After I hang up I reply to Oliver, telling him I’m fine now and not to worry. And my father, well, he knows I’m safe and there’s nothing more to say.
My phone rings again. Oliver. I plonk myself down on the chair, the towel on my lap—may as well get comfortable.
‘Sky, I was so worried,’ he says before I can even say hello.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I’m saying this so much lately I should just print it on a T-shirt or something. ‘I’m okay, really.’
‘But what happened?’
I fiddle with the corner of the towel. ‘My father isn’t who I thought he was.’
‘That bad?’ he asks.
‘Yep,’ I say, raising my left leg and drying between my toes.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Maybe later?’ I start on my right foot. ‘If that’s okay.’ I don’t have the energy to go into it all. Not ready to explain.
‘Sure.’
‘How did you find me, by the way?’
‘The platypus.’
‘What?’ I laugh. ‘What platypus?’
‘The one you sent to Lucy. The message was marked with your location.’
‘Really? I didn’t see that.’ I return the towel to my lap, concentrating now.
‘Yeah, you have to go to your privacy settings to turn it off.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know.’
‘But …’ I bite my lip, pondering. ‘I sent it to Lucy, not you, no offence.’
‘Your message freaked me out, Sky. Seriously. You can’t just send someone a message like that. And I tried calling you as soon as I saw it, like a million times, and your phone wasn’t even on.’
‘Battery ran out.’
‘So I called Lucy to see if she’d heard from you. And she said she’d only got this picture. So I went to her place—’
‘With your mum?’
‘No, she was working, so I borrowed the neighbour’s car and—’
‘But you don’t have your full licence yet.’
‘They don’t know that. Anyway—’
Something doesn’t make sense and I butt in again. ‘But if you saw the picture was from the truck stop, how did you know where I went next?’
‘Well, I was sitting with Lucy and her dad and trying to figure it out. We assumed you must have taken a bus rather than hitchhiking. You’re not stupid enough to do that again—’
‘Thanks a lot,’ I interrupt.
‘You deserve it. I mean, seriously. Anyway, we found the bus schedule online for that area and when we saw the last bus was heading south, we figured you must be on it.’
Unbelievable. ‘But how did you know where I got off?’
‘Obviously you were going to the closest stop to the festival, the last stop.’
‘But how did you know where the festival was?’
‘The website? The address on the festival website?’ he says, confused.
‘Oh.’ They have a website. Embarrassing. ‘Thanks, Oliver,’ I say. ‘Really.’
And I mean it. Without him, who knows what would have happened to me? On my account, he broke the law and could have gotten into huge trouble. And Paula missed her doctor’s appointment, and I know how nervous she is about her pregnancy. I made a lot of people worried, good people who I care about, and I have a lot more apologising to do.
I get dressed. When I come out, Melody’s waiting for me, shivering slightly, with an extra towel for my wet hair and a spare beanie. The opposite of selfish.
‘Come see the circle,’ she says. ‘If you feel like it, we can stay; if not, we’ll go somewhere else.’
A middle-sized tent this time. Fifteen women sit cross-legged on the floor. On their laps, balls of wool, and in their hands, knitting needles.
Click, clack. Swoop of wool. Repeat.
It’s a crazy scene, surreal. I’m used to hippies, but this is next level.
‘Just finished another.’ A woman wearing a poncho and feathers in her hair holds up a pink beanie with triangular ears on top. She puts it in the centre, increasing the pile of finished beanies. Why the beanies all have cat ears, I have no idea.
Autumn waves at us and shuffles the other women over to make space. She introduces me to the knitting-tent organiser, Bonnie, and to the other women sitting close by. One has a long side-plait that reminds me of Mum; another is a touch punk rock with bright purple hair-ends and black fingernails. There’s a pretty blonde girl who looks like she’s straight out of a TV sitcom, the only giveaway a tattoo peeking from under her sleeve.
They welcome me, saying how relieved they are I was found. I tell them I’m sorry, remembering again how my impulsive actions created a chain of reactions causing those I care about, and even strangers, to worry.
Melody finds some extra needles and gets my first row started, showing me how to knit. I find it hard to concentrate. Just twelve hours ago, I was having a special dinner with my father, and we were finally getting to know each other. My fingers are jittery and I drop stitches as a zillion thoughts race around my head, flashes of our restaurant dinner on replay. When Bonnie sees how distracted I am, she asks if I want to help prepare the yarn or attach the tags. I go for the tags and soon, with the repetition of tying the small strips with Women’s Rights are Human Rights #pussycat project on them to the inside of every completed hat, along with the sound of women chatting and the mellow atmosphere, my brain slows. With Melody and Autumn on either side, my shoulders relax, breaths deepen.
A flask of hot herbal tea is passed around, and someone puts on music. One of Mum’s favourites, Joni Mitchell.
The women start humming, their voices disorganised but harmonious, and I can’t help but join in. Weirdly, it feels like home.
‘How are you feeling, love?’ Melody asks.
‘All over the place,’ I say.
‘Like how? Try to name the emotions, one by one.’
I look at Melody, so see-through with her Dr Phil, self-help, meditation-camp techniques again. But for now, I don’t mind. I stop tying on tags and think.
‘I feel bad, for one. I left Adam stranded after he drove for two hours to pick me up. And I feel guilty. The restaurant staff went out searching for me. That’s crazy. Who was even there? The chefs, the waitresses, the guests? The restaurant was really posh and full when I left—it’s embarrassing.’
I’d never have done something like that before Mum died. And if she were here, she’d make me apologise. Just like when I went wandering, following a dragonfly down a hill, during Year Four school camp and got lost for an hour. Mum always insisted I do the right thing.
My eyes sting as I raise them to Melody. ‘I didn’t mean for that to happen. I was just furious and things spiralled.’
She leans over to hug me.
‘I guess I’m still in shock about it …’ I say. ‘My father. A hunter. It’s just, terrible.’
‘Sky,’ Melody says, looking into my eyes. ‘Hunter or not, you know I had to tell him where you are, right?’
‘You’re not going to make me go back with him, are you?’ I ask, a lump forming in my throat. ‘You promised to take me to the airport, Melody. And I want to stay with you. Please.’
‘I’m not leaving you,’ she says, looking at me, surprised. ‘He just wants to see you.’
‘But I don’t want to talk to him. Tell him not to come. Please, Melody.’
‘Can’t do that, love, even if I wanted to. He’s on his way now.’
Chapter 10
It doesn’t take long for my father to appear at the tent door. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night, but his hair’s sticking up and dark rings have appeared under his eyes, which dart around as if he’s been abducted into an alien spaceship. He quickly spots me in the circle.
‘Tell him to leave,’ I hiss at Melody. I’m desperate to go home and pretend this whole father–daughter disaster never happened.
I want to drink tea with Paula and eat her cookies. I want to joke around with Dave.
I want my dog Bella, my bed, my favourite long-sleeved T-shirt of Mum’s in soft, worn cotton—it’s lost her scent, but still … and I want Oliver.
I imagine us in the back room of his mum’s organic store, lips pressed together, his hand on my neck and mine on his shoulder. I feel the muscles under his T-shirt and the calluses on his hands from building stuff in the woodworking shed at school. They scrape my skin, in a good way. The crook of his neck, soft like a cotton pillowslip straight out of the dryer, is my favourite place to rest my head. We huddle over funny videos, laughing at everything. He’s never afraid to be goofy, doing anything to make me and his sister Sabine laugh. One time, he put her tutu on his head and pretended … Well, most guys couldn’t pull that off with their dignity intact. But most of all, I imagine him telling me it’s all going to be okay.
‘I feel bad Adam’s come all the way,’ I whisper to Melody, ‘but really. There’s nothing to talk about. Please?’
She puts down her knitting and walks over to Adam. I watch as he listens to her, then he looks at me and shakes his head. Melody waves Autumn over and the three of them continue talking at the tent door, their voices low so I can’t hear.
The women in the circle soon begin talking among themselves. I hear murmurs from them that men are not supposed to be here. I feel bad about breaking the rules, making a scene, but what can I do? I don’t want to talk to him and it seems he’s refusing to go.
Within a few minutes, more women have joined Melody and Autumn circling my father. Everyone keeps looking back at me, and my face is growing hot.
‘Thank you so much,’ I hear Melody finally say as she hugs Bonnie.
Bonnie turns to face us. ‘Women. Attention, please. We’re going to convene in a circle in the tent corner. I know we’re breaking the women-only rules here, but there are extenuating circumstances. Our young sister here,’ she looks at me, ‘needs our help. Our gathering protocols allow for that. All are welcome to join.’
Melody catches my eye, shrugs and smiles like there’s nothing she can do.
I’m trapped.
Chatter fills the room as some women put away their needles and a new group forms in the tent corner. Someone turns the music off, and Melody leads my father over. If I wasn’t feeling so uncomfortable, I’d be laughing. The poor guy looks terrified as he takes in the dreamcatchers made from sticks and threaded with multicoloured beads, crystals and eagle feathers, the pile of knitting, the scented candles, and the women with their flowing skirts, tattoos and different shades of hair, like he’ll be eaten alive by girl cooties.
Pillows are arranged into another circle. I sit cross-legged again and start biting my nails. Out comes a large conch shell, a feather and a clear quartz crystal. Bonnie lights an aromatherapy oil candle.
My father sits down next to me in the circle, and I shift away slightly. He tries to sit cross-legged but ends up kneeling awkwardly, a pillow wedged between his heels and bum. Melody is on my other side and Autumn next to her.
The feeling circle has strict rules, Bonnie explains. Number one: this is a safe place to share. Two: if you’re going to talk, you need to hold one of the three objects. She lifts each one up to show us. We must pick the one that speaks to us most. No talking while someone else is. Three: we begin with the words, I’m feeling. And four: we are united together with the purpose of truth, equality, justice and freedom for women.
‘And for you too.’ She looks at Adam. ‘Just for today.’
She sounds a gong and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
Everyone sits silently for a minute as the sound from the gong reverberates before fading out, then Bonnie looks at me. No. There’s no way I’m going to talk.
‘I’m feeling gratitude.’ A dark-skinned woman with dreadlocks has picked up the crystal to speak. ‘Grateful to the higher power, the Goddess, that I am here today. That I’m healthy again, that I beat the disease.’
She puts down the crystal. More silence.
Another woman picks up the feather. ‘I’m feeling a lot of grief. But I’m sitting with it, today. Welcoming it.’ She wipes her eyes and places the feather back down carefully.
A few more women share, one angry at her boyfriend, another free for the first time in her life. Autumn says she’s grateful to the universe they found me in time.
Then my father reaches for the feather.
Oh no.
‘I’m feeling sad,’ he says, turning to face me, ‘because I know you’re upset with me, Sky. But, please, please try to be open-minded. Not everyone has the same views as you and, as you get older, you realise people are different. That’s part of the beauty of the world, don’t you think?’
‘True, that.’ The grieving woman sniffs. ‘Diversity is life.’
‘Shhh!’ Bonnie puts her finger to her lips.
‘I’m feeling …’ I pick up the shell, already breaking my no-talking rule, ‘surprised to learn killing animals is beautiful. Is that the dictionary definition?’ My anger is rising fast. ‘How beautifully diverse we are that some people kill innocent creatures, and others like to be kind and compassionate. How kind. Bang.’ I shoot him in the head with my finger as my face boils.
Melody nudges me and mouths, Give him a chance.
A youngish woman with grey-streaked hair reaches for the crystal. ‘My brother is a hunter and he says it’s better to—’
‘Please, everyone, remember to start with I’m feeling,’ Bonnie says.
‘Sorry, Bonnie. I’m feeling …’ The woman starts again, but then stops. ‘I don’t know how to begin with that. Anyway, my brother said it’s better to know who you’re killing, respect them, and know they’ve had a good life, been free. And the meat, of course, is organic, no pesticides or hormones. Way better than those bloated toxic bodies you buy at Walmart. I went hunting with him once to see what he was talking about. Not my style. But still, I get what he’s saying.’
‘I used to eat the meat,’ my father replies.
The punk-rock girl takes the shell and points it at him. ‘I’m feeling like, if you’re a hunter, you have some kind of mental problem—you’re a threat to society or something. Hunting is murder.’
I nod my agreement at her.
‘Now let’s all take a breath,’ Bonnie suggests. ‘This is a safe space.’
But the breathing doesn’t help cool my cheeks. I’m feeling … argh!
Adam picks up the feather again and looks at me. ‘We don’t see it the same way, I get it.’
Bonnie catches his eye and he starts again.
‘I’m feeling … like I need to explain myself. Hunting’s not evil. I eat meat like millions of other decent people, and I’d prefer to kill food for myself than buy it wrapped in plastic. And I believe we are animals. Humans have always hunted. We’re part of the food chain, and animals eat other animals. That’s just the way of nature. The cycle of life.’
‘So you eat wolves too, do you?’ I ask.
‘I don’t kill wolves. They are apex predators and extremely important to the ecosystem.’
‘Lucky them. And the bears?’
Bonnie sighs. ‘Feelings, please. Remember the rules.’
‘I’m feeling like …’ Adam says. ‘I don’t eat everything I kill, you’re right. And I do take money from some rich folk who are only into it for the sport, who don’t live by the values I believe in. But the law here ensures no animal is wasted; we’re not allowed to take just the trophies. I teach my clients how to use the whole animal, from top to toe, but even if the hunter doesn’t listen, the remains are given to other families. And when I hunt, I only do it in the most humane way. And I take conservation very seriously, just like Jane Goodall.’
No! I want to shout. Jane respects animals and she would never agree with this.
‘I’m feeling frustrated,’ I reply, my voice rising again. ‘Why do you have to do it at all? For money so you can have your fancy house?’
So much for me and him ever going to see the orangutans in Borneo—he’d p
robably shoot them too. I know it’s not the same situation, but right now, it seems like we don’t see animals the same way at all. He sees them as just another part of an ecosystem, like rocks, mountains or trees, and not as real, living creatures with thoughts and feelings.
He replies, ‘It’s a different culture here, Sky. It’s not the city. Hunting is a part of life—there’s a long, rich, history with Native Americans, remember. Animals are a huge part of their lives. One moose can provide meat for a family for months at a time. I know many people who feel like it’s their connection to nature. And me too. You asked me before if I love animals. I do. And I don’t think it’s contradictory that I can love them and hunt at the same time. I know you’ve grown up with a very different experience, but part of growing up is accepting differences.’
Bonnie is glaring at him again, mouthing the word feelings, her face flushed.
I ignore her and say, ‘You mean I grew up far away from you. What would you know about how I grew up anyway? You left.’
‘You’re right, I did,’ he says. ‘But I’m never doing that again.’
He can say that now, but being together, having a relationship, is not just his choice anymore. It’s mine.
‘My brother says that too,’ the grey-haired woman says, then gives Bonnie a sheepish look and starts again. ‘I’m feeling like … it’s better to kill it yourself than pay someone to do it for you. More honest that way.’
‘It’s gross,’ interjects Punk Rock, picking up the crystal and throwing it in the air like a ball before catching it.
‘Put that down,’ Bonnie whispers angrily. ‘And that’s a judgement statement.’
‘That’s just my truth.’ Punk glares, rolling the crystal towards my father.
‘I’m feeling exhausted.’ Adam watches the crystal stop and then looks at me. ‘I spent the entire night searching for you, driving to the truck stop to pick you up, only to find you’d gone, explaining to the police and begging the cashier girl to tell me where you went. And after Jaxon finally convinced her, I drove the rest of the night to get here.’
I stare at my feet and the circle is silent.
Snow Page 10
