So last night, I had some strong childhood memories rushing in my head….
I remember summer nights, a light scent of hay in the air. Bugs dancing all around, and the softness of herbs on my skin. I remember the wind swirling in my nightgown, as I took a ride on my swing.
I remember Wednesdays, the smell of cinnamom wafels as I came back from school.
I remember the recess, and the paved playground, that soon became my own univerese. I was a flying unicorn, stretching my wings away from the bullies. They could make me cry, but they'd never catch me.
I remember my begging for friendship, and the slap in return.
I remember the attic, my fear of crossing the two first rooms, dark and dusty, rooftiles whitened by lurking cobwebs. Then my relief as i entered the last attic room, all white and heaten by the sunshine, scents of dust and oil paitings. That's when I would start to browse my dad's charcoal drawings, dreaming away at his farms, landscapes or mountain views.
I remember being alone, never fitting in. Dressed as the underdog. Swirling skirts when Burlington and Benetton were the fashion codes.
I remember the glasses and the braces, the laughters and the naughty comments. "Serpent à lunettes" was my nickname at that time…
I remember that guy on his motorbike. Asking my name, then following me home. The cold sweat of my back while, in my innoncence, I sensed he wasn't wishing me any good. I remember my speeding down the country road to my house, my coming home in a rush. Falling in my bed, saying nothing, waiting my heart to pace down. "Is everything okay?", I heard my mother asking. "I'm fine, Mom" I aswered. Not too sure what I had escaped, but certain I did. And until that day, my fears remaining.
I remember my singing in solo for the first time, during a choir rehearsal. My friend pushing me on the back, towards the others and the unknown. "yes she got that nice voice". My little revenge against "them". But still no trust allowed.
I remember my dad working in the stable. Lots of wood and tools. I remember the damp and the cold. Then, when my babbling around would be enough, he would gently send me out with a toy boat he made for me. Only two or three pieces of wood, roughly put together, and I brought it outside and floating in the rainwater tub.
I remember my playing around. Dressed in my mom clothes, I was a princess or a warrior. I could invent a whole bunch of "friends" around, talking with them as if they were real. The game stopped at dinner time, then resumed again. Was I living in dream or reality anyway? I still can remember most of the stories I was in. Soldier in devastated unknown cities (the farm buildings , and their many doors were fitting allright), I rode my horse, holding my blade tight. Horse and weapon were plain wooden branch, but wtf? They were so real to me…
I remember the geese and the chicken in the courtyard.. I remember the blood in my dad's axe, and my silently watching the ordeal. I remember when, their heads cut off and the blood spilling, my dad would hold them tight, until they had completely stopped moving. I remember the smell of their bodies drowned in hot water, the smell of dust, feather and warm flesh I remember the weight of their dead bodies , as I hung the in my hands, firmly gripping them by the legs, their dead meat dangling in front of me, as I was bringing them to my mom in the kitchen.
I remember my playing with the chairs in the lounge, transforming them into improbable spaceships…
I remember walking around the house, holding a mirror that reflected the ceiling. Then I would pretend I could only see the reflexion, and would giggle at my disorientation.
I remember the spanking, when I was being wicked.
I remember riding on my bike, the roar it made when i put playing cards between the wheels. The late evening light, and the feeling of emptiness. Not a soul, not a passer-by.
I remember the winters, and the snow falling in such thick layers that it obliged me to stay home for a week… Back then our house would be secluded in the countryside, only at a few kilometers from the city, but seeming abandoned or untouched by civilization.
I remember how I loved French classes and how I hate mathematics. Calculus would always have me cry.
I remember how I hated PE classes. My fear of gymnastic devices, the pain when I fell of them, and the teacher laughing at me.
I remember how we used to roam around the HS buildings, during recess ( I was in the same school for both Elementary and HighSchool ). Of course, no one could stay in the building during lunch. That's why it was so thrilling to lurk around the empty halls. I rember one day my friend and I were caught by the Janitor. As my friend started to cry, I firmly explain to the man that we lost ourselves while searching for the lavatories. Then he gently showed us the way. And saved us from detention…
I remember the quarrels, my always getting into some fuss, for one reason or another.
I remember always ranking first in poetry. I mean we had to learn little poems by heart, then perform in front of the class. I was someone else's away from my ugly body. I could mesmerize them by my voice. I could outsmart them at last. And they could not strike back at me.
I remember I was a somewhat quiet kid when being amongst adults. Always behaving, never fussing. I remember I could laugh so hard about little nothings, that even my mom would laugh to.
I remember staying alone at home, when my parents had to go out. I remember I could pretend dying, or being in serious danger. One day, pretending I had lost everything, I made myself actually cry.
I remember I never played with dolls.
I remember that the first day I had to wear bra's was a real catastrophy. Have you ever seen a fearless knight wearing a bra?
I remember how everything changed when I went to highschool. How every kids seemed to have grown up, while I was stuck in my fantasy world. I would never giving in, though.
I remember every single events as if it was yesterday....
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