Its 1983 and I'm home from school sitting cross legged on the carpet in my perfect place, where I could sky watch all night long, and the autumn sun rays shone through the branches of our front garden blossom tree, into our living room, illuminating a patch of carpet where I believed a whole other world existed. Call me crazy, a lot of people do, but I used to truly believe there were other tiny worlds on each carpet strand. Complete with microscopic creatures or miniscule humans like Fairies. All living in fluffy homes with pets and pretty clothes.
A wide sunbeam would light up the specks of dust giving a brown sipea tinge, and I would try to catch each one in my tiny hands whilst I sat counting until you came home each evening.
My older brother told me that dust is just old human skin, mainly from the dead, in his attempt for me to stop breathing, but it just made me want it more. I wanted to breathe in each person's history as a part of me - maybe then I wouldn't feel so alone.
The scent of our old sofa, the glass corner that housed your whisky and Café Creme cigars. I'd trace the pattern for hours of the embroidered vines, their flowers and leaves that were immortalised under the pane. Destined to remain as the day of manufacture. Dark green, homely, comforting.
The surrounding fabric that faded with the daylight and all the New Years Eve parties that my parents threw, filling my sunken heart with a helium like euphoria
Those that I tried but failed to count down the days for
Where the adults would age backwards
Just for a few hours
Forget they had husbands, wives and young children
And my brain would fizz with an uncapped frenzied elation, from the smoke filled lights and music, that would bewray my constant sadness
The turntable blaring out ABBA, Billy Joel, Meatloaf, sounds of the sixties and all the music I now associate with happiness.
Our mothers swaying to Dancing Queen, nostalgic sadness seeping from their white wine eyes and aging skin. But oh they were so beautiful.
Me and my best friend would creep down from my bedroom and hide under the party table which was clothed in a long, crisp white Christmas fabric. We'd steel nuts, sausage rolls, fizzy pop and half eaten pork pies.
Dressed as Mickey and Minney mouse in our reversible sweat tops so indicative of the 80s
I knew right then, that my life would be altered by substances and acquaintances of the night
How I adored the chaos, the energy, the laughter and looseness of it all. Everyone smoked back then, completely care free and drank whatever was lying around, blissfully unaware that it would catch up with them one day, everything always does, in the end.
Our liquor cabinet had the most intoxicating scent.
When no one was around, I'd stick my head in and sit with my face pressed up against the bottles. I loved all the bright labels and colours. I would pick up the crystal glasses one by one and pretend to sip all ladylike the way they did in films, my little finger held out as i mimed imaginary conversations.
"How do you do?"
"Yes I enjoyed the show immensely"
"I'd just love to host next year's party, do come"
I felt so grown up.
But an average evening saw me sat upon your knee, swinging my 7 year old legs, blissfully happy and loving you as fiercely as I feared you. You'd make my puppets come alive and i really believed.
I still do.
You were magic to me. I adored you.
It's a Wednesday night, which was MAS*H night and in 1983 the final episode played with 105.9 million watching. Too young in years to appreciate the tear in your eye, I watched blissfully unaware, just so happy to be sat up late with the adults.
I'd give anything to go back to that night, just for a few minutes. I'd warn you that in just a few years everything would end. That both our worlds would dissolve and within the sediment, a great heartbreak would settle in and live unwanted forever.
That we needed to spend every second together making memories.
Oh the innocence of it.
I'm sitting here now, thinking about that night, about my fears, about our sofa and about you.
As Hawkeye and the Korean war fills my screen night after night, my eyes fill with you.
What happened to us?
Why did you let go of my hand?
The saddest day of my entire life
But I never stopped loving you, not for a single heart beat and I'm grateful for these memories that fill my pages, meaningless to anyone else, but meaning the world to me.
Some say you don't deserve my love.
They say you were less than a father.
I'm ashamed to say that i don't often defend you.
But I declare it here, now.
On this page right this second
That you were everything I could've dreamed of
That the first eleven years of my life were so much more than I can ever articulate.
And how much I thank you for being my daddy...
I missed you
I miss you still.