I Met Him in the Summer

2. Why Do I See You Everywhere I Go ... I Think I'm Starting To Like You?

In life, of course, there are certain moments that crystallise. They stand out, unforgettable. Strung together with all that comes in between, they make up a life essentially.

Then, there is marriage. After a decade, two decades, the moments have grown together in a spiderweb so complex it gets harder and harder to differentiate one from the next.

It's a life of separation and sameness all at once, forks resting the same way in the silverware drawer, bodies spooned neatly in a sweeping sleigh bed. The baby you planned for. The one you didn't. The tinkling sounds of laughter and the fierce rage of fights and small, sticky fingerprints ruining things you didn't even know you cared about.

A divorce. A family broken. A statistic. That's what life comes down to. Because when Tine was seven his parents too got a divorce.

Now, as a fifteen year old, he suppose it was the right thing to do as the only vivid memories he has of that time were of their constant bickering. He remembers arguing, and screaming and him trying his best to cover his head with his pillows in an effort to block them out. And then, it all ended with his mother leaving and never coming back.

They never talked about it to his father, they never brought it up but he thinks his father was just as stunned and blindsided as they were — she was just heading to the supermarket, she said, but she never came back home.

Never.

He loved his parents, of course, but absolutely hated their fights. He had missed the calmness of the house, the love, life and warmth in used to hold.

He remembers thinking that he should do something instead of cowering underneath his covers. Maybe he could walk right out there and tell his parents to stop fighting and be happy again. And he did exactly that - got off his bed and as quietly as possible, walked across his room. He was able to open the door and slip into the hallway easily, and carefully pass Type as he silently tiptoed to their parents' bedroom.

The door was open, and he peeked around the corner to look inside. Dad was standing while mom sat on the bed with her legs crossed. He could see that his mother was irritated as plain as day.

He bit his lip as he gradually began edging to where he could be seen. The claws of anxiety scraped at his belly, and something told him to run, run as fast as possible back to his bed. But his parents where depending on him now, whether they knew it or not.

The instant that his stepped into full view, his mom's eyes flashed and she told dad to 'be quiet', calling him an idiot (whatever that was). Dad turned and seemed almost ... ashamed? Was that even the appropriate word for the look in his father's eyes?

"Tine, you're supposed to be asleep right now," Mom said calmly, putting her hands on her hips.

"I know, Mommy. But you guys were fighting, and ..." he trailed off, losing the confidence he had had only minutes ago.

Dad sighed, and came to crouch before Tine, "We weren't fighting, Tine. Mom and Dad were just having a conversation that got too loud, that's all."

"Oh, don't lie to him, XXX. He already knows," Mom scolded, but not in the way that she did to Tine and his brother.

"You shouldn't fight, it's bad," Tine said, "You should cuddle and love each other and be happy. Like in the movies and stuff."

"Tine, life isn't a movie. Lots of parents argue; millions, all over the world," Mom said using her hands to emphasise.

Dad suddenly looked upset again, and stood up to face Mom, "So you're gonna make him think that fighting is normal?!"

"Better than being ignorant to the world?"