This site uses cookies, for example to provide statistics, or to enable you to post comments. If you don't want that, please, adjust your personal browser to block cookies. (If you do so, the site might not run smoothly anymore.)
I apologise for any inconvenience.

Diese Seite verwendet Cookies, z.B. zum Erstellen von Statistiken, aber auch, um das Posten von Kommentaren zu ermöglichen. Ist dies unerwünscht, bitte den persönlichen Browser so einstellen, dass Cookies blockiert werden. (Es könnte sein, dass dadurch die Seite nicht reibungslos läuft.)
Ich entschuldige mich für eventuelle Unannehmlichkeiten.


Run (part 1)

I don't know which was worse, the screaming or the silence. When I was little, my parents
never yelled at each other. They were laughing all the time. At least that's what I remember.
Now it seemed they weren't able to talk in a normal way at all.

It was worst at meal times. We'd all sit together and chew in silence like a herd of
cows. From time to time Jan or I would try to kick off some sort of conversation like, "This is
tasty Mum. Where have you found that recipe?" But it seldom worked.

That night it was no different. Dad had hardly cleared his plate when he said,
"I've got an appointment tomorrow in Ealing."

No answer from Mum, as usual after such a statement.

 "It might get late. Perhaps I'll stay over night."


"I'll need the car."

"I'm seeing the dentist tomorrow," Mum said at last. "I'll need the car."

"I thought we'd agreed that work had priority?" Already Dad's voice was a pitch

"Your work always has priority. I told you two weeks ago that I'm going to need the
car. But of course you don't care. It doesn't bother you if it takes me all morning to get there
on time!"

"So shall I cancel the meeting?" Dad yelled back. "Is that what you want?"

"As if you cared what I want …"

Jan and I looked at each other, then retreated to our rooms. We could still hear every
word they were firing at each other even though there were two doors in between. Soon
Robbie Williams was trying to out-shout our parents from Jan's stereo. She'd be lying on
the bed, her nose buried in a book. But I didn't like reading and I didn't feel like listening to
music. I could have done my homework but then things weren't that bad.

I was so worked up and angry, I thought I'd burst. So, as usual when I needed to get rid
of the steam, I grabbed my skateboard and made for the street.
(To be continued)