Joyous and Moonbeam (7 page)

I love libraries. I do. Some people might find that hard to believe (like poor Mrs Cheney, our school librarian) but when I said it to Bracks she just nodded and said, I know, Ashleigh, I know. God, that woman. Where does she get off being so reasonable?

We strike out at the things we love
. Another Bracks-ism. Followed, of course, by the inevitable explanation, Ashleigh, we hurt those who we love because they're closest, and that makes the pain more real. If it's more real, it's more noticeable. Other people see it. Yes, Miss. It's also more easily stopped.

Yeah, all right. Whatever.

I'm still not sure what took me into the library that afternoon. Some strange force. Maybe I went there because libraries are safe, like churches. Sanctuaries for people who don't fit in anywhere else. No one harms or gets harmed in a library. Do they?

Some strange force. Maybe I wanted to destroy all that knowledge, those trillions of words sitting on their shelves. You can't escape words. They'll always find you out and track you down, no matter how much you ignore them.

Maybe I went into the library because everywhere else was locked and it was open.

The rest I remember like a series of cartoon strips.

In the first strip I see myself wearing my oh-so-delish green-and-white checked uniform, mousey mass of hair pulled up, but still a mess, wisps over my ears and eyes. My lips are pale, really pale. I'm wearing joggers with Texta coloured-in bits, white socks and a bunch of (banned) anklets. Black cardy pulled up to the elbows, one pocket bulging, paint-scraps on my fingers, a gold locket at my throat.

That locket was a birthday gift when I turned thirteen. My favourite girl becoming my favourite lady, Dad whispered. But don't tell Mum I said that. Inside is a tiny picture of the three of us, big grins from our Sydney
holiday the year before. We were on the ferry to Luna Park and Dad asked this bloke if he wouldn't mind taking the picture, with the bridge in the background, clouds like vapour-trail overhead. It's a good photo. We're happy, our boggy future stuck on hold.

You still wear it? asked Bracks. Yeah, I do. So what? She looked at me long and hard like she does, with those ultra-blue eyes, as penetrating as arrows, and she said, Come on, Ashleigh, you know what. You still wear the locket.

Okay, point taken. I still wear the stupid locket.

Cartoon-strip. There I am, small and a bit blurry, a fugitive in the school library. I leave the foyer with its glassed-in trophy cabinets and gold-lettered honour boards, turn a corner and wander past the first set of shelves, fingers trailing along the spines of the books. This is Reference A – M. Pull out a book, open it to
Fungus
, read for a moment, close the book, drop it on the floor. Turn, do a lap of Reference N – Z then move into Fiction. Pull out another book, kiddy story, fox on the white cover. Hear something – a cough, scrape? Stop, listen, drop down, lie on the floor. Wait, close my eyes, smell the mangy carpet, listen some more.

Nothing. Stand up, check the nearest window. Outside is more night than day. Very carefully, quietly, I rip pages from the fox book, pile them on the floor. I am smiling
while I do this. Look at me, I am actually smiling.

There are still some ceiling fluoros on, plus illumination from the green Exit signs. I pick up the pages and move to the front desk. There are stacks of returned books as well as a thin box of biros, two computer screens, an empty plastic bin and note-pads scrawled with codes and phone numbers and reminders.

Why did I choose here? It's the gateway, I suppose. Entry-exit.

We strike out at the things we love
. Shut up, Bracks, you know too much. I drop some pages in the bin. Drop some more into piles under each screen, add pages from the note-pads, crushed into balls. I am still smiling.

Second-to-last cartoon-strip; I reach into the bulging pocket, bring out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Alpine Supremes that I stole from my mother – didn't know why at the time, beyond the satisfaction of stealing from her. The lighter is red plastic, micro. Its flame is mostly blue. I take a cigarette, place it between my pale lips, lift the flame, inhale. Blow smoke then hold the orange tip to each pile of paper. They ignite, one by one. When all are lit, I drop the smouldering cigarette into the bin. Step back and watch. Smiling.

Why didn't I leave? Why didn't I run to the shadows that hide the fence-line, to the next bus away? Don't know. I really don't.

Ashleigh, said Bracks, if your aim is to destroy something, you want to see it destroyed, don't you? There's no value in hearing about it afterwards. You want it confirmed.

Guess so. I'm not used to destruction.

Last cartoon-strip. Small flames building into bigger flames that lick the computers like hungry cats. Smoke curling and rising. The smell of burning plastic, chemical and nasty. Then – the sudden shock of an alarm and a greater shock – voices close by, a chorus. People rushing from a room, faces I know and don't know. Adults, men in jackets, women with hand-bags.

And words, the words that I tried to kill off, cutting across like old saws slicing logs,
Get the fire extinguisher! What happened? Who is it? In the bin! Watch the girl. Is she …? The bin!

Last frame. I'm standing, mute and crazy-looking, and there's Bracks with me, pushing me away from the anger and questions, it was a parents and council meeting, of all the luck. She's taking me to the door, to the pathways and dark lawns and I'm still smiling like this clown I once saw at a circus, one of those touring ones, Big Top on the local footy field, a white-faced clown playing dumb, tip-toeing through the good and not-so and grinning at the stupidity of it all.

We strike out at the things we love
. Our house is close to
a hill, on the edge of a gully between suburb and bush. One year the bush burned. It was an autumn fire, the sparks fanned by new winds on the back of a long, dead summer. The grass and brush were crisp and combustible. They got the fire before it got us but the stink stayed for months. Early in September Dad said, Come for a walk. So I did, the two of us picking through the black remains of the burned bush, the charred stumps and insect corpses, the empty floor. At first I thought it was depressing and gloomy but then I looked closer, like you have to sometimes, and I saw green buds breaking through – lime-green shoots and small flecks of green carpet, even the beginnings of flowers. Dad said, Regrowth. Not long and it'll be good again. He touched a new petal, used the same hand to touch my hair.

Looking back, I think that was the first time that I understood fire and understood love, understood them both as destructive forces, and as means of starting over.

Joyous, My Special

I have tried to get across to you in my letters how precious a life can be and what a gift it is. Any sort of life, even one like some people have, I suppose, where things have not gone how you would want or where the sadnesses have been more so than happiness, as it is for Mamma. That is to say Thomas Bowen was definitely right in what he wrote on your birth certificate and I truly believe that no matter what occurs, be it anger or accidents or just plain bad luck, we have to make sure that when we wake each and every day we remember the precious and unique gift
that is life, to be cherished until death do us part.

After the bad boys at your school and special needs with Mrs Swain and the job gone, then Mr Santorini, I felt like I had let My Special down. I was especially sad about the job at the shop because I was so certain that it would work out and you would find your place on the road of life which can be difficult at the best of times. We've never really talked about it since because I don't know what to say. Mistakes were made and the price paid which was a great disappointment to me and you also, of course. I still struggle to believe you stole anything, it was so out of character, but Sammy-K did insist and the evidence was there so I don't know, and I guess I never will. All I can say is that I haven't been to that shop since, although I believe Mr and Mrs Ickiewicz have left and new owners have spruced it up with blue paint and pizza take away. But I cannot bring myself to go there because it was a bad episode that no one needs reminding of.

To other matters, and now it is time for me to share one of my Secrets with you. So here it is, my first Secret of several.

Seven years ago Mamma was out buying seedlings from the nearby nursery on the corner of James and Harrington when a lady who was hosing ferns in the nursery started talking about the best ones to grow and how. She was a very nice lady going by the name of Alison McDowd and
Mamma very much enjoyed our chatting, knowing that I didn't have too many people to chat to at that time or any other time really. We chatted about many things and in a very friendly fashion. I will admit after that I started going to the nursery more than I really needed to because of my chats with Alison McDowd, a lovely lady filled with grace. Pretty soon after we were leaving the nursery and stopping for coffee and I will admit I started to become a little deceitful at this point, always making sure I went to coffee when Sammy-K was out and about and not there to question. I felt badly about that but there are times, Joyous, when, as they say, the ends justifies the means, as you will soon see.

After some months of chatting over coffee Alison McDowd invited Mamma to come with her to a special place where only a few lucky people are invited. Now this is my Secret, Joyous, because I had been going to this same place ever since until recent times and it gave me such strength, hope, joy and happiness. Its name is The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed and it is a lovely white-painted building over in a different suburb, two connecting buses away, and perhaps one day when things change for the better you may like to see it. You would most certainly like the colourful carvings and beautiful old fashioned pictures of Jesus and Mary and scenes from the Bible, I think, such as the Ascension. So instead of
going to the nursery or coffee I used to go to The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed with Alison McDowd and many other people who I soon called my friends. This was important to Mamma since there hasn't been too many of them in past times. Every so often, if Sammy-K was busy, I could even go during your park time of a Tuesday, or Saturday workshop, that way I was able to go to the special services which were the most beneficial of all.

Joyous, there are two things that must be said about this Secret. One is that I have not told you before, even though I've wanted to so much, but you have to understand that this was always Mamma's Special Time, the one thing I had which I thought no one could take from me, either by sharing or stealing. Every person has a right to that, I truly believe, and it was the same as your park days when you still go by yourself to think and play and remember and love where you are and what you are doing. I know how much you cherish your park days and, for me, being a member of The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed was like that exactly, so I do not believe I could have survived without it. It was one of my great happinesses and hopefully will be again because the Church helped me to balance out the sadnesses that we all have to experience, such as the death of dear Thomas Bowen and, in a funny way, the recent accident. So I am
sorry for not having told you before but I'm sure you can understand why this has been so.

The second thing is I want to share how much I learned at The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed. I never before suspected about another way of thinking about living like they offered. As a young girl you know I went to church because that is where I met Thomas Bowen but it was more an expected thing and I will admit that I didn't listen too hard. We just went because that was what people expected, as I said. Of course, I knew the main stories of the Bible like genesis and Joseph's coat and the wise men and Moses and the red sea but these stories were never connected in any way that made sense to me. It was all too much like another country's history from far away and irrelevant. Now this has all changed and I found that after some years of chatting and praying I had and still have a wonderful thing inside me called Faith. You see, Joyous, I have had so little to believe in over the years since Thomas Bowen did the poorly judged whip-around and I started to have The Weight and Sammy-K became victim to the Fear then the accident. There have been many gaps in my gift of life and The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed filled them in a wondrous fashion. I used to love to be in that white building looking around me and seeing beauty and happy faces and people who would say to me,
Welcome, Margaret, it's good to see you
, and,
The Lord loves you and believes in you, have Faith. The Weight doesn't matter, we love you for who you are
. I also loved singing the songs which are so simple and true with inspiring words and I loved being part of this Faithful community and hopefully I will be back there soon, as you will see. This was very special to me, Joyous, as you are, which is why I know you will understand. The Faith is a wondrous thing and explains much of how the world goes which, at 54 years of age, and in these circumstances, I definitely need. I also learned some good quotes to get me through the tough times such as:
Be still and know that I am God
, which is from the psalms and is of great comfort. And,
I can do all things through Christ which strengthen me
, from Philip and,
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God
, from Matthew, my favourite. And this is what makes me think of you, Joyous, because you are the most pure of heart person I have ever known.

Let me tell you, though, one of the biggest things I learned from the Faith is to do with the Soul. As one of our elders, Mr Jonathan McDowd married to Alice, often said,
A body will age and eventually pass on but a good soul is goodness in the world forever
. That thought gave me such strength, Joyous, and continues to, and one of the reasons for this is that I know how decent and caring is your soul. I think back to when ignoramus people called you a simpleton that they didn't know the truth, for you are
not a simpleton but simple in a good way that is being a straightforward and caring soul, a beautiful soul, that will definitely be goodness in the world forever. So this is of great comfort to me to know that no matter what, I have raised a child whose soul is as good as anyone else's and oftentimes better. So The Church Of The New Apostolic Creed gave me faith in your Eternal Well Being and for that I am truly grateful. I know that when you do break free and become the independent person I have always wanted you to be, you will always have a wondrous everlasting soul to support you and help in times of sadnesses both big, like the passing of Thomas Bowen, and small, like some days in the past.

My Special, I hope you can understand all this and are not too disappointed in me having such a Secret for so long.

With all my love, Mamma