The car comes to a stop, and the peering face is gone, but I know it’s not over, she will tell her mum there is a lady in the boot. I picture the next few moments. Carlana will fling open the hatch and find my snail-like body hidden inside. Will I just have to take out the envelope and pass it to her, while I am still in the shape of a coil?
The girl is out of the car.
“Will you pick me up this afternoon?” she asks.
“No, today Daddy will pick you up, and Haydee and her mum will also come home with you. Bye, my love,” Carlana says.
“Bye Mummy, sorry about messing up the wall, but I forgot to bring the toy gun to give back to Haydee, can you hide it, so Daddy doesn’t find it?” the little girl almost whispers.
I hear a prolonged silence, and I want to yell out to the girl that it’s all right, no child should be so worried about playing with a toy, it makes me forget that at any moment the adult in the trunk could be mentioned.
“That’s OK, I’ll put it in your cupboard, you can give it to her this afternoon.”
I let out my breath, that I didn’t know I was holding for the little girl, with a sigh of relief.
“Oh honey, is your water bottle in your bag?” Carlana asks.
“Yes, Mummy,” the girl replies and the car door closes, we are alone in the car.
Water, it’s the one thing that I forgot to bring with me. I picture the plastic bottle standing next to the sink, specially prepared for this trip. I hope that I won’t be in this boot for much longer. I am also grateful that even though it’s a sunny winter morning, it’s not too hot yet.
The car starts up, and soon we are driving. A ringing sound, but I don’t have to worry that it’s my phone, I don’t get many calls. Occasionally Amy calls me, but today she will be too occupied with getting herself ready to leave the prison. The phone is quickly answered, and Carlana begins to speak.
“Hey Bettina, I am looking for a spot to park the car. Of course, I assumed that there would be an empty parking space just waiting for me.”
“That’s fine,’ a voice replies. ‘I’ve set the hall set up for you, ready to go.” I am surprised that I am able to hear the caller’s reply, how has Carlana connected her phone to the speaker? It’s been so long since I had a car, the new technology has me baffled.
“Thanks, Bettina, I appreciate you helping me to organise this speaking event last night, and I don’t just mean the paperwork, Bettina. You really relaxed me,” Carlana says in a husky, hushed tone.
I think I hear myself gasp and I put my hand over my mouth, to make sure I don’t release any additional sounds.
“Any time, Carlana,” the feminine voice purrs. “Listen, it looks like there are already people arriving for your talk. I know we went over the plan last night, but straight after the talk would you like to come back to my house? We could fine-tune the details.”
“I would love to, Bettina, but you know, Evan will be expecting me home straight after the event.”
“It won’t be long until you have some freedom, Carlana. But we can talk again later about your controlling husband. I need to finish setting up, see you in a minute.” The telling call ends, and there is silence, for the next while I can sense the car circling, and I assume this is the part where she is searching for a parking space. I can feel myself blushing, but I am not sure if it’s getting hotter or whether it’s because of what I just overheard. So, she has herself a lover girl. If I didn’t already have the material that I have on Carlana, I could use this revelation against her.
The car comes to a stop once more, and I can hear a jangling of keys and the rustling of papers. I must concentrate, now. What if she gets out, locks the car, and it turns out that this is one of those new model cars that won’t open if you lock them from the outside? I will be trapped here, in her car, running out of oxygen, while she teaches her followers how to sit on a chair, breathe, and save the environment simultaneously. But today is my lucky day. Not just because I will soon see Amy again, but because of Carlana’s buzzing phone. She answers it, but this time it’s not connected to the car’s speaker system, so I can’t hear the other side of the conversation. Not caring about her foolish discussions, my priority is to get out of this car boot; I lift the lock just as I hear her say, “Hi Evan, yes, I just arrived, right on time.”
I don’t stop to close the boot after I have hoisted my compressed body out of it. I start running without looking back; not knowing if Carlana sees me, or if her car indicates that her boot had suddenly been opened. Impatiently, I stop to let a car drive past.
“Thanks, darlin’,” the driver thanks me for my courtesy.
I have to put enough distance between myself and Carlana. I don’t want her to see me, yet. But I do still want to watch her and see the direction she is walking in. She has driven me to the centre of Butter-River. There is a hall situated behind the library. I know that space well; I went there a few times for compulsory job-seeking sessions. The hall is used regularly for more accomplished people, such as authors who present talks, and I assume she will enter in there. But to be sure that is where she is headed I can’t let her out of my sight, just in case she goes in a different direction.
Hiding in a bed of kangaroo paw flowers, I stand behind the trunk of a eucalyptus tree. I put my arm around the trunk and the strips of bark catch onto my jumper. I watch Carlana with pleasure as she continues her phone conversation, simultaneously walking to the rear of the car and closing the boot. She doesn’t seem too concerned that it has opened. I watch her as she walks, wearing her backpack. She holds her back firm and straight, and her chin is tilted up, her steps are slow. Her long, bland-coloured hair is swept over one shoulder. She seems almost angelic. I question if her meditation nonsense can make someone move so ethereally, because she is far from holy judging by the conversation I’ve just overheard. But what was I expecting? I knew that she was immoral years ago, and I have the evidence to prove it. I was correct about her destination. She walks past the library and towards the door of the hall.
I wait until Carlana has entered the hall before I move from my hiding spot. I leap over low hedges and run past a water fountain.
I enjoy the exhilaration of the run from my hiding place to another tree, then towards the hall she walked into, proud of myself that I do not huff and puff. It’s probably because I walk everywhere, every day. I am fit for my age. When I stop, I find myself standing amongst the few shoppers walking on a path that leads from the library and hall to a shopping centre in the distance. Concealing myself amongst the people passing between the library and shops should prevent me from being seen through the large revealing windows of the hall, while I look into them. I walk to the library and position myself at the entrance. I prepare by pushing my shoulders back, lifting my chin up and taking a deep breath. Confidently I commence my trek by the side of an elderly lady clutching books to her chest. But after a few steps, I become annoyed because she walks too slowly for me, so I leave her side and walk towards the hall windows as naturally as any ordinary patron would. I slow down when I reach them and turn my head to the left to look into the hall as I walk. The room is set up with rows of black plastic chairs facing toward a podium. Next to the podium is an extended white screen.
I turn back, in the direction of the library, not taking my eyes off the hall.
“Excuse me,” a lady with fiery red hair says irritably, as I collide with her. I’ve had my head turned in the direction of the room for too long.
“I’m sorry,” I say half-heartedly, only partially apologetic.
My mind spins. This was the reason I hid in Carlana’s boot; to compromise her in front of people that admire her. But how should I do this? Other than walking into that hall, and handing her the envelope in front of her audience?
I am pacing backwards and forwards, and I can see that seats are being filled. I look for Carlana at the front of the room. She is talking to a woman leaning over a laptop, touching her on the back.
Th
e unusual sound of my phone ringing breaks my concentration on what is happening inside that room. I reach inside my bag and fumble for it. It stops ringing before I fish it out from under the envelope. I check who the missed call was from, I’m sure it will be Beth next door, calling to check how I’ve fared with leaving the letter. I notice the call is from Loretta at the shoe shop. I don’t have the time or desire to call her back now, there is not a chance that I will abandon my mission because someone hasn’t turned up for their shift. I put the phone into my bag, and my hand brushes past the gun and yellow envelope. I think of Amy. Will she be on her way home yet? She will be waiting for me soon, just as I instructed her to. She will be expecting me to give her something more than a room with a sink.
Disillusionment always brings out my inventiveness; as I rummage through my bag, the sight of the USB in the side pocket solidifies the idea I have been turning over in my mind. Why should Carlana be the only one to view the images? I question, as I change direction again, blending with the shoppers. But as I stride closer towards the hall door, a central concern stops me from taking another step. How will exhibiting these images to her followers give me an advantage and be lucrative? It would be pleasurable to show people how she treats defenceless living creatures, but then my initial extortion scheme, for getting something for not showing these images, will be ruined.
I chastise myself for my momentary loss of logic.
No, the USB should not have any photos on it. First, I intend to cause her concern and plant a seed of fear for what is to come. I spin around and take the path to the shop to purchase a fresh new USB.
Carlana, 9:40AM
I feel the familiar touch of trepidation mixed with pride and satisfaction, as I stand in this room, in front of the empty black chairs lined up in three neat rows, just like my plan, waiting to be executed.
Evan was a nightmare this morning; he was counting the minutes I spent on every part of my early morning routine. I was so relieved when I saw him drive away to his karma yoga class, and I was able to bask in time for myself. I watch Bettina working on the laptop. I walk over to her enjoying looking at her as she bites her lip. She looks up at me and gives me a small smile. I touch her back, and her cheeks redden. “I missed seeing you this morning during school drop-off; I was at the front gate very early this morning. I thought you might have been, too,” she whispers.
“You, naughty girl, are to blame for me not being there. Your Haydee lent Maia some atrocity of a plastic foaming gun, and she splatted gunk all over the wall,” I moan.
“Oh, gee, a plastic gun in the house, you can punish me later for it,” Bettina says giving me a wink.
“Ha… plastic wasn’t my only concern this morning. Evan was just as much of a nightmare. I was trying to send you a message about some extra information I wanted you to add to the presentation. He kept looking over my shoulder. After a while I gave up struggling to write my message, hence the text I sent you about the non-existent school excursion next week. If Evan found out that you are helping me out today he would be furious. I don’t think the day will ever come when he employs someone to help us out, in case they find out all our business secrets,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“What would Evan do to me if he found out I was secretly working for you?” Bettina asks.
“He would probably make you swear a vow of silence. Anyway, are you all prepared to meet him this afternoon?” I ask.
“Yep, I have my clothes all laid out on my bed,” she replies.
“Yes, make sure you don’t turn up at school pick-up dressed like this, I can’t risk him being reminded of me,” I say, pointing to the sepia-coloured clothing she is wearing, that no man apart from Evan would find attractive.
“This ugly stuff is only intended for you and this crowd,” she says, quietly indicating the group of people in the room.
“Shh, plastic is ugly, my clothes, well, they are modest, but not ugly,” I say.
It’s Bettina’s turn to roll her eyes.
I flip my hair over my shoulder and hold her gaze, giving her a slight nod.
“See you this afternoon at my house,” I whisper.
The room is filling up, now. It’s becoming too noisy in here, my head begins to spin, I take a deep breath. I can’t let anyone in this room see me have an anxiety attack. I have only had a handful of them in the last five years. Five years ago, I was stressed, overworked, not paid a high enough wage to keep up with my compulsive spending habits, and then, boom, I got pregnant. I went from a high-paying job to no job at all, from living on my own to living with my uptight mum and a baby. I struggled, survived – then thrived. I reached a point where, even though I didn’t own material belongings, I was happy. When I found out I was pregnant, my initial reaction was that I couldn’t face life with a baby, because hey, I couldn’t even look after the dog. I wanted to give the baby away. But as soon as it was born, I needed nothing else, the expensive clothes, car... things. And I was proud; it was gratifying that I survived taking care of Maia and myself.
Now I am hearing that incessant noise again, the one I frequently heard before Maia was born. Ever since I met Evan, the volume in my mind has increased gradually, but he is wealthy, and he did rescue me from a particular kind of poverty. It took me about a year to realise that he saw me as a project to invest in. Evan took me out of my predicament and made my journey of transformation his own. I had the authentic version of living an uncomplicated life. It wasn’t a perfect existence and far from comfortable, but it was genuine. I shared the tribulations of being a new mother with no savings, blogged about how I made that work. I started off with a handful of followers. I’m proud that I was one of first to start the trend of mindful living. Now these sites following the same philosophy pop up regularly. My authenticity was recognised, though, because I was the first person to receive the Wellness Practitioners’ licence, which was a life-changing opportunity. Today, I live a carbon copy of that mindful life and try to teach the philosophy of wellness and mindfulness to other people.
I don’t complain to Evan, how can I? I enjoy the travel, money and constant attention that Evan managed to market into a nice watered-down package to generate sales. But I can’t continue to live a false life, not with Evan. I want an authentic life again. First, I need an opportunity to find out what that means, because this new version of living a wholesome life will look different from the way it did when it was just myself and Maia. This time, I will have Evan’s fortune. And maybe eventually, someday, I will have the inspiration to write a story about a new journey. In turn, I’ll then be able to teach people sincerely once more. But at the moment I am uninspired, drained. I pen self-help books and stand in front of audiences, pretending that I have already obtained the essence of life, but it’s all a farce. I operate on feelings I remember from the time when I lived on my own with Maia.
I presented Evan with a chance to stay with us, I told him that I wanted to take Maia and live in Brazil for a year, to be able to experience a gritty life. The experience would be a stimulus for my future work, and he could even join us. Brazil is leading the way in recycling practices, so there would be plenty for him to experience there, too. He told me, no, I should be glad to be visiting Denmark, and learning from the best about ‘hygge,’ the Danish art of living cosily. I know it’s because he thinks if I go on my own, I’ll have the chance to think over my life, and then there is a chance I would leave him. He is correct in assuming that allowing me freedom will result in him losing me, his product.
Last chance, Evan. Because today, I will grant myself an opportunity to leave him and take his money. Yes, I need him to finance my life beyond him, because no matter how much I make through selling books and giving talks, I can never match the salary he earns as an owner of a recycling plant.
When I met Evan, he had been the director of the plant for nine years. He wore stiff suits to his fourteen-hours-a-day job. Eventually, he realised that time was precious, and he wanted to spend it with his new f
amily, so he employed a clever girl named Melissa as his personal assistant. Poor girl, she never has a chance to implement mindfulness in her own life, because Evan overworks her. Since employing Melissa, it means that he can spend more time at home, unfortunately.
From my observations, the clothes Evan used to wear, and what he puts on now that he hardly spends any time in his office, are the only things that have changed about him. He lost the restrictive suits, but he still tries so hard to achieve goals in his life. It exhausts me. Of course, I don’t blame the dissatisfaction and irritation that has developed in our relationship solely on Evan’s faults; I know he tries to help me be better. It’s just that I don’t want to let him help. I hate that he focuses too much attention on my business, thinks he is managing it now, wanting me to present my life on social media. I said no, so he now he wants to make that refusal part of the brand. He thinks showing people I don’t do social media will increase my appeal, by making me mysterious. We agreed that I could have a private account, and he would have one that he would manage on my behalf. Evan is proof that a person’s character can’t be improved without being broken. The only way someone can find their authentic self is to hit rock bottom in life. Evan has never hit and experienced rock bottom. He has always had an excellent, well-paid job, high pressure but not soul destroying enough for him to make him a better person. Not like me after my experiences. The room begins to feel smaller. I look toward the windows to obtain a sense of space. It is busy outside, people are walking past, holding shopping bags, not noticing each other. It feels like I am just something else for them to consume. They all seem to turn towards the glass and peer inside, and watch me.
The Plastic Seed Page 5