And I still remember taking the tram down to St Kilda beach and the hot air through the windows and the seats sticking and burning under my legs and looking outside as it all went past, and the light flashing through the trees and Brett beside me, Brett always beside me, because there were other times too, plenty of other times, after the first, but they all blend together for me now, all into that first time when it was like I had forgotten how to breathe but now I was breathing again and the feeling of a weight fallen from me and I was free, that feeling of freedom like I had never had, not before or since, and there were plenty of other times later, after it all, after it was all done.
And waiting for the tram outside Flinders Street station in the sun with the hot winds blowing and the grit of the city and the cars stopped at the lights and their engines running, the fumes of the cars hanging and you could smell them and see them in the heat. And businessmen in suits and sunglasses and old women in black, all of us waiting at the tram stop, the wind blowing the women’s dresses about, waiting until the tram came and me and Brett would sit with our arms around each other, always together, as close as our bodies could get, together and kissing and sometimes we would kiss all the way.
And I had bought a green dress from an op-shop, a tiny tight summer dress, too small for me really, and I wore it every day, Brett touching me through the dress, and I wore a straw hat with a plastic orange sunflower on it and slipping off my sandals and swinging my legs and me and Brett all close and together and our bodies so close that they couldn’t be closer and kissing and touching, and we would stay at the beach, lying in the sun until the sea was like a broken mirror, sunburnt and my hair stiff with salt, and we would take the tram back, tired but happy. And, yes, that was not the first time, those days came after, but even then, even back then it reminded me of that first time, and the tram and the beach and the sea were always memories of that first time, and they were the memories of that feeling, of being free, suddenly free.
And so yes, I was happy and I still think about it and if that was my big mistake, if that was the big mistake that changed everything, if it was that, the tram and the beach and the sea and Brett with me, always with me and beside me and my freedom, if that was the mistake then how could I have known? How could I have known when it felt like that? But I was so young, Smithy. I was too young, and how can you know, at that age. How can you know that this is the mistake, the mistake of your life, or that anything is right or wrong, when you don’t know anything, when you’re too young to know.
You meet someone and you fall in love, or you think you fall in love, because what could you possibly know about love or people or how things are or how they’re going to be, when you’re sixteen? You don’t know a thing when you’re sixteen. Everything’s so confused and how can you know, how can you possibly know what you’re doing or what’s real, except love feels real, back then it felt real and you think, just because you’re in love, you think you know this person. But of course I didn’t know him and how could I have known him, but I thought I did, I thought I knew everything about him.
And I thought he knew me, that he knew me and understood me, everything about me and my thoughts and hopes and everything, as though his were the same, as though it was the same for both of us and maybe that’s what love is, but there’s no truth to it. It’s not real. None of it is real. It was only me, me thinking that the two of us were the same. But really I wasn’t even thinking of him at all. It was as though he wasn’t even there, as though I had made him up and maybe it was the same for him with me, but it was because of that, because I felt like that and because he felt like that and because we were in love, because we were, even if it wasn’t real, and I know that now, that none of it was true or real, but it was because of that I gave him my life.
So I gave him my life, myself, everything, and all because I was so young and because I didn’t know, because it felt like that time would go on forever, but it didn’t, not for long, hardly any time at all. And first the feeling gone and then the years and somewhere down the track changing, growing up, but still with this person, and somewhere along the way realising I didn’t know him at all and I never did know him, because how could I have known him back then, sixteen, almost still a child, of course I didn’t know him and even less than now, because even now I can’t say I know him, no not at all, because now he’s even more of a stranger than he seemed back then. But I had never felt he was a stranger then, even though he was, completely, and so I never knew him. Not then. Not now. Not ever. I’ll never know him, my husband, and he’ll never know me and that’s the sad fact of it all. So, yes, it was all wrong then. It was a mistake, it was the great mistake, the one mistake in my life that changed everything, ruined everything, so, yes, they were right, all of them were right. I was wrong and they were right. But it’s all too late now.
But even so, even now, even all these years later I still tell myself that there must be a reason, some reason we’re still together and have been together all these years, and I say, well there must be something, there has to be, because this is the man I fell in love with and so there must be something between us, something there, something that was there at the start and must still be there. And I try to find it, try to think what it was, try to remember it, that feeling, and to find it again, to find it and to make myself believe that it’s still there, that there’s still something between us, because how can I bear the thought that maybe all of it, all these years, that they were some kind of accident, all because of a mistake I made when I was young and too young to know any better, too young to know anything at all. And so now I live with it and I am tired and broken and I just keep on going because there’s nothing else to do, because there’s nothing else I can do, no choices, not any more, now, at the end of things.
And sometimes I think back and then I think about now and I wonder if people still wait for the tram at Flinders Street station, in the sun and the hot winds and the grit of the city and do the trams still run to St Kilda beach, and do people still lie there until the sea glitters, and do they still have that feeling, going home, tired but happy. And I think, but how? How can it still all keep going? How can it all keep going on without me?
And so, yes, it all started because of the Florence trip, but there was a time before and a time after, and before it was school, the boarding house, and girls and their games, one day friends and the next thing tears and then friends again and someone else in tears and I was the worst of them, I really was, a spoilt little bitch, we all were, me and my friends, nasty, horrible, spoilt little bitches. And we knew exactly what we were, exactly what we were like, and we did whatever we wanted, treated people however we wanted, the other girls, guys we knew, even the teachers. And there was this boy Julian, who was in love with me, and I treated him worst of all.
And there were no repercussions, nothing. We just got away with it and we knew we would, I mean, we never thought we wouldn’t, never. We acted like we were these perfect little princesses and that’s how people saw us, people looked up to us and they liked us, they actually liked us, no matter how badly we acted, no matter how we treated them, and it was like the worse we were the more they liked us, the more they looked up to us, and not just the other girls, but teachers, parents, everyone. And so we just kept on and nobody told us it was wrong, that we were acting badly, and when I think back, about how we were, me and my friends, I always think that it was like we weren’t real, we weren’t real people.
Because it would be things like I’d break a nail or I’d get a pimple and it was like the worst thing in the world. I remember spending a whole night crying because I’d dyed my hair and it hadn’t come out right, so I was up all night in tears and all my friends stayed up with me, and other girls too, because no matter how I treated them, no matter how horrible I was, they still wanted to be friends with me, and so they all stayed up, comforting me. Like it was the worst thing in the world. But the thing is, that’s how it felt. And the way I was then, it
really was the worst thing in the world for me, because I’d seen nothing of life, real life, how real people live, so it felt as bad to me then as anything, anything that’s happening now or anything that has happened since, because that’s how I was back then, not real, not a real person, not at all. Because that school, that boarding house and the people there, the girls, their families, boys we knew, all people with money, it was a different world and they didn’t know and they won’t ever know. I mean what life’s like. Not like most people know it, not like you know it, or I know it, now, ordinary people. But I can’t help thinking, and I think I’m right about this, that it was the reason my parents sent me to that school. Because they wanted me to be part of it, part of that world. It was because that didn’t want me to end up like I have.
And I know we were only girls but that doesn’t matter because if that made a difference then why would I still remember like I do? Why would I still feel so bad about the things I did back then and how I was? Because I do. I feel it like it happened yesterday, only then I didn’t care and it’s only now I care and it’s more than that I care, it’s like a knife in my heart, when I remember. And I think of it so much now, more than I did back then. I don’t think I thought of it at all back then, and I would like to think I’m different now, that I’ve changed, that I’m not that person. I would like to think I’m a different person now, a better person. But sometimes I think that, despite everything, despite all these years and being stuck in this town and everything that’s happened, when I’m really honest with myself, I think, well I know that I haven’t really changed that much, deep down I haven’t. I mean, some things have changed and I have changed in some ways, and I know everything seems so different now and on the surface things are very different, I mean, they couldn’t be more different, when I think of that school and me and my friends and so many years ago and just a girl and now me, here, with Brett and stuck in this town. But maybe that’s all just on the surface because I’m still spoilt, in my own way, and I might not be so nasty, such a bitch, but I wouldn’t know, because I don’t have the chance to see what I’m like now, how I’d act with people, I have so little to do with people anymore, and so things may have changed and my problems are so different now and everything has gone to pieces, but I still think there is something about the way I am, something the same as back then.
I mean, I still do whatever I want. I do what I want when I want and it’s like I said, I do nothing all day. I sleep in, I sit around, watch TV, do nothing. But maybe it’s because I don’t have to do anything, not because I can’t, maybe just because I don’t want to, because I still only do what I want to do, same as always. I mean, I’ve only ever done things when I want to, when I feel like it, and never because I have to, it’s always been like that for me, except now I don’t do anything at all and I know I said I hate it and I do hate it, I really do hate it, watching time pass, doing nothing, but it’s because I can’t be bothered, because I don’t have to answer to anyone, not now. I don’t have to answer to anyone at all.
And I’m always blaming my mother and father for not wanting to have anything to do with me anymore, but truth be told, I suppose I wouldn’t want them around, when it comes down to it. Because I do think my mother would be prepared to reconcile with me, now at least. My father, he’s a different story. But I think if I were to make an effort, to make some effort with them, I think even my father would come around, he’d probably come around eventually, if I really did try to make things work. And don’t think I haven’t thought of it because I have and I do, all the time, and it wouldn’t be easy, but all of it with my parents, a lot of it’s on my part, well it’s all me, really, to be honest. I blame them but it’s always been because of me, from the start it’s been because of me, because of what I did and the way I did it and I think that’s why it’s still there, the problem. It was the way I did it.
But the thing is I haven’t made an effort, have I? I’ve never made an effort, with them, never even tried. But I don’t think I really want to, I just don’t think I want them back in my life. Not now, not the way things are now, not when I’ve become what I am and maybe it’s because I’m ashamed, or too proud, because I know everything they said was right, back when it all happened, and everything that’s happened since has been just like they told me, exactly what they said would happen, and so they were right and I never listened. I did the opposite, I went against everything they said and I knew it, at the time, I knew I was throwing it all in their faces. And so they were right, in the end, and still right, after all this time and maybe I just don’t want to admit that, at least not to them.
And besides, I couldn’t bear them seeing how I live now. I mean, my mother, I know exactly what she’d say. My God, she’d throw a fit. I can just see her, going around the house, telling me off for every little thing, nagging me. I mean, if she ever saw the state of the place, the way Brett just comes and goes or hangs around in the garage drinking and me doing nothing, not even trying to make things better. I know exactly what she’d say.
But my father, he’d be different. I mean, when I was younger my mother was at my throat all the time, but my father was the opposite, he was always trying to help, trying to understand. And he tried to help as much as he could, but the thing is, I hated that even more, and I know this sounds terrible, but I blame him for how I was then and I blame him for how I am now as well, because it was my father who spoilt me, he always spoilt me, ever since I was little. And he was never anything but kind and patient with me and he’d always hear me out, whatever sort of stupid little problems I thought I had. I mean, I hated being a boarder and I hated that we lived on a farm because most of my friends were day girls and it seemed so unfair that they got to go home after school and I was still there at the boarding house, being watched over all the time, always told what to do, and then that I had to come home on the holidays, back to the farm, in the middle of nowhere when all my friends were still in the city and meeting up and going out and getting together with guys we knew, and I was stuck on this farm with my parents and nothing to do and I felt like I was missing out on everything.
And so that’s when it all came out, when I was at home, during the holidays, and my father would listen to me when I carried on, chucked my little hissy fits. I mean, I thought it was all so unfair, I thought my life was so unfair back then, I thought I had it all so bad and so I’d carry on about it and my father would listen to me, all my stupid, petty whingeing and he did try to help, but he couldn’t. When it came down to it there was nothing he could do, and I suppose that’s why I used to take it all out on him. I blamed him for everything and he really did try to make things better for me, but he couldn’t and I knew he couldn’t so I just threw it all back in his face and it hurt him, I really used to hurt him.
And he was always trying to be kind and understanding, but I think now that maybe my mother was right after all, he did spoil me too much, and I think it was to make up for the fact that he couldn’t change things because I think he must have known it too. But he did listen and he did understand, he knew how important it was for me to keep up with my friends at school, so he’d give me money for clothes and going out and stuff like that, whatever I wanted, whatever I asked for, he never said no to me. But for me it was never enough, and in a way it really wasn’t, because I could never keep up with them, my friends, the day girls, because no matter how much my father gave me, they always had more and so I was always fighting just to keep up with them, to fit in, and back then that was the most important thing in the world to me. But I could never have what they had, I could never really keep up. And I blamed it all on my father and I still blame him, but it’s for other reasons now, it’s for the opposite reason.
Because back then I thought I could have everything, not do anything for it, work for it, I just expected it, expected it all to be just given to me, and I know it sounds like a horrible thing to say but I do think it was my father’s fault and I still think that. Because he s
poilt me, yes, but not just that, it was the things he was always telling me, that I had so much to look forward to in life, that I could do anything with my life, and I know he meant well but it wasn’t true, none of it was true. I mean, you can’t do anything you want, you can’t have everything. I suppose that was what he wanted for me and I’m not saying he wasn’t genuine, that he didn’t mean what he said, because he did. But that doesn’t make it true, does it?
But I believed those things, I really did, and how could I not believe him, when that’s what you’re told all your life, when you’re growing up. And I know he wanted the best for me, but surely he must have known that things don’t turn out like that and life isn’t perfect, not for anyone. He must have known that. I mean, look at him and his life, stuck on that farm with my old bitch of a mother. Having to live with her every day. And so why would he assume that things would turn out so well for me, so much better for me, and not just better than his life, but better than anyone’s life. Because no one has it that easy, the way my life was supposed to be, nobody has that. I mean, why should it all be so great for me? Just because I’m his daughter, because that’s what he wanted for me. It’s not what happens in life. It just doesn’t happen. But the thing is that I still half believe it, or, no, I still believe it all, all of it, somewhere at the back of my mind it’s still something I believe and something I expect out of life and so can you see, Smithy, that just makes everything harder for me. It just makes everything worse. I mean, when I think where I am now, and it is bad, my situation, that’s still true, but even so, maybe I wouldn’t be so unhappy if I didn’t expect my life to be so much better, not just better than it is, but so much better. That everything should turn out perfectly, that I should have this perfect life. Because I still do, I still expect those things, everything my father said. Even now, it’s what I expect, even though I know he was wrong and it’s not going to happen and it doesn’t happen to anyone, I still expect this perfect, wonderful life and I can’t help it.
The Vintage and the Gleaning Page 17