I walked home to my old carriage
and thought of how to repay them
for their simple gift,
and I enjoyed the thinking.
Making love
It was like falling headlong
into the clear waters
of the Bendarat River
and opening my eyes
to the beautiful
phosphorescent bubbles of light
and trying to catch those bubbles
in the new world of quiet and calm
that carried me along, breathless,
and too late, or too early,
I surfaced
and broke the gentle tide,
and I gasped and rolled
and wished Caitlin and I
could return to the hush
of that special world
and we could float
safe for a lifetime
lost
and hoping never
to be found.
My other life
We fell asleep.
I fell asleep with Billy
beside me,
his arm on my stomach,
his breath so close,
and when we woke
we woke together
and he kissed me
and we made love again
in the single bed
I’ve had since I was eight
with its crisp white sheets
and oversized doona
and lots of pillows,
and I looked around my bedroom
at the posters on the walls
and my dresser full of make-up
and moisturiser and clutter
and my school uniform
hanging neatly behind the door
ready for my other life,
the life I’d forgotten about
for a few hours last night
and this morning.
Monday
It was early Monday.
I was sleeping,
and I heard the knock.
I knew it wasn’t Caitlin,
her knock is quieter.
I woke with a start
and was ready to run
when the door opened
and it was Old Bill
with a coffee
and a breakfast bowl
for me.
He came in,
sat opposite,
handed me the cup,
and he said,
‘Milk and two sugars,
the way you like it.
You young blokes sure
know how to sleep,
it’s nine o’clock you know.’
We looked at each other
and I started laughing.
I couldn’t help it.
I laughed long and loud,
and Old Bill,
who at first looked offended,
joined in,
two hobos laughing,
laughing the morning away.
Tell the world
On Monday at school
I sat with Petra and Kate
and I wanted to tell
them about everything.
I so much wanted to tell
but I couldn’t
because
I thought of Kate
and her story
of sex in the bushes
and I didn’t want
to have to talk about
the details
as if to prove to her
that it was good
and fine
and I felt lucky
and I didn’t want to admit
that I couldn’t wait to see Billy
and do it again
and again
and that somehow
while mopping the floor
at McDonald’s
I’d met someone
who I could lie naked beside
and not feel foolish
or embarrassed,
that I’d met someone
I could trust
and feel safe with.
I wanted to tell them that,
but not yet,
not just yet.
I wanted to go to Billy
tonight
and tomorrow
and next week
and I wanted to prove it
to myself
before I tell the world.
Share
Sometimes
before my McDonald’s shift,
I pack my bag
with food –
bread, cheese,
some fruit –
for Billy.
Enough for Billy
but not enough
for my parents
to get suspicious.
At first
Billy said, ‘No, no way’,
but I reminded him
of our house,
‘the richest house in Bendarat’,
he’d said.
He took the food,
promising to share it
with Old Bill.
Billy, dancing
I spent $5 on candles,
two dozen candles,
and I worked all day
looking for tins
and scraps of metal
and discarded old mugs,
anything to stand a candle in.
As evening comes
I light each candle
let the wax drop onto the tin
and stand the candle
firm in its wax,
and soon enough
I have twenty-four candles
burning in my carriage
and each throws a dancing shadow
on the walls
and the windows covered
with cardboard.
I shake my sleeping bag
and spread it neatly
across the bench seat
and I sweep the floor
and push my bag
under the seat
and I wait for Caitlin
to walk into
the brilliant soft light
of twenty-four candles
dancing for her.
Heaven
It was like stepping
into heaven,
all that light,
with Billy smiling
on the seat,
proud of what he’d created.
As I stepped
into the carriage
I closed the door
to everything,
and I went to Billy
as if we’d been
doing this for years
and the candles
burned long and gentle
as we lay together
for hours.
What can I say?
It was like stepping
into heaven,
no less than perfect.
The clink of the bottles
I saw Billy
kissing his girl Caitlin
on the train tracks
as they walked off.
Billy returned an hour later
and came to my carriage.
We sat opposite, talking.
I heard the bottles clink
in his bag
and said,
‘Come on then,
let’s have them’.
But when he brought out
the ginger beer
I swore
and laughed
and swore some more,
but really
you’ve got to admire the kid.
So I drank the stuff
and we sat up late
talking
and I slept
better than I had in a long time
so maybe
just maybe
I’ll work on less beer
for a while.
For the kid’s sake.
Old Bill and this town
I wake early,
I eat properly,
for breakfast at least,
and I’ve taken to walking
every day.
I go to the river with Billy
and we swim and wash,
or sometimes
I walk the streets
looking at the houses
and the corner shops
and the parks with trees
and fountains,
and young couples kissing,
and old men reading newspapers,
and ladies walking dogs,
and sometimes
these people nod and say hello
as though I’m one of them
and not an old drunk.
I nod back,
even talk about the weather on occasions,
and I walk back to my carriage
planning
where I’ll go tomorrow,
where I’ll walk in my town
where I’ll go to stop
thinking about the drink.
Nothing’s easy
‘Nothing’s easy.’
That’s what Billy said
when I told him about my walks
and how I pass a pub
and my hands start shaking
and it would only take
a few steps
to be at the bar
ordering a pint …
And the young kid,
sharp as a tack,
says,
‘Don’t walk near a pub then’.
We looked at each other
and I said,
‘Nothing’s easy’.
Closing in
Bloody cops.
I hate to lie.
I hate it,
but with two of them
on Main Street
asking me questions,
questions I couldn’t answer
honestly,
I made up what I could.
I said I was passing through,
I was staying with a friend,
I’d been working at the cannery
and now I was heading west.
I said I was eighteen,
old enough to look after myself.
They didn’t believe a word,
I could tell,
but I hadn’t done anything wrong,
and the older cop,
he was smart,
he knew what to do.
He gave me a card,
Department of Community Services
Welfare Officer: Brent Stevens.
He said he’d meet me
at the office tomorrow
at four o’clock
and if I didn’t show
well, fine, I’d moved on,
but if he saw me
in town again
and I hadn’t shown,
he’d ask more questions,
and this time
he’d want some answers.
Bloody cops.
Bloody welfare.
I walked home
to the Bendarat Hilton
and I lay in bed
with the old carriage walls
closing in.
Old Bill’s long walk
Today
I walked past
Jessie’s old school.
It’s had a paint job,
and they’ve built a new library.
It was lunchtime
and the children were outside.
The big kids were
playing cricket on the oval.
The young children
played in the sandpit.
A few girls were sitting
and talking under a tree.
As I walked by
one of the girls
started to climb the tree.
I was about to say something
when a young teacher
came over:
‘Sarah, no climbing trees’.
The teacher smiled at me
and walked back to
the shade of the school veranda.
I could feel my hands
shaking
as I walked back to town.
I walked the long way,
careful not to go past a pub.
Early, or late
I woke early,
went to Old Bill’s carriage
with coffee and breakfast
and he was already awake,
he was shaving!
We sat in the sunshine
and I told him
about the cops
and asked what I should do?
I knew welfare would ask
about where I lived
and how I lived
and I had to keep them
as far away from here
as I could
and it seemed that
moving out west
was the only answer.
But how could I leave
the only town
and Caitlin …
Home
When young Billy
told me about the cops
I knew I had to do something.
I told him not to worry,
that somehow
we’d come up with an idea.
I left Billy to his coffee
and his fears of leaving town.
I wanted a long walk to think.
I avoided the park –
today I didn’t need conversation,
I needed time.
I walked the suburbs
looking at the neat lawns,
the pebbled driveways,
the flowers and hedges,
and the paint jobs of
a thousand everyday dreams.
And I thought of Billy
leaning against the carriage
reading a book
waiting,
as I kept walking
the familiar streets
of Bendarat.
So obvious
I walk for hours
to end up here
in Wellington Road
opposite
my house,
Jessie’s house.
I sit on a bus seat
looking across,
picturing Jessie
at the window
in the backyard
on the veranda.
I could use a drink
to help me decide
but
I know Billy has only got
until this afternoon
and I know
that what I must do is
so obvious
and simple
and so unbearably painful
my whole body shakes
with the thought.
To help people
Si
tting here
I thought of Jessie
and the injured bird.
Jessie was eight years old,
she found a parrot
unable to move.
We placed it in a shoebox
wrapped in a handtowel
to keep warm,
hoping the shock would subside.
Jessie stroked its head,
she prayed,
she fed it sugar syrup
with an eye dropper
and we stayed up late,
waiting.
It took two days
of Jessie praying
and stroking
and feeding,
and the bird got stronger.
Jessie and I stood on the veranda,
Jessie holding the bird gently.
She opened her hands
and it sat on her palms
looking at her
then it turned and flew
high into the wattle
where it perched.
Jessie waved
and the bird flew away.
I thought of Jessie
helping that bird
and how, after it left,
Jessie turned to me
and said that
when she grew up
she wanted to be a vet,
she wanted to heal animals
and to help people.
Peace
I unlatch the gate to my house
and walk around the backyard,
the wattle is in bloom,
and a pair of swallows
have made a nest
of clay and straw
under the veranda ceiling.
It’s so quiet,
the grass is knee-high
and I think of the lawnmower
in the shed.
I’m sure I can find some two-stroke
and with a bit of coaxing
get the thing started,
but for now
I sit on the veranda
and admire the peace
that I’d never noticed here,
with the morning sun
filtering through the trees,
and I understand
why it’s so quiet,
so unworldly.
The swallows swoop along
the grass and weeds
and arc into the nest