Joyous and Moonbeam (10 page)

I don't know the name of that type of tree but I do know that they're everywhere, dotted around parks in the city. I'm pretty sure we even used to have a couple in the backyard at the old place. Man, I loved that yard, with its scrappy grass and puddles between the strawberry beds and raggedy bushes. Back then, I was allowed to be a mad, muddy kid, riding my red scooter across dirt-heaps that my father pushed together with his spade, catching Christmas beetles in jars or seeing how high I could take the old tyre swing. It was great.

Of course, that was before we moved into their
perfectly designed, perfectly landscaped, perfectly spotless, dream home.

Dream? Nightmare.

Anyway, I've always liked those trees because they're low to the ground and clean, not sappy or covered with ants. They grow wide with thick, knotty branches, then they bend down like old people who are still proud, despite their age. At night they look like giant birds about to take off, wings half-raised in the shadows. But in daylight they have these lovely soft almond-shaped leaves which are actually made up of a spine and ribs with lots of tiny green dots. In autumn the wind blows the dots away so the ends of the branches look like finger-bones, skinny and curled. In spring the dots come back and the trees flower in bright red clusters, the petals as light and fragile as a spider's silk.

I had to help Joyous up – he's not very coordinated – but once we got into the branches there were plenty of hand and footholds. Because of his size I made sure he stayed on the biggest branch where he lumbered about like an old bear before settling into a fork. There was a space near the top for him to see out so we sat there and ate some sandwiches I had bought at the bakery. Lunch in the sky, I told him, which made him laugh then he repeated it at least thirty times. I was stuck with a knot in my back but it didn't matter, he was yapping away about
everything that he could see, like this cute kid in the playground, and that was reward enough.

That's the thing with Joyous, he makes me feel glad because I can help him and be a friend to him by explaining stuff and just being there, I guess, but he also makes me feel ashamed at how unreasonable I can be, have been, in my own life. He is so decent. He just refuses to see the ‘bad bit' in anything. No, re-phrase that, he sees it but he refuses to allow it to stick in his head, or dominate him. This working it around idea he goes on about, his father's philosophy, when I first heard that, I thought, pretty basic, childish, as if that can make any difference – but it does. It does. Because he believes in it so strongly, it works. It's like – like a faith.

Late last year, when things were starting to go pear-shaped at home, I stayed in my room for a while, turned off my phone (yes, true) and created this online journal made up of images, YouTube clips, animations, photos, anything that appealed to me. I called it Reasons, as in reasons to hang onto the edge, not let go and maybe, eventually, step back a bit. It was cool but lacking something, like when you meet a hot-looking guy then he opens his mouth and you realise he's a moron (yes, you, Kyle Leggett). So I (stupidly) showed Kadie who gooed and gaaed but couldn't get past the clip of the Black Eyed Peas because she's (still) convinced that Taboo will one day call around
to 34 Shell Street and propose engagement-marriage-ten thousand babies. Then she rabbited on about sticking a link to Reasons on Facebook. Great, I said, three billion amateur counsellors, just what I need, but she didn't get it and I remember thinking, You're a dimwit, girl, you don't understand the inside, you want nothing more in life than to be noticed. And you'll do whatever for that to happen. Like, if an ad came out for a fab new body-wash made from essence of pig-poo, Kadie would be first in line, buying up big, slapping it on with a trowel then uploading a thousand photos of herself grinning like a ditz as she waited for the (in her mind, inevitable) modelling contract.

Eventually I worked out that Reasons needed some decent words to bring everything together. That was when I remembered another of Miss Qureshi's why-we-need-English lessons when she talked about learning life from Shakespeare. She said, His plays contain everything you'll ever need to know about people. And Kyle-brain-dead-moron said, Like how to pick up chicks, hey, Miss? And Miss Qureshi said, Yes, Kyle, even that, and gave him this humungous gotcha-wink which made Kyle blush because he's got a thing for Miss Qureshi who is amazing-looking, in an olive-skin, Italian-film-star, kind of way.

Anyway, that night I looked up some quotes from Shakespeare. Even though I didn't understand many,
I did like:
Say as you think and speak it from your souls
, so that went into my homepage. Then I figured that, maybe, instead of words from know-everything Bill, I could use lyrics from my favourite songs and that's when I remembered the song ‘Fireworks' and the line that became the signature of Reasons:
After a hurricane, comes a rainbow
.

The secret to a sound-bite, said Mr Van Coote during a history unit on propaganda, is to keep it short and sharp, meaningful and memorable. I loved that ‘Fireworks' sound-bite because it was so assured. The rainbow wasn't just a possibility, it was going to happen. For a month or two, as my family's arc shifted and warped, I looked at Reasons every night, tinkered with it and fell into it – like a faith. It was the rainbow promise that kept me away from the edge, for a while anyway.

And that's exactly how it is with Joyous and his father's philosophy. His belief saves him. It gives him a rhythm, a way of getting himself in-step with the world. Without it, I guess everything for Joyous would be random, unable to be explained. He needs the philosophy to make sense of it all, create order.

It was a gift, what his father did for Joyous. And the difference between us, I think, the reason that this big, clumsy, disadvantaged fella is a better, happier person than me, is that Joyous has had both the desire and the courage to keep the faith, whereas I haven't. Or couldn't.
Didn't. Whatever.

Massage the bad bits to discover the good bits. This morning, when we were sitting in the park, I realised how much he has taught me. That's what made our trip to Kinsville special, and necessary. It hasn't just been goodbye, it's been a way of saying thanks. Watching his delight in the river, the tree and the ducks (on cue, amazing!) made me see how uncomplicated things can be, and how good that is. Simple is good, and believing, genuinely believing, in the rainbow after the hurricane, is really good.

If coming to Kinsville was important for Joyous, it was super-important for me. Why? Because of re-growth. I finally understood how much I cared for him and how much I cared for the world, and that was really good to know. It was cleansing. We sat in the sky in that lovely old tree and I thought, I'm doing something good for another person because I care, and that feels great, better than sucking up to Kadie McIntosh or pleasing Bracks or pleasing my parents or, for that matter, pleasing me.

Caring for Joyous has pulled me back from the edge. That's how it is with him. That's what you get with rainbows.

Joyous, My Special

Now is the time to write my final letter to you and it is fair to say that this is the most difficult thing for me to write and also for you to ever have to read with more big Secrets but I want you to always remember my love. Love will see you through every calamity and that is what Thomas Bowen taught me and what has stood us in good stead since his passing. So here goes.

As you know from my earlier letters, I had become a regular parishioner at The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed for some years due to the kindness of
Alice McDowd and her husband, Jonathon, and my many other friends there. You also know how special this was for Mamma, a saviour, and how it had given me more to live for in terms of reasons, you of course and being your mamma on behalf of my beloved sister Jennifer, then the church.

A few months ago, on a day that you now know well, Mamma knew that the church was having a special fete with cakes and stalls and lucky dips and raffles to raise money for orphans. You see the church in all its good work also looks after some poor children from Nepal and to do this needs donations and funds raised. Now this special fete was being held on a Saturday on account of being a day when people would be happy to come and donate and not be working. Because of being on a Saturday Mamma knew that she wouldn't be able to go with Sammy-K asking, Where do you think you're going? And finding out about the church. But then in a strange turn-around he said that he was off out for a while and when I said, Why? How long? And he said going to see a man about a job a few hours, probably longer, they'd no doubt want him to do some work to prove himself. So I thought that maybe with Sammy-K out working to prove himself I could get to the church fete and help, which was what I really wanted and you were with Mr Santorini doing extra so it was looking A-okay.

But sometimes, My Special, things don't happen as we plan. This has been evident to Mamma throughout her life but you just have to keep going, don't you, and do as Thomas Bowen said with the working it around a little which you have become very good at, making me proud as punch. When I got to the church I was very pleased to be there among friends and Alice asked me to help Jonathon with the tombola which is like a lotto with tickets in a spinning drum. Mamma was very happy to do this selling tickets to good people, two dollars a pop, and knowing that the orphans in Nepal would benefit as a result. It was all going swimmingly and Jonathon said with a smile, We'll count the money soon, Margaret, very profitable! So I was getting a glow on the inside when I looked up and there was Sammy-K who had been drinking again and with more anger than I have ever seen before and since.

Joyous, I do not wish to tell you all of the things that were said and done, just to know that it was a most unpleasant time of yelling and his use of words like liar and betray which were not true but these were his thoughts. Unfortunately my friend Jonathon tried to stop this rant at which point Sammy-K hit him with a fist in the nose which bled and that made it time to go, Alice saying, Don't, Margaret, you don't have to put up with this, we'll ring the police! But, of course, I did go. What choice did I have? We were living in his apartment and
I was trapped, as always. On the way he said he'd been suspicious and followed me and one day seen my Special Bible given to me by the church on my inducting with the inscription inside so that was how he'd twigged and invented the story about the job and working to prove himself. Then the drinking nearby until the time came he said to stop all this stupidity and marched over.

Oh, Joyous! Mamma felt so lonely and foolish then, my secret gone, my happiness too, and on the way home I became a different person. It was like I couldn't see or think straight, like a storm around me, his words and my mistakes and the past and present hitting together in a big flash. It's very hard to explain, My Special, but you have to understand that on this Saturday, a day you know well, Mamma was not her normal self but fretted and knotted at her wits' end.

In the apartments, as you know, is a lift to our third floor, as well as steps. Of course we always take the lift especially since The Weight but on this day Sammy-K said, No, no, you don't deserve it, and he was dragging Mamma up the steps with some shouting about too fat anyway and lying and betray and holding my hair all the way. Near the top step he stopped out of breath and just for a moment he let go of Mamma, and that's when it happened, Joyous, that's when Sammy-K lost his feet and fell.

Poor Sammy-K, once a good man, but so defeated in time by his Fears. He never stood a chance, tumbling down to the bottom and landing on concrete. What is most strange to me is how I felt then, no sorrow or sad, nothing really, I just felt nothing. I am guilty for this but the heart provides for itself and I do believe God understands and accepts my emptiness. So I stood in quiet for I don't know how long and God said to me, A sign will come, and I wondered, what now? And that's when you showed up, My Special, a sign from God as I always knew.

You know the rest, how we met on the middle steps and held together and I told you about his drinking and slipping then to ring the police and when they arrived you told them what I said for you to say, since it was fatal, an accident from drinking and slipping with Sammy-K being passed away on the concrete. I will be grateful to you for all time in talking to them on that day, me being in shock of course.

Now I must close this my last letter with the hardest Secret of all and one I should tell you face to face but I can't, just can't. So please, forgive me again.

Joyous, I have already told you of The Weight and how it has taken hold of Mamma for some time now and been impossible for me to control. When I was friendly with Alice one thing she did for me was take me to her doctor, a good lady, and kind, by the name of Doctor O'Donnell.
She specialises in lady diseases and problems such as The Weight. Mamma had been seeing Doctor O'Donnell on and off for some time now and trying different things but after the accident I was not wanting to go out in case of questions from neighbours so missed several appointments. But very recently after not feeling the best I decided to give it another shot so went along and did a full check up which was way overdue and then not good news. Not good, in fact, the worst, I think.

My Special, Mamma is very sick. It's hard to tell but this is how. The Weight is such that it hides many things and one of those things is called a tumour which is a malignant badness like a hard piece that grows inside and eventually makes all parts of you sick and hard to recover from, impossible, in my case. This is what you must understand. Joyous, I have to write this, most difficult of all, it may be that Mamma will pass on sooner than later. We do not know when for sure, but Doctor O'Donnell has said, Margaret, you best put your affairs in order, so this is partly what I am doing with my letters to you. Please also understand how proud Mamma has been of her Joyous with lots of wonderful memories, like your first time with shoelaces and learning the twelve times table when you were only six and the first time you wrote a birthday card for Mamma which I still have hidden in my top drawer with, Love Your Son, Always, Joyous, and
knowing the train times off by heart and being so kind to that poor man Roscoe and many other moments which made me both glad and crying. It has been an honour to be your Mamma and replacing Jennifer, poor soul, taken too early.

I have often told you to be true, be honest, and you will soar like a bird, like an eagle, you will soar. In saying this I wanted you to become a fine man of independence of whom to be proud. I wanted you to become a man befitting the memory of Thomas Bowen. Well, Joyous, I have spent so long wanting you to become that I didn't realise that you already have. Yes, My Special, you have. You are definitely a fine man of whom to be proud. No one is more loving or more loved. This will guide you through the rest of it all even when Mamma is passed and I am happy and proud to call you mine and Jennifer's and Thomas's forever.

For now, though, there is no more to say.

With much love always, Mamma