Member-only story
A Street Corner in London
Just when you think it won’t happen…
I came straight out of the Scottish Highlands with my adolescent airs.
I went to Paris to become a poet. The women and the poor guys made fun of me when I talked about love.
I took cheap flights around the world, lept on all the night trains, and slept in filthy brothels with grey-haired women. Nothing worked; I had always danced on the waves, but Dad said I was sinking.
It’s Thursday; it’s five past five. I packed a small suitcase, opened the front door, held my breath, and walked out on tiptoe like the nights I came home after midnight so they wouldn’t wake up.
My life seemed like a joke, and yet it was true. I didn’t love myself anymore after Leonard. Dad said I needed to learn discipline. I got him good. Dad got me better.
Dear Mum and Dad, I’m leaving. I love you, but I’m going. You won’t have a child in the house tonight. I’m not running away; I’m flying, understand: I’m flying.
It’s weird; this comfortable cage I called home blocked my chest, stopping me from breathing. I wondered later if my parents would suspect I was crying as I left.
Leaving is a bit like an adventure but more heartbreaking. There’s the station, and after the station, there’s the…
