ForNever

The next morning I wake up as usual until the memories from the night before come rushing back. In a flash second, I relive the entire episode.

Lethargically I get dressed for school. I shake my head in self-denial when I pull on my checked, pleated school skirt. The hem comes mid-way up my thigh. This is the old me, I think sadly. The me who believed in love even if you disagreed with the one you loved. Admittedly, my mom and dad could not agree on anything and they disagreed on everything, but they were still supposed to love each other. What happened to that love they had when they met?

No! I will not mull over this again.

I rummage through my cupboard until I find a pair of tattered jeans and an old T-shirt. I get dressed in this exclusive ensemble. I pull a beanie over my messy hair, wrap a scarf around my neck and pull on a bright pink puffy jacket. The hideous jacket my dad bought for me last Christmas-eventually I will have to admit to myself that the man just did not know me.

At the moment, the fact that he does not know me does not really cause me any concern, what really bothers me about my mom and dad getting divorced is-where did the love go?

I go downstairs and before I open the fridge to get a yoghurt drink, I read the note on the fridge. "I had to go into work early." I notice that it is still handwritten. She should Xerox them and save herself the trouble every morning. It would surely be easier to just pull one out of a large stack and hastily push it in under the pineapple fridge magnet than actually having to scribble it down in pen every day.

I get the yoghurt drink and then open the kitchen drawer under the cutlery drawer. I reach my hand in, until my fingers clutch around a small wooden box pushed to the back, under a pile of dishcloths. I take it out and then I pull the emergency credit card from its protective interior. I am in need of emergency retail therapy.

I leave the house and pull the door until I hear the latch catch. I turn the handle and push the door to make sure it is locked. I do this only once because if I did it twice it could be construed as OCD.

I walk away from my house into the misty rain and I follow the road through the estate toward the main road. We live here on the outskirts of Drogheda, County Louth on the lush green isle of Ireland. It is two miles from my home to the centre of town, but I have walked this journey many times and I need to clear my mind anyway.