A Lifetime of Impossible Days
Page 19
She puts the pen to her lip, thinking. ‘Super Gumboots Willa is eight. Silver Willa is …’
‘Old,’ I say, trying to flick mango pulp from my slipper. It’s not working. The kitchen’s a mess.
‘And Middle Willa is?’ Super Gumboots Willa looks at me again.
‘A bit of a problem,’ I add. ‘We have to help her.’ She writes that down, too. Then she gives me back my notebook and pen.
Super Gumboots Willa sees my slippers. My big toe is popping out of one. ‘Don’t you have your own boots?’
‘I think they’re all in boxes.’
‘Gumboots are amaze-a-loo.’ She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and stands in front of me.
I frown. ‘I’m not quite what you had in mind, am I?’
Super Gumboots Willa shrugs. ‘I don’t know what I had in mind.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, dear. I have that problem, too.’ I want to say things that are blankets around this little girl’s shoulders.
She slumps down on the floor again. ‘What do we do now? Maybe I should go get Mummy?’ She doesn’t look up.
‘Maybe I should get new slippers?’ I say.
She splutters a little girl giggle.
‘This house has been quiet without you.’
Her smile broadens as she looks up. ‘I was gone? This house would be quiet without me. I am this house’s character.’
I cackle. ‘I know.’
Super Gumboots Willa tilts her head. ‘What do you know?’
‘I know you want to be a dandelion seed when you grow up so you can fly away. I know you cook jam drops with Grammy because you feel sad and cooking with Grammy is a happy-making thing. I know about the ocean-garden, about a platypus, and … And I know about Lottie. You see? I am you.’ My last words are quiet.
She unfurls herself from her cocoon and gets up. Her hand hovers in front of my face and then she puckers my cheeks, pulling and pushing them. Fingers tracing bumps and lines.
‘I wished for you and walked through the ocean-garden. And now you’re me? Old, but … big? Big is good.’
‘You would think so. I don’t know what happened. I grew up, but I forgot. You know? I forgot a lot of things, including myself. I think I forgot why I needed to be big in the first place.’
‘You want to be big so you can fix things. So you can fix Lottie,’ she whispers, but the whispers are not for me.
A memory of that night on the stairs floods through me. Lottie, my Lottie.
‘No,’ I say, ‘I need to be big so I can tell you it isn’t your fault.’ She has no words for that. Her fingers trace folds on my cheeks. Searching my eyes. Trying to see who is inside.
Her nose touches mine. ‘Nope. I can’t see me in there.’ Her hands drop, and she waves at my slipper with the toe poking out. She looks at my ankles with the blue road maps on them. She frowns at my nightie with the tea stains.
‘You smell funny. Like the inside of my Grammy’s coat cupboard. How old are you anyways?’
‘We don’t ask ladies their age, but since you asked so nicely, I’m ninety-three, dear.’
She spits a laugh. ‘Liar!’
‘Indeed? And how old are you when you make up old people in your head, dress up in clothes that don’t fit, and break your mother’s lipstick?’
She squares up to me. ‘Old enough to catch mangos from the top branches and squeeze their guts out. Old enough to know that I’m not you.’
‘It’s not summer. How does the tree grow mangos?’
‘My garden grows them all the time. But you knew that, right?’ Then she stands up. ‘Do you read anymore?’
I’d get up, too, but my bottom is firmly planted on the chair.
‘No, but I listen to the radio.’
‘My Grammy says books get better with age, but sometimes people don’t. Is that true?’
It is true, but I don’t want to tell her that because it shouldn’t be so.
Super Gumboots Willa gathers herself on tiptoes. ‘So you’re me? Okay. Let’s play pretend. What do you eat for breakfast?’
‘Crushed tomatoes on toast.’
She points a finger. ‘Wrong. You eat jam drops. I promise when I grow up I’m eating biscuits every day. What do you do at home?’
‘Mostly shuffle about and kick boxes. Things are being packed, you know.’
‘Wrong. You paint waves on the floor. How do you get out of bed?’
‘With great difficulty. And I sleep in a recliner now, Grammy’s old chair.’
‘Wrong again! You have a slide from the top of your bunk all the way down the front stairs. Do you write?’
‘Write what?’ She has me stumped at this one.
‘Picture books for Lottie, of course.’ She points at me. ‘See! You are not me. And I am not you.’
Oh, how much did I forget? Picture books! I wanted to write stories so good that Lottie would never be scared again.
Super Gumboots Willa is yelling now. ‘Are you a Viking? Do you own all the gumboots in the world? Did you walk on the moon yet?’
‘No. No. No.’ I throw my hands in the air, because my answers should be so much better. I should be able to offer anything other than a toe sticking out of my slipper and a bunion on my foot. ‘Maybe I did forget, but I didn’t know I was forgetting so it doesn’t count. I admit I’m not the sort of person I once had in mind either. I forgot you. And now Middle Willa needs help. And you are lost.’ I tell her all this quickly because my thoughts are cloud and vapour, and I don’t want them to disappear again.
A single tear sits on her cheek. She leans closer to me. ‘I’m not lost. I’m right here.’
I touch the wet diamond on her face. ‘You sure look lost to me.’ But she is here now, and I am the one who isn’t any of the things I said I wanted to be.
‘You’re right,’ I reply.
‘That’s it – that’s all you got to say? You and Middle Willa don’t know nothing. I need to help Lottie.’
‘Yes!’ I say. ‘Help Lottie. Middle Willa is very sad and she gets in her car to leave Sam … oh, and Seb. What happened to Sebastian?’
When Super Gumboots Willa speaks, her words come like a howling. There are too many tears for her small face. ‘Don’t talk about my Lottie. She’s mine, not yours!’ Then softer she says, ‘You don’t know about Lottie. You don’t know about the baby. You don’t know what I did.’
‘Oh, but I do. You were little. That’s all you did.’
Super Gumboots Willa turns to leave. ‘Why do big people always say dumb stuff? You’re not making any sense.’
‘I’m sorry, dear. I think making sense requires more glue than I have on hand, and sharper scissors. Also, I’m not allowed to bake. Let’s find Middle Willa.’
But Super Gumboots Willa runs out of my kitchen, the back door slams and she is gone.
A while later Eden walks into the kitchen, her dressing-gown on and her hair bundled up in a towel on top of her head. ‘Want a cuppa?’ She stops and turns around in the middle of the room, staring at the mango pulp. ‘Oh, gracious, Mum. What on earth has happened in here? Suppose you slipped on all this? Do you see why you need someone watching all the time, why you’re moving into the nursing home?’
‘I do see. I saw Super Gumboots Willa. Sometimes you can’t see things until you change positions. That’s why I’m on the chair in the kitchen. I’m changing positions is all.’
With her hands under my arms, she lifts me up from the chair. The kitchen counter balances me and I look around.
‘Where did she go?’
‘Who?’ Eden looks about. ‘Come on, let’s have a shower and then I’ll –’
‘She was right here. Did you see her?’
‘Mum, who on earth are we looking for?’
‘Yes, that’s it. We must keep looking. Let me write that down. There’s a notebook in my pocket. Let’s go sit.’
Eden holds me at arm’s length as if inspecting me. ‘Yes, okay. Sitting is a wonderful idea.’ She walks me to the recliner in th
e living room.
‘Can we paint the floorboards, do you think, Eden? Oh, and I need a slide from the top of my bunk bed to the bottom of the front stairs.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She takes the notebook out of my pocket and hands it to me.
‘I want to paint floorboards. And where do you go to learn to walk on the moon?’
In my notebook I write, 26. Find Middle Willa in the garden.
‘Floorboards? Mum, are you even listening to me?’
‘Could we go outside?’
Eden doesn’t think this is a good idea. She wants to clean the kitchen and help me shower.
‘Not right now, dear.’ I bang my hands against the sides of my chair.
She wants to talk to me later about moving to the nursing home.
‘No!’ I take Eden’s arm. ‘Don’t you understand? I can’t find her. She was here and now she’s not. But I think that maybe … Oh, I don’t know.’
‘It’s okay now. I’m here, and we’ll find whatever you’re looking for.’ She tries to hug me.
I pull away. ‘Not whatever. Whomever. A real person is missing.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’re lonely? You’ll make lots of friends at this new place.’
‘Lonely? Oh … no. I don’t think …’ A memory returns, and again I feel instantly as if I am that small child again.
I’m a tiny cyclone. Ruby-Jae has been gone a while. ‘Cot death’. I hate cots. Mummy’s belly was not a big ball anymore, but she said another baby was growing inside.
I put my head to her belly. ‘Hello, baby? Please keep your eyes open when you come. You can sleep in my bed. I don’t want you in that cot!’
Mummy pushed me away. ‘Stop it, for heaven’s sake!’
I banged my head on the wall. I hated Mummy. No, I didn’t. I didn’t know. I ripped at the curtains.
‘I miss Ruby-Jae! I want to wake her up!’
‘Come here.’ Mummy patted her lap.
‘No!’
‘Why can’t she understand the baby is dead?’ Daddy said. He made Mummy crushed tomatoes on toast, but he didn’t cry.
‘No! No! No!’ I screamed.
‘Willa’s being an attention-seeker, Ebony. Leave her alone,’ he said.
‘She seems … I don’t know. She’s …’
‘See what you’ve done? Get to your room!’ Daddy yelled at me.
I put my hands over my ears and screamed.
Eden has tears now, too. ‘You lost a sister named Ruby-Jae to cot death? You never told me that.’ She sits on the couch opposite me. ‘Oh, Mum. That’s horrible.’
Flicking my slipper off, I poke my big toe at the floor. ‘Can we paint the floorboards? Please?’
Eden takes my hand.
‘Stay. Eden, please let me stay. We can buy time and make some sense.’
‘Everyone moves at some point –’
‘No moving! Then the Willas can’t come here anymore, and what will happen to Seb?’ No amount of Eden’s tea-making or back-rubbing will help. I ask over and over.
‘I think maybe everything is getting a bit too much for you.’ Eden searches my face. ‘We can delay the nursing home and I’ll get a company to finish up everything around here. Eli wanted to have the house inspected to decide what to do with it anyway. Why don’t we get out of here for a while, hey, take a little break together by the beach?’
‘The beach?’ My face lights up.
‘See? You’re feeling a bit better already.’
I’m focused on thoughts of sand and waves and seaweed like ratty green hair … so long ago.
‘I like the beach,’ I say.
Eden claps her hands. ‘Wonderful! And I know a place right by the ocean. Sea air will do us both good.’
‘Is going to the beach what I need to do, though?’
‘I’m sure it is, Mum. Just the thing!’
Perhaps Eden is right. I make her stick a note in the mango tree. It seems a good thing to do.
Gone to the beach.
Love Silver Willa
Chapter Twenty-nine
1965
Willa Waters, aged 8
Grammy’s house is a home full of giggling and eating soup with big slurps. That’s what’s so special about visits. Lottie’s been back from the hospital for a while, but she doesn’t want to talk to me, or anyone really. Grammy thought it would be good for me to stay with her this weekend.
I swing her kitchen door open. ‘Grammy?’ I’m supposed to be in bed, but I don’t think Grammy will mind that I can’t sleep.
She stands at her sewing machine, which sits in the middle of the kitchen table. Bits of cotton thread hang off her robe and the air smells of jam drops baking. I have a note in my pocket that reads, Gone to the beach. Love Silver Willa. And now I’m worried that maybe the old lady got mad at me and left for good.
‘Poppet? I was going to wake you for our midnight tea. The biscuits are nearly ready.’
I throw myself into her and she holds me close. ‘Sorry.’ I sob into her robe. ‘I was going to have a smile.’
‘Ah well. Smiles are things we should only put on if we have one to wear.’
Grammy always knows the thing to say. She wraps me in her marshmallow arms. Her skin is so different from Daddy’s, which is hard and has notches and nicks. Especially his hands. Mummy says it’s because he works in the sun all day. I think his hands would be hard no matter what.
Grammy pulls me onto her big lap. The sewing machine squats next to friendly teapots with their sweaters on. The pots really wear tea-cosies, but I call them sweaters. I line them up while I’m trying to think of what to say. It’s okay to touch things here, even breakables.
‘You know who midnights belong to?’ Grammy asks.
I fiddle with the teapot sweaters because if I answer my crying will escape.
‘To people who need a cup of tea, and I think that might be you.’
I’ve been drinking tea since ever. Mummy says it’s bitter and that I’ll hate it. But Grammy says that a spoonful of honey mixed with good conversation and anyone can drink tea.
‘Never underestimate the magic of people drinking tea together,’ Grammy says. And I hope that means Mummy and her will drink tea again one day.
Grammy boils water, a happy bubbly sound, then adds the tea leaves to the teapot. They smell like autumn mixed with mint. Sometimes we have midnight tea on the back deck or under the jacaranda, but tonight we set up on the kitchen table.
‘Good for the soul,’ we say and watch the steam twirl up. As I sit down and hold the cup in my hand, my tears return.
Grammy doesn’t wipe my face, but she moves her chair closer. She says you shouldn’t wipe people’s tears away because they have the right to cry them. Instead you should sit beside them so they don’t have to cry alone.
I swing my legs on the chair and think about nothing. That’s not true. Nothing would be a good thing to think about. I stare at the walls with their four layers of colours, flecks of paint peeking through each coat. A house dressed in one outfit after the other.
‘Do you have a story tonight, Willa Grace?’ Sometimes Grammy calls me Willa Grace because I have her name. Grace Ruby Waters is her full name, but I get to call her Grammy.
When I don’t answer, Grammy says, between sips of tea, ‘Did you know that dogs can talk?’
I nearly spit out a mouthful. ‘That’s not true!’
‘Oh yes. It’s the bee’s knees! You can see their words in the wag of their tails and the way they stick their snouts in the air. They can talk all right.’
I stare at Grammy for a minute. ‘What about cats?’
‘Hmmm. Hard to tell.’ Grammy plays with my hair. ‘Cats are snooty. They have slaves, instead of pet owners. Humans who cook and clean for them.’
I’ll stick to Chihuahuas, then.
‘But you didn’t come to my midnight tea party to talk about cats and dogs, now, did you? Tell Grammy why you can’t sleep. Is it about Lottie?’
I look up at Grammy. ‘An ocean came to my house in a jar and then … Oh, what do you think about impossible things?’
‘What’s to think about them?’ Grammy strokes my cheek.
‘I mean, can they be true?’
‘I think impossible things can happen every day.’
‘Oh.’ I slump. ‘So, it’s not some special thing?’
‘On the contrary, my poppet. I said they can happen. It doesn’t mean they should. The sun rises every morning. Who tells it to? Don’t you think it’s impossible that it does that all on its own?’
I imagine the sun tapping Mummy on the shoulder and asking if it can get out of bed. Good thing that’s not how it works.
‘And what about flowers? Who tells them how to burst forth, each one different? And the wind, where does it come from? Who blows it? The everyday brings us some of the most impossible gifts. Like an ocean that asks to be planted.’
I stare wide-eyed. I didn’t tell Grammy about planting the ocean. She winks at me.
‘Are you magic, Grammy?’
She laughs. ‘All grandmothers are a bit magical. Here’s what I know about impossible things. We can’t command them, but we can allow space for them in our minds. Reach under the table and get my basket. There’s a bottle in there.’
‘What’s inside it?’ I ask as I pick the bottle up.
‘Well, what can you see?’ She pours more tea. ‘The everyday is like that bottle. It’s normal – boring even. But if you look …’
‘Bubbles?’ I open the bottle and blow.
‘Yes, it’s bubble mixture, but look again.’
I am quiet for a moment. A bubble lands on my nose. ‘Oh! I’ve got it. Butterflies.’
‘Or kisses that burst on your skin.’ She laughs.
‘Or bubblegum popping, or hot air balloons, or boats on the sea.’ I clap.
‘Impossible: you imagine it, and so it is. You needed an ocean and one showed up.’
I run around the room, blowing lots of bubbles. When I stop in front of Grammy, she says, ‘Believing impossible stuff is the start of how we make it possible. Perhaps that’s how God makes the sun rise, flowers bloom and the winds blow.’