The Things I Remember.

When I think of you, I think of smiles and cartoons. I remember sitting with you and watching patiently as the cat chased the mouse or as the, talking, singing cats tried to find their way home. You liked apple sauce and fresh cream. I like cranberry sauce, and cream that comes squirted from a can.  You hated newspapers, and liked to wear the same jumper in till it smelt too bad for company. I work in the media now and am partial to clean clothes.     

It snowed a lot in your world that I remember, and it was snowing that day. I had a dry stale taste of tea in my throat, and I had been crying. I had the tear salt on my lips to prove it, and when I closed my eyes I could see colours and patterns moving in the darkness.  You told me to keep my eyes shut for as long as I needed. After an hour or more we sat together in your window watching the grass slowly disappear while eating marble cake. These are the things I remember.

I wouldn’t say we had beautiful genes, you and I. At least I can blame you for this; I’m unsure who you blamed for us not being more attractive. Probably a mother from way back when. I liked your voice and hair, and when you smiled. You were smiling that day. You smelt like camp fire and dirt, it was a good smell. My eyes, you said, would get me noticed. They never have, but I think it’s just because no one see’s them like you saw them.  

I wonder if you’d be proud, and then I stop myself from thinking. I don’t like to think of what if when it comes to you. I like to think that everyone has their own theme tune; mine would be something from the 80’s, a little bit cheesy. Yours would have been classic and old. We listened to a blues song on that day. I remember you as being old and me as being young. I had a pet goldfish that I liked to take with me wherever I went, like a pet dog but he was a fish called fish, and no one ever told me that you weren’t suppose to love a goldfish quite so much. They’re not built for travel, but we sat him in your window, to watch the snow with us.

You made me laugh, and hugged me close when the sky fell dark and the hour was bedtime for people under the age of ten.  I wanted stories of evil queens and brave servants, of girls trapped down wishing wells. You liked stories of real people and family, of the world and my place within it. I liked the flowered wall paper in my bedroom and the night-light by my bed.  You stayed with me, by my side in till I feel asleep, and then you left. These are the things I remember.

 

 

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About Rebecca Windsor

I'm an actor and writer living in London. View all posts by Rebecca Windsor

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