Obstruction

All I want

- Skunk Anansie, All I Want -

https://open.spotify.com/track/4QbYWHMiJx7KPzFahLOUau

- March 12th -

The morning after my so called dad's surprise visit I came to the kitchen to find my mum already there.
In her hand was a photo.
She was turning it over and over in her hands while I got my cereal and my coffee.

"He left this," she said as I sat.

"Who?" I asked.

"I found this wedged under the namesign by the bell. It's Scott and me," she said and slid the photo across the counter towards me.

It showed my mum looking shy and the man I recognised from the day before. They were both a lot younger.

I turned it over and saw writing.

"Elizabeth.
I hoped to tell you that you were not unwanted.
I'm sorry."

The text was followed by a phone number.

"Creepy!" I said.

My mum and I looked at each other and started laughing.
The whole situation was just absurd.

"Why don't you tell me about him first and I'll see if it's worth phoning?" I asked.

"Okay. What do you want to know?" She said.

She had told me some things when I was little but my interest had dwindled as I hit my teens and realised he'd never be around.
I shrugged.

"He was charming and handsome. And I was completely under his spell. I was probably very naive to not realise he was married. I just felt lucky that he wanted me," she said quietly.

"How did you meet him?" I asked.

"He was my tutor," my mum said looking quite ashamed of herself.

"Your tutor?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"I suppose it's the old 'female student crushes on her young, hot lecturer'.... He was a good ten years older than me and when he offered tutoring I fell for it," she said.

"What subject?" I asked.

"Literature. He had this way with poetry. Pulling up Bob Dylan and other modern music as paralels to Keats and Byron," my mum said with a quick huff as if the memory was bittersweet.

I started laughing.

"You mean to tell me professor S. Holland is my father?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. Why?" My mum asked.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a book entitled "The Poetry of Postmodern Popular Music". The author was Professor S. Holland.

I lay it on the counter. There was a look of surprise on my mum's face.

"I got it from the library. To help me write lyrics," I said with a shrug.

My mum started laughing.

"And are you getting anywhere?" She asked once the laugh died down.

"Apart from Ethan - the bastard - holding my notebook hostage... Not so great.." I muttered.

"Ethan has your notebook?" My mum asked with a smirk.

"Yeah," I said dejectedly.

"And in that book..." she started.

"Are all my loose ideas and various ideas for songs... lncluding stuff for sappy ballads," I admitted.

"And Ethan has it?" My mum said fighting back a grin.