Hear Me

by Julia North

  ‘Okay, well done everyone. I want you to now make some patterns and then later on we’ll give them a paint. We’ll glaze them tomorrow, put them in the kiln and then you can collect them later. They’re yours to keep.’

  I go over and study the bright geometrical patterns of the Ndebele huts. They are really beautiful. I take up a thin steel rod and try and copy the pattern on the top and base of my pot.

  ‘That looks really good,’ says Helen, coming over to inspect. ‘Once you paint it, it’ll look like a genuine Ndebele work of art.’

  ‘Brilliant. I love their artwork. They have such an innate talent.’ I address my words at Hattie who sneers and turns away. I complete the pattern and have to admit that pottery class, with the exception of having Hattie and Wolf around, has been great and at least it took my mind away from the painful onion layers for a while. Perhaps Helen was right. I do feel a bit better today.

  Chapter 9

  But the feeling doesn’t last. The next morning I sit cross-legged on the marshmallow duvet, my head clasped in my hands. The literature from the group class lies by my bedside. I sigh and pick it up. The first page lists the six Ds of depression: despair, discouragement, disinterest, distress, despondency and disenchantment, and it goes on to extol the benefits of cognitive therapy. I know it’s the trend at the moment but I feel it’s just more psychobabble. It’s obvious that negative emotions have their roots in your thoughts but it’s naïve to think you can retrain your brain to dwell only on the positive. I’d like to meet one person who can always control their thoughts? I laugh out loud. I suppose that thought’s negative already.

  I throw the page aside. It’s not like it’s telling me anything new. I pull a face and move to the window to stare out at the rolling lawn. I don’t know if this is going to work. This patronising preaching is just irritating me. Why can’t they give the doom and gloom a miss for a while? It’s enough to drive me to drink.

  The thought makes me long for a cool glass of Chardonnay or maybe a double Johnny Walker. My chest tightens. It’s just making me feel trapped and claustrophobic. My hands moisten and my breathing grows shallow. I throw my head back and shout up at the ceiling: ‘When the fuck is it going to get easier … when?’ But instead of an answer, Mom walks back into my mind. ‘You need to be careful about drinking, Melissa.’ She’d said this as I finished one bottle of Chardonnay and opened a new one. ‘How dare you talk to me about my drinking …’ I’d spat back. A sad shadow had flitted across her eyes before she walked away. It’s only now I realise she was trying to warn me. Poor Mom. I’ve really misjudged her and been such a bitch. She needs help as much as I do.

  Heaviness covers me. I screw up the pamphlet and throw it in the bin. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to remember, face my demons, or do some stupid moral inventory. What’s done, is done. I can’t go back. I look at my watch. Shit, it’s time already for the morning session.

  As I head down the corridor I sense Karlos behind me. At least thinking about him takes my mind away from the past. I’m glad I chose to wear my tight Levis this morning. I can hear his breathing behind me and, without even meaning to, I find myself wiggling my bum and can sense his appreciative eyes and smile to myself. No harm in a bit of flirting to distract from all this angst.

  ‘This is on causes of stress and how not to turn to the good old brandy to relax,’ he whispers, coming up on the side of me.

  ‘Mine was Johnny Walker.’

  ‘Classy,’ says Karlos, looking down at me with a smile, ‘but on the serious side, if you need to talk, I’m here.’ His fingers brush against mine and linger so that their warmth oozes through. Excitement flutters in my stomach.

  ‘I’m okay … just been a bit of a roller-coaster … that’s all,’ I stammer.

  ‘It’ll get better,’ says Karlos. His tone is confident. My body tingles. There’s blatant interest in his eyes.

  As we enter the room Nic looks at me, then Karlos, and then back at me like he’s at a tennis match. There’s an empty chair next to him but I ignore it and head to one on the opposite side. I smile to myself as I sense Karlos following behind. He settles down with a satisfied sigh on the chair next to me, his long legs stretched out in front, and he places his arm across the armrest of mine. I keep my face set but a flutter of excitement ripples through me. I lean back in my chair with a nonchalant air and cross my legs. I lean my arm against the side of my chair just millimetres from Karlos. I can feel the heat of his body. Nic is watching with a set expression and hunched shoulders. A twinge of guilt tightens in my belly. I don’t like him but at the same time I must stop being such a bitch, although I can’t deny the lovely warm feeling it gives me from winning the power play for a change. Set one mind game to me; nil to Nic.

  Hattie and Wolf are seated next to each other at the end of the room. They’ve got their heads close together and are whispering and sniggering about something. She’s still clad in the same pink tracksuit and probably stinks as much as he does. The sores on his arm are glowing red and crusted over with mercurochrome which I suppose poor Helen had to do for him. We ignore each other.

  Dr Brink enters. ‘Good morning, everyone.’

  ‘Howzit,’ shouts Hattie.

  George enters and remains frozen near the doorway, twisting his hands and sweating. His chest pants up and down and he’s obviously having a panic attack. Karlos pats the chair next to him with a loud thud. ‘Howzit, George. Sit.’

  Relief flashes across George’s face and he jerks over to Karlos on thin legs. Tick for Karlos. That was a nice thing to do. ‘Hello,’ I mumble as he sits down, while Nic acknowledges him with a tight, ‘Howzit.’ His jawline jerks and he clasps his hands together. Maybe he finds him repulsive too?

  ‘Alison’s not well enough to join us today,’ says Dr Brink, taking a wad of clipboards out from the cupboard near the door. ‘We’re going to fill in another form, I’m afraid, but the questions should help,’ says Dr Brink. He hands out a clipboard with a form to each of us. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to share them with the group if you don’t want to.’

  My shoulders sag with relief at the no-share option.

  Karlos leans over to me. ‘Agh, that’s a shame,’ he whispers. ‘It would be nice for you and me to share.’

  I give a low laugh but keep my eyes focused on my clipboard.

  ‘If you could take about ten minutes or so to fill it in, that would be great.’

  ‘Agh, I’ve done this one already?’ Hattie sniffs loudly and leans back in her chair with the clipboard resting on her lap. ‘Can’t I take a smoke break?’

  Dr Brink shakes his head. ‘For you and Karlos, here’s another form which is different, and it’s important you do it, please.’

  Hattie sniffs. ‘Ja, okay … with the fucking H-man I probably need to do two.’ She picks up the clipboard and shifts on her chair with her shoulders back and head up as if she’s suddenly embarked on some important mission.

  Karlos and I exchange a look and raise our eyebrows at each other. She’s enough to make me throw up, she really is.

  I read through the ten questions. Some more painful layers to peel off, no doubt. The first question asks me to focus on how my mental and physical health was affected by my drinking. Like an impartial observer I think back on my alcoholic days. There were so many times I exercised poor judgement, suffered anxiety, gave into negative thinking, even had the tremors, headaches, a sore body; not to mention the psychological suffering of guilt, shame and the loss of contact with my family and friends. How can I deny that it’s more an enemy than a friend? There’s nothing ‘happy juice’ about it: in reality it’s evil, or as Nic put it so succinctly, ‘fucking dangerous’.

  The questions go on to deal with the problems of shame our drinking has caused. The harsh words of that bitch of a neighbour, Cynthia McKenzie, ring again in my ears as she screamed at Mom and Dad, calling them drunks because they’d reversed into her roses. Elsa had been blood-red just like me, so had Nat. I
guess it must’ve affected all three of us. Maybe that’s why I drank even at that young age? Maybe it was some twisted way of giving McKenzie the finger, and proving there was nothing wrong with having a bit of happy juice, so how dare she treat Mom and Dad that way? As I let my mind pace back through the dusty rooms of my past, open its creaking doors and look again into those darkened rooms with their yellowed walls and ceilings, I see myself repeating Mom’s mistakes. I’d also woken to a sour room stinking of old wine and sick on more than one occasion and turned into Miss Superbitch plenty of times, wallowing around in my own special brand of drunken self-pity. What a joke. It’s only now, almost as if cataracts have been cut from my eyes, that I can see so clearly that all the things I’d condemned and hated in her as a child, I’ve actually done myself as an adult. We do we follow in our parents’ footsteps despite thinking we never will. The generational curse is certainly alive and well in our veins and doing its shitty best to repeat its sordid cycle of history.

  As the old alcoholic memories stagger through my memory, a surprising feeling of relief at being at Shaloma eases over me. I smile sardonically. Despite how I felt a few hours ago, I am glad I came to the meeting today. I can’t deny I’m slowly regaining some self-respect and my sobriety has helped wash away some of those chains of shame from the past. Hopefully, the longer I stay sober, the better it will get. Perhaps I should mark off the days somewhere, like a prisoner. They say it takes three weeks to break a habit – I wonder how long it takes to forgive yourself.

  ‘Anyone want to share their thoughts?’ says Dr Brink.

  Karlos self-consciously clears his throat. ‘I will.’

  Dr Brink turns to him and nods. ‘Thank you, Karlos.’

  Karlos leans forward. He rests his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped in front and stares down at the carpet for a few seconds. Silence fills the room as we all turn to him with expectant eyes. He looks slowly round the group and clears his throat again. ‘I used to drink two bottles a day you know … I lost my farm, my family …’ He puts his head down and shakes it from side to side before continuing in a low voice, ‘My parents, agh, they were so ashamed of me. My old father, he is still broken over it.’ He pauses and swallows. ‘My wife, she died also from too much drink. She was pregnant.’ His voice falters on the last word. I stare at him with a hollow pit in my belly as he goes on. ‘Agh, when they died I just drank more and more.’ He falls silent and holds his head in his hands before looking up again at each of us in turn. ‘I was so bad that I got the DTs … ja, man, I saw these hallucinations of an old woman coming at me to steal my bottle. I was just like some old, mad tramp shouting and screaming at everyone. People were scared of me. Yslike, when I think of it now, I can’t believe I sank so low.’

  Karlos rubs one of his hands back and forward across his cheek before hunching over in his chair, head down and eyes focused on the carpet. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at his show of emotion. I feel numb inside. Poor guy. He’s had such a hard time, even worse than me. Karlos wipes his thick fingers across his eyes and sits back in his chair, lips clamped together, staring straight ahead.

  Nic narrows his eyes at him and looks serious while Hattie and Wolf sit with sneers on their faces. I glare at them. How the hell can they sit there and snigger at someone else’s pain. How dare they!

  Dr Brink’s voice breaks into the stiff silence which descends on the room. ‘Anyone else want to share?’

  No-one answers. My pen scratches as I start filling in my form.

  ‘Well done, everyone. Please keep your forms,’ says Dr Brink as we finish. ‘They will be useful for you to look back on as you progress through the course.’

  I fold mine into a small square and push it inside the pocket of my Levis. Karlos crumples his up and hides it in his fist. Dr Brink pats his shoulder as he gets up.

  ‘Well done,’ I whisper as we shuffle out of the door.

  ‘Agh, thank you.’ Karlos looks down and gives me a wry smile. ‘It felt good to talk.’

  As we enter the hot sunlight he gives my hand a squeeze. It sends a flash of warmth through my body. My thighs are tingling again. He keeps his hand lingering on mine. It’s firm and strong, waves of arousal pulse through me. I bite down on my lower lip. It’s a while since I’ve felt like this. It must be his earthiness, that musty male smell, like the circus lions I’d squatted next to and breathed in as a child. Men like lions are so much more exciting than the Aramis-drenched pretty boys like Mike. No wonder Elsa likes their type.

  Karlos seems like a rare breed; a macho man with a heart. I admire him for being so honest about his past. It takes a lot of guts to spill your guts so to speak, especially if you’re a guy. I glance out of the corner of my eye at Karlos’ broad frame as he strides next to me and think back to the Karoo and Aunty Yvonne’s farm. It’s a good life. Uncle Piet’s similar to Karlos. He’s quiet, but a good man and a loyal husband to Aunty Yvonne. They’re both so happy and content with their lives. If you’re living that type of life with the right person and enough money and security, it’s probably as close as you can get to heaven on earth.

  We enter the lounge and make our way to the ‘business class’ couches. A tray of tea with shortbread biscuits is waiting on the table.

  ‘Let’s sit,’ says Karlos.

  ‘Thanks,’ I murmur as I sit down on the first couch. He plonks himself next to me, making the faux-leather squeak. Nic enters and looks at Karlos and me through half-hooded eyes before sitting down on the couch opposite. The room thickens with silence as the raw emotion of the session returns.

  Karlos turns to me and clears his throat. ‘You okay?’

  I give a small laugh and nod. ‘I never thought I’d say I’m glad to be here, but I think maybe I’m getting that way.’ I surprise myself at my own confession.

  Karlos laughs. ‘Ja, it’s leaving here that’s worrying me. That’s why I’ve stayed for a second time like Hattie and Alison.’

  ‘You’re nothing like Hattie or Alison,’ the words shoot out before I can stop them. Nic’s eyebrows rise and I see his jaw stiffen, ‘but I know what you mean. I don’t know if it’ll really prepare anyone for outside if you leave too soon.’ I frown at my use of ‘outside’; surely I’m not institutionalised already? Imagine what I’ll be like in five weeks’ time?

  ‘Don’t worry, they’ll teach us,’ says Nic with a hard edge to his voice as George and Wolf join us.

  I turn and scowl at him.

  ‘It’s in the programme,’ he says with a patronising smile.

  ‘Well, the test will be if it works. It’s easy to write up loads of self-help directions. Not so easy to make them work.’

  Wolf plonks himself down next to Nic and pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear and lights it. ‘A mate of mine vent to rehab a few years ago,’ he says through a mouthful of foul smoke. ‘Still thought he could handle von or two. Not fooking true. You have to stop completely. That’s the only vay.’

  George remains standing next to the couch, his head forward and his arms stiff by his side. ‘I think it’s best to attend regular meetings,’ he says, pausing after each word as though he’s reciting a mantra, but still flicking that awful tongue.

  He’s really creepy with that awful lizard tongue – he must be on the spectrum and I don’t particularly want him as part of our extended group therapy. Karlos gives me a conspiratorial smile as if he senses my irritation. ‘I think we all know that, George,’ he says, ‘probably forever if you need to.’

  I burst out laughing at the image of us all, old and grey, still gathering here for our weekly meeting. ‘A lifelong sentence; oh, the joys of being an alcoholic, hey!’

  ‘If we don’t, we’ll all end up dead,’ says George in a monotone voice.

  ‘Ah yes,’ says Nic, raising his eyebrows in mockery, ‘it’s a fatal disease. Never forget that.’

  ‘I remember being told there’re as many alcoholics as drinks,’ I snap. ‘I’m sure they don’t all lead down the road to
death!’

  ‘Oh yes, they do,’ says Nic with a smirk. ‘We’ll be reading about all the stages and eventually if you stay around to reach stage four, the end is shuffling off this mortal coil.’

  I clench my jaw and ignore him. They’re all pissing me off now. I just want to be alone. ‘I’m going to the garden,’ I say, looking at my watch. ‘There’s still twenty minutes before the next session.’

  ‘Can I join you?’ says Karlos.

  ‘Yes, if you want,’ I say, enjoying the look of distaste on Nic’s face.

  We step outside onto the grass.

  ‘Agh, ignore Nic … he’s an arsehole.’

  I shrug. ‘Yeah, I know. I guess we’re bound to have a few personality clashes, but the worrying thing is it’s still the first week.’

  Karlos laughs. ‘Ja, but don’t worry, it goes fast, although.’ he clears his throat and bends towards me, ‘I think I want time to slow down.’

  I smile and try to hide the flutter inside. We walk over the grass in silence and I steal a sideways glance sideways at him. He’s staring out towards the rich green of the Milkwood trees with a wistful look.

  ‘You’ve had a hard time. I’m sorry,’ I say quietly as we reach the dappled shade.

  Karlos pulls a wry face and laughs. ‘Ja, you could say that.’ He settles himself down and pats the grass next to him. ‘But I’ve survived.’

  ‘It must be bad to get the DTs.’

  ‘It was hell.’ He shakes his head in disbelief and clenches his jaw. I watch as his jawline jerks up and down.

  The sun is curving downwards and splattering us with puddles of light, but the air is still warm. Karlos picks up a blade of grass and twirls it between his fingers before placing it in his mouth. ‘I’m okay now, don’t worry,’ he says, looking straight in my eyes. ‘We have to just take what life throws at us, I guess.’

  ‘Life sure can throw shit at times.’

  Karlos laughs. ‘Ja, and it’s an ace shot.’

  He nestles his body down onto the soft grass. I stretch my legs out in front, pressing them deep into the soft blades and lean back on my elbows. I squint up at the patches of clear blue which flicker down at me through the waxy green leaves.