hendelar

sometimes you just gotta' row

trust never sleeps

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In early spring palette, everything here that isn’t water is either pine-tree green or close shades of beige and, by contrast, the brilliance of its orange feathers flashed the eye like a colored strobe light. I think it was an oriole.

Visual memories are few. Vivid, rust-red hair. Me, in super-hero mode, saving her from being stuck behind the chair in the living room. Being scolded by the nanny for making too much noise and disturbing her sleep. A year younger, she was still taking naps. Maybe, unfortunately.

After the domestic trauma that marked the end of our parent’s relationship, Aunt Jean took us in. To another province, far away. I was 4sh. A complete recount of the story remains untold, or at least unheard by me. Everyone who was there has passed on, is getting on or isn’t talking.

Father in one province, Mother in another, Nancy and I in a third. Subsequently the mother changed her mind about something and the next big thing is that I’m being secreted off by a mother uncle to be taken to the mother province. Just me, no Nancy. She might have been taking a nap and missed the ride. If you’re planning to swipe a couple of kids, for chrissakes, get it right.

Sure, the separation must have been hard for Mother. It most often is when stupid things happen and everyone gets all selfish, as parents are want to do. Some more than others.

There we were, in different provinces. But wait, there’s more. Following the trip, I was encouraged to adopt my middle name to use as my first and any recall of Nancy, my little sister, was encouraged to disappear. More than pictures or phone calls or visits, it was every, any and all reference. Gone. Pfft. She was no longer permitted to exist. Dunno’ how they did it, the adults. They somehow vaporized a little girl whilst transforming me from glh to lgh-i know nothing. People are capable of weird shit. The “loving parents” billing doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with children.

We’ve seen each other twice over the many decades that have passed since. Not awkward. Not anything with a comparative reference. She holds lots of bitterness. I’ve missed her. The mother others, not so much.

A gentle rain has begun and through the window I can see the deer gang hanging around again. They munch moss that grows amongst shale sprouting up through the ground. I find joy in their company yet know I can’t allow a trusting relationship to develop. As much for my protection as theirs.

I’ll keep a hopeful lookout for the oriole.

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Written by glh

April 13, 2011 at 16:32

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