by Kim Petersen
Millie opened her eyes, welcoming the peculiar sensation. The late afternoon sun played through the small panels of the stained-glass window, shooting a vivid rainbow of green, blue and red hues against the tiled walls. And as she gazed around the room, her body came alive with a great sense of wellbeing and love. She felt calm. The knot in her stomach loosened and the whirlwind in her mind settled, replaced by a peculiar euphoria that she had never experienced before. As the shaded hues of the glass traced their way around the walls, Millie gasped as a pattern of wings began to form in front of her. The coloured wings grew larger until she could only gaze in awe at the divine creation taking place before her. She sat in wonderment in what seemed forever as she beheld what appeared to be the feathers of the heavenly angels that had come to her.
Eventually the beauty of the wings faded away with the dissolve of the sun on the horizon, leaving a cast of dreary shadows in their wake. Then, with a deep calm resonating through her, she prepared to make the phone call to her father
.
Chapter Two
November 3, 1987
D ear Journal,
Today was the worst day of my life but strangely it was kind of one of the best at the same time. It wasn’t the best because someone beat up my poor mother. Ace and I found her almost destroyed and I didn’t know what to do; I felt helpless and lost. The part that made it the best I can’t yet really begin to put into words. I felt all control out of my reach when I discovered my mother today, and yet I realise now that I never really lost it to begin with. How can we really lose control of ourselves when all we have in this world is our very own human being, the only sure thing which we can control?
Maybe, I just heard that whisper within me because I heard and saw something so real to me, I shall never forget it. I’m not sure if it was a part of me or something completely separate, but I know in the deepest part of me, the part that always seems to feel empty and lost, is now feeling a little bit less than empty.
Mum will be ok, Dad told us. He didn’t seem to be too upset by it all. He seemed more concerned with me and Ace than our mother. Just as I feared. It makes me feel sad. Why does it have to be like this? Why do people behave in ways that offer less than love? I ask this not only because I don’t understand but because I just experienced such a pure sensation of love that I don’t know how there can be any other way. And the thing is, I kinda already knew it was always there. I know I sound crazy. I will probably read this back some day and think I had gone completely insane. Maybe not. But for the rest of my life I am going to try my very hardest to live through the pure love I experienced today!
When I was little I would often awake with bad dreams through the night. My Dad would come to my bedside and wrap me up in his big arms and tell me, “Everything is ok my little Millie-pie”. His smell was of Palmolive soap and a slight scent of mint shaving cream; I loved his daddy smell. He made me feel so safe and secure I would drift back into an easy sleep while he stroked my hair.
I’m going to bed now. Feeling lost and found all at the same time, and somehow tonight I am missing the warmth and the comforting smell of my Daddy all those years ago, for those words I cannot yet find. I know I shall find them some day!
Sending love to my Mum in her hospital bed tonight.
Millie xo
***
Glen Anderson mopped the sweat off his brow with the back of a large dirty hand. He was finishing up a routine service on an old bottle-top machine at the milk factory where he worked. Damn machine! he thought. They should get rid of them and spring for new ones; bunch of old scrooges up there. He had worked there for twelve years yet there was little pay left after all the bills were paid.
He had a solid build. His thick voluminous hair fell short of his shoulders and curled against the blue collar of his work shirt. Healthy locks framed a big head. His eyes were green with a smattering of golden flecks around the irises, lending to a distinct green lantern impression. A broad nose complemented thick voluptuous lips above a square chin marked with a deep cleft.
His floor manager, Barry, called out to him, interrupting the grumbling momentum of his thoughts. “Glen, there are people here to see you.”
Glen glanced up towards the office – the brain centre of Pure Dairy that towered over the factory floor like a wooden fort. It was quiet this evening due to routine maintenance but by day it was always buzzing producing full cream milk the old-fashioned way. The milk was delivered with a generous layer of cream in glass bottles for the public. Glen saw two uniformed policemen at the top of the stairs peering down at him with serious eyes. He sighed quietly to himself. He was not surprised at their presence, and had not looked forward to their visit. He picked up a shaggy worn rag that lay nearby, and deliberately took his time as he attempted to wipe off the layered grease that swathed his hands like sprayed on tar, then made his way towards the two men that awaited him.
“Glen Anderson?” The smaller of the two men asked.
Large booted feet climbed their way up the stairs slowly towards them, each heavy step echoing with a hint of trepidation. Glen noticed the tall officer was younger than the shorter man, and the one inverted thin blue line on his uniform signified that he was a constable. The officer was looking down at him with a smug expression. His hands rested on his hips, with his right hand lingering over the leather case strapped around his gun. Ahh, Glen thought, this one thinks he’s invincible. The shorter man was somewhat older than his counterpart, the softer fading of his light brown eyes betraying his look of resignation. He stood a little hunched over and had an air of defeat about him borne of investigating too many depressing cases over the years. He was of higher rank than the constable, as shown in the two blue lines on his uniform.
Glen offered a hand to the young policeman. The young man reached out to shake Glen’s hand, but fell short when he glimpsed the grimy offering. Amused, Glen flashed his biggest pearly-white smile.
“How can I help you guys?” he said.
The officers introduced themselves then got straight to business. “Your wife is in hospital, Mr Anderson,” the older officer said. “She has been violently assaulted. She’s in a critical condition.”
Glen knew he was being scrutinised, and his response was vital. He clutched at his sandy blond hair. “What? Oh my God! Is she okay?” he shouted, twisting his hair in clumps. “Who could have done this? I must go to my wife!” His eyes began to moisten.
“Well, that is why we are here, Mr Anderson, to investigate your wife’s assault. Would you like us to take you to the hospital?”
“No, I need to clean up first and check on my kids.” He started to turn away from the men. “I got to go, thank you; will you excuse me?” His voice was a mere shake of a quiver now.
“Of course, but we will have to ask you some questions after you’ve seen your wife, Mr Anderson, do you understand?”
Glen followed the senior policeman’s stare as it settled on the grazed swell of his greasy knuckles, and watched him write something in the little notepad he carried.
“Yes, of course.” Glen wiped away a tear, leaving a black smear across his cheek before stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. He started down towards the factory floor.
The policemen left, leaving Glen alone again on the deserted factory floor. He packed away his tools in his toolbox and headed out to the only hospital in Rockton. Nestled on the shores of Botany Bay, Rockton was the only town Glen knew all his life. Despite its bayside location and neighbouring middle to upper class suburbs, Rockton remained a working class southern suburb in the outskirts of Sydney. It was a melting pot of differing cultures with a strong community spirit. Its main road was littered with rundown store fronts and unkempt streets. Rockton memorial hospital was one of the few buildings in town to recently receive a cosmetic overhaul along with some new state-of-the-art surgical equipment.
The hospital was alive with the bustle of doctors, nurses, patients and visitors when Glen arrived about twenty
minutes later. He found his wife’s room with the help of a busty middle-aged woman who sat behind a huge bench desk below a sign that read “Administration”. She welcomed Glen with her sweetest smile but there was a hint of disappointment when she became aware he was searching for his wife. And with one last hopeful push of the only assets she still possessed, a pudgy short finger pointed him in the direction he desired.
Pleased to leave the scampering noise of the lower floor behind him, Glen took the stairs to the upper level of the hospital and scoured the quiet corridor until he found the number he wanted. He grasped the knob tightly, and twisted it slowly to open the door so as not to cause much disturbance. Lilly lay still under the crisp white sheets of the bed. Glen saw the shallow heave of her breath beneath the stiff linen. The dim room would have been silent if not for the constant beeping of the heart monitoring machine that now appeared to be an extension of his wife. Her delicately boned face was mostly hidden beneath bandages. He could see her bruised right eye, but an eye patch covered her left eye. Glen moved closer and peered at her broken body, wondering how close he might have been to finishing the job. Was it a job? No, he really hadn’t wanted to hurt his wife. Still, the thought circled his mind while he stood and watched her like a tiger contemplating its wounded prey. She began to stir under his lantern stare, as if she sensed his mammoth threatening presence so near to her. His tongue licked grinning lips as the breath beneath his own ribcage raced faster.
“Hello my sweet,” he said, his voice dense with irony.
Her body stiffened. Lilly exposed the slit of her right eye to reveal the towering image bent over her bed. He was so close that she could feel his stifling warm breath near her. She impulsively drew in a sharp breath, then moaned as a flash of pain seared through her bruised lungs within a broken ribcage. She felt as helpless and depleted as she appeared, but the will within her would not allow him to see that weakness. Her good sky blue eye stabbed back at him with all the frostiness she could muster.
Some minutes passed as their eyes met in a silent war of wills before finally the flame of Glen’s stare simmered as the set of his lips softened in a smile.
“Who did this to you, Lilly?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“You know who did this to me, Glen.” She looked away as tears welled up from the frustration of being too exhausted to maintain her rage.
He sighed. “It really wasn’t me, Lilly; you do know that, right?” His gaze fell as he began to stroke her arm. “I mean, I have never hurt you. I would never, I … I just couldn’t.”
Lilly’s bloodshot eye rose to meet with his again.
“You should never have spoken of her to me, don’t you see, my darling Lilly? She belongs in the past, not in the now, we cannot speak of her. I cannot hear her name or speak of her.” The flash of his stare drove his conviction, as tears cursed freely across the bridge of his cheeks. He leaned closer and whispered, “I cannot be held responsible for what happens when I hear that woman’s name. You should’ve known that, Lilly.”
She turned away from him, trying hard to control her trembling rage. “You are a monster, Glen,” she said, shuddering. “Get away from me!”
“Darling. Please, you have to realise it was that other part of me.” He reached for her once more. “The darkest part,” he whispered.
“You know, all I ever wanted was for you to love me the way you loved her.” Her voice trembled as she met his pleading gaze. “But none of that matters anymore. You are a just monster to me now, and I don’t want your love.”
“You don’t mean that, Lilly. I know you wouldn’t do anything stupid; it’s just the painkillers talking. What have they given you?”
“Go away Glen,” she murmured, fatigue creeping in on her. “Just leave me alone now.”
Glen gave a long deep sigh as he turned to leave the room in silence. He paused in the corridor outside Lilly’s hospital room, and hunched over, shaking. He clutched against the wooden railing that ran along the walls of the hospital corridors, and wept. The big man was like a broken child lost to the grace of nurture, feeling the tremendous guilt and disgust for himself creeping through his body and settling in the centre of his gut. I am a monster! I have hurt someone I love again! I am a monster! Horrible thoughts gripped him like an unrelenting vice and he felt frozen to the wall.
“I am so, so sorry, dear Lilly.” Glen felt as though a large palm came up to grip his heart, feeling the kind of despair he had experienced only once before fourteen years earlier. And here I am writing it all over again, he thought. He knew the chilling grip of the black snake, and he feared the strike of its hateful venom.
He glimpsed two nurses turning into the corridor and struggled to pull the weight of his body up from the floor beneath him. The banter of their laughter echoed down to him as he quickly recovered his dignity. He wiped away fresh tears, and hung his head so they would not see his face. He stumbled towards the exit stairs and went home to his children and a six pack of beer.
Chapter Three
November 15, 1987
D ear Journal,
I have fallen in love! And no, it’s not Damon Richards – yet. I have fallen in love with the most gorgeous of men, Michael Hutchence. He is wonderful (sigh); when he sings, his voice is like a warm chocolate ribbon of silk that wraps itself all around and through me … Mmmmm, I can almost taste it sliding down my throat and making its way through my entire body like a delicious hot chocolate! And I listen to INXS often these days … it soaks up the silence of this old crappy house.
Mum is coming home from the hospital today; I am glad she will be home again … maybe things will feel a little better around here. Ace and I are making her a special dinner tonight. We are cooking her favourite – lasagne with a green salad and a passionfruit tart for dessert. I hope we can pull that tart off okay, because she makes it sooooo good.
Dad hasn’t said too much lately, but hey, what’s new, right? He just looks at me weird and I just can’t wait to get away from him honestly … it creeps me out. He used to talk to me, and look at me with those kind eyes. Now, pretty much nothing, just a strange uncomfortableness growing between us and I have no idea why. He’s still the same with Ace. They watch TV and eat popcorn together and when I try and join in, Dad throws me a sideways glance, clearly annoyed by my presence. So, I stopped trying to join in on their “boy time”.
Can’t wait to have Mum home again. I have missed her hugs and our little private giggles about boys and school at bedtime. Mum tells me I shouldn’t go out of my way to get any boy to notice me. She says I am special and if Damon Richards doesn’t notice that all on his own, then he shan’t have the pleasure of my company. It always makes me laugh, but then she tells me to believe in myself … and I’m not always so sure how to do that. I guess that’s what most mothers say to their daughters.
When I was a little girl, sometimes when I would look in the mirror, a part of me would wonder what I was doing in the body that reflected back at me. Because the girl with the emerald eyes that I saw felt foreign to me. It almost felt as if I were an imposter! Strange … I hadn’t thought of that in years … until recently. Something has started to stir within me and I’m very confused right now, but somehow, I know it has to do with that whisper my Mum told me about.
Well, got to go and make passionfruit tart now.
Millie xo
***
The heat of the oven pushed the already soaring temperature of the kitchen up through the roof. Millie could feel her brow beading with tiny droplets of sweat while she finished up cleaning the dishes that they had used to make the passionfruit tart. Between the clank of wet dishes, she heard the grumbling noise of a truck out front and a flurry of voices calling out to one another.
“What’s going on out there?” she asked her brother.
Ace was standing by the kitchen bench with his head nearly buried in the bowl they had used for the passionfruit mixture.
“Huh? I dunno,” he said, barely pausing
for breath before continuing his own kind of dish clean-up, which evidently involved the tip of an eager tongue.
Curious, Millie dropped the dish brush in the suds-filled sink of warm water and grabbed an old clean tea towel to dry the wrinkles of her wet hands. Pausing before the big stand-up fan her father had recently bought, she lifted her arms up and briefly enjoyed the breeze. She bent over slightly to position her face directly in front of the bristling blades. “Ahhhh … niceee; thisss isss niceee, Aceee!” Her voice came out distorted and robotic with the swift spin of the air circulating close to the fan.
Ace looked across and laughed at her before joining her in front of the fan. “Silllllyyyy Millllieee,” his vibrating voice said as they both broke out into a fit of giggles.
Still clutching the tea towel, Millie made her way down the creaking hallway towards the front of the house. On the way, she played her usual old game of trying to step in the right places without setting off the old groan of the tired floorboards. The quieter steps were becoming more challenging to find. When she stepped out into the morning flood of sunlight that hit their front porch, she saw a big removal truck in front of the house next door with four men busy scurrying to-and-fro unloading furniture. Three of the men were juggling a huge dark brown three-seater lounge setting, while the fourth directed the whole awkward journey through the gate and into the house. Leaning against the warm bricks of the house, Millie watched in interest, curious to catch a glimpse of her new neighbours. The emeralds of her almond eyes glinted with a spark of interest when she first caught sight of her.
