We all went to the pub in town. A friend of mine was performing that night and had given me free tickets. Other friends were happy to see me out. They met my brothers. It didn’t seem to matter that one was black and the other all banged up. We were shouted free drinks all night. I got drunk and was glad I was in the wheelchair and didn’t have to walk anywhere.
Fifty Six
Dave had moved north to help me through my rehabilitation, and he was good at looking after Moses, my dog. Dave got a job, and he helped out with the bills. He helped me buy a HZ Holden ute, which had automatic gears, so I could drive. I could stand long enough to fold my chair, chuck it in the back tray, and slide behind the steering wheel. I had freedom!
We shared a house with Margy, and the three of us went everywhere together, crammed in the front of my ute. I met many new friends through Margy. She was fun to be around.
It was at that time that Dave asked me to marry him. I said, ‘Yes.’ I didn’t know if I loved him, but I knew he was my friend. We flew south to visit my parents. I watched the friendship grow between them and Dave. Mum enjoyed the laughter and the teasing, whilst Dad enjoyed seeing me happy. And Dave really felt like he could be a part of my family. I was determined to make the relationship last.
I was making a good recovery. Even though it took me ages to walk short distances, I had no intention of using the wheelchair any more. I realised I might never be able to work outdoors again. It would be too much of a strain on my legs. So I did some business training and got an office job as Manager, while Dave drove trucks.
Fifty Seven
Dave told me he had an older brother, but said they hadn’t seen each other for ten years. I decided to track him down. I rang every football club in the region where he was last known to be; then I rang every pub until I found him. I thought it would be a wonderful surprise, and put Dave on the phone. His brother told Dave their father had passed away. It was the only time I saw Dave cry.
His brother came to visit us. I picked him up from the airport and took him to the pub. He loved to party as much as his brother. They both shared a wicked sense of humour. All our friends wanted to meet him. It was good to see Dave so happy. It was good to have a brother-in-law.
Dave’s brother told me about their childhood. I learned that they had been raised by their father because their mother had run off with their father’s best friend. I also learned that they had a little brother and a little sister that their mother took with her. They were only babies when their parents separated. Dave and his brother grew up not knowing them.
I felt sad for Dave. I felt sad about his childhood. I realised we were both holding secrets from our past. I wondered if we were both holding on to each other.
Fifty Eight
Dave and I made plans for the wedding. I decided to get married on the island where my foster brother lived. I wanted him to know I had forgiven him. I wanted him to know I had survived the abuse from his friend. Thirty-five of our best friends flew across Australia to the island. We booked an entire resort for a week. We booked fishing charters and day trips. We were cashed up, and the island was our playground.
Dave and I got married on the beach. Dad walked me across the sand. Dave and I held hands and shared our vows. We both had our best friends at our side, and our mates cheered and cried. They’d carried eskies down to the beach, and the cans of beer were popping. The girls insisted on taking photos. Dave and I grinned from ear to ear. So did Mum.
Dave arranged a barbecue and kegs of beer in the local hall for the reception. Speeches were made, and flowers were thrown around the room. One of the islanders gate-crashed our reception with a shopping bag full of dope. We kicked the DJs off their machine and played our favourite songs. Everyone danced and laughed. Mum said my friends were wonderful. She said she would never judge a book by its cover again. Dad gave us his blessing, and gave me a hug.
It was one of our last hugs before he died.
Honeyeaters
when God commands ‘return to the Garden of Eden’
‘take only one other person for company’
God knows it will be you
as we walked the streets that day
you held my hand with softness
I let you enter a place I allow so few
courage surged from your lips
your fire warmed forgotten embers
a sacred fire rekindled
shall I feed you honey ants
gather water from the secret spring
nurture your warrior spirit as dreams foretold
shall we share wild honey and wattle seed
waiting for signs from ancestors
amid bird sound at sunrise
honeyeaters confirm we will meet again
our smiles will brighten the Garden
like that smack on the lips kiss
Fifty Nine
Dave and I took advantage of the first-home-buyer’s scheme and bought a five-acre block in rural Humpty Doo, Northern Territory. Uncleared semi-tropical scrub created a superb screen of seclusion. It was the perfect block for growing dope.
A huge shed had been converted into a living space, and became our home. Palm trees had been established and surrounded our ‘rural retreat’. Paved brick floors and rustic tin walls featured throughout the open plan lounge, kitchen, and sleeping areas. Most of the living areas were open to the garden. Corridors of mowed lawn meandered through the avenues of palms and other trees. Birds and butterflies enhanced the relaxed ambience.
A bore supplied water to the block. I learnt how to maintain all our irrigation needs. I felt relaxed walking over the block checking this and checking that. I spent hours weeding, mulching, and planting new plants. It reminded me of the early days on my parents’ farm. Uncle Ray and Aunty Dorothy came to visit, and they took lots of photos to take back for Mum. I was proud of the home Dave and I were building, and I wanted Mum and Dad to know I was happy.
Sixty
I fell pregnant. I tried to be happy, but I was nervous about giving birth again. I remembered little bits of my last pregnancy. I felt frightened and panicky. I wanted everything to be perfect this time. Dave made plans to finish the renovations to the shed, and my hopes would soar when his mates from the pub arrived at the block on weekends. I watched as tools were unloaded, tape measures zinged back and forth, pegs were driven into the ground. But the opening of the first beer cans soon halted work, like an amputation. I wished Dad would come to stay; he was capable of fixing anything. Days, and weeks, and months passed by. The pile of empty tinnies by the work shed grew bigger and bigger. The renovations sat unfinished.
Then came the wet season. Our old bathroom, if you could call it that, was located under the tank stand. The hot water system was a ‘donkey’: you had to light a fire under the water drum, and the pressure would push the water along the pipe. I got angry at Dave because the wood was always wet. I dragged besser blocks and tin across our property to build a shelter over the fire and wood pile. When I had finished, I had the best hot shower.
In the morning I knew something was wrong. My stomach was hurting, and there was blood in my undies. Dave had already left for work, so I drove straight to the doctor. He reassured me, and told me not to panic. He told me to rest, and not to do any heavy work around the house. I went to Dave’s work place; he said everything would be fine. My entire body was filled with a panicky feeling, so I went to Margy’s house. I sat for the rest of the morning with her. Eventually I told her to ring Dave because I was sure I was having contractions, and it was freaking me out.
At the hospital we joined the queue in the waiting room. The staff told me not to worry, that everything would be alright. And Dave also told me not to worry, that everything would be alright. But I knew. I knew the punishment had returned. I thought, ‘I will lose this baby too.’
Eventually Dave and I were ushered into a cubicle. It was a small room with a door on each end. Once my OB tests were taken we were left alone. The contracti
ons continued. I gave birth to the baby in the cubicle. A nurse came and scooped the mat away from between my legs. I didn’t move. I just wanted Dave to tell me it was okay, that he didn’t blame me. I didn’t know how to stop blaming myself.
Dave started going mad. He was punching the walls and screaming. I felt frightened. None of the staff came to check on us. I think they were frightened too.
It was weeks before Dave told me the nurse had thrown the baby in the bin. It was weeks before he could tell me our dead daughter was looking at him.
One Child Two Child
Wailing and Wild
Urgent darkness hunts us south, while my stomach churns with childbirth
He waits.
Foetal juices of blood and life baptise this child from my womb
He waits.
I wash my child with sand of red, avoid newborn eyes of trust
He waits.
A feeble cry escapes the grave. I watch it enter Heaven
He waits.
red band black man
husband and father
gently holds our toddler daughter
he has watched mine
now I watch his back
survival dictates our nomadic trek
We walk silent strong in single file fashion, stumble our way to the mission
He waits.
I bite and kick and scratch and scream ‘Don’t take this child from me!’
He waits.
We sit broken together.
Darkness waits.
Sixty One
I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t bounce back to my usual happy self. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to be around our friends. I didn’t understand why the alcohol and drugs didn’t work anymore. My sense of feeling safe had dimmed.
Dave and I went to a counselling session for bereaved parents. He said it really helped him, so he felt he didn’t need to go again.
He bought me a new fridge and freezer on hire purchase. I eventually inherited the repayments. I quit my job as Manager, and I stayed at home.
I noticed changes in myself. I didn’t want to see people. I didn’t want to drink anymore, and pretend everything was okay. I didn’t know what I wanted. One day friends called in unexpectedly. I hid in the garden.
Despair
I’ve smelt the smell
of despair she said
it’s the aroma of souls
aborted she said
it’s the scent of words
regretted she said
it’s the stench of trust
mistreated she said
I’ve choked on the curse
of man she said
it’s the redolence of bad
memory she said
it’s the funk of rape
enjoyment she said
it’s the pong of painful
marriage she said
she said I followed
my nose to find you
Sixty Two
My dead eyes returned. I started sitting under the kitchen table when Dave was at home because I didn’t want him to see my eyes. Even though he tried, he didn’t know how to coax me out. It was the dogs that kept me company.
I started thinking about killing myself. I couldn’t stop the thoughts from entering my head. While Dave was at work I would spend hours looking at the rafters of our shed house. Sometimes I would hold a length of rope on my lap. I didn’t know what to do about how I was feeling, and I didn’t know who to talk to.
I envied Dave’s ability to continue joking and laughing. I envied his ability to continue drinking and partying and hanging out with everyone at the pub. I didn’t go out much anymore. Dave tried to encourage me, but I pushed him away; I could see his doubt and frustration growing. I could smell his hidden tears.
The next day I asked the neighbours to drive me to the airport. I flew home to Mum.
Process
After the baby died she walked into the empty church
Sliced her arm skin with stained glass broken
Silently cooed with pigeons shitting everywhere
In the shaded gum tree grove by the river
An old woman sat and watched her bleed
Honouring her process with no words
At the clinic the nursing sister scowled
I want to help you but I can’t if you don’t
Wraps tight white bandages on thin black arms
Old tree drums beckon from the Todd River
Sand strewn bottles and emptied bladders
The mob waving down the creek for her
Sixty Three
Mum said I could stay as long as I needed to. She said she hoped that Dave and I could save our marriage; then she said she didn’t know what else to say. She reached over and held my hand. I don’t remember her ever having done that before.
The suicide thoughts would not leave my brain. When I went for walks, I saw myself hanging in the trees.
One day, when Mum went to the shops, I rang the Crisis Line.
I booked myself into rehab.
I Tell You True
I can’t stop drinking, I tell you true
Since I watched my daughter perish
She burned to death inside a car
I lost what I most cherish
I saw the angels hold her
As I screamed with useless hope
I can’t stop drinking, I tell you true
It’s the only way I cope!
I can’t stop drinking, I tell you true
Since I found my sister dead
She hung herself to stop the rapes
I found her in the shed
The rapist bastard still lives here
Unpunished in this town
I can’t stop drinking, I tell you true
Since I cut her down.
I can’t stop drinking, I tell you true
Since my mother passed away.
They found her battered down the creek
I miss her more each day
My family blamed me for her death
Their words have made me wild
I can’t stop drinking, I tell you true
’Cos I was just a child.
So if you see someone like me
Who’s drunk and loud and cursing
Don’t judge too hard, you never know
What sorrows we are nursing.
Part Four
no longer shy
Sixty Four
Cloud shadows pass by and sunshine glitters. Birds sing from the willow trees along the creek. It is Spring. The rehab centre is in the hills, and the countryside is lush and green. I am returning from my morning walk. My skin glows healthy from the crisp morning air. Slowly I have begun to adjust to the desperate decision I made. My body was so weary when I got to rehab. I had carried the burden of the stone inside me for a very long time. Now rehab is my home. I have been here for four months. Everyone is becoming friendlier.
When I first arrived, people thought I was reclusive and withdrawn. I always sat hunched over, my arms folded across my chest. They misread my body language. Some thought they could intimidate me. ‘Piss off,’ I told them, ‘I’m not shy; I’m bloody freezing.’ I wasn’t used to cold weather. I had lived in the north of Australia for most of my adult life.
At first I found the routine difficult to understand. Every client has to enter a Program. That includes attending AA or NA meetings. I had never heard of that stuff. ‘Will there be any other Nungas?’ I asked myself. I often still want to resist the program, but then a new-found energy protects me from my old behavioural habits.
It is mandatory to engage in a lot of counselling at rehab. We are required to choose a counsellor for our own personal sessions. At first I thought they were all dickheads. One of the male counsellors touched my tits, and said it was an accident. Another refused to flush down the dunny the bag of marijuana that I finally handed over to him. I’m sure he took it home to smoke. It was a bag of outdoor heads after a
ll! I chose Jill, the female counsellor.
We have taken some time to get to know each other, but slowly I am beginning to confront my issues, buried deep within. Slowly I feel the stone turning to ice, and then the ice beginning to melt. I feel tears on my face for the first time in my adult life.
One of her initial suggestions was to look at myself in the mirror each morning. I found that very hard to do. My eyes held such sadness. But eventually I was able to smile at my reflection. Now my eyes look different—I look so damn healthy.
A lot of people pass through the rehab centre. A few of the long-term clients have become my friends. Some clients are coming off hard drugs; most have a warped sense of humour. I have started to laugh again, this time without alcohol. I have started to relax more, this time without drugs.
The routine at rehab is strict, and all the chores are rostered. Every client has to take turns catering the lunches and evening meals, including washing the dishes. Everyone hates their turn. When it was my first turn to do lunch, I dosed a sandwich with chilli and tabasco sauce. The platters were served, and everyone ate their share. Whoever got that sandwich did not let on, despite their burning mouth. Lots of silly pranks are played in rehab. A sense of fun is essential to pass the time.
Too Afraid to Cry Page 7