Tiddas

by Anita Heiss

  ‘Bloody crapbooking!’ Nadine said out loud to no-one as she switched on her laptop. ‘I couldn’t think of anything more boring!’

  Richard heard his wife’s self-talking. ‘You could scrapbook all your reviews and the articles about you.’

  ‘My publicist should do it,’ Nadine snapped, then suddenly realised she hadn’t heard from Claire in weeks. ‘Anyway, I thought you were doing that for me.’

  ‘I am, my love, I am.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘But right now, I have to find some plants for my sister that she can’t kill. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Luck!’

  When Richard had left, Nadine sent an email to Xanthe, who was in Walgett, training at a local community organisation.

  Dear Tidda,

  I think I want to do Bikram yoga, but I am scared. What if I have a heart attack or stop breathing or just collapse from lack of fitness? I think it might just kill me. Can I just come and try it out with you? Please?

  Love,

  Nadine xo

  Xanthe just happened to be online in her hotel room, taking a break with an instant coffee, and was grateful to hear from someone who wanted something from her that didn’t involve work. She smiled as she typed:

  Dear Nadine –

  I would LOVE to take you to Bikram. It WON’T kill you. For the first class you just need to focus on being in the room for the 90 mins. That’s all. If you can achieve that then you’ll have done well. We’ll put our mats up the back of the room and close to the door just in case you need to go out. You will feel the heat as soon as you enter. But you’ll be fine. Just wear some shorts – they want to see your knees – and a singlet, and bring a bottle of water. I’m going next Monday. Do you want me to pick you up?

  Love, your tidda.

  Nadine’s own day had suddenly got brighter. It had been forever since she’d exchanged emails with her tiddas – well, any that she could remember. She liked being in contact again and planning activities. She wrote back fast:

  Dear Tidda –

  Thank you so much for the support. But I think this might be the end of our friendship. I know you are good at it, and you take it seriously. I’ll be the one who huffs and puffs and moans out loud, and probably farts too. You’ll hate me at the end. But I would like to try it. My body needs it. My head needs it. I can get Richard to drive me. He’ll need to be there anyway if something goes wrong

  Nadine xo

  Xanthe was proud of Nadine and responded quickly before she made her way back to the community centre:

  Nadine,

  I will NOT hate you. I love that you are coming to do this with me. No-one else has ever asked or offered to come. I’d love to share the experience with you. I feel better every time I do it, even though I’m not that great. I’m glad you’re coming, see you there. And I am proud of all the efforts you are making.

  Love from Walgett,

  Xanthe

  Nadine read Xanthe’s final email and wanted to cry. Not her usual drunken cry in the cemetery, but tears of gratitude. Grateful that her friends truly cared, were standing by and supporting her. As she got more sober, Nadine was realising the incredible good fortune she experienced every day, unrelated to the actual fortune she had in the bank.

  She refused to attend an AA meeting in the local area – there was still some level of denial about the extent of her problem – and she also didn’t want to give the locals any more fodder. She had been reading about the Twelve Steps, though, and while she struggled with the references to God and didn’t believe that all the steps referred to her, she had taken the time to act on Step Eight. She had made a list of all persons she had harmed, and was willing to make amends to them all. The dinner with her tiddas had been a big step for her. She also promised herself that she would follow Step Ten and continue to take personal inventory; when she was wrong, she would promptly admit it.

  Forty-eight hours later Nadine and Richard made the trek from Brookfield to Bardon.

  ‘I feel sick,’ she said to Richard, who was tapping a beat on the steering wheel as they drove to the yoga studio.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘No, I feel sick with nerves. The freaking studio is thirty-seven degrees to start with.’

  ‘That can’t be normal.’ Richard was surprised.

  ‘It’s not normal. But then neither am I. I probably deserve to melt into the flooring.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Richard laughed at his wife warmly, and rubbed her right thigh after changing gears.

  ‘I love you.’

  Richard smiled. ‘I love you too.’

  ‘You’re not normal either, you know that, don’t you?’ She poked him in the left side.

  ‘I know.’ He chuckled. ‘I know!’

  As they pulled into the car park, Xanthe was parking her small white Hyundai.

  ‘Hey,’ Nadine called out as she climbed from the car.

  ‘Hi there.’ Xanthe was genuinely happy to see Nadine, and pleased her friend was trying her hardest to kick her habit. But she was also pleased to be sharing her passion for Bikram with her tidda – well with anyone.

  By the time the class started Nadine was already sweating, her legs slippery from the moisturiser she’d put on before she left home. She’d shaved her legs for the first time in weeks and realised how dry they were. But she looked good in her shorts. A month of not drinking had been hard but she’d inadvertently lost a couple of kilos. Her body showed all the benefits of not being filled with excess sugar every day.

  Nadine scanned the room and among all the women she saw only one man, shirtless with too many tattoos. The perfect place to pick up, she thought, but the crowd looked too serious for frivolities. No-one spoke other than the trainer, Paula, and no-one looked at anyone else either. Everyone faced forward to the mirrored wall, instructed to focus only on the self.

  ‘You can give yourself ninety minutes per day to focus on you, it’s not selfish,’ Paula said.

  After the first forty minutes Nadine started to feel ill; she was dizzy, nauseous, off balance. This can’t be good, she thought to herself. She wanted to text Richard to come and carry her out. ‘I’m going to throw up,’ she said under her breath, hoping to get some sympathy from Xanthe, who was completely focused. Nadine was impressed with her tidda’s capacity to switch off everything else, but the truth was Xanthe’s mind was ticking over about having a baby; she had mastered the ability to do the poses and obsess at the same time. A true skill!

  ‘No-one should be talking for the ninety minutes we are here,’ Paula said.

  Fuck, she can hear like a dolphin . . . Nadine didn’t like being chastised either. Doesn’t she know who I am?

  Nadine sat down on her mat before she collapsed. She breathed deeply, waiting until she could get up again. She searched the room for anyone else who might be struggling.

  ‘For the beginners, if you can’t do everything, just sit in child’s pose. It’s okay. Remember, if you can just stay in the room for this class then you have achieved.’

  Nadine was convinced the comment was directed at her. She wanted to take the teacher aside and say, Hey, in MY world I am the best at what I do. I can do these exercises, I just feel sick!

  But she knew that part of what was happening to her was that her body was going into serious detox. She was sweating out the crap she’d been ingesting for years. It was her own fault.

  The lights were dimmed and the class lay on their backs doing the final breathing exercises. Thank God!

  Nadine was relieved; Xanthe was revitalised. Paula left the room and slowly they got up, put their mats over the rail and headed to the change room. Nadine couldn’t believe the crimson colour of her face.

  ‘Jesus, my head looks like a watermelon that’s about to explode.’

  ‘You did really well. I’m proud of you.’ Xanthe put her hand on her sweaty friend’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m proud of me too. I really enjoyed it!’

  ‘Well?’ Richard asked nervously as hi
s wife got in the car.

  ‘I finished it. That’s something, isn’t it?’ She needed applause, affirmation of the attempt she’d made.

  ‘That’s massive, my love.’ He leant in and kissed her.

  ‘Oh darl, I didn’t shower. You know me and public showers. Sorry, I’m smelly.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re my kind of smelly.’ He rubbed his wife’s thigh. ‘Even if your face looks like a watermelon.’

  ‘Bloody hell, I just said that to Xanthe!’

  Nadine was still burning up, but she was sipping the coconut water she’d grabbed at reception and was looking forward to getting home. She couldn’t even imagine being able to drink a glass of wine after that class, and was grateful for that small mercy. She didn’t say it out loud though. ‘I survived the class,’ she said instead, ‘but I’m grateful I didn’t have a heart attack, throw up or burst into tears.’

  Richard laughed. ‘You are always so dramatic.’

  ‘I’m serious, I was really scared one of them might happen.’

  Nadine went quiet as they continued to drive, staring out the window as Van Morrison played on the radio.

  ‘Everything okay over there, Nads?’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘Here’s trouble.’

  ‘The interesting thing about doing that tonight was that it really helped me to concentrate. You can’t just let your mind roam in there. I was completely focused on not collapsing.’

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, and I’m grateful that I maintained my focus the entire time. That in itself is something I’m incredibly proud of. I have a very short attention span, as you’d know. By the way, what’s for dinner?’

  ‘Sounds like you should be grateful to Xanthe for taking you, eh?’

  ‘I am, I’ll send her some flowers.’

  ‘The celosia is in bloom right now, gorgeous colours. Red, purple, pinks, yellow, orange.’ Richard knew his plants.

  Nadine leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. ‘Then on your recommendation I’ll order her some of those, or maybe a plant for her garden.’

  ‘Or you could come to the markets with me tomorrow,’ Richard suggested, happy to find a new sense of companionship with his wife. The woman he’d married was making a return.

  ‘Oh,’ she hesitated, not keen on the early morning trip.

  ‘Can I bribe you with this?’ He handed her a Wagon Wheel. ‘You would’ve burnt off enough calories in there for ten of these. Anyway, I thought you’d need a sugar hit.’

  Nadine unwrapped it and drifted back to the 1970s and her orange lunch box that was often packed with one of the chocolate biscuits filled with jam and marshmallow. She was surprised at how clear her memory was since she stopped drinking. She wondered if Xanthe was indulging in something naughty as well.

  Spencer was reading the newspaper when Xanthe arrived home. ‘How was it?’ he asked, feigning interest, as she walked in the living room.

  ‘Great!’ Xanthe said, invigorated and feeling horny. It had been too many days since they made love, but she was in the mood and ovulating. She’d texted him earlier that day to remind him.

  ‘It’d be great if you came with me one night,’ Xanthe said, having one last stretch before she jumped in the shower. ‘It will increase your flexibility.’

  ‘I’m flexible enough,’ he responded, without looking up from his newspaper.

  ‘It’ll improve your circulation,’ she added.

  ‘Circulation’s just fine, thanks.’

  ‘It will reduce the stress you are constantly under, too,’ she said, starting to peel off her clothes.

  ‘You know what will reduce my stress even more?’

  ‘What?’ Xanthe was genuinely interested in what might help her husband feel more relaxed.

  ‘You not nagging me constantly about yoga and ovulation windows and babies and organic fucking everything.’ Spencer had never spoken to his wife that way before and it shocked them both.

  Xanthe stopped still, trying to figure out what had just happened. She looked hurt, she felt hurt. She pulled her top back on.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, feeling ashamed that she had brought the response on herself. She walked out the door and closed it quietly behind her, tears falling by the time she got to the front gate.

  Spencer grabbed his mobile, knowing immediately the damage he had done. He heard Xanthe’s phone ringing. She’d left it behind on the dining table.

  The tears stung Xanthe’s face as she found a quiet spot under a tree at the end of the street. She didn’t want to walk, she wanted to hide and sob. It was the longest twenty-five minutes of her life, sitting there feeling lonely, sad, hurt. She hated conflict with the people she loved. And she adored Spencer. She was only now realising that the never-ending baby conversations and conception failures were taking their toll on him too.

  Xanthe walked back into the house quietly. As soon as Spencer heard the door close he walked quickly towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, placing his hands on the sides of her face and kissing her gently on the mouth. ‘I’m an arse sometimes.’

  ‘I’m sorry too.’

  Veronica, Xanthe and Ellen sat on the veranda at Nadine’s for their monthly book club get together. Izzy was only days away from her due date and had opted out of coming. She had emailed some of her thoughts on the book to them earlier and was now bored, having already finished up at work. She’d done a lot of sitting at home with her feet up on the coffee table and the telly on.

  Xanthe had chosen this month’s book, and it had affected them all. Izzy’s email was used as a springboard to the conversation. Xanthe read it out.

  I cried when I read this book. The story around the tragic death of Cameron Doomadgee in police custody was so disturbing, I had nightmares. So too the history of Palm Island as a mission, or as we’re told an ‘open air jail’. This is the sad reality of a forgotten Australian community, and a heart-wrenching example of the deathly flaws of the policing system not only in Queensland but nationally. It should be compulsory reading for all Australians. It really makes you worry about Blackfellas incarcerated anywhere, doesn’t it?

  ‘Richard said that with forty different tribes sent to Palm Island it was a little like what he’d heard about Cherbourg,’ Nadine added when Xanthe finished reading the email.

  ‘It’d be like taking people from forty different countries around the world, putting them in one place and telling them to just get along, speak the same language, form a new community. Could you imagine it happening today?’

  Veronica’s Reading for Reconciliation Group had also discussed the work, and she had strong views on it. ‘It should be on the national curriculum,’ she insisted. ‘It considers attempts at assimilation in terms of religion and other aspects of culture.’

  ‘It also reveals the systematic flaws in Queensland’s policing,’ Xanthe added. ‘And really demonstrates the tensions between the Black and white communities. Palm Island and Queensland isn’t an isolated experience, unfortunately.’

  ‘Shit, seeing the police protect each other like that made me really angry,’ Ellen said. ‘Sad too. It made me realise just how much the cops are untouchable!’ Unexpectedly, she grinned. ‘Aside from that, and no disrespect, but I saw the movie at the film festival last week and I have to say that lawyer Bo is one catch, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s married, Ellen,’ Xanthe said.

  ‘And he’s got SIX kids!’ Veronica laughed. ‘Just what you’d love!’

  With the book talk over, the women were quieter than usual, silenced by the reality that institutional racism still rendered most Blackfellas powerless in the big scheme of things.

  Nadine broke the silence. ‘Anyone want to come to Maleny with me this weekend for an event?’ She had signings at local bookstores to do, and was looking forward to them for the first time in years. ‘And it’s not just because I need a driver, I’d actually like to have some female company.’

/>   Xanthe jumped at the chance to give Spencer some space, but she also wanted to support Nadine, who seemed to be putting on a good front. Or else the HRT was actually working miracles. The tiddas had been following an unwritten roster, checking in on Nadine and taking her out to various events and activities while she was detoxing. If she wanted a drink at any time, they wouldn’t say she couldn’t have one, but nor would they be kind or supportive. She never broke though, and every day she got stronger.

  ‘I’ll take you,’ Xanthe said. ‘And why don’t we see what’s standing in the way of you getting your licence back? After all, you’ve got a great car to be driving.’

  The following weekend three of the tiddas made the trek up the Bruce Highway to Maleny for a weekend away. Nadine’s signing at Rosetta Books followed closely after an appearance by Tom Keneally and she hoped the locals would still be in a literary mood. Xanthe looked forward to all the organic produce she could buy. Ellen had decided to go as well. She was upset about Craig but hadn’t mentioned anything about it to her tiddas. She wanted to get away, to not risk seeing him running near Kangaroo Point. And maybe, she thought to herself, she might just get laid in Maleny as well.

  As they hit the rural area Nadine was quiet. She was finding the aftermath of detox difficult and there was always an urge to drink. She could still find a reason at any time of day; the cravings hadn’t disappeared, not yet. She wondered if they ever would. She hoped she wouldn’t be tempted this weekend. She was on the mailing list for Maleny Mountain Wines, and shouldn’t be. She hoped they wouldn’t go anywhere near booze, but that was a ridiculous dream; she could smell a good tipple from fifty paces.

  On the Saturday night they strolled to the Film Society screening at the Community Centre.

  ‘I’m joining up,’ Nadine said, pulling out her credit card.

  ‘You don’t have to join, you might never come back here.’ Xanthe tried to stop her.

  ‘Then I’ll just support it. Do you know how much money I’m saving by not drinking?’ Her attempted joke went down like a lead balloon. Nadine’s drinking hadn’t been a joke to any of the others who had borne the brunt of her bad behaviour in recent years.