Growing up

The green scent of freshly cut grass on a hot summer's day evokes images of dark rooms.The blinds drawn for an afternoon nap.A gentle lulling sound of a water sprinkler. The stillness of the day interrupted only by the sound of wheels on soft asphalt.Turtle doves are cooing in protest at the unbearable heat; Table Mountain is shimmering like a mirage in the distance.Later as dusk settles over the peninsula I look in wonder at the transformation of the white-hot sky into a violet-pink Monet. The familiar smell of a barbecue in someone's back yard and the shrilled delight of a child's voice comes rolling over a neighbour's fence. A nostalgic longing overwhelms me for a moment but then I crouch back down in the dirt under the bursting plum tree,making mudcakes with my sister, who is concentrating on the task of laying the cakes in rows. In the kitchen Mum is preparing the evening's dinner.I hear the clanking of pots and dishes being washed in the sink..The air now gentle and comforting as we play in the darkening shadows of the fruit trees. I await the call from the kitchen in anticipation of fried snoek and baked sweet potato which is one of my favourite dishes.

It's a Saturday evening which means Hart to Hart on television where I imagine myself to be Stephanie married to a dashing Robert Wagner.Finally the shout from the kitchen reaches us as we stare at our black fingernails and mud -encrusted hands with pride,knowing full well that our mother will be horrified at the sight of them.

We sit quietly around the linoleum kitchen table licking the last sweet saltiness from our glistening fingers.The only sound is that of the old grandfather clock in the sitting-room accompanying our meal.Tick,Tock,Tick,Tock.There is comfort in that sound.It soothes me to sleep at night and its the first thing I hear upon waking. But tonight as many nights before it also bodes of tension and fear,reminding me of the angry silence seeping from behind my parents closed bedroom door.I am listening and waiting,listening and waiting,listening and waiting.Tick,Tock,Tick,Tock.Will he come out?My fear stops me from having any real conversation with my mother and sister.I know that they too are conscious of my father's presence that permeates everything that surrounds us.His self-imposed exile from our lives is what we had come to know as a constant reality,only venturing out of his room out of necessity on rare occasions.I wait in hope and fear, never knowing which to cling to.Mostly my hope are always crushed to resigned disappointment when he stumbles down the hallway in stained white vest and flannel pajama bottoms ,eyes bloodshot,breath reeking of whisky.My heart is forever on alert,breathlessly filled with pity and shame when I meet my father's eyes .So I am waiting.

As my mother gathers our dirty plates from the table,a terrible sound of earth shattering proportions blasts through the walls. Mozart comes crashing through the kitchen like a stampede of marauding wildebeest.The sleeping fear erupts from deep in my belly and turns every cell to ice.Panic sets in. Heart racing;pleading eyes look up at my mother's face, now set in stone,her eyes bright with flight or fight mode.As always she decides on the latter, wordlessly leaving us alone in the green and white kitchen as she storms down the dark hallway towards her private hell.

My sister and I, ashamed of our own terror, avoid each other's gaze.Just as suddenly as it started,it stops.For a second, relief, and then the raised voices of my mother and father from the bedroom.A door slams. We wait.We wait alone in hope and fear, not knowing which to cleave to.Neither one of us making a move to get up from the table,frozen like wax dummies with eyes cast down at the patterned table cloth. My mother returns after a few minutes,hours,seconds.Who knows.For time has stopped for us.Her eyes red from tears she silently starts doing the dishes which is our cue that we are once again safe.So much to say,so many questions to ask but I swallow it down to the pit of my stomach.

In my bedroom I stare out at the twinkling lights of the city and I wonder what goes on behind all those net curtains.I imagine families having dinner together,the dad laughing at the children's jokes and giving his wife a kiss on the forehead. And I wish with every fibre of my being, until tears start to well up, that I was part of that perfectly happy family.

I find solace in books,worlds where love is just love and the story always ends happily.I look forward to the my own life story which is unfolding in my mind like a beautiful film.I find salvation in the Bible where my saviour talks of a life without pain and loss and I pray my time will come when His words will become a truth for me.Love becomes a fantasy of which there is no escape.It eats away at my soul,a yearning of such greatness,a blackhole sucking away my truth.But I do not speak of this yearning,I do not know that this ache will lead me on paths of fleeting happiness and great disappointment.                                                                My sister and I crawl into bed tired from the beating sun and my father's mercurial anger.Tonight Robert Wagner cannot erase the memory of the evening's events and I curl into a tight ball under the blanket,praying silently.No sound comes from my parents' room and I fall into a dreamless sleep.I wake to the smell of frying bacon and birdsong.Through the blinds I glimpse the sapphire blue sky.In the distance a churchbell reminds me that its Sunday and that means an hour of boredom and a sore bottom.My mother barges into our room and I pretend to be asleep but to no avail.Dilys and I are told to get dressed for church and to say goodmorning to my father. Suddenly I hear retching sounds coming from the bathroom and joy leaps from my heart.He is sitting on the bed,his face white with sickness,meek with sobriety.All I muster is a "hello Daddy" from the doorway.He smiles weakly and nods.I am never sure what to do or say when I am in his presence.I am in awe of him,afraid of him,so I say nothing and leave,grateful that today is a sober day.

But he is always on my mind.The love I have for him is tainted,blurred by the fear I have for him.We are strangers unto each other,a glass wall too high to scale,too dense to break.I circle him like a lion circles his prey waiting for an oppurtune moment to sate my hunger.My fated misfortune is that I cannot get close enough  and the craving for his attention and affection turns into an insatiable ache in the pit of my stomach.