{"id":1744,"date":"2021-05-25T08:00:15","date_gmt":"2021-05-25T06:00:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/?p=1744"},"modified":"2021-05-21T12:12:33","modified_gmt":"2021-05-21T10:12:33","slug":"learning-to-leave","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/2021\/05\/learning-to-leave\/","title":{"rendered":"Learning To Leave"},"content":{"rendered":"

Image: Lost<\/em>\u00a0<\/strong>\u00a9 Claudia Cantoni<\/a><\/span><\/h2>\n

Author:\u00a0<\/strong>FC<\/p>\n

It was Christmas Eve \u2013 Mr. Doolan\u2019s birthday. Outside, the roads were covered by a thin layer of wet snow and the city was shrouded in the thick familiar fog of the cold season.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Doolan was busy preparing the next day\u2019s festive meals, submerged by a sea of pots and pans. The open kitchen overlooked the living room, where Mr. Doolan sat, pretending to be absorbed by the articles in his hands, whilst the children were on the floor, drawing and writing the Christmas cards to give to the rest of the family the next day. In reality, Brigid was pretending, too: she was not interested in the cards, she just wished that someone would break that deafening silence. Her parents had fought again \u2013 heavily. The tension in the room was so thick, that it made it hard to breathe. Niall was signing the last card, writing his name with different sized letters: the n<\/em> was in capital letters, but the wrong way round, the i<\/em> was capitalised, the a<\/em> was larger than the n\u00a0<\/em>and the two l<\/em>s were a bit too separated and straight.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wrote the n<\/em> the other way round, again! I wrote your name properly right here, you just had to copy it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, come on Brigid. Give your brother a break, he\u2019s only five years old. These mistakes are normal \u2013 you used to do them, too. Dinner will be ready soon. Come get your plates when I call you.\u201d said Mrs. Doolan.<\/p>\n

Mr. Doolan put his papers down. \u201cShall we play a game of backgammon? Or why don\u2019t you two play and whoever wins plays against me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019m not good at baggamom<\/em>.\u201d When Niall whined like that, Brigid just wanted to slap him across the face. Did he not understand how tense the situation was? Why couldn\u2019t he just shut up and do as he was told?<\/p>\n

\u201cFair enough, then. We\u2019ll play together against your sister. How does that sound, Champ?\u201d<\/p>\n

Champ<\/em>. He called him that way just because one of the meanings behind the name Niall<\/em> is champion<\/em>. But he was no champion \u2013 he was just a whiney baby. Brigid took the backgammon box off the shelf. She didn\u2019t want to complain \u2013 she didn\u2019t dare say that she knew she had no chance of winning against her father.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on Brigid, it\u2019s just a fun game! It doesn\u2019t matter if you lose \u2013 as long as you\u2019re not as awful as your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

How dare he? How dare he insult her in front of her own children? Mrs. Doolan did not answer. She knew it wasn\u2019t worth it, it would just lead them to another fight \u2013 another wave of insults and accusations. She had had enough. She could not bear another round, and the children did not deserve to witness another violent clash.<\/p>\n

The pie was ready. Mrs. Doolan had prepared it deliberately for her husband\u2019s birthday \u2013 it was his favourite. However, in that moment, she just wanted to throw it, ravish it, destroy it. She was about to implode and make everything around her explode with her. \u201cNo\u201d, she whispered to herself, \u201cyou need to think about Brigid and Niall, Sive\u201d. She turned around to look at them: Niall was on his father\u2019s lap, Brigid sat on the floor, moving the backgammon pieces. Their children were perfect. Mrs. Doolan asked herself how could they<\/em> have created such pure creatures: Brigid, tiny and gracious, and yet so strong and wise (\u201cseeing her so grown melts my heart \u2013 too much for her age\u201d), and Niall, who looked like a little angel, with his golden locks, blue eyes, as deep as the sea, and his head always in the clouds. \u201cAnd what about you? Who will you become?\u201d, wondered Mrs. Doolan, grazing her womb with her hand. She turned to the window: just fog. Everything was grey. As foggy as her mind, as grey as her future. She still hadn\u2019t told a soul she was pregnant. Two months had already passed since that night \u2013 that last intimate night. They were in the bathroom, getting ready to go to bed, when she began to cry, sat on the edge of the bathtub. He knelt before her, took her hands, and kissed them. For the first time in a long while and for the last time, he was not annoyed by her tears, he had not retreated within himself, he had not repudiated her. That night of sad passion, she had seen in his eyes that wounded, tormented, and frightened boy. That boy she had fallen in love with and was unable to save.<\/p>\n

She was afraid of telling her husband that she was pregnant. She feared it would become an inexorable reason to stay together. What kind of mother would leave her spouse with a child on the way? What mother would not give her child the opportunity of living within a united family? These questions plagued Mrs. Doolan \u2013 they made her hesitate. A few days before, she had told her parents she was considering divorcing her husband, as she could not bear it anymore. \u201cBut you have to stay with him \u2013 think about the kids! How do you think they\u2019ll grow up with a broken family? Plus, Cillian isn\u2019t all that bad. He provides for all your needs \u2013 he even spoils you! It can\u2019t be that bad.\u201d What did they know? How could they have known about the continuous abuses she had to bear every day? What did they know about what would be best for her children? Growing up in a house full of violence and resentment could not be better than a divided family, surely. Many couples divorce, and the children all seem to grow up perfectly fine \u2013 better than if their parents had stayed in their toxic relationship. So toxic it exterminated all the love. He provides<\/em>. Sure, he provided all the material goods, but at what expense? At the expense of her happiness? Her sanity? No, she could not allow this. Women do not need to depend on their husbands: she would manage on her own, she was strong. One day she would make the right decision.<\/p>\n

Brigid was losing. She knew it was going to end that way. At least dad seemed more serene \u2013 maybe he had forgotten about his fight with mum and would go say sorry to her. The little girl turned to observe her mother: she was looking outside the window. She wasn\u2019t able to see her face, but she knew her expression was pensive, distant. She often had that air lately, as if she were lost somewhere and didn\u2019t know how to come back \u2013 nor how to go forward. \u201cIf mum made dad\u2019s favourite pie, maybe she\u2019s not that upset anymore\u201d, thought Brigid, seeing the cake next to Mrs. Doolan. It was a weird contrast: the sweet and warm smell of pastry and Nutella seemed to try to mask the cold and dense tension that still hovered in the air. Usually, in these situations, Brigid closed herself off completely, remaining, however, as alert as a prey \u2013 ready to react to any movement. She didn\u2019t know what to do. How could she make things better? She was too anxious to think \u2013 she was afraid of making a mistake and causing it all start again. She feared that\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cDaddy\u201d, interrupted Niall, pausing the game. \u201cWhy did you make mummy angry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t make her angry, Niall. She\u2019s<\/em> the one who made me<\/em> angry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brigid did not even dare to look up from the gameboard.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut will you say sorry?\u201d, asked the child naively. He didn\u2019t understand what had happened, but he knew he didn\u2019t like what was going on. He didn\u2019t like seeing his mummy crying and his father shouting at her.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll see about that.\u201d answered Mr. Doolan harshly. Niall still didn\u2019t understand: when Brigid and he would fight, his parents would force them to say sorry and shake hands. It was easy. Why wouldn\u2019t they do the same?<\/p>\n

\u201cListen, Niall, your mother is a difficult person,\u201d began Mr. Doolan in a low voice. \u201cI love her very much, just as much as I love you guys. Can\u2019t you see? I go to work every day so that we can have everything our family needs, so that you two can have everything you want. This is why, when I\u2019m home, I demand<\/em> respect \u2013 some gratitude for all I do. That\u2019s fair, isn\u2019t it? With all the things I do for you guys\u2026 Who do you think pays for the food you eat every day? I mean, true, your mother cooks it, but I\u2019m the one that gives her the money to buy it. Don\u2019t forget about that. Or what about your new play car, who do you think paid for that? Do you know what I had at your age? I had nothing, Niall. No games or toys, no yummy sweets and biscuits \u2013 nothing<\/em>. I have very few rules, but these rules are important \u2013 everyone<\/em> must follow them. When your mother does not obey them, she disrespects me \u2013 actually, she disrespects the whole family! This is why I get angry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brigid felt like she had to vomit \u2013 she could feel all the words she wanted to say were about to erupt from her stomach. \u201cIt\u2019s not true \u2013 none of it is true!\u201d Thought the child.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, if mummy says sorry first, will everything be good then?\u201d asked Niall.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, little Champ!\u201d replied his father, smiling. However, that wasn\u2019t what Mr. Doolan really wanted. He was so afraid of losing everything that he was trying his best to keep his children on his side \u2013 he was deliberately making Mrs. Doolan appear as the family\u2019s enemy. She was the enemy; she was the one that could take it all away from him. But she loved him \u2013 or she had loved him. She wouldn\u2019t take everything away from him, right? Mr. Doolan knew he was the problem. He knew he was the difficult<\/em> one, the one that was distancing his family from himself. He turned towards his wife and looked at her: she was so beautiful, so elegant in her movements, as if she were dancing. Why wasn\u2019t he able to get close to her? The walls of his pride would not lower. They would not allow him to kneel before her, ask for her forgiveness, explain the truth to her \u2013 the terror he felt at the mere thought of losing her every day. He had a perfect life: a wife who loved him, kind and wise, two wonderful children and a job that allowed them all to live well and satisfy their every need. And yet, every time he expressed himself, violent nastiness was all that came out. His pride and his fears took control and he would start attacking her, before even realising it. Hurt the other, before they hurt you<\/em>. He was completely unable to control himself when he was angry. He reflected all of his self-hatred on others, and then he would raise his insurmountable barricades, estranging all those around him. He feared he\u2019d end up like his own father \u2013 he feared he\u2019d go insane. He feared coming back home and discovering his wife had run away with the kids. He feared not ever being enough. He wanted to ask Sive for her forgiveness, but he knew he wouldn\u2019t be able to do so. The more he thought about it, the more his anger and resentment grew. He felt he was about to explode. He had to distance himself \u2013 escape. Leave them before they left him.<\/p>\n

Mr. Doolan got up.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay guys, dinner is ready! Come get your plates, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned around and walked down the stairs, without uttering a word.<\/p>\n

\u201cCillian, where are you going? Dinner\u2019s ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took his coat and he left.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Image: Lost\u00a0\u00a9 Claudia Cantoni Author:\u00a0FC It was Christmas Eve \u2013 Mr. Doolan\u2019s birthday. Outside, the roads were covered by a thin layer of wet snow and the city was shrouded in the thick familiar fog of the cold season. Mrs. Doolan was busy preparing the next day\u2019s festive meals, submerged by a sea of pots […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1001996,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"","_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"","_seopress_robots_index":"","footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[65],"tags":[37],"class_list":{"0":"post-1744","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-2021-spring","7":"tag-prose"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1744","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1001996"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1744"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1744\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1744"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1744"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1744"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}