boarding school syndrome
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I call them the good years. I have always called them that. Beaming as though your brightness were my achievement. Perhaps it was. I left too many silences in my wake, so you filled them with pride on my behalf. It was easier that way. D had remarried. She hated me, her eyes narrowed whenever
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He didn’t remember being sent away.He remembered the not-coming-back. The trunk shut. The room went quiet. A boy became a border. At age six, a child cannot conceptualise abandonment. Not yet. What they feel instead is dislocation—a wordless confusion about where home ends and why love must sometimes be scheduled. He was a weekly boarder.
Reade Saunders 