This is a tough one. Which home? I left a lot! The time I left my mother and sister and brothers at 14 to go live with my dad? When I left my dad’s a year and a half later to move in with my mum again? The day about two months later when I moved in with a friend I’d just met around the corner? The day a month or so after that when I moved in with a new boyfriend? Here’s where it starts to get fuzzy though, as I’ve blocked a lot out from 1996 onwards – nobody needs to remember much of that.
We moved all the time when I was a kid, and I left both my parents for good at age 16. I was always leaving, either because I had to or because I wanted to start fresh. for 10 years in my teens and 20s, I didn’t live anywhere longer than 10 months. Always going somewhere, always with shit in storage I’ve had to find places to stash. I can’t remember much about leaving home to go live with my dad. All I remember was that I was wearing a Soundgarden t-shirt (it was 1995, after all) and carrying a rolled-up laminated poster of silverchair that didn’t fit in my bag. I went with not much more than a backpack and an hour of crying on the plane. The lovely lady across the aisle felt sorry for me and gave me her Mars Bar.
I also don’t remember much about leaving my dad to go back to my mum. Except my dad had to tell me to get off the phone 43,390,932 times because we were going to be late to the airport. I literally do not remember anything else from this day except I really liked talking on the phone.
I don’t remember anything about leaving my mum again to move in with a friend around the corner, except my mum was mad. I didn’t know why. I think now it was because she didn’t want me to go, but was afraid to tell me that in case I really left and never came back. At 16, I had the communication know-how of a dead elephant.
I don’t remember moving out with my new boyfriend except an Alanis Morrissette CD was playing somewhere. Is that how you spell Morrissette?
I only remember coming back at 19 briefly, after a whole lot of heartache. But that’s a story for another day.