number twenty-two.

The beginning of a play for script writing?

November:

I grew up in the outer suburbs of Melbourne, in the Dandenong ranges, the house we lived in was a proud home where other parents came to drink tea with my mother and talk about how lovely our neighbourhood was.

I love my family so much but I cant live with them anymore, our relationships became obsessive, we were secluded, we began to separate ourselves from the outside world. We had a common ground, a secret we shared, a secret that many families share and never indulge in the process of talking about it. We didn't share either and this is where problems began, we became our routines, our bed times, our meal times, our work times. We were hollow shells created by our social norms and that contained nothing but musty air and dead follicles, these hollow shells become full with secret sensitivities and thought processes at surprising times when we eat our meals or while away the time before bed, they ooze out of our ears and eyes but never our mouths. My mother sucks them back in and straightens her starched skirt with tired hands that spend hours straightening skirts and pulling skin taut so that her secrets don't seep out.

I left five years ago along with millions of other who leave their families behind them year after year. I now live with a dog who has replaced my mother with better facial expressions and the kind of loyalty only a dog can have. My mother and I write to each other and that is because her shell needs it to stay together, to maintain its cracking walls that could burst open with nothing but stale damp air. I know there's something in there, perhaps pressed against the walls she's so carefully constructed and I know that if it was released her shell would come crashing down, but this is exactly what needs to happen, and exactly what wont happen.

Margaret:
Dear November,

You never made your bed and for that I'm still disappointed in you. It's been 1,824 days since I've seen your face and the knowledge that your weekly chores remained unfinished is always playing on my mind. I hope you are well and living in a healthy and sterile environment. I cleaned your room, I couldn't bare the sight of it, it took me nearly all day but it now looks like a respectable living space. I also went to the library yesterday to look at some new recipes, your father might come over and I want it to be a special night.
Please brush your teeth everyday,

Margaret.

L.