Feelings Freed

Dear Child of Mine

Dear,

     Child of Mine.

Don't worry, you're not in trouble. I write this for us both, in case I ever forget myself. There are lessons to learn in your journey from child to adult. Lessons that I, as your mother, would never wish to see you struggle through alone like I had. This is an account of the one year, and the one person, among all others, that changed me. In this account, I'll impart the lessons that on reflection, I'd have benefited from learning sooner.

I remember it distinctly; the year 2013. I'd not long turned eighteen when my journey began. The summer had been difficult; I was left financially vulnerable, with no choice but to reject my university offer and take a gap-year. I learnt early on not to rely too heavily on my parents for support. I hope you never feel this way, my darling. My desperation and devastation at the situation were a heady mix, which fueled my determination to bounce back. I found a care assistant job and started working all the hours in the day. I had simple objectives; work full-time, earn enough money for university, and travel. Although these objectives were important, this letter's focus is on the unexpected events in life.

On the outskirts of our village, platformed on the corner of a busy junction, a small garage. A quaint little place, it opposed a graveyard on one side and a large common on the other. Quarrelling for the space next door was a reasonably sized two-story house with a red door, my younger self assumed it to be where all the mechanics lived. It wasn't until secondary school when I befriended Khloe, who lived there, that I discovered otherwise. Khloe didn't stay on to sixth form like I did, so it was a pleasant surprise to run into her two years later as I got my first car checked over. Our catch-up was brief, she was more interested in flirting with the nearby black-clad mechanic bent under a car bonnet. I assumed the mechanic in question wasn't much older than us. I watched the one-sided conversation in amusement; he was obviously more interested in the car than he was in her. This was my first memory of him.

Lesson No.1 - Never waste your time and attention on anyone who doesn't return it with equal interest.

Eventually, bowing under the pressure of my sixteen-hour workdays, my car developed problems. My trips to the garage became regular as new car issues arose weekly. Dewey - the most experienced mechanic and most familiar to me, turned my visits into a running joke as I struggled to make my second-hand cars survive. On the periphery of all our conversations, was that mechanic. After acquiring my third car in three months, I'd been relaying the car's history to Dewey when the shadow joined the teasing. This caught my attention; an awareness of his omnipresence followed a realization that I knew nothing of him.

"What is your name?!" I asked, focused on him fully. Unprepared for the question, and startled by my intent, he dropped the tool with which he'd been fiddling.

"Looks like you finally made an impression," Smirked Dewey.

"Emmanuel, but you can call me Mannie." He smiled, wiping his greasy hands on his trousers for me to shake. He was cute. I could understand why Khloe wanted his attention. Very 'boy-next-door'; brown eyes and a round face with dimples in his smile.

Over the following months, the mechanics' teasing intensified. It no longer centered around my car issues, but the chemistry between Mannie and myself. Something I wasn't initially aware of, despite the attention the others drew to it. If I laughed off their remarks, I wasn't denying what they said, but if I objected, I was defensive because I was hiding something. A double-edged sword Mannie and I struggled to parry; without consent, we'd been labelled an 'item', something I wasn't prepared for.