Homework: emotions #3

Fear

She always hoped that he wouldn’t come back. That he had an accident. That he was dead or, at least, maimed. When the time came, she would start tuning in to the sound of traffic. She wouldn’t begin any new chore around the house, anything that would need her full attention. Anything that he would interrupt, or question. Soon, his wheezing van emerged from the background noise, more and more defined as he turned the corner into their estate, more insistent. For a few moments she still hoped that it was another car, that it was just using the cul-de-sac to turn around, that it would be on its way. When the sound stopped outside there was no doubt. Still, every time, without fail, her heart jumped. The sound of the key in the door.

Guilt

Everyone who has lost a parent knows the guilt. That thing you had promised to do. That word you never said. How many weeks you hadn’t visited. For me, guilt is an unfinished game of chess. I was a teenager, torn between the pressure of my boyfriend wanting to go out - to which unimportant event I can not remember - and the unconscious knowledge that the game would remain unfinished for ever. My grandfather waved me on. It wasn’t important, he said, we’d continue the game later. He didn’t die until years after this, but I was right. We didn’t finish that game of chess.

Photo by Carmel