Street Wife (13/9/4)

I want that feeling of a first kiss a school day missed a raindrop
on my face without having to run for cover cos of the kid I want my
life back to a time where I loved life and everything in it I am
sycophantic to the system a slave to nature I have become all that I
have abhored and detested and despised I have grown into a woman I miss
being a girl I am 22 I'm still a girl aren't I? Too tired at twenty two
tired of the things that I should be looking forward to at my age like
marriage - I am already there kids did that the worst bit why couldn't
they have come later on later on later on gotta go gotta leave cos I am
gonna be this way forever and ever and ever amen

***********

And so here we are.

I run downstairs. I run out. I can hear the ice-cream van in the
distance. It is playing "Greensleeves", I can hear it and hear it, but
it doesn't appear to be any nearer. It just continues to taunt me in
its sweet way. And then when I listen more attentively, I find that it
is playing "Popeye the sailor man" not Greensleeves, as I first
thought. Greensleeves is what the ice-cream man used to play when I was
a child. No wonder the van wasn't getting any nearer.

My son looks at me with envy as I slurp on the ice-cream, making no
attempt to hide it from him, lest he make wanton eyes. I really
couldn't give a fuck. This is my moment. He's screaming.

"Didn't you buy him one?" said my husband.
"Nope". I slurped.
"Well, fucking give him some, then -" spat the husband
"Well, fucking give him some, then - fuck_off. Leave me alone." Man,
this tastes nice.
"Oh, come here, baby. Leave that greedy bitch alone, there
there"
"You go out and fucking get him one, then"
And take that fucking little thing with you, as well.

"Why didn't you get him one in the first place?"

What, on my salary?

"Cos I only had a quid".

All this time that we have been talking, I have been relentlessly
licking my ice-cream, I'm down to the cone now.

"Well, you should have thought of him first."

************

And then it clicked. The stretch marks, the obligation, the effort, the
pain - I always think of him first. I think of you first too.
Continually. I always put other people first, before my own feelings,
before myself - so please, fuck the fuck off, and let me enjoy this
meagre luxury. Its my ice-cream.

***********

"What can I do to make you love me? What can I do to make you
care" Oh, get a grip, bitch.
SCCCRRRCCHHHHRRRRRRR change channel. Hmm. That's better. So Solid Crew
have 21 seconds to go. I wonder if they really have 21 seconds per
verse [perverse, I laugh to myself] or if that moment of intelligentsia
surpassed them. Let me count - no, that's too sad.

***********

I got a little sunburn from Sundays' little escapade. After the
ice-cream, I went outside and sat on the wall. I swung my legs against
the warm bricks until they became grazed, and I let my sandals fall to
the pavement and then jumped down to pick them up again, and then I
repeated the whole process. I heard my son crying for something or
other, but was not phased, because all of a sudden, it didn't sound
like my son crying - he just sounded like some whinging kid, but not a
child from my groin. From that particular moment, I felt no connection
with him.

I returned to the dining room, and poured myself a drink. I wanted to
do that whole Su-Ellen thing, and sweep into the lounge, and then pour
myself a large whiskey, whilst studying my J.R - only there is no
alcohol in the house. I have to make do with Schloer. My son is still
whining, but I give in, and get him a beaker, and poured some of the
bubbly in his bottle.

"What the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm giving him a drink." My face so looks like one that cares.
"But its wine!"

No it's not, arsehole.

"Well, I thought we could have a quiet night, you know - you and
me?"

"Huh! have you taken a look at yourself lately? Fucking drunk!"

I nearly pissed myself like an inebriate. With laughter. 'Cause all
this time, he's been having this stuff with his meal, and apparently
drunk, going to bed, and claiming he can't get it up 'cause he's got
brewers' droop. Yes, I'm a soft drink drunk, but you've always got a
soft penis.

At that point, I didn't say a word to him, only I put the lid back on
the boy's beaker, and gave it to him. Then, I picked the bottle up by
it's neck, and stuffed the bottom right between the husband's legs,
with the neck sticking up and out.

"Is this the reason why I've never had a sleepless night?"

And then I walked into the bedroom and packed a bag. You see, I am not
at home, listening to the radio, I am on a coach. And it is So Silent,
So Solitary with the So Solid Crew. A phenomenon I never thought could
ever occur.