by Jessica Murdoch
The One with the Cake
Cake isn’t about cake. It’s about comfort or celebration or nostalgia.
Cravings for cake cannot be easily satiated by substitutions.
Cake means birthdays. Elaborate creations from the Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake book. A pool. A piano. A princess. Planning. Weeks – possibly months – go into the decision making. Careful considerations. The perfect choice. Selected with care, made with love. Then again, sometimes cake is just about cake and you forgetting to get one for me.
The One with the Memorial Service
My earliest memory of him is at the memorial of his grandfather. I don’t recall how old I was, just old enough to recall at all, I guess. We’ve known each other since birth but all the other memories feel planted – Do you remember when… Look at you two in this photo. That was the time that you… This one feels like mine. It was the first memorial service I’d ever been to as well; it feels like the memory should be more poignant. Or meaningful. But it’s just the two of us, bored at the wake, playing in the undercover bricked walkway, hiding garden stones in our pockets.
The One with the Videotape
I may have been a little obsessive as a teen. I had a terrible fear of missing out, long before the acronym was invented. Although, not so much a fear of missing out on experiences but missing something that would be important to me, that no one else would notice. I couldn’t have put into words what I was looking for. I spent a lot of time recording things off the television. Poring through newspapers or magazines.
Thank god social media hadn’t been invented yet.
Scrap books and boxes full of torn out pages. Drawerfuls of videotapes with my handwritten scrawl – tv shows, sports, video hits. Written and overwritten. The burning in my chest when I found out that he’d taped something of his own. It seemed like an old tape. One you weren’t using. I don’t even know what was on it.
The One with the Ride-Along
My brother the boss. He was eight years old when I was born. People were sure he’d be disappointed to get a little sister but he was happy about it. Overjoyed even.
Later he’d complain about me tagging along but I think he actually liked it. Maybe not my annoying input but having me there to take care of. Looking after me. Making sure I was ok. Teaching me all the things I didn’t know. It became pretty normal, wherever he went I went too. As we got older the gap seemed wider. It was weird when he went away. No one else seemed to think I should care. He was so much older, it was expected. Sometimes I wonder.
The One with the Routine
I ate a peanut butter sandwich every day of my school life. Ok, not quite everyday but absolutes sound more interesting. Fridays were lunch order days. Occasionally, I would make it peanut butter and honey. Or layer in plain potato chips. But, as a general rule, it was the same thing every day.
Peanut butter sandwiches really aren’t at their best after sitting in a lunchbox for any length of time. They shrink in size. Hardening. Sticking to the roof of your mouth. I can’t say that I enjoyed a peanut butter sandwich every day of my school life.
The One with the List
This one is every one. I’ve been making lists for as long as I can remember. When I found Robin Klein’s ‘The List maker’ as a child I thought someone had decided to write a story about me.
The One with the Metaphorical Tunnel
Sometimes, when we focus on one little detail, we don’t realise that we’re not actually living up to the intrinsic ‘truth’ of our character. In so many ways he seems to be a man willing to challenge stereotypes. He’s usually in touch with his emotions (and not just anger) and demonstrates that he’s not your ‘typical’ blokey-bloke. It always struck me as ridiculous that he would have any issue with a boy playing with Barbies or having a male nanny. It was always out of nowhere. Out of character. Almost like he was being written by a screenwriter who needed convenient laughs and plot points.
The One with [redacted] in a Box
Sitting in a box to earn someone’s forgiveness may seem like an unusual method. You’d be surprised at its effectiveness though. Something about the commitment to do something completely useless and irrelevant. Shows that your relationship is more important than your pride. Or something. He didn’t actually seem to be sorry but there was something about the attempt. A grand gesture rather than a genuine effort to understand what he’d done wrong or how to make it right. The drama and story more important than my feelings.