Girls in oshawa dating
I was doing homework, and Mom was drinking tea and reading a book about the Buddhist practice of non-attachment. She stood in front of the fridge for about three seconds. “It’s oppressive,” I said, trying out a word I’d heard Claudia use. ” “How much you love us.” Mom set down her clay cup, one that Dad had made. It’s like taking an endless multiple-choice exam, and none of the available answers are correct.” She added, “Your father never understood that.” I’d never taken a multiple-choice exam. The sound of my young voice over the line really did him in. “I bet you don’t even know where that is.” Then he burst into tears. ” I put my hand over the mouthpiece and screamed, “Mom! “Breaking news,” Mom said each time someone phoned that night. I bet you don’t even know where that is.” * Claudia’s teenage rebellion was awkward, an adolescent flail.Then Claudia stomped into the room, with her purple hair and her boots that left marks on the lino. My homework still consisted of memorizing how to spell difficult words, like friend and people. In her twenties, she came to understand how to really get to our parents, and her techniques became much more sophisticated.She’d gotten her period, and boys had started to call our house asking for her. But Claudia was a slave to the telephone and always aware of its ringing.Sometimes I answered the phone in the evenings, and there would be a nervous male voice on the line, pleading, “Can I talk to Claudia? She’d smack the back of my head before I could get any information. Now.” She was cruel and lovely and totally awesome.As young children, Claudia and I were encouraged to be wild. The neighbours complained because our parents never mowed the lawn, believing that children should have high grass to play in and dandelion seeds to blow.There was a picture of us on the fridge: Claudia with ripped overalls and hair that looked like it had never been washed, and me, naked except for a T-shirt that read, I Hate TV. We’d been humiliated countless times when our parents dragged us to marches against apartheid and solidarity dances for Cuba.
* We were raised on lentils, brown rice, Neil Young, and solstice celebrations.
I wore the same outfit almost every day: jeans with embossed flowers and a green sweater. She listened to the Dead Kennedys and the Dayglo Abortions.
She had purple hair and a fake ID that claimed she was nineteen and from Oshawa.
—so for a few days the house was exactly like before: messy, crowded, loud. Claudia and I didn’t hear it because we were in her bedroom listening to music.
It was one of the few times my sister let me hang out in her room, and sometimes I wonder if she was protecting me, if she knew there was a fight going on downstairs.
I snuck into her room to riffle through her shoebox of tapes any chance I got. They talked about it as though it had capital letters, and they both seemed to want to make it as crazy as the parties they liked to throw.