Notes

Course Work Draft #2
When I sit down and think, I reflect about the happier, easier and younger years. Mental liberation seems a thing of the past to me, the very concept of it I don't comprehend anymore. My mind seems so caught up with everything, so stuck. I deliberate about every single thing, from what colour nails the woman who serves me coffee has to the mere sparrow flying around in a teasing manner of confidence. My mind is a whirlwind of nostalgic elements that I've never experienced. It could be anything that brings me there, that night. A war in his mind, a war in his mind is what I have concluded that it was. My mind is so frozen, it's like it's perplexed in a never-ending winter and the contented thoughts I've rationed over the years that I keep replaying are my only summer.

We should start where this all began. A warm summer morning in the picturesque village of Burton-on-the-Water, 06' to be precise. I remember the day very vividly. I woke up to the birds chirping away singing a song of holy grace and instantly felt a sort of universal liberation that overcame my inner body like an eagle devouring it’s catch. I hastily made my way out of bed and straight to his bedroom, to wake him up for the eventful day ahead. I paced along to his bedroom and knocked tenderly. Leaning against his worn-out pine door that had been repainted at least fifty times, I peered into his room slowly noticing he wasn’t lying down in a tangled mess. Taking advantage of the moment, I glanced around the room picking out any finely detailed objects. His snow globe stood out to me. My mother always used to call me the 'most nosy little thing' and I quite proudly lived up to it. As I wandered towards the snow globe for a closer inspection, I tripped over his schoolbag nearly scattering all his books that he had nicely arranged the day before, I cursed at how clumsy I was and continued my endeavour to examine the snow globe. The snow globe sat on a vintage oak cabinet which we had collected from a very intense auction quarrel not too long ago, however, it did not fit the style of the room at all, and it gave the room a sort of old 90's horror movie feel that seemed somewhat uneasy on the eye. When I think back, it makes me chuckle how I ponder over the fact that little commodities to one person may be a huge issue to another- sometimes the very idea boggles me.

The snow globe itself was a souvenir he bought when we visited New York City a couple years prior, it had a pure white base and the glass was crystal clear- (which he'd hate to admit it) meant he was keeping proper maintenance of it. Slowly getting out of my superficial trance, I looked up at the clock and realised it had just gone past ten and wondered how I had let myself become so caught up reminiscing and just thinking of that holiday and all the fine times that accompanied it. I had been looking at the snow globe for just over ten minutes. Puzzled, I made my way down the stairs to a fresh fragrance of summer fruits. I looked around irritated that I couldn't find where this uplifting odour was breaking out from. Just then, I saw that it was coming from a pink bowl that had been covered neatly with the remaining slabs of cling film and what appeared to be a note was hanging on for dear life as the bowl squashed the poor bit of paper to death. I swiftly made my way to the appealing bowl and attempted to read the note that was attached, it was quite hard at first to make out the scribbled blob that impended before me but with ultimate concentration and intense eye squinting, I was finally able to just about make out what it read, 'Made you breakfast, Enjoy your day'. He was notoriously known for having the scruffiest handwriting in his class. The amount of times the school had called me up for enquires on how I could aid him with changing his handwriting into something more appealing was berserk. I placed the note down and began to tear open my fruit salad and at that very moment, I felt satisfied and almost loathed the obscene sense of happiness and appreciation that was fighting for its way out.

It had just gone eight and I started to become perturbed. It wasn't unlike him to stay out for a little longer, he sometimes liked to play football at the local park with his friends, but he never stayed out for this long. In a peculiar pursuit of answers, I grabbed a small cardigan and slid my slippers on, I immediately darted over to the local park and found one of his friends there. I approached them with a steady demeanour not as to come across as bewildered with anxiety and softly asked if they had seen my son or at least knew where he was. The response I got I can never forget, the very words that formed in his mouth still haunt me to this day, I even remember it quote on quote. "He never came to school, I ain't got the foggiest." It was that exact moment that everything suddenly fitted together like when the last piece of the puzzle finally fits, and you begin to see the wider picture. I came to a realisation that I had tripped over this school bag this morning, and my complete absent-mindedness didn't realise. The negligence, the shame and the hopelessness. I'm not afraid to admit that I've let these feelings enter me and with full acceptance I embrace them. They are a part of my everyday life and it's unmatched with any sort of regret that you've ever felt. They lurk and hover in my mind every single day and help me to understand that if only, if only I had called attention to it. Will there ever be forgiveness?