Day Sixty-five - I come with knives

The family situation, continued. So, by 1995 my brother had earned his release from prison, and not very long after that he'd meet a girl with whom he'd become involved for the next decade or so. His return to normal life, so to speak, might have not been an easy one - when you're an ex-con, getting a job becomes tough - but he eventually would start his own businesses, none of which would have much success, but they kept him out of trouble, at least. My mother's law degree was going well enough that eventually she started holding study sessions at our house, and two of her colleagues at uni I got to know well. It was through a guy called R. that I first really read Tolkien - I'd tried years before, but didn't go very far. He was always nice to me, incredibly intelligent, and I hope that life turned out all right for him. And then there was Carla. Now, bear in mind that my mother was by a long stretch older than most others she was going to uni with. These would have been kids in their early twenties, though some of them looked like proper adults - the forty five year olda type of adult. But Carla was always the goofiest among them, and for sure the one who became not only a friend to my mother, but a friend of the family as well. And Carla was... well, she was a big girl. And besides big, she was tall too, so there was a lot of Carla everywhere, all the time. And she had the personality to match that, and the heart too. She would come to gift us a kitten that remained with us for a few years until he ran away, sadly - Pancho. And though from a certain point in our lives onwards we'd come to lose pretty much all contact with her, some remained. And it was through this door that was still somewhat open that some years later I'd move to London to live with her - but that story is still a ways away from being told. 

My father, well, I guess he tried to start his life all over again. Some time after he resurfaced, he introduced me and my sister to his then girlfriend, a very kind lady whose name I can no longer recall, but who always gave me vibes of being a recovering alcoholic. I think my father was too, and they might have met in one of those support groups, I suppose. I never asked, and I don't think I very much cared. Sometimes, we'd spend the weekend at her place, and it was always torture for me - Id' much rather have stayed home playing Nintendo and reading comics or listening to metal. But one good thing at least came from that : I made friends with her son, a kid called Nelson, and his cousin, a kid called Valter - a different one from the one I've been mentioning, though. They were into music a lot, and though our tastes didn't really intersect, I still picked up some good stuff from them.