2/7/13
Today, I was driving home from school and Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio Italien played on my iPod. I remembered thinking, wasn’t it time I began to focus on what really mattered to me? Well, what was that? Music. Always music. My driving force, my life’s work.
Just like Don’t You Worry Child, Tchaikovsky’s Capriccio Italien was a piece of music that transported me to another time in my life. A time that was now distant, yet enjoyable to reminisce. It was all I could do to not sit back with my eyes closed and visualise every little detail of the memory.
When I was at school, Advanced Music Camp was the social event of the year for young musicians. Every year in March, students from schools all over the region would audition for the camp, and in the first week of May, the lucky ones would pile onto a bus, and head into north Brisbane for a week of music-making and other frivolities. I went every year from the time I was eleven until I turned seventeen. I was a veteran of the institution by the time I graduated high school. High school was the time when I was most passionate about music. It was fun to me, pure fun… not something to be feared or resented. Studying music at university drove a chasm between the music, and myself and made me forget what I was really there for, what I had worked so hard for. The simple love of an art, the love of doing something. It was only when I studied postgraduate education after my music degree that I found that passion I’d lost amongst the torture that was four years of classical violin training.
The week at music camp would always end with a fabulous concert to showcase our work, and Friday was always a day off school for every camp-goer, except for me. Mum always insisted four days off school was enough.
The orchestra always finished the concerts, and in my second last year of attending the camp, Capriccio Italien was our finale. The conductor was a man I idolized since I was eleven years old, the man who ran the camp and every little detail of musical life in the region. Years later we would become colleagues, teaching music at the same schools. I always wished to be like him one day.
In that performance, Mum remarked at how loud my violin was over the din of brass instruments, which at the time I found quite impressive, but years later, quite horrifying. I remember being one of the only ones who could handle the fast tempo at the end of the piece, and I took no prisoners with my performance. After that performance, I was awarded a trophy for the Most Outstanding Player at the camp. I was one of those teenagers who tried to blend into the wall for the most part, and the thought that somebody had noticed me, someone had discussed whether I was worthy of this prize, was just as delightful to think about as receiving the trophy.
I wondered as I drove home, if it would ever be possible to go back to a time when things were that simple. When happiness was found simply in winning a trophy at a yearly music camp. When I could go home after an Advanced Camp concert, tired from the week, sad that another year of camp was officially over, but know exactly what to expect the next day at school, and the week after that. I supposed the problem was, I never thought my life was simple then either. Capriccio Italien would always be a reminder to me that good times were fleeting. To savour those precious moments, because the present would soon become the past, and you’d only realise the life you had was a charmed one when it was too late and everything has fallen spectacularly apart.
IMOGENE
Two days after we handed in the diary, Officer Hobbs knocked on the door. The diary was in his hands. Regrettably, he told Tabitha and Henry that the police had found it to be a dead end in their search to find Aggie, and that it did nothing but prove that she was mentally unstable, and had possibly gone off by herself, without any foul play.
Tabitha heard the kettle whistling on the stove and hurried away to the kitchen to tend to the boiling water. Henry thanked Officer Hobbs and began to shut the door, before the burly police officer put his hand up to stop it from closing.
Officer Hobbs looked from side to side before speaking, as though he was trying to see if anyone was listening. He whispered, “Son, we can’t use this diary. But I think you should still read it.”
Henry looked at him, puzzled.
“Officer Hobbs?”
“Son, we can’t get caught up in this stuff. You need to read it.”
Hobbs then turned, and began to walk back down the driveway.
“Officer?” Henry called out.
“It’s for our own good, son. It’s in your hands now.”
Officer Hobbs then hurried away.
Henry remarked later about how odd it was that Officer Hobbs had come on foot, rather than in a police car. Officer Hobbs lived in over in Ridges Point, and the Miller Creek police station was a good twenty kilometres away from Henry’s house.
13
AGGIE
15/7/13
Cameron Ivenhoe smelled like sweat.
I didn’t understand how somebody could always smell like sweat. Was it possible? I supposed medically it was, people could have all sorts of conditions that made them sweat profusely. Cameron Ivenhoe was probably one of them.
The first time I went to his house, I left completely reeking of his sweat. I had to play a gig that night at the theatre, and as I changed into my performance outfit, I realised that the smell wasn’t only on my clothes, but clinging heavily to my skin. I prayed for a shower to appear, and also for nobody to smell it on me. It smelled like sex… the really athletic kind, that I-just-rode-a-bicycle-twenty-kilometres kind of sex.
Which is what it was like. My quads ached like crazy the next day. My whole body ached, like someone who had just embarked on an entire body workout for the very first time. Cameron had sure upped his game in the few years since we had seen each other. I thought I would feel dirty, all the skulking around, but I actually felt kind of fantastic. Not quite Samantha Jones, but almost. Casual sex was actually quite empowering, never mind all the taboos. I really didn’t care for Cameron, not in the slightest way – but I liked what he could give me. And in return, it also gave me some much needed something or other. A rush, confidence, whatever it was… but I was enjoying it nevertheless.
It almost became a ritual. One I knew I’d tire of eventually, as I knew Cameron would too. We spent almost every night for the last two weeks in his flat. I couldn’t even recall how it happened – my first attempts to re-seduce Cameron had failed spectacularly. But after one night of wine and other things, I found myself, rather boldly, at his door. The rest, as they say, is history. Cameron could never resist somebody who had the balls to show up unannounced at his place, and somebody who had essentially thrown themselves at him.
The first night, I was incredibly nervous. I wondered if I could actually do something this frivolous. But eventually, once things began to heat up, I forgot all my inhibitions about sleeping with Cameron again.
I also noticed that once we were done, Cameron liked to talk, but not about anything particularly interesting. He never used to be like that – he never used to want to ‘talk’. I also noticed that he’d lost his acid tongue – his words no longer hurt me like they used to. I mostly just nodded – but I honestly didn’t care about anything he had to say. I tried to act interested, I was an extremely open-minded person. But I realised that next time I chose someone to sleep with, I should also judge them on their ability to pillow talk, rather than just their athletic ability.
Today marked two weeks of coital bliss. It was a milestone in our relationship to say the least. After we finished, I threw my head onto the pillow, catching my breath, and feeling something protruding into my back. I reached behind to find my bra, torn clean in two. I was amazed something like that was even possible, as most bras I owned seemed to be made to last through an atomic bomb. I didn’t even remember him ripping it; such were the throes of passion.
I stared at the ceiling, waiting for Cameron to begin his soliloquy about whatever had caught his fancy that day. Sometimes he reminded me of those kittens you saw on YouTube, the ones that were distracted by small objects their own
ers threw at them. He turned towards me, and propped his head up on his hand.
“You know I love you, right?”
I made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “That’s crazy. You barely know me.” I rolled my eyes.
“But I do know you… very well, in fact.”
“You know what I look like naked, but that’s about it.”
“Why are you being so cold to me, Aggie?” Cameron suddenly looked hurt. It was then that I realised, I had indeed been cold to him. Frosty even. Perhaps he was the same as me – perhaps all he needed was someone to lie with too.
“I’m sorry.” I turned to face him. “I just think it’s crazy to love someone you don’t really know. And when you do know me, you’ll probably rethink the whole love thing anyway.”
“I don’t think so. When I know, I know.”
Sometimes Cameron could be really intelligent – other times, he pained me with how stupid he could be.
“Love is complicated. Let’s not complicate anything.”
Cameron nodded, and we were quiet for a little while.
“Aggie, do you believe in God?” he said, after five minutes of silent contemplation.
I hesitated. I hated being asked this question, as I knew I’d be judged on my answer, whatever it was. “Well, do you?” I responded carefully.
“I never used to, but I think something has changed.”
I turned over to face him.
“I’ve discovered something.”
“Discovered?”
“It’s a group called The Temple of God’s Holy Light. It’s a group, they use bible verses to explain all the shitty things that happen in life, and how to deal with them. Like when my Dad walked out…”
I stopped listening for a minute, lost in my own thoughts. “That name reminds me of something from True Blood…”
Cameron pretended to understand my pop culture reference, and continued on. “…And it’s not ridiculous – it’s real. And it’s my path to a better, more prosperous life.”
“And you will come across this life by worship?”
Cameron sensed my sarcasm. “Well, how are you dealing with the issues in your life then? By screwing me every week? Is that really helping you get over whatever it is you’re holding onto?”
It was like someone had stepped on my chest. I hated to admit it, but Cameron Ivenhoe was right. Screwing whoever I wanted wasn’t going to help me, a temporary high wasn’t going to cut it.
I was sceptical, but I suddenly could feel myself being pulled in by this mysterious new world that Cameron had discovered. The little amount of belief I had in life wasn’t making me any happier, or smarter, or anything for that matter.
“And worship, what do we get out of it?”
“Peace, wisdom, strength. Ascension into heaven at the end of it all. But you shouldn’t worship God with the idea that you need something in return for it. God loves you unconditionally, so why shouldn’t you do the same?”
Cameron’s words surprised me. It was like someone else had inhabited his mind. I hated to say it, but Cameron was speaking some hard truths. That was thing about humankind – most people only did good things purely for the merit or for something in return, rather than the good will or kindness. I had fallen into that trap. Did true altruism even exist anymore? I couldn’t even face the prospect of believing in God without thinking I needed something back from it.
“I’ve done some terrible things in my life – but I want to atone for them. That’s why I joined,” Cameron said.
“I want to be a good person,” I responded, more to my own thoughts, rather than what Cameron had just said.
“Then this is the place for you. There’s a meeting next week if you want to come with me? We all need something to believe in, after all.”
I wondered sometimes why I really embarked on this thing with Cameron. I knew I endured his company purely for the sex, which was amazing. But I also wondered, would I feel lonely if I didn’t have him? If that was the reason I kept him around? It was a wonderful feeling to be desired, to have someone to lie close to. But I knew deep down I was lying to myself. I didn’t want Cameron, and I didn’t want Rhys. I wanted somebody who wasn’t there yet – I just didn’t want to be alone. But I thought I would go to the meeting, just out of curiosity. I hoped Cameron wouldn’t be there – I thought it would be too confusing seeing each other with clothing and outside of his flat. But maybe Cameron was right – we all needed something to believe in, and I was anxious to explore other avenues of satisfaction in life, rather than lying on top of a sweaty, naked man.
21/7/13
I went through some pictures this morning, and one fell out of the album from a birthday party I held a few years ago. In the picture, there were five of us, all looking down at a camera phone, smiling gleefully. A picture within a picture. Next to me, draped with her arm over my shoulder, was the girl that I always thought Rhys was secretly in love with, but never really knew for sure.
We were friends a long time before Rhys ever turned up. That was the point that resonated in my mind as I stared at the photograph. We were so happy then, and I had purposely distanced myself from her ever since Rhys and I broke up. Thinking about her had always in turn made me think of all the things that were inadequate about me. There she was – a tall, buxom brunette, with a wicked sense of humour, a true knockout. And then there was me – but truth be told, I was the one who made myself feel ordinary next to her. Only then I realised, I wasn’t ordinary at all. I was just different. It was then I decided to extend an olive branch to the girl. Out of loneliness, but also the determination to move on from the ridiculous fictional saga I’d created in my head. Also, because the first lesson Cameron taught me about God was about forgiveness.
Perhaps that was the real reason I went to the TGHL meeting on Friday night that Cameron told me about. Maybe I just needed to meet some new people, or a sea change, or maybe it was just curiosity. I also couldn’t stop thinking about what Cameron said, about needing something to believe in, something bigger, and something better.
I drove into the city after a long day at school, traffic crowding me, as the clocked ticked closer to 6 pm. I found a carpark in a side street near the venue, and walked quickly through the doors. It was being held in a function room above a pub that my university colleagues used to frequent. I never went with them – I couldn’t stand their inane chatter and competitive vibes, even when we were supposed to be having a casual drink and relaxing. At the top of the stairs, I saw a tiny sign perched on an end table with the simple letters ‘TGHL’ and a bold arrow pointing to the left. I took a deep breath, and entered the function room.
“Colossians 3:17: Everything you do or say, then should be done in the name of Lord Jesus, as you give thanks through Him to God the Father.”
The meeting had already started, and I took a seat at the back of the room. I didn’t want to be noticed – not in a place like this. The room was packed with people – young and elderly, even children. They seemed out of place for such a meeting.
“So what does this mean? Why have I started with this particular phrase?” The man preaching at the front was tall, with the air of a magician, his long hair hung loosely around his face. “This phrase is how the Temple of God’s Holy Light was born. You are here today because you have been discovered. Something has drawn you to us – that call is Jesus, calling you to worship. Because Jesus walks among us. He is alive and well. He is with us as we speak. He watches and listens, wherever you are.
“One day, I was walking in the meadow, and suddenly, I saw the Light. God was before me, and he reached out and said, ‘Saxon, it is your duty to do my Holy work on earth, as my Son did before you.’ And as a loyal servant to Him, I agreed to His offer, and praised Him for the opportunity. Jesus lives within me, and I shall do His Holy work on Earth – I want to share this blessing with you.”
The room erupted into applause. Saxon bowed his head in approval.
; “Therefore, the Temple of God’s Holy Light came to be. So I ask you, as in Colossians 3:17, to do all in the name of Jesus Christ, but to go further than that. Give yourselves fully to His worship, by joining us at the Temple of God’s Holy Light and your lives will be forever enriched, more prosperous and Godly. Amen.”
“Amen,” the room chanted in unison.
“Colossians 2:6-7: Since you have accepted Christ Jesus as Lord, live in union with him. Keep your roots deep in him, build your lives on him, and become stronger in your faith, as you were taught. And be filled with thanksgiving. Your worship at the Temple of God’s Holy Light begins on The Land. All you will need is His love, which is all around you, and is enough to sustain you.”
I listened intently in my seat at the back. There was so much truth in the Bible – I never had any idea. I was intrigued – perhaps this was just what I needed. Maybe God’s purpose could ultimately be my purpose. But underneath, I could still feel that spark of fear – had I really just found religion? Had it really just been that easy to convert me? Was I that impressionable? I feared to find out.
At the end, of the sermon, the audience rose to their feet and applauded Saxon, as he bowed and shook hands with the people in the front row. He then stood back, his hands held out at his sides, as though he were about to embrace somebody, and then, his eyes met mine. And for a moment, I could see all the hurt, neglect and torment that had led him here. His story was the same as mine. Why else did people find God? Why else was I here? Why else was he here? We all needed a purpose, we all needed something to lean on. It was then that I decided – I had to know Saxon. And I would.
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