One Green Bottle

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Chapter 22

Remember, this remembrance to remember the orphanage? Remember how the pillow was soaked in tears? Did I go mad than? If only I had. Not being able to speak and crying my heart out into those pillows no friends nor anybody in the world who cared nothing but tears to grasp at nothing but pillows to kiss it better nothing no one to kiss it better not one thing but everything the matter. Mother could be dead and sisters can go away me left with dad to take care of me. I did not want that. It made me feel like waif lost alone isolated as if I would die too. Dad would not be able to take care of his self let alone me.

I a child not a woman I a child and he would be drunk he would be sad he would be ineffectual he would become an old bore with me as his companion and I did not want that. Let me out of these vile undutiful beastly thoughts. I will not kill my illusions but they weren’t there to begin with. I cried again these are the thoughts of childhood.

“Why was I crying?” They did not ask the reasons behind my sorrows they did not ask me the why? I would pretend that they asked me I would have imaginary conversations with this and that person. My eyes would light up as if from a distant fire. My face would soften as my brain would try to form words in languages I could not understand. If I understood the language maybe I would not feel so alone? Being Turkish was unwanted horrible it was terrible not to belong. I did not have the right skin I was something that was like a tyre. I did not have the right colour skin being olive. Was I misshapen? Ugly it is dirty? I did not want to know me those were the people everyone wanted to know the fair skin the white the beautiful. Those who do belong in this dreadfully cold country shall get a heating grant of some kind would this do? I did not belong I was alone and in a foreign country without the right skin colouring I was discarded wrong garment wrong clothes without any intelligence. But then it was the middle class Britain in the sixties when things were old and new at the same time. I was not a child I was a demon a monster someone who was not well inclined to this country called Britain. I did not belong to this country or to that I an anomaly. It would have been stranger still if I could talk. Maybe I would have said something interesting even intriguing?

“These foreigners they are such trash. They live lives differently to ours.”

Those were the people who were surrogates to my childhood. Those were the strangers who did not want to know. They did not think it unkind they housed and fed and their lives were untouched by any feelings for me. I would always have that shadow over me those were the lives I envied. I wanted for them to say something anything to me to break the silence. I could not feel for them as they felt nothing for me. I was the wrong coloured child.

I could not let well alone of childhood I did not want to be an adult these things that I brooded on they will not happen? Will they? They could not happen they don’t happen to adults let alone children? I will not be made into a skirt, daddy’s skirt without anything to declare but my skirt. I will not do it daddy! But the dread continued my dread continuous I let out another tear. These kind people were teaching English after all I could maybe turn to them for help?

“Must not kill mummy, daddy to stay where he was and mummy must not have a baby in her tummy, makes her ill.”

Too many babies, mummy must not kill the babies, tummy baby tummy baby. I will not go out anymore I will stay and guard my tummy in case a baby came. Tummies could be very lax with babies popping in any minute. Must not betray myself or the feelings I have for one day I will do something great. My nose this is my nose I will follow the scent to lead me to wherever but always I come back to the same spot.

What reason did not I have? My reasoning led me on and on into the realms of things a child does not understand.

Have been told I am wrong skin even with the ex he said I was wrong skin colour wanted Marilyn Monroe the right colour the right thing. Even I did not know why I was angry. It is such a thing to be the wrong race for the right reasons. He liked me the person I am but did not like my skin. What right does a woman have who is the wrong colour? As soon as one quarrels off to the kitchen into the kitchen I stayed in the kitchen so that I would not be sent to the kitchen. If no one wants me for these reasons then so be it. I am in the kitchen I can’t sink any farther down so I am in the kitchen so no one will bring me down. I will not climb anywhere I will see nothing because I AM not fair I play fair but I am not fair. This skin of mine that everybody wants! This is the skin I am yet no one wants me as I am pretend to be Monroe? I would rather pretend to be a ghost writer. Look at me this is me this is I.

“I’m not beautiful because I am not fair skin.”

“But”

“I am not beautiful because I am not fair I play fair but I am not fair.

So persons of no importance abused me persons of importance did the same. I belong nowhere in this lidless world. Where did my lid go to?

“It is unfair to be telling me the reason now?”

“What reasons did I have to stay in the kitchen? Was I paid the price of my labour was I not destitute as well as shamed?”

“Oh to see too late what I have been.”

“To see nothing is to be nothing.”

“To lose one as important as myself to the charms of madness; don’t you see you over reached yourself you made a fool of me.”

“I did not plan for tomorrow.”

“But I do plan for tomorrow that is my day job that is why I live to plan for everyone.”

“You didn’t plan for me.” Instead of milk I was olive because of that not a beauty. Even though the girls come and go with the Iranian beauties and things these are the lusts you suffer from. I see nothing has changed that the lusts are here there and everywhere. I am tired of this talk let us pretend not to have been in love let us not even think about yesterday let me live. You tire my soul it is not easy but it tires me as if my world is askew as if I can’t see right. All the important women in your life have been blondes the others you cast aside as if they are junk.”

“Let me live too.”

“I have allowed you such space but you still come and sit next to me on the bus and follow me drunkenly in the streets as if the conversations will never cease. You won’t let me live then?”

“No.”

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