Mitchell's Mustard Blog

February 29, 2016

She Got That From Her Mother

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:30 pm

It was either the nausea, or the pain streaming through his head that woke him. Before he opened his eyes he knew things weren’t okay. With all the telltale signs around him, it was his gut feeling that put him in panic mode. Knowing he was awake but feeling like he was dreaming, he would pinch himself but movement was limited. Frustrated that his body was ignoring his commands, like a child with no control. His lungs rebelling as his chest squeezed tight, looking for the biting point, the line of no return. Finding it hard to concentrate, like distracted adolescence. The pain, enclosed breathing space, a loud humming from a distance. All the things playing hide and seek with his senses added to his confused train of thought. His mind jumping back and forth, current to past. The uncomfortable seat he was slouched in, the smile on his daughter’s face. The fear of opening his eyes, his wife holding his hand.

Feeling his chest start to pulse, liquid leaving his mouth and nose. It felt like a memory, but the realisation kicked in with the damp feeling in his lap. Is this a dream? If so, he wanted to wake up now. He felt guilty, confused because he didn’t know what for. Feeling his throat wheeze reminded him of his father, he had smoked for years against everyone’s complaints and concerns, his father’s whistle. The memory stuck with him while he slipped deeper into the dark. Remembering the anguish across her face, the sound of his daughter crying his name as he left. Tears found their way down his face through sealed eyes, his nose burning.

You only regret making a decision once it’s too late, no energy to turn back time. His life slipping away through his pores. He remembered attaching the pipe to the exhaust of the car, taking a look at life outside before he closed the garage door and sealed himself in. His mind was fighting but his body refused to react. Fatigued, frightened, alone. His final thought was of his daughter, she was beautiful, strong. She got that from her mother.   


June 16, 2013

A fathers decision

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:12 pm

He sat, he thought, he reminisced. If he could live it again, he would change every day, every sunset he missed, every breath. It was days such as today, fathers day, that stopped him in his tracks so he could be reminded of the bad things he had done, the bad things he had spent years trying to correct but had failed so far. He was sure it was never meant to end out this way, the fairy tale lives in stories you heard as a child, they were so easy, uncomplicated. no one ever told you that these stories could never be a reality, The decisions he had made, the paths he had taken, they had led him to this moment, on his own, in someone else’s home, where no one knew his name.
He stared at a father’s day card on the mantelpiece, it held him in a trance. The names meant nothing but the card held other life choices, what could have been, he wondered if his children thought of him, remembered his name. He knew he was a disappointment to many, he never wanted to stop trying to change their view. Etched into his mind were the last moments he shared with his family, his wife, his toddler son and daughter. The last time he heard her voice, the words that crossed her lips, “It’s not fair on the children to see their father like this”. Prison has a way of separating families.
It has been twenty years since he had seen his family, since he had been a father. Twenty years since he had received a card containing the word dad. He knew that the decisions he had made where the reason his children didn’t know their father, but what they didn’t know was that the decisions he had made were for them, to give them a better life, a better future but his decisions had backfired.
He picked the card up to take a closer look, blue crayon scribbles containing the words ‘love’ and ‘dad’ from a child named Tom. The scribbles he longed for, something so simple that means so much. A part of his life he always missed, someone to look up to him, some ones hero. He held the card to his chest for a moment knowing that he will only ever be some ones criminal, or some ones past. That moment, he wished he could change everything but he knew he never would.
He slipped the card into the bag of all the other goods he had taken from this house, he took another quick look around for anything else he could sell before he headed out through the back door, the door he had broken. He always wanted to be remembered or recognised by loved ones, but the decisions he had made meant that couldn’t happen.

October 19, 2012

Radiant Panic

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 8:35 pm

She’s radiant.

‘What are your thoughts on *****?’ was the question.

The word radiant seemed to just pinch the correct amount of pleasant and attractive to give a small insight into my thoughts. The reason I can answer the question without a moment’s silence was because I know her, she was once the love of my life. I can’t help but think that’s why the question was directed at me in the first place but what I didn’t realise was that she had just walked in and joined the queue I was standing in for my morning coffee.

“Fuck” was the first word that slipped out of my mouth, my friend laughed as I received a few disapproving looks from my fellow early risers.

The reason for the blue outburst was that I had pictured this moment over and over in my mind, if I bumped into her, what would I say? The out worn rehearsals were just about to be tested. She clocked me and smiled; I blushed, smiled and didn’t quite know what to do with my hands. My skin started to prickle under the heat of embarrassment, she signalled to meet at an empty table once we’d picked up our coffee. I offered to get hers but she refused. She obviously hadn’t lost the independent trait that I loved and loathed about her.

“Fuck” I said it again, the looks came again but I didn’t give a shit this time. They can stare all they like because I was a man in need, a man in need of an escape. How do you tell a radiant, beautiful women who’s attached that you’ve never stopped thinking about her? She’s happy with another bloke, enjoying her life. How do you tell her that you’ve never managed to get over her and that if things were different you’d do anything to claw back what you had? The answers to those questions are that you can’t tell her shit.

“Excuse me sir, what can I get you?”

She had asked me three times already but my thoughts where elsewhere.

“Err, sorry. A black coffee in a takeout mug please.”

I could hear some people behind me quietly cheer as I snapped out of my day-dream and ordered, these morning coffee drinkers can be a rowdy fucking lot.

I picked my coffee up and paid; as I turned I caught her attention and pointed to a vacant table in the corner. She nodded in acceptance.

“Good luck” my friend said as he picked up his coffee, tapped me on the shoulder making his way to the door. I was now all alone.

Pulling the chair out from under the table made a high-pitched squeak, another reason why the morning coffee bandits wanted to see the back of me. They all stared at me like I had just finger banged their favourite Chiwawa, she laughed. She had a beautiful laugh. I sat toying with my cup of coffee, trying not to look at her in the queue. I didn’t want to look impatient, nervous or even excited. I just wanted to look like a guy waiting for a girl in a coffee shop. No pressure.

I could tell her how I feel; she could be feeling the same. Maybe she’s not happy and never has been since we parted ways. All my hopeful thoughts partnered up with negative energy. I could tell her how I feel with a result of her just staring at me while the whole coffee shop population laugh into their morning fix. Even worse, she could laugh at me. It was a beautiful laugh but it would hurt like hell.

I started to get hot and could feel my skin prickle again as she paid for her drink, most probably green tea. She turned and headed over to the table, I had to make a quick decision whether or not to tell her my thoughts. ‘Fuck it’ I thought if she’s drinking green tea I won’t tell her, if there’s anything else in her cup then I will. It was a subconscious way of getting out of this situation unscathed because I knew that green tea was all she drank this early in the morning.

“Green tea?” I asked as she silently pulled her chair out from under the table.

“What? Oh . . no its coffee.” she replied

‘Fuck’ I thought to myself, she looked at me like she may have heard it.

“You ok? It’s been a long time since I last saw you” she asked

“Yeah I’m good thanks, matter of fact I’m pleased we’ve bumped into each other because there was something I wanted to talk to you about” I could feel the heat rise from my neck upwards, she must be able to see that I was burning up.

“Oh right, and what would that be?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a playful smile.

It was now or never, I could hear my own heartbeat as it beat like a ticking bomb. I picked, played and tapped my coffee mug; I lifted my eyes from the table to meet hers. ‘Fuck it’ I thought.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you about something, about how I feel” I stuttered

“About how you feel? Ok, what’s up?” she looked worried

Suddenly her phone started to ring, a high-pitched tune that broke the tension on the table.

“Yeah . . . Well I’ve . . .” I started.

“Sorry I’ve got to take this” she cut in once she’d looked at the screen.

I was just about to spill my heart out onto the table for her to catch or dodge and her phone decided to ring, there was someone sitting somewhere on the other end of that call I wanted to punch.

“Hello . . . . Oh hi . . . . yep . . . . yep . . . what . . right now?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair; I could feel all the people around me laughing.

“Ok . . . I’m on my way” she hung up.

“I’ve got to go, sorry. Can we carry on with this conversation later? You’ve got my number, right? She asked whilst standing up

“It was good to see you” I said with a smile.

She smiled and headed for the door, I watched as she glided across the room and out into the morning sun. I knew I didn’t have her number, I had deleted it when we first split up so I didn’t drunk dial her.

The panic had gone; she had gone but the population of the coffee shop were still there, a queue of regulars for their morning fix. I stood up and made my way to the door, the moment I moved someone stepped into my place at the table and took my seat, easily replaced.

‘Fuck’ is all I could think.

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