I didn’t take home my exercise book when I was six because my story got a “C”. Instead, I threw the book into the deep gutter that ran along the side of the road between Central Primary School and my house.
On my left wrist, scratched into my skin is a red heart with angels wings. It reminds me of my birthday three years ago when Shelley and I sat under the needle at The Illustrated Man and got our tattoos. It was the last birthday I spent with my husband.
It wasn’t until we moved this weekend that I realised that I needed to get away. It feels like I’ve cut the cord to my old life and now I am free. Free to start afresh where there are no memories of my old life, in my old suburb.
Next weekend, my boyfriend and I will move to a beach house on a hill on Sydney’s northern beaches. From the lounge, kitchen and bedroom we will have views over the park, past the trees and out to the Pacific.