The other night, I was playing pool with my girlfriend and a friend and I got all possessive over setting up the table. My girlfriend and I had a fight and it made me feel like I couldn't tell her what was going on in my head. Sometimes I just can't shake my memories and they make me act in such strange ways. I remember playing pool in the pub with this old guy who showed me how to rack up the table properly. I have been able to do it ever since. I treasure that memory and it makes this trivial thing so important to me. I don't know why! I told this to my girlfriend but this was not an explanation for what caused a fight.
I remember being at the pub with my dad one day. He was always there and, before my 5th birthday when they (my parents) decided I was old enough to wander the streets during the day and stay in the house by myself, he dragged me there on the days when he "had to" take care of me. I remember this one time now though and I don't know why. He would buy me a glass of orange squash and tell me that I better make it last because I wouldn't be getting anything else for the rest of the day. He would shove me in the corner to sit by myself while he stood or sat at the bar drinking pint after pint. This time I remember, I must have been naive or something, I thought if I asked him he would come and play with me. Maybe he could show me how to play that game that people play on that table with the sticks. I was young, I understand that. Maybe he thought I couldn't do it or something. I got up out of my corner seat and put aside my glass of orange squash for a minute to go and ask him. I will never forget the look in his eyes.... he stared at me with such malice. He looked angry and aggrevated, I have obviously interrupted his precious drinking time. How dare I? He grabbed my collar (I had on this little dress with a little rounded collar and woolen tights) and my leg so far up that I could feel his fingers wrapped round under my butt and touching me. He squeezed my leg so tightly that I let out a little yelp. He said "Sit back down and shut up." and dropped me back onto my feet. I knew him. Why did I even think I could get away with that? Why would I try to get him to play with me?
Later that evening we went home in the car and he stopped in a car park at a small shopping centre round the corner from our house. I knew what was coming. We made these stops quite a lot. He stopped the car and locked the doors. He told me that I had been a very naughty girl and I knew better than to disturb Daddy when he was busy doing important adult things. He climbed awkwardly into the back of the car and unclipped my seat belt. He normally made me sit in the middle seat for "safety reasons". He grabbed my arm and pulled me over his knee. He always made this drag on as long as he could by telling me what I had done and why it was bad and I should never do it again. When it got too much for him he yanked my tights and pants down with one hard swipe and smacked me so hard and so many times in the same spot that it left a hand print on my backside. When we got home, no matter how much I was hurting, I was not allowed to be crying when we got in the house. He said it was over now and we were starting with a new slate and he wouldn't let me just go to my room so I had to pretend I was fine even though I was so sore. I had learned my lesson and I would never do it again. The problem was that I was never sure what was right or wrong to him. He would punish me in that way and in other ways for such little things. And when I did something that I was sure I was going to get a beating for he would barely even say anything.
So I guess when that old man taught me how to rack up the balls and hold a cue I was thankful that someone wanted to play with me and I had asked him for nothing. I told my girlfriend that I'm protective over my good memories. I guess that didn't cover it either. I'm so sad that I can't speak to her about this.