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View Full Version : Ms. Dolores notes, part one



Sir.
June 2nd, 2012, 09:15 PM
When we were getting divorced I fixated on two things, I guess the fact that it was only 2
things after twelve years is a real statement about our marriage. The
first thing is kind of obvious, so obvious in fact that its written
on our papers, carefully noted under our file of mutual martial
breakdown, with neither party holding a particular responsibility but
I don't want to talk about that and you don't either, so I won't. The
other thing, the odder thing – was a moment at your dad's
anniversary party, I still think of it as his party which is funny
for a anniversary, right ? I mean surely I should think of it as your
mum and dad's party but it was his; his favourite jazz band, his favourite food, his work
buddies and a couple of neighbours to keep your mum occupied. Just
like it was his house, his car and his family, your mum was such a
doormat for him that she may have been the feminist anti-Christ, at
any point I would not have been surprised to see her answer to your
dad shouting “Wilma!” and find him in a leopard skin with a club
over his shoulder – that was the elegant age that she preserved in
that home. Anyhow I'm getting distracted, the fact is I can always
remember that despite the wine, music, suits, dresses and downright
graceless perfection of the party you leaned in to me and muttered
away about your brother. I get you have, I mean had – issues with
him. You were insecure, who could blame you living with a Dad who
almost branded your brother as the 'good product' whilst you got the
irritating and irrevocable feeling that he wanted to send you back to
the factory with a complaint. Your brother was better at sports,
academia and socially incredible, the only man in all New England
that you could trust at a dinner party to have a republican on one
side and democrat the other and lead the conversation smoother than a
silk scarf through the whole evening. So you leaned in, and you
muttered to me, in that whining repressed, voice ; reserved
especially for talking about him in a low whisper unlike at home
where you could rant about him loud enough to have the lights rattle
in the ceiling, “here comes the right hand of God, do you
think we should bow or just salute”, if it hadn't been so bitter then you'd have been funny.
But you wereand are, frankly George that ended the marriage a hell of a long time
before the other thing, even if it never got put down on the papers.
I can't hold it against you, I knew what you were – I understood
you. And besides bitterness is hardly a crime, or at least that's
what I'm telling myself right now.

Sir.
June 3rd, 2012, 07:23 PM
second note.

obscurely I found myself thinking about the puzzle yesterday,
you had that thing on the table for weeks. I think it appeased
your meticulous nature – a lot like the way in which you liked to organise the knives and forks in
the drawers and double check that the mower was set to the right
height (even half way through doing the lawn, just to be sure that
the whole job was done evenly). It was a part of you I never
understood, I have no ability to organise, nor any desire to develop
one. The puzzle though, that was a new level of obsession, even for
someone as accomplished in the field of obsessive behaviour as you. I
mean for Christ sakes who starts to examine the picture on the box
with a magnifying glass – I swear if you could have done then you
would have had your old chemistry microscope out to check the pieces
native place to a extra degree of detail. As for the hell you raised
when Emily shuffled the chunks you'd put together around on the
table, well you'd think that you were the toddler and she the adult –
poor creature just stood there and apologised, ,then again Emily was
always a strange child, even stranger now as a adult : comparatively
you're only a mild socio-path ( as opposed to the raving lunatic you
appear to be in comparison with more ordinary people). Not entirely
sure why I'm mulling over these little things so much lately, I
wondered what my mother would tell me it is,can't ask her, she can't
stop herself from the changing the topic of conversation whenever I
mention your name. Can't blame her really, can we ?