The Photographer...
I am awake now.
Not in the typical sense, but awake to my writing, to this process that I have now begun. I have so much to say that I am finding it hard to structure. I feel like I could burst. And one day, if I ever get to trust in you - in the eyes i'll never meet and in the faces that i'll never know - I'll tell you of the end. Of Cam & Kam & Amsterdam, of being bought and sold, of the Wadhurst Social Club, where the International Hostess sang the loudest; of Betty Blue Day's and maybe bits of him; of broken limbs and battered souls. I'll tell you some of the laughter and all of the tears. But especially of 'Tender Red & Cigarettes', the breaking of my whole.
Before I tell you all there is to tell, before you get to judge me bare - I must tell you a little of why. Of what made me 'do' and 'be' and live this life. I was always thought of as an eccentric and intellectual teen. The girl who played the violin and excelled in all her classes. I was an artist and a Girl Guide who was teased for being 'posh' but I was an enigma too. They couldn't figure why I hated so. Why I came to classes with the smell of drink upon my breath. My friend Francis says that we all choose our destiny, it is in our hands from our very first breath. Because of that I will start by telling you of my first important 'choice' in life. On this day I was just fifteen.
It takes eggs to make an omelet...
When I arrived home from school my house felt wrong. It all felt terribly wrong. As I approached it from the lane I saw a curtain twitching in an upstairs bedroom. Someone was watching me I thought. Then I spotted the car, Dad's car, he should have been at work but his car was parked at home. I didn't even get to knock before the door was opened and I saw Dad standing there, a clip board in his hand and ropey veins bulging from his leather brown head. I cowered and he shouted, 'Sit down we need to talk young lady.' I did not sit because I could not sit. I was confused and uncertain of his words. What had he found?
'SIT FUCKING DOWN' I could not though, I was too scared. I could hear Mum sobbing in the distance from an upstairs room so I sobbed too. There was a list on the clipboard. A list of wrong doings, of mistakes, of truths. Dad read each point on the list with such venom that the spit frothed on his lips. After each point he asked me the same question. 'Will you live by my rules or will you leave this house?'
Choices.
He had found the tape, I could tell. I had stuck it to the underside of a drawer in my bedroom but they must have found it somehow. My face burnt with shame and my mind stung with guilt. Did I dare answer 'yes' when he asked if I would leave this house?
'My rules. You hear me?'
I made eye contact with him for the first time in the longest time. I looked right at him, eyes flared with anger just like his and I spoke slowly, scared of my own pure hatred. 'Fuck - You.' It would be four long years before we spoke again. I ran upstairs and threw some things into a holdall. Clothes, make-up, money and a bag with my parents anniversary present inside - two silver goblets engraved with their names. A bus had taken me into town where I sat shaking. I felt petrified and lonely, what had I done and what would happen now. But on top those emotions. I also felt strong and liberated. I had done it, I was free and it was all better now! I remember that the heel fell off my shoe that day. I discarded them in a nearby bin laughing, not able to afford another pair I faced the world barefoot & honest, it seemed appropriate somehow. I committed to the fact that I would never return home and I tried to guess my future. I didn't get far though as my future started at the top of a glass in a backstreet pub only minutes later. My money bought me three small drinks and the shortness of my skirt bought me several more. I was used to my drink, I often drank alcohol at school and my evenings would sometimes end in a pint of wine or a gin or three. Not much hope here for a young girl about to embark on womanhood. When the pub kicked out at 11:30, I watched as the merry voices and smiling faces shouted their goodbyes and walked away. I didn't like that feeling. I felt myself wishing that I had accepted the offer of a bed. I did not care if that bed had come with a price. I had never felt so small.
Lonely.
I arrived at the sports ground as the drizzly rain dampened the last of my hope. I climbed to the back of the stands and huddled on the concrete ledge between the seats with my jacket wrapped around my shoulders. It felt very cold and quiet here. Some cities never sleep but this one did. Only the sound of a distant car would occasionally break the silence. Other noises, strange noises kept any hope of sleep at bay for me. I was eaten up with fear at the coldness of the night and I longed for the warmness of a bed. Any bed.
By 3am, sleep had still not found me. My legs had cramp from the cold and my jacket was not big enough to cover my mottled blue skin. I decided to walk. To see if I could find a face to share this night time with. I don't know what I expected to find, at this stage I just hoped it would be friendly. I walked for about 15 minutes and found myself at the start of a beautiful Victorian crescent. That's when I heard the footsteps. A man, wrapped warmly in an anorak, umbrella just in front his face, he walked towards me with the tap, tap, tap of someone in a hurry. He passed right by, but I just could not bring myself to ask for help. I crumpled to the ground and cried.
'Hey, are you ok?' He'd seen me, heard me, he cared to ask of me. I turned to face him with desperation on my face.
'I'm just so cold.' I said. He had taken off his anorak and wrapped it round my shoulders. I did not know what I should say so I said nothing more. He asked if I needed money to get home, I shook my head, I had no home. He asked if there was anything that he could do, 'I'll do anything' I begged 'Just take me home'. I saw him ponder that thought for a while. His eyes flitted down to my very short skirt and back up to my tear streaked face. There was the longest silence.
'I have a wife. I've got kids. I'm sorry. I just can't.' he said. I sobbed some more and he looked desperate now. 'But I have a friend. He lives just down the road. I've just been visiting him. Come on, let's see what he says, maybe you can stay the night.' The light was still on at his friends house. The bell rang shrilly in the silent night and footsteps padded to the door. The man was tall and slender. He listened to his friend and nodded lots, looked at me and smiled.
'Ok' He said, 'But only for tonight and you've got to be quiet. I don't want the kids to wake up'. I was so utterly grateful. A bed! An honest bed. One without the pain that I had known so deeply so many times before. Sleep! As the two men said their goodbyes for the second time that night I shuffled to the living room. A glance around told me that this man was poor, but I liked the Bohemian style of this room with it's Indian throws and colorful paintings, it smelt of incense and cats, but most importantly it smelt of family. The tall man shut the door and joined me. 'Barry' he said, holding out an educated hand that quivered slightly. There followed a barrage of questions. 'How old are you? Where are your parents? What will you do? Are you hungry?' I liked Barry. I liked him a lot. I told very little about myself and I lied about my age. I was hungry too. Barry promised an omelet but we fell into easy conversation and that kept us in this room. I no longer felt the need for sleep. 'I'm a single parent.' he said 'I've got two kids. I'm a photographer, or at least I am trying to be.'
'Did you take those?' I asked. Pointing to the portraits of naked women hung upon his walls.
'I did' he answered shyly. We talked and talked and talked. It felt like neither of us would stop.
'You're such a pretty girl' He smiled, 'You're like an Angel. A fallen Angel. I cannot bear to think what brought you here.' I could not bear it either.
'Funny that.' I laughed. 'When I came here I thought you were an Angel, I never thought it could be me.'
It was almost morning. Barry had to leave for work in two hours and soon enough his kids would wake. I felt the fear of coldness creeping back but tried to hide my mind. He fetched his camera and asked if he could take some pictures. I still liked him. He was kind and softly spoken. I nodded yes, stood up and removed my top and bra. I felt the coldness on my skin again.
After the photo's Barry remembered the omelet, 'You must be starving. Let me cook for you!' I dressed and followed to the kitchen where I found him rummaging inside the fridge.
'How's the omelet doing?' I asked and wondered why I liked him still.
Barry looked at me apologetically, although his gaze would never quite meet mine again. 'Um, sorry.' Then he held up the empty carton 'It takes eggs to make an omelet!' I was still laughing as I left that house. I might not have found a bed that night. I might not have filled my belly. But I had learned something huge about myself. I was strong and I would cope with all that life had thrown me. And so began the first of many days that would start and end the same. With the coldness creeping in.
Continued...
Not in the typical sense, but awake to my writing, to this process that I have now begun. I have so much to say that I am finding it hard to structure. I feel like I could burst. And one day, if I ever get to trust in you - in the eyes i'll never meet and in the faces that i'll never know - I'll tell you of the end. Of Cam & Kam & Amsterdam, of being bought and sold, of the Wadhurst Social Club, where the International Hostess sang the loudest; of Betty Blue Day's and maybe bits of him; of broken limbs and battered souls. I'll tell you some of the laughter and all of the tears. But especially of 'Tender Red & Cigarettes', the breaking of my whole.
Before I tell you all there is to tell, before you get to judge me bare - I must tell you a little of why. Of what made me 'do' and 'be' and live this life. I was always thought of as an eccentric and intellectual teen. The girl who played the violin and excelled in all her classes. I was an artist and a Girl Guide who was teased for being 'posh' but I was an enigma too. They couldn't figure why I hated so. Why I came to classes with the smell of drink upon my breath. My friend Francis says that we all choose our destiny, it is in our hands from our very first breath. Because of that I will start by telling you of my first important 'choice' in life. On this day I was just fifteen.
It takes eggs to make an omelet...
When I arrived home from school my house felt wrong. It all felt terribly wrong. As I approached it from the lane I saw a curtain twitching in an upstairs bedroom. Someone was watching me I thought. Then I spotted the car, Dad's car, he should have been at work but his car was parked at home. I didn't even get to knock before the door was opened and I saw Dad standing there, a clip board in his hand and ropey veins bulging from his leather brown head. I cowered and he shouted, 'Sit down we need to talk young lady.' I did not sit because I could not sit. I was confused and uncertain of his words. What had he found?
'SIT FUCKING DOWN' I could not though, I was too scared. I could hear Mum sobbing in the distance from an upstairs room so I sobbed too. There was a list on the clipboard. A list of wrong doings, of mistakes, of truths. Dad read each point on the list with such venom that the spit frothed on his lips. After each point he asked me the same question. 'Will you live by my rules or will you leave this house?'
Choices.
He had found the tape, I could tell. I had stuck it to the underside of a drawer in my bedroom but they must have found it somehow. My face burnt with shame and my mind stung with guilt. Did I dare answer 'yes' when he asked if I would leave this house?
'My rules. You hear me?'
I made eye contact with him for the first time in the longest time. I looked right at him, eyes flared with anger just like his and I spoke slowly, scared of my own pure hatred. 'Fuck - You.' It would be four long years before we spoke again. I ran upstairs and threw some things into a holdall. Clothes, make-up, money and a bag with my parents anniversary present inside - two silver goblets engraved with their names. A bus had taken me into town where I sat shaking. I felt petrified and lonely, what had I done and what would happen now. But on top those emotions. I also felt strong and liberated. I had done it, I was free and it was all better now! I remember that the heel fell off my shoe that day. I discarded them in a nearby bin laughing, not able to afford another pair I faced the world barefoot & honest, it seemed appropriate somehow. I committed to the fact that I would never return home and I tried to guess my future. I didn't get far though as my future started at the top of a glass in a backstreet pub only minutes later. My money bought me three small drinks and the shortness of my skirt bought me several more. I was used to my drink, I often drank alcohol at school and my evenings would sometimes end in a pint of wine or a gin or three. Not much hope here for a young girl about to embark on womanhood. When the pub kicked out at 11:30, I watched as the merry voices and smiling faces shouted their goodbyes and walked away. I didn't like that feeling. I felt myself wishing that I had accepted the offer of a bed. I did not care if that bed had come with a price. I had never felt so small.
Lonely.
I arrived at the sports ground as the drizzly rain dampened the last of my hope. I climbed to the back of the stands and huddled on the concrete ledge between the seats with my jacket wrapped around my shoulders. It felt very cold and quiet here. Some cities never sleep but this one did. Only the sound of a distant car would occasionally break the silence. Other noises, strange noises kept any hope of sleep at bay for me. I was eaten up with fear at the coldness of the night and I longed for the warmness of a bed. Any bed.
By 3am, sleep had still not found me. My legs had cramp from the cold and my jacket was not big enough to cover my mottled blue skin. I decided to walk. To see if I could find a face to share this night time with. I don't know what I expected to find, at this stage I just hoped it would be friendly. I walked for about 15 minutes and found myself at the start of a beautiful Victorian crescent. That's when I heard the footsteps. A man, wrapped warmly in an anorak, umbrella just in front his face, he walked towards me with the tap, tap, tap of someone in a hurry. He passed right by, but I just could not bring myself to ask for help. I crumpled to the ground and cried.
'Hey, are you ok?' He'd seen me, heard me, he cared to ask of me. I turned to face him with desperation on my face.
'I'm just so cold.' I said. He had taken off his anorak and wrapped it round my shoulders. I did not know what I should say so I said nothing more. He asked if I needed money to get home, I shook my head, I had no home. He asked if there was anything that he could do, 'I'll do anything' I begged 'Just take me home'. I saw him ponder that thought for a while. His eyes flitted down to my very short skirt and back up to my tear streaked face. There was the longest silence.
'I have a wife. I've got kids. I'm sorry. I just can't.' he said. I sobbed some more and he looked desperate now. 'But I have a friend. He lives just down the road. I've just been visiting him. Come on, let's see what he says, maybe you can stay the night.' The light was still on at his friends house. The bell rang shrilly in the silent night and footsteps padded to the door. The man was tall and slender. He listened to his friend and nodded lots, looked at me and smiled.
'Ok' He said, 'But only for tonight and you've got to be quiet. I don't want the kids to wake up'. I was so utterly grateful. A bed! An honest bed. One without the pain that I had known so deeply so many times before. Sleep! As the two men said their goodbyes for the second time that night I shuffled to the living room. A glance around told me that this man was poor, but I liked the Bohemian style of this room with it's Indian throws and colorful paintings, it smelt of incense and cats, but most importantly it smelt of family. The tall man shut the door and joined me. 'Barry' he said, holding out an educated hand that quivered slightly. There followed a barrage of questions. 'How old are you? Where are your parents? What will you do? Are you hungry?' I liked Barry. I liked him a lot. I told very little about myself and I lied about my age. I was hungry too. Barry promised an omelet but we fell into easy conversation and that kept us in this room. I no longer felt the need for sleep. 'I'm a single parent.' he said 'I've got two kids. I'm a photographer, or at least I am trying to be.'
'Did you take those?' I asked. Pointing to the portraits of naked women hung upon his walls.
'I did' he answered shyly. We talked and talked and talked. It felt like neither of us would stop.
'You're such a pretty girl' He smiled, 'You're like an Angel. A fallen Angel. I cannot bear to think what brought you here.' I could not bear it either.
'Funny that.' I laughed. 'When I came here I thought you were an Angel, I never thought it could be me.'
It was almost morning. Barry had to leave for work in two hours and soon enough his kids would wake. I felt the fear of coldness creeping back but tried to hide my mind. He fetched his camera and asked if he could take some pictures. I still liked him. He was kind and softly spoken. I nodded yes, stood up and removed my top and bra. I felt the coldness on my skin again.
After the photo's Barry remembered the omelet, 'You must be starving. Let me cook for you!' I dressed and followed to the kitchen where I found him rummaging inside the fridge.
'How's the omelet doing?' I asked and wondered why I liked him still.
Barry looked at me apologetically, although his gaze would never quite meet mine again. 'Um, sorry.' Then he held up the empty carton 'It takes eggs to make an omelet!' I was still laughing as I left that house. I might not have found a bed that night. I might not have filled my belly. But I had learned something huge about myself. I was strong and I would cope with all that life had thrown me. And so began the first of many days that would start and end the same. With the coldness creeping in.
Continued...
posted by Claire at 4:49 pm
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