Teenage Complicity
By Gunnerson
- 880 reads
When my parents argue, I go to the car and listen to The Dark Side of The Moon at full volume.
I wait till the bit when the woman sings as if as she’s having a baby so that I can howl and wail with her, then I go back to the house.
It’s always the same.
I go into the living room and see Dad at his armchair reading a newspaper. The room’s deadly quiet.
He looks over the paper at me and smiles meekly but I can see he couldn’t care less. I stand there and wait for him to hide behind the paper.
He can’t even talk to his own son.
I go into the kitchen and see Mum. She’s busy doing something.
She turns around and sees me, so she stops what she’s doing and approaches me, feigning a smile full of love, but I can see through her.
She never learns and I’m sick of her excuses.
I see my parents for what they are; squabbling, hateful brats.
How can they expect me to look up to them when they treat each other with such contempt?
Mum lets me drive the car up the dirt-track and tells me never to tell Dad.
Dad buys me a beer in a pub and tells me never to tell Mum.
They only agree on one thing; that they want a divorce.
Oh, and that it’s not my fault.
I know what they’re up to.
Last week, Dad asked me how I’d feel if he and Mum divorced and I told him I couldn’t care less.
Then Mum told me that she’d only divorce Dad if I allowed her so I told her it was fine by me.
‘I just want you to be happy, Mum,’ I said.
I walk upstairs to my room, lie on my bed and imagine that I’m old enough to leave home and travel the world. I want only to be a rebel.
I light a cigarette, pretending I’m one of my heroes, but it tastes disgusting.
I carry on smoking, willing myself to break through the pain-barrier, and my head starts to swirl.
I feel sick but anything’s better than the way I really feel.
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Comments
new Blighter's rock Really
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Good evening Richard, always
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"I feel sick but
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Great stuff blighters. I
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I have a slight lady-crush
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Yes, very good. I don't
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