I had a wonderful night, tonight. Completely unplanned and wonderfully weird. It’s a hot night and I finished work at about 7 o’clock. I got a meal ready and thought “Oh. I really want a beer”. So I called Best Friend and collected her on the way to the pub. Midweek drunkenness was the last thing on my mind. I had dinner ready.
I won’t bore you. There was a guy with an old fashioned synth who was playing all sorts of crap. It sounded, for the most part, like a piss-poor fairground. Then there was company: Sweat Boy, Doglikey Boy, Obsession Girl and me, Medication Girl. All sorts seemed to be out tonight, and the evening became fun. Strange and fun. We all ended up drunkish and hot.
The synth man has a good line in Bowie songs. He’s got the voice and does it reasonably well. Too fond of ‘The Laughing Gnome’, perhaps, but he does it well.
So, necessarily getting to the point, I found myself standing on my chair singing
”There’s a Staaaaarrrmmaaaan, waiting in the skyeeee…”
We left while it was still going on, and walked down the road listening to it falter into nothing.
It was not until I walked into the street that I realized that I had actually sung along to this song; that song. For twenty years it has made me burst into tears. I think I know why, but I am too scared to remember. I know that this was the song that was playing when something awful happened, but I have a complete blank. I think I know what happened.
The point of discussion. Do I want to remember? If - with proper guidance and help - I do remember, will it ease me? Would it be better all round if I accept, tacitly, that something nasty happened? Can the recovery of memory ever be a positive thing? I desperately want to know, but I don’t want to remember. |
