The happy place

It’s not like you might picture me laying here on the sofa next to two lovemaking dogs feeling sorry for myself, that’s not the case at all. No, no! I am conducting some soul searching, turning bad memories into (some might say) beautiful anecdotes. It’s more akin to a brave exploration of the dark places, similar to the Journey to the Center of the earth, shining a thin ray of light from the metaphorical submarine to look if there’s gold glittering down there.

so following up on the previous post on a similar theme, as my brain drew a new connection, this memory follows too:

My cousin who I love dearly moved in to live with us briefly during a period of my life when I was young and miserable. She frequently had a need for something girl time related and therefore I was often left out, because even though I had some pretty feminine mannerisms, I was a boy.

Once I came knocking on my sister’s door, holding an ice cream in each hand, no I must’ve held both in one hand or else I couldn’t have knocked? Or maybe I did knock while also holding the ice cream? It’s irrelevant. The point is all I heard was my cousin screaming through the door: NO! go away!! so there I stood. Maybe a sad sight I was with the two uneaten ice creams melting in my hands outside of the white door.

My cousin and I have talked about this period of our lives and she does regret these particular events a lot, children may fight and all of that is water under the bridge.

But

But what of my sister

Why didn’t my sister step up for me then?

And why hasn’t it occurred to me until now that she could’ve done something or said something?

Anything?