I’m writing this without any real direction, merely as a means of entertaining myself as those around me enjoy the natural catharsis of socialising. But while my daughter sits in studious silence watching some privileged teenager flipping a water bottle, and my partner continues to exchange witty anecdotes concerning dangerous driving and alcoholic infused accidents, I decide to make a silent exit from the establishment I’m in, if only to relieve the agonising banality of the conversations around the table. Convinced that my absence won’t be missed for at least 15 minutes, by which time someone may inquire into my “sudden” disappearance. I decided that my taciturn presence would be better served taking a leisurely walk around the block. Though it didn’t occur to me until I turned the first corner on my little excursion, that this section used to be a frequented walk to and from my childhood home. Many journeys on my bicycle necessitated me navigating this stretch of road, riddled with pot holes and parked cars. A sight that was now both familiar and alien to me.
One of the most pervasive memories I have retained over the years, concerns this very road. It was one of a number of streets I had searched for in an attempt to find my dog “Lucky”, who had liberated himself from our back garden when I was about 8 years old. I was devastated that my extensive search did not yield a successful retrieval of my friend. Though I suspect this may be one of those occasions where my parents may have put him to sleep, and rather than confess this awful news to me decided to instead collude in the illusion that he had run away. Even now as an adult, I’m not sure I’d want to know. As I continued further, I crossed the road so as to better replicate the route I so often took. You begin to notice not just the familiar house’s, but the terrain. The paths, drives, hedges and the smattering of trees often planted on the pavement, to give a more rustic look to a very urban environment. It all looks the same, but has a very distant quality to it. Like I’m experiencing somebody else’s memories. It’s a strange sense of rumination. An almost uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu. But it doesn’t take long to veer off back on my original route, just in time for my partner to ring me.
She enquires into my sudden (almost 15 minutes) disapearance. I explain that I just needed to get some fresh air (and a fresh perspective as it happened), and reassured her that I was on my way back. My partner isn’t the kind of person who readily gives in to impulse. Preferring to have everything planned, with a steadfast aversion to spontaneity. She wouldn’t understand my capricious exit nor the compulsion to walk anywhere that didn’t yield some kind of reward at the end. But that’s okay. I’m not even sure I comprehend half the things I do sometimes.
Game, Complain, Repeat 