M is for . . .

. . .Memories
Memories of random things. Starting with A. The first time we had sex. At her mentors flat in Central London. Renting a motel room for a night, just for sex. In a field, which I later found out was a dogging spot. In the car park at work. Aah, innocence and lust. Young love. Or should I say, lust. I believe it has evolved into love since the physical connection is no longer there. Thousands of miles separate us. Going to someones wedding with her and looking at her in some strappy heels and a short dress, thinking, WOW. Long phone conversations when things started going wrong. Feeling scared for her when she was thousands of miles away and pregnant by me. Knowing she could never have it over there. Relief that she is a survivor and can take care of herself. Thinking now to myself, she is a badass and I want her even more because she is so independent and strong. Even though she always second guesses herself, she keeps going.
Memories of my mom. When I ran away to live with my dad, she fought for me. And I'm glad she did. Memories of the last things we said to each other. It was, 'I love you' and 'I love you too'. The next day she was gone. I remember waking up suddenly at 3 in the morning thinking, Fuck, I'm late for work. I looked at the clock and thought it was 7, but it was 3. I personally think that's when she started having trouble. They only called my sister at 6 in the morning saying she had taken a turn for the worse and she needed to get there. By the time my sister got to the hospital, she was gone.
Memories of my son being born. Of crying like a baby. I had more emotion than my mom and my baby mother/ex. So glad I was there though. Looking at pics of him as a baby and looking at him now, 12 years later. Telling me he can take care of himself. And of course he can. I still baby him though. Trying to do everything for him, even running his bath when he is over at mine. WTF, he's 12. He can run the tub himself. I used to have doubts whether he was really mine (His mom was very liberal with the pussy, to put it bluntly.) And I never had a problem with it. Yes, really. But when I look at some of his traits, no one can tell me he isn't mine. The way he sleeps, his anger management issues, etc. Now if I can get him signed up to Cadets and start his journey, that would be great. Sadly for his mom, one of my favourite pics of him as a baby was me, him, and A sitting next to me. Thinking, what a lovely family.
Memories of deaths again. Of my best friend from training school, who never made it past the first year on the job. Ambushed and gunned down by a crackhead he was chasing. His name was PC Marlon Marvell. I still remember you bro. Who can forget you with a superhero name like that?
Memories of happy drunken times. Of drinking Sambuca shots till I threw up. Of my 21st birthday being a bust. Falling asleep at 3 in the morning watching skeet shooting on telly. My 25th where I was soaked with beer while sandwiched between two hot girls on the dance floor. I got soaked because my hands went where they shouldn't have.
Memories of revenge. Of arresting someone and thinking to myself. I bet you don't remember beating me up in secondary/high school, but I remember. Who's laughing now fucker? Of the haters that tried to discourage me coming to England.
I could go on forever. . . .