Vintage: Guilt

Saturday, 3 November 2007

This piece is from 1991...

If you hadn’t given me your doona, it would have been easier. Doonas are relatively personal things. Especially when two people share them. And share each other under them. And you were so soft and quiet. Just like a doona. If you laid on top of me, you blocked out the noise and made me warm. You even had whiskers sticking out of your face like the feathers in a doona. You were a doona. Yet you were as skinny as a rake.

If I’d have bought my own doona, I wouldn’t have had to borrow yours. I would have been doona-independent. Doonas are expensive things too. An old sweat shirt - I could always have kept that; you probably wouldn’t have missed it. But a doona - you always have to return a doona because it invariably cost a lot, and it holds memories and smells like them. Memories hide in smells. And when you no longer want the memories, you want to get rid of the smell.

So I got rid of you by giving back the doona. And you hated me for it. I guess you thought you could hang onto me with the doona. I’m trying not to feel guilty that I might have hurt you. Most people don’t get hurt by the return of a doona, but you did. I’m sorry. I meant to return doona, not a sword.

Read more of my vintage writings under the "Vintage:" headings.

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