Sunday

Sunday

            - late August 2012









It was an awful night's sleep, prevented by a strange feeling of dread about literally nothing.



Whatever. I'm up.



Cold coffee; Its always there, never hot.



I can tell how late I've slept in from it. Freezing; its pretty late.



11am

Brain clicks into gear and I remember what the events of the day are: A 'Naming Ceremony'.



Sounds to me like a new ship being given a name.



In fact its what atheists call a Christening or at least their version, performed by a member of the community.



Like a builder?



Ha, I like that idea, reciting strictly secular verses with brick dust on his hands and a tool belt at his side.



The font could be a cement mixer.



12pm

in the car, the smell of dog remains, we don't have one but the previous owner must of either killed one or mated with the damn thing in here, its terrible. For the hour trip: headphones, notepad. The notepad has my 'Plan' on it, with which I shall convince my father later tonight that I'm not a pending college burn-out.  I'm really not, you know. It was just bad exams. Always is.



Corner turned.



Im not going to say I saw the cyclist,  Because, well, I didn't.



No, see, the car stops, my stepfather and mother jump from the car, I look up from my thoughts and see him, lying in the grass on the side of the road,



He looks unnatural.



Oh. He was hurt.



I didn't move, I had no place out there. Among the helpful people.



He's out cold. More people arriving, lots more hurrying past. Absence of involvement, detached from responsibility.



Bystander effect.



I've heard that somewhere. The curious affect of people being less likely to help someone in trouble if more people are present.



Huh.



But my parents weren't the sort to ignore this, never were. I am. I reach forward and change the radio. That's my contribution.



A selfish act.



Men in green arrive and drive him away, we turn the car around, need a change of clothes as the current ones are blood stained, except mine.



Bowie on the radio,



louder than before,



We Can Be Heroes.



There really is no 'we'. Just they.



1:30pm

I'm dropped at the shop, I didn't realize how hungry I was at the accident, must of been one of those silent shock things, delayed reactions?



Bullshit, I've felt nothing all day.



As I walk home a small blue car hesitates before the window slides down and I'm asked for directions. Privett Park? now where is that?……Oh yes. I give vague directions, left, go straight, can't miss it.



The directions are wrong, I know they are.



What I don't know is why I give them. He sets off down the road in vain, I head up the same road

I prepare myself for the return of the blue car.

It's there,

it's moving towards me,

a horn blast and a swear word.



I laugh,



not happily but with scorn, how can someone's disposition towards me change so rapidly from gratitude to contempt? The real anger is in the fact that Privett Park is opposite the shop.



Lead astray. That's me.



2:40pm

We turn into the cul-de-sac where the house is, I've been here a few times. A red Lotus sits in the open garage, people mingle outside and envious glances are taken.



It is a fucking beautiful car.



I sit down at the veranda table and manage two beers before I'm told that's enough.



Pfft, it's never enough.



I sit and start to write this…whatever this is. my morning seems too spectacularly unusual to not write. Not something you read often, is it? The author writing the very start you were just reading not 3 minutes ago.



No ritual or service, just a few cakes and the boy's name is eternal. Everyone is all smiles and praise for the mother, out of earshot they question her integrity. "no christening? I don't like this new age stuff" that killed me. But if i'm honest I don't either it seems untraditional . But then I don't like the idea of signing kids up to a 87 year commitment to a magic madman in the sky.



Perhaps we just don't like change.



5:00pm

We leave. Finally. As we walk to the car someone has forgotten something, goes back, hurried, not sure why, the house isn't going anywhere. It gives me time to look around, at where we actually are, and then, I see it. Pure Suburbia. Never was there such a façade:



A washed car.

Extortionate kids.



Freshly painted wall.

Hides the burn marks.



16th Birthday Banners hanging on a front door.

Unwanted pregnancy.



A wife gardens quietly.

Domestic violence.



Teenager opens his window for some fresh air.

Coming down off E.



'beep'

Oh, the car's open.

Well that's how I see it anyway, it always is with the suburbs: the pretty identical houses, the quiet solitude of the semi-community. It just kills me every time. How they can bare it,



like a background radiation.



8:00pm

At the pub with my father. My sister is here too, flaunting some new Uni course she is attempting. Wow, that sounded too careless for my likening, she try's hard and all it's just…I'm not sure she wanted to ever be a teacher.



Feels like she's settling.



Anyways that's not the conversation de jour, no, my burn-out concern is more pressing apparently. My father has a strange ability of not allowing you to gauge his disappointment. He laughs it off and calls me a 'plank' but I know it's not the end or even the worst of it.



It's the direct eye contact that unnerves me.



I make a passing comment about something education related and he mutters under his breath about me failing and getting a job instead.



Well. Shit.



My heart sinks, it's curious how he does this, I say curious, I mean damn evil. I even stop eating and stare at him for a while. Why? He knows I can turn this around.



Can't I?



11pm

Home, in bed. Sleep is prevented by the miasma of thought.



It really has been an eventful day.



Maybe not compared to others but it's been a day to make me think and question so much, you know?



Can't wait for the next.