I was 5, but I remember the day as if it were yesterday. My father read some correspondence on my mother’s phone, where she wrote to her friend that she was still seeing her rich boyfriend. She met him rarely. My father earned very little at the time in order to buy things that her husband and children didn’t need, but she wanted to feed her family. Even too little. “How could you afford to go through my phone?” my mother would shout, knowing the golden rule: the best defense is an offense, “your salary is not enough for anything. “How do you think we have so much food in the house?” “The TV is mine!” my father shouted. It’s yours, too!” “Yes,” my father replied, “it’s yours, too. And the TV, and the meat, and… and George. I’m taking everything with me. I was scared. If up to that point I hadn’t been involved in these quarrels, then I was a direct participant, so to speak.” “The devil, not George!” my mother replied.
“But my father took me away then. Why should my mother fight with a big man for me? My father would take me to the garden, pick me up, feed me, and play with me. Even before that incident, he spent more time with me than my mother. It was winter outside, and I was standing in front of my mother in a fur coat: “Don’t cry, mom, I’ll come to visit you soon,” I said in my childish voice. My mother hugged me, and my father gave me one look to understand that it was time for us to go. He stood in front of the front door and said to my mother: “See you in court! Both my mother and father’s lives probably turned out in the best possible way. Shortly after the divorce, my mother found a man and forgot about me for a while. My father didn’t waste any time either. He met Alexandra, the daughter of a wealthy businessman. Sometimes I would go to my mother for a few days. She and my father did not communicate. Even after all this time, her father did not forgive her. A few years later, when I was already 14, several important events happened at once – my mom got pregnant and my dad went to prison.
On his way home from work, my father unexpectedly got into a street fight. Responsibility for everything that happened was shifted to my father, and he was sentenced to the fullest extent of the law. Saying goodbye, my father told us: “Hold on to each other. Aleksandra and I digested the sentence for a long time. We lived our lives supporting each other. One day something happened that I cannot forget. Someone rang the doorbell. Aleksandra was preparing dinner for us, so I went to open the door. My mother stood in front of me: “Get ready, you’re coming home,” she said. “George, who is it?” Aleksandra shouted as she walked toward us. “I came for my son,” Aleksandra’s mother replied. Then Aleksandra tried to pull her mother by the shoulder and invite her inside, but her mother brushed her hand away and said rudely, “Be careful, I’m pregnant. I knew how painful it was for Aleksandra at that moment-she could not have children. It was a sore subject for her. But she had always been distinguished by her calmness and endurance. She somehow managed to put a smile on her face and invited my mom back. They sat in the kitchen, and I sat in my room.
“Understand me, Monica, George is my only relative. He is the only one who understands me now, the only one who can help me through this. I can’t live without him. He is my only family member, and you… you have everything. I want him to live with me while his father is away,” my mother started to scream. I couldn’t sit at home anymore. “You are dividing me like a piece of cheese. Didn’t you think to ask me? Maybe I’ve already decided who I’m going to stay with. “It’s very adult to manipulate a child with tears,” her mother said. “I’m not a child anymore. Mom, I’m going to stay with Aleksandra. You already have everything, and we are left with each other to face each other’s misfortunes. I go to school here, my friends live here. I’m sorry, but I’ve decided,” I was shocked myself, but it was the first time I spoke to my mother like a man, not like a child. I walked my mom to the bus stop. There, while we were waiting for the bus, I asked her: “How are things with your Adam? Are you still seeing him?” – Well, we can’t starve, can we? I hugged my clumsy mom, we laughed and parted ways. At home, I calmed Aleksandra down. We had a long and difficult journey ahead of us. Waiting is never easy.
