A head-swivelling toddler. Quiet child.
November 7, 2013 § Leave a comment
I am a beginner with, as my Canadian cousins might have called it, a “horrible” game. I move in abandon, delighted/dejected and demand game after game, each shoddy loss. Addictive.
I listen, interpret. Read the back of the milk carton. Your faces. Context. Pick out roots of words from your sentences and pattern-make in my head. My grammar book with illegible notes taken in bright colours. Occasionally I will mumble the odd few words, but, “inte så mycket”. Mostly, I watch. As much as I listen. ‘Much easier to understand, if you follow with your eyes. A head-swivelling toddler. Quiet child.
I train. Ted takes me. My father did so once, before. We learned that as our bodies were purged, also my emotions would out. All the bad stuff, in torrents. Pa got anger and frustration, Ted had all the weight of London. All exhaustion, my tears. But, much better by run two. I am getting to know my abs again. Legs tired but breathing: better.