I arrived at my Mum's flat, bag in hand, still somewhat questioning why I decided to spend the holidays with my family instead of just alone, or even with Ville. My sister Camy opened the door with a sweet smile and open arms ready for a hug. I hugged her half-heartedly, and gave her a look I knew she would understand. "Mum just wasn't feeling too well, Teddy. Don't worry about it." I shrugged her arm off my shoulder almost unknowingly and threw my bag down at the side of the door. "Teddy…" I heard my Mother's voice and looked up at the stairs as she walked down smiling. I could only smile back her and run to meet her half way, throwing my arms around her and holding her close. Perhaps searching for the comfort I felt that I had lost somewhere between the last time I saw her and now. I met her on the last step as I wrapped my arms around her waist. She just held my head over her heart and smoothed my hair soothingly. God, how I missed her touch. Mother's seem to have this touch, and this comfort that no one else can offer. No matter what they do to you, or how much you may dislike them at the moment, they can put your head over their heart and stroke your back, making you forget all of it. The first thing out of her mouth after the embrace was something along the lines of, "Teddy, you're so cold." I didn't know how to respond to her, so I didn't.
We went to Trafalgar Square for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve as planned. It was just my Mum, Camy, and I, as none of the others had bothered to come. It was really beautiful, but not necessarily my idea of fun. Christmas morning I was woke up about 8am. I shared a cup of tea with my sister while waiting the arrival of my Father and his fiancée, not to mention my other sister. As 10am rolled around we heard a knock at the door, they were all 2 hours late, which I can't say is overly surprising. When my Mum opened the door, the look on her face took me by surprise. It seems as if my Father bringing his fiancée took her by surprise. From what I gathered later, it was my sister's job to tell my Mum, but she conveniently "forgot". The rest of our Christmas proceeded in being extremely awkward, and filled with fighting from about Noon until late into the night. My Mum asked why he would bring "that tramp" to our family gathering, my sisters argued on why the other one didn't warn my Mum, and my Father's fiancée said she wasn't appreciating the way she was being treated. Thankfully, I was able to retreat to one of the guest rooms and strum my Mum's guitar over all the yelling. This used to be a nightly occurrence in my childhood, and I didn't want that memory flooding back into my head.
Around 8pm that night I couldn't take much more so I went on a long walk, a very long walk, and I haven't really been back since. I come in around 3 or 4am in the morning, when I know everyone is sleeping, and leave to go back out around 7am before anyone is up. I don't get much sleep, but I'm used to that feeling. I don't want to be there, but at the same time I don't really have anywhere else to go. It's a strange feeling… to feel as if you don't have a home, or anywhere to go. Was this what I was striving for all along? To push everyone away so I would be stuck wandering the streets most of my days, into all of my nights, wishing I had a home to return to? I know Brian offered his flat to me, and I know I am more than welcome back there. All of my belongings are still there, and he has told me more than once I am welcome back at anytime. I just haven't figured out how to face him yet. I had coffee with him on his birthday while I was still in LA, and it was more than I could handle. He sat at a table in the café I met him at, complete with a large pair of sunglasses. Even through those sunglasses, I could tell he wasn't able to look me in the eyes. After I gave him his gifts, he ran straight to the bathroom, and I knew it had made him cry. I couldn't handle it. I can't handle seeing that I cause such an effect on someone, such a bad one. I passed by the door to his flat more than a few times, wondering if I would be able to walk up and knock like I had pictured doing so many times. I thought of what I would say, how I could look at him, and more importantly, how I could even have the audacity to hug him, or apologise to him. I just continued walking each time, and I assume that was for the better.
I received a phone call earlier this evening as I was wondering around Trafalgar Square. As I picked the cell phone out of my pocket and looked at the display, I wasn't sure what to think, or even if I should answer it. While I missed him terribly, I didn't want him to hear my voice, or the condition I was in. I answered it with a soft hello, after a small debate with myself. "Hi Teddy, it's Juska." He spoke softly. The only reply I could think of was, "I know." We talked for quite some time. I ended up at the foot of a tree, trying to keep warm, discussing things with him I never thought I would tell him about. I started acting nonchalant before I let out too much and became too vulnerable. I'm sure he knew what I was telling him, anyhow. The conversation proceeded with an invitation out to Finland for the New Years. I wasn't sure if Finland was the place I needed to be right now, but I knew it was better than freezing in the streets of London. Juska arranged a flight out tomorrow at 1:35pm, and invited me to HIM's New Year's Eve show at Tavastia. I graciously accepted his offer and began to make plans with him upon my arrival.
I began to get very cold as the wind picked up and I realised it was probably time for me to head back to my Mum's place. I said my goodbyes to Juska and told him I would see him soon before hanging up and making the long walk back. All I kept seeing were couples, and children running around along my way back. The last thing I wanted to think of was couples, and children. It reminded me of how much I missed him, and how much these past few days has made me remember my childhood. My Father, of course, left when I was very young, and my mother subsequently blamed us children for that. It was my fault, or so I was told for many years, that their marriage fell apart. It was my fault my Mother was alone, and it was my fault she was so miserable. As I grew older I had to watch her struggle with many things, dry spells in creativity, losing her parents, and dealing with my Father. I heard them fighting on the phone often, her fighting with my sisters or some boyfriend she would have for a couple of weeks. When it was no longer "my fault" it became "my problem", not hers to help me through. I struggled just as well, if not more through this whole process. Before I left for LA when I was 18 was when we got pretty close. Maybe it was because I was older, or maybe it was because this time she needed me, and I didn't want to leave her dry like she had done to me so many times. We have been relatively close since then, but I know not to rely on her like I wish I could.
Pack my things once more, board one more plane, go see a handful of people one more time, and hope that this one last time will ease everything within me.
"Sometimes I feel my heart fall to vague depths between words, there are such spaces that I can't help but feel. My heart falls between the pregnant pause of all you will not say, and all I can not ask."