I had a crush on Monica for a long time, it was a familiar situation, she liked bigger and better things. I was ready to forget about her after high school finished, and I was largely successful. But then she showed up that night, and I remembered very easily. She had had a lot to drink. I must have had even more. To be honest I can’t remember much about that night at all, but I have reason to believe something happened. Something out of character.

And now there is this girl. And I can see a remarkable resemblance. She’s the right age. So many things fit.

And she just happens to embody for me everything good left in the world. This possibility is so absurd, so incredible that even if it was real I don’t know if I could ever truly believe it. The thought of it fills me with a joy so great I could forget everything in this world just to consider it. She would love me, and I would love her, we should live together and never again lament the world. And it fills me with a terrible horror to consider everything it may mean. If she was my daughter, what on earth would I do? How would people react? How would I react? Could I live knowing this? And the thought also fills me with an overwhelming anger. How dare she exist without me knowing. How dare Monica, Monica and this fool she’s married. How dare everything and everyone keep us apart when we need each other so much?

But this is just speculation. I cannot think about this. I wont think about this.

I am more certain now that whatever problem this child is suffering from lies with her parents. I don’t trust this ‘father’ of hers. I wonder if he realises how lucky he is to be so close to this girl. I doubt it.

Monica returned later, I left when I saw her car. If they notice me my chances would drop greatly.

I will return, and I will find out more about this girl, I won’t give up on her. Though I do not know what I can do now, I’m sure that with time the answer will come to me.

I thank the internet for being so easy to talk to. I feel as though I can speak so much more confidently here than anywhere else, and I need that.

Parr

I Found Her!

12:15 am

Haha hello!

I still can’t believe it, but this is what happened.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was having coffee by myself in the shopping centre, not far from the bookshop. I’ve been hanging around there almost every day for a week now, making excuses to myself about how good the coffee is.

At first I thought it was just another false alarm, there have been so many I’d become less and less excited each time. She was pushing a trolley full of grocery filled plastic bags toward the car park entrance. I probably would have missed her if she hadn’t stopped to answer her phone. It was Monica.

She almost looked directly at me. I didn’t move for a few seconds, it was such a shock, seeing her appear like that. My mind was racing, but she was almost through the door, she had started walking again. I did the only thing I could think of, and I’m glad I did. I followed her, I ran.

I kept out of sight through the car park, keeping a reasonable distance when I realised; when she reached her car, I was going to lose her. My own car was at least a minute’s walk from her, on the other side and a floor down. I panicked, then moved toward the steps leading to the lower floor, the whole time keeping her in my sight. If I could see where her car was I may be able to quickly race down to my own and bring it up so I could follow her out. She should take enough time loading those groceries.

I had to move away from the stairs to keep sight of her, but she eventually reached her car. I waited to make sure it was the right one, a white station wagon, then sprinted back to the stairs into the lower level. I really need to work on my fitness. I reached my car in under a minute, out of breath, I quickly moved toward the car park ramp leading to the upper floor. But that’s not where I ended up, I thought I knew this car park well enough, but in my rush I had taken the wrong ramp. I was on Green Level, I needed Blue, the one below. I may have driven a little too fast at this point, screeching through a turn and narrowly missing a bunch of adolescents – who swore at me. By the time I made it to Blue Level she was gone. That woman sure can pack groceries. I felt sick.

I made my way to the exit, I was honking my horn at the cars waiting in line to move through the ticket barriers when I realised what I was looking at. I had been so fixated on the cars a few ahead that I had completely ignored the white station wagon sitting directly in front of me. I couldn’t believe my luck. I shrunk in my seat, hoping she wouldn’t turn around and see me, if she hadn’t already. I shouldn’t have used the horn.

The rest of the trip was much easier, though my adrenaline was still high. I managed to stay a car or two behind her for the entire time which, to my surprise and relief, must have lasted only around 5 minutes, though it seemed like much longer. It felt a bit like a movie, where I was a detective, more excitement than I’d had in a long time. The best moment was when she pulled up at her house, I took a hard look at it before moving further up and parking in a side street. She lived so close to me! This whole time she was at most about 20 minutes drive from my house. I had already figured they lived on the North Shore when I saw them in the local shopping centre.

It was a pretty, little street, close enough to some ‘main’ roads but still quite secluded. Most houses were double storey and the entire place was covered in trees. The sort of suburb who’s warm and welcoming exterior belies the tired and selfish personal lives of those hidden behind the vine covered walls.

When I was satisfied that enough time had passed for Monica to have gone inside I moved the car around to sit outside the house, on the opposite side of the street. I put the car into park, pulled on the hand brake and turned off the engine.. and suddenly felt very static. I sat low in the car, and just stared at the house. It was after school hours, she was probably inside. I must have been about 50 metres away from her, and she didn’t even know I was here. Waves of excitement washed over me and I just sat there, letting them come, not needing to do anything. For the first time in over a week, I felt no shame in being perfectly, still.

I took down the address, though there was no way I’m going to forget this place. I felt such an overwhelming sense of achievement, I’m still trying to prove to myself that I had actually made it, that it wasn’t just an ambitious dream. Writing it down helps.

Then I saw her.

It was just for the tiniest, most delicate moment, she flashed into view through the front window and was gone again. But it was enough. Everything I felt the first time I saw her came flooding back. I had forgotten the unfamiliar power of her presence, which I could feel even from this distance. She had been my best friend for those 10 minutes over a week ago but I felt now like I had known her my whole life. I remembered how she had restored my faith in people, and I cursed myself for not being able to hold on to that feeling for longer. It was over an hour before I left.

This is the second time she has revived me. I know I will go back as soon as I can. I haven’t been able to go to sleep tonight either, but now I don’t mind. Now there is hope.

Parr

The Deadest End

1:18am

It has been a long day. I need to get this out and then I’m going to bed.

There were a few reasons why I didn’t want to ask Jo about Monica.. I didn’t want to let her know about the girl firstly, there’d be no way around having to explain everything to her. So I guess I’m embarrassed, but you can’t talk to people about stuff like this can you. The other reasons for my reluctance were more personal.

Anyway I figured I had an alternative. If Jo had invited Monica to her party all those years ago, she would’ve had her address and phone number, simple enough, they were friends. I checked our family phone book.. It took a frustrating while to find, but eventually it turned up, in Jo’s bedside table drawers.

Of course it was only when I started looking through it that I realised I didn’t know Monica’s last name, and in a book that is alphabetised according to surname I was easily lost. So I went through the entire list. Somehow this didn’t bother me, I felt like I was at least doing something worthwhile and I couldn’t stop anyway, even if I did feel that background pang of guilt that I should be doing something else. I looked through every entry, even the ones that were crossed out, most of the people in it I’d never heard of, and there are only a few entries in my handwriting; mum, dad, george. I didn’t recognise their phone numbers.

I found one Monica straight away; Butt. My heart leapt. Nervous to call the number, I went through the rest of the phonebook, a second Monica appeared before I could finish; Teplitzky. Damn. One of them must be the wrong person. What would I say when I rang that person? What would I say when I rang the right Monica? I took down both the numbers and sat on my bed with the phone in my hand, staring into space. My pulse was drumming in my ears. Maybe I had remembered her name wrong, it had been a long time.. But I was so damn sure. I couldn’t think of what to say when I rang, I hate phone calls.

I thought of the girl, this made it a little easier. If there was any chance of me seeing her again, here it was. I dialled the first number, without a clue as to how this would work out. What would I say?..”Hi, do you happen to be the mother of the most amazing child I’ve ever met?” I called the first number, it was a mobile. A slightly croaky female voice answered the phone, she sounded like an old woman, not a good sign. She must’ve been one of Jo’s clients, as she recognised that I was calling from the number of her lawyer straight away. After I explained that I was not my wife, having to repeat myself a number of times, I deduced that this woman must be hundreds of years old. I hung up on her, feeling guilty and embarrassed.

It had to be the second number, I braced myself. A man answered, his voice was strong with an edge of impatience. “Hello, could I please speak to Monica?” I asked politely, so this must be the man she married. The drumming in my ears grew louder. “Yes hang on. May I ask who’s calling?” He said it more as an order than a question, and it took me completely off guard. What could I say? This was them! The girl was probably in the same house at this moment! I suddenly realised I hadn’t said anything, I mumbled something incoherent into the phone, hoping he’d ignore the reply and pass on the phone. He didn’t, and what he said next almost killed me. “Why do you want my daughter?”

I was terrified. How could he know? How could he know I wanted to see his daughter? Did Monica see us in the store together after all? Did they know the number I was calling from? I was about to hang up when I heard a voice in the background. “Dad? Who is it? It’s for me isn’t it? Give me the phone.” It was a young girl’s voice, but she didn’t sound 6 years old. The phone was pinned to my ear, I didn’t want to miss any of this. There was some cluttered noise, the sound of phone switching hands. A loud voice made me take the phone away from my ear, “Helloo Monica speaking! Sorry about dad, who’s talking?”

What was this? I was so confused. My mind raced. This was Monica. This was the man’s daughter. So the man must be the child’s grandfather, not her dad. I had to be sure. “Hi, I’m just doing a survey,” great way to start idiot, now she’ll hang up, “and I was just wondering… how old you are.” I’d come this far and I’d messed up my alias. But, for better or worse, she replied anyway “Ummm, what? I’m 13, what are you-” I hung up.

I sat on the bed for a while thinking about what had just happened. It took me this while to work it out. It was only when I saw the letters ‘GD’ next to the name in the phonebook, and vaguely recalled Jo having been made godmother to a girl named Monica about 4 years ago, that I understood. I believe it was at this point I punched a lampshade – the lamp fell over and I had to stand it back up again, hope it isn’t broken. I remember the christening, who christens a girl who’s 9 years old? Thought that only happened to babies.. the service was very boring, and I didn’t know anyone there. The dad was some old friend of Jo’s from high school, I haven’t seen the couple since, I guess that was him on the phone. The whole thing is stupid, and I never understood why she was made godmother anyway, just because her family is Christian.. she doesn’t even like kids.

I was thinking about this to distract myself from what I didn’t want to face. I hadn’t found the child. No clues, nothing. Why wasn’t Monica in the phonebook? Jo must have severed ties with her a long time ago. A Long time ago, the book is very old, I don’t remember ever having had another phonebook, this one has been with us since we married.. about 6 years ago. She couldn’t have simply forgotten to put in her name, at least not if they had stayed friends. So they must’ve had a fight or something between the time of the party and our wedding. I have a few theories about that. Gah, why is looking back on these things so nauseating?

My only alternative then was to ask Jo herself when she got home from work. And now I knew this would be an even touchier subject than I had originally thought. It was around 3pm, I had spent most of the day, but I’d still have to wait at least another 7 or more hours until she got home. The knot in my stomach that had been growing over the last few days had just become painful. I remembered then one of the reasons I had been feeling guilty earlier; I hadn’t done the budget.

My wife likes to have a budget planned annually and for every individual month, I guess to make sure I don’t waste her money.. Normally she’d do it but apart from other reasons, I thought this time it would give me something to take my mind of everything until she got home.

It didn’t take me long to remember why I never do this. After a few hours of sitting at a table with a blank piece of lined paper in front of me, making frequent trips to the fridge, this was the result.

 

Maths has never been my strongpoint and I was terrible at it in school.. parents made me keep at it though, instead of art. Also I just realised I’ve misspelt budget.. I wasn’t too good in English either.

I’m embarrassed by this image, for so many reasons. For everything that it implies. And I’m ashamed that I felt the need to put it up here too. That’s what she looked like in the bookshop that day.

My wife arrived home around 11pm, she was tired. We greeted each other and I watched her silently for a few minutes while she settled herself into the house. I knew she wouldn’t waste much time before she went to bed so I had to ask her soon, she’d be gone again by the time I woke up tomorrow. I followed her into the bedroom, I had put away the phonebook back where I’d found it, she wasn’t to know I was doing anything out of the ordinary.

Eventually (and my heart must have felt like it’d run a marathon after today) I put all my reservations behind me and casually asked if she remembered having a friend called Monica.. dangerous waters. She was getting into bed, “Might’ve, at one stage? I don’t know, why? I’m really tired.” she said something like that. “Oh no reason really, just had a silly thought. Goodnight.” I said something like that. And that was it.

She didn’t know or she didn’t want to tell me. Either way I wasn’t going to get a conversation out of it, let alone a phone number or address. I then went to the computer, to find some way to deal with my defeat. I had realised after the phone calls that there was little hope, and now there is none.

I may never know this girl. You would think with the coincidence of recognising her mother I would be allowed a chance, but there it is. She’s as out of reach to me as anyone, and I’m feeling again the way I did a few days ago, as if the one person I could talk to in the world, the one person who mutually completes me, has been cut off from me forever. It’s almost like the world is conspiring to keep us apart, a world that laughs at me while holding her above its head.

It’s been more than 2 hours since my wife went to sleep, and I’m getting quite tired. Wow I wrote a lot, I really did need to get that out, I guess I feel a little better. But this is the end, this is all, I don’t know how I could have more to say after this, she’s gone and I’m back where I started. Though I’m probably better off this way, maybe I can stop thinking about her, forget all of this and start sleeping properly again. So I wont post any more, there wouldn’t be any point if I did and it wouldn’t help me. That said, I don’t see how I’m going to forget, I may heal one day, but I surely wont forget.

Parr

Doing the right thing

9:09am

I shouldn’t have started this blog, it was foolish.

Why did she have come to me? I know I’m reading too much into this, I keep telling myself. I also know that whenever I tell myself that, it’s because I’m scared. It’s always the bloody same. I’m scared of taking the action I know I should take, and I’m scared about not knowing whether I should take the action at all. But she came to me, and that is what is important. If she wanted help, and she could only get it from me, what kind of person would I be to refuse? I don’t know what kind of person I am, but I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least find out more. Of all the times I’ve missed opportunities or been too afraid to do what I needed to, this time I wouldn’t just be hurting myself. I have to find this girl. It is the right thing to do.

I have a head start. Monica was at that party 7 years ago, with any luck my wife still has her address.