I have been wondering this week, again, what the point of writing or creating any art is. Does anyone need another story? Who cares about my half finished lyric for a song that hardly a soul will ever hear. For my own part: I am more than content to create without the need to broadcast. My art is mine and not for sharing. But is that actually true? If it were, why then this substack?
I love the opportunity to create with such a personal, perfectly formed supportive group. It gives me tremendous freedom and invaluable feedback. It provides the perfect place to be open, vulnerable and to communicate. It’s a thrill to have a new thing out in the world. To have had an idea, a discovery, that was lying around in my mind, and to bring it to form. This week’s offering feels very raw. It is a short story, penned at the prompt of a competition. Deadlines seem to help me make stuff and finish it.
For the short story writers among us, the wonderful Hanif Kureishi has gifted us a summer fiction competition. 750 words on the gloriously open title, ‘Relationships’. It closes on 18th July, so there is still time… here’s a link to his substack.
I would like to thank my writing partner (you know who you are) for casting their eyes and heart over my words for this earlier this week. Means the world to me: such people are as rare as unicorns. Creativity thrives with connections, and when I really stop to consider what creativity is - I wonder at what the self is that we are trying to reach and express and share with one another.
Relationships
When I was 7 or 8 dad called me fat, I liked to cook, I enjoyed it. I enjoy food. But when dad said that it made me feel really sad. I feel self-conscious now because of that. Dad calling me fat has really affected how I think about myself.
My relationship with dad was ‘ok’, but I would think that he preferred my brother, because say for instance if he was talking to me and my brother came in the room - he would stop the conversation with me abruptly and then start with my brother. It made me feel that I did not want to share things with him. I did not want to communicate with him. He didn’t listen.
Sometimes we would cook, go swimming, bike rides, stuff like that. These times were fun, but sometimes I did not really want to do the activities, sometimes I would prefer to chill or do something else. But this was not an option. There was no option for me to choose. Some
things I would really enjoy some things less so.
The last year and a bit of living together the shouting started. Sometimes towards me, but he also shouted at my mum and brother. There was a lot of shouting from dad generally. My room is right above the dining room where mum and dad would sit in the evening. I could hear everything. Sometimes they would argue loudly. Sometimes I felt that my dad would argue so that I could hear it. I just wanted the arguments to be over and done with. They made me feel anxious. I felt scared and intimidated by the shouting and worried, I didn’t want my life to be like that. I just wanted to sleep and it to all stop.
Once we were in the car, mum was driving, onto the motorway. He said he was going to open the car door, mum managed to diffuse the situation. We were on our way to the circus. It was supposed to be a fun day out. Another time he actually did it. He got out of the car when mum was driving. I felt he was getting more and more unsafe.
Towards the end things got crazy. The shouting. I used to sleep with mum to keep us safe.
I actually said to mum we need to leave we can’t stay living with dad. He was acting more and more dangerously.
After we left, I kept in touch with dad for a while. I texted and phoned him. We met up. It was alright to begin with, but I did not really enjoy it. I felt like I was made to do it. He made me do things. There was another time he was waiting outside the school. He knew when I would be coming out. I get picked up from down the hill. He hid. Then pounced. Blocked my way and asked if I wanted to talk. I said no. He started shouting at me. I didn’t want to talk to him at that point. I felt that it was wrong the way that he approached me. He didn’t ask me. I had quite a fright. He hasn't told us where he is living, or what he is doing. I haven’t been able to get the bus home. We don’t know where he is going to be. We left hardly taking anything. He won’t give us our stuff. The last time I saw him he sat there making notes of what I was saying and asking me why my brother wasn’t there. It was like he didn’t care that I was there, he just wanted my brother.
I don’t want to see him, it’s not something that I feel I want to do really. His behaviour was getting more random and sporadic towards the end. I would like to him to lay off a bit, I would like him to respect my wishes and feelings. I texted him a while ago asking him to stop bombarding with messages. He still sends message. I asked Mum for a new phone as the messages were making me anxious. Mum has my old phone, I still check it. If I woke up tomorrow and wanted to see him I would. If I wanted to see him I would message him myself to get back into contact. But at the moment I don’t want to.
I may change my mind in the future.