I wish I knew what you were thinking, so that I would know exactly what to say. How I spoke, how I responded, was it as eloquent as you would have preferred?
I think if I knew for certain what you thought about me- maybe I would mould myself into the person the woman you married said that you wanted. I never got your opinion on what you thought about me on my ‘big days’, you skirted on generalities.
I thought you would be impressed that time, about how I had held my own in a high place. I thought you would stay on, to hear me speak. But you left as soon as you could and forgot it so well that the next time I went, you thought it was my first time to go.
I heard that you were disappointed, overall. There is nothing special; nothing to be excited about and nothing to be angry about. I was ordinary. I have done as I was supposed to do.
I followed my dream, my biggest dream. Did you ever see the links, because you never said a word about it? But you did say, through a parable of a broken man, that skill would never be enough, I needed a parcel of connections. I think you knew that I was connectionally deficient.
I always thought that if we talked more, maybe you would get to understand who we are, but you sat in silence like a judge on a high chair as we concocted all manner of display of wisdom and wit. We create a theatre at your whim.
I was dangerously close to the edge of my chair as I tried to hear what you told him about what school was like, what life is like. I think I remember that, you didn’t have a father growing up. I read in the open letter to your mother what you thought about that.
I had not realised that you had noticed when I couldn’t make it early the next seven months. I could barely get up in the morning but when I did, I could only manage to drop him at the stage and black out for hours. I got a phone call from the woman you married, asking me if I could try to come earlier. I was too pregnant to realise she was moderating you.
Sometimes, I hear myself talk as I stand in front you and then I slow down as I realise that for every 21 words I speak, I will only get 1 from you. Your family’s genetic big eyes loom over me quietly, as if in scientific study of a strange species. I wish I knew what you were thinking, maybe I would make sense.
I learned what you wanted me to. I went where you said I should. But I have always been dispensable here. When the ropes finally fell around me, somehow you knew I was free. And then, you reinforced my importance. I belonged. But also, was highly flawed. My nature too soft, too sensitive, too gullible. Your thoughts about me will always be highly flawed.
PurplePretoria 