by Jessica Bell
No matter what happens, I hope we can be friends when you grow up. I’ll work very hard to make that happen because I always want you to feel secure in talking to me, trusting me and confiding in me.
I love you now and always!
Your Mum, Mama, Mummy, Ma, Penny.
January 7th, 1982
~Mummy
Today your Daddy and Mary have taken you for the afternoon. You were so happy to be going with them. When Mary is around you seem to have no need for me. You’ve become her shadow, and your poor mum is left on the sidelines. You change so much when you’re around her. You become so defiant! You won’t listen to me, talk to me or show me any affection. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist.
I suppose I should be grateful you have a half-sister. I’ve always thought about having another baby so you’d have someone to play with, but it scares me. I don’t think I could cope.
This is the beginning of a change to our relationship, I think. No matter how much I would like to be your best friend, we are still mother and daughter, and that in itself seems to be a barrier. I wonder if you, (meaning us) can ever break through that. I will always feel too protective of you because you are part of me, and you, through this, will probably feel restricted and a bit overwhelmed by it.
I hope that someday you will understand that a mother who loves her child could never be blasé about its existence. The umbilical cord is physically severed, but not emotionally. That is, at least, as far as the mother is concerned. I used to take my mother for granted so much. Completely inconsiderate of her feelings. Only after having you did I realise how my mother must have felt with all the inconsideration I displayed. Taking love for granted. Mothers are human, I’ve found. We have the same needs as children. We all want, and more importantly, need to be cared about. People aren’t disposable. We don’t get thrown out no matter how many scars are left on us through our experiences. Physical or emotional.
Bonnie, for myself the emotional pains are always the most tragic to overcome. Because of my love for you, I know it will be extremely difficult to see you go through various growing pains, but I know that on the whole, you alone must work through them. Make your own mistakes and hopefully learn from them.
Bonnie, you will always have my trust! I hope you never abuse it. As you grow you will learn that trust will either make your life happy or sad. And I think you’ll find that it’s the people you love the most who will ultimately betray it. I don’t understand why this is. You’d think it would be the opposite, wouldn’t you? I suppose when you care about someone, the fear of hurting them must make us do silly things. Sometimes I find comfort in that fact. It seems to be the only thing keeping my chin up right now—the fact that your daddy still cares.
December 26th, 1982
~Mummy
Well, we’ve had Christmas now. You’re not a baby anymore so you take in everything around you. I love to watch you so very much. I also love it when you say “I love you” a hundred times a day. I often wonder if you understand what it means.
You call me “my Ted”, and Ted “Mummy” for fun. You’re using your humour quite often now. One day, you brought me in some of those yellow flowers from the weeds in our back yard, and you asked me to put them in a vase. I said to you that they don’t smell very nice, so you told me, “Don’t smell them then. Just put them in a vase to look at.” There’s no arguing with you. You know exactly what you want and your reason and logic extends mine and Ted’s by far.
Happy Christmas, Bonnie.
February 12th, 1984
~Mummy
It’s been too long since I’ve made any entries into this book so I’ll try to catch up a bit. You’ve been writing your name now for at least 18 months. You are also making great efforts at reading.
Your bedroom has been renovated now for about six months and you spend a lot of time in there pretending to be and do all sorts of things. You’ve taken to playing around with a broomstick as if you were a witch about to take off with it! You hold it between your legs, gallop on the spot like a horse, and say, “up-up-and-away!” Not sure if you can make up your mind whether you want the broom to be a horse or not. Maybe you’re just making it your own. A unicorn, perhaps?
Bonnie, you still love to dance, but now you are so much more dramatic in your movements and with such good rhythm too. You know all the songs that they show on TV Hits. I’m so proud of you, although we do have a lot of arguments and we don’t often agree on things. I guess you’ve grown up so much, that it always takes my heart a while before it catches up to you.
February 13th, 1984
~Mummy
You had your first ballet lesson. You really enjoyed it. Ted and I sat and watched you. We didn’t stop smiling all the way through. The hour passed quickly and you didn’t want to stop. But then John came with Mary unexpectedly to pick you up and go for ice cream. I thought it was such a lovely surprise for you.
I’m sorry you had to see Ted lose his temper like that. Ted is just stressed with his fruit shop and he takes it out on everybody. It doesn’t mean he hates your daddy. I promise. It’s just that he had intended for us to spend the afternoon together. I didn’t know he wasn’t going back to the shop afterward.
Oh well. Men are funny creatures.
February 14th, 1984
~Mummy
A couple of weeks ago you started your first day of school. Only a few weeks after turning five years old. You have some new friends. Sara and Bianca. Sara has come here a few times to play with you. More and more I see how independent you are, as this morning. You walked so briskly and confidently into the school. I knew this marked the end of a wonderful time and the beginning of an even greater time for you.
My only hopes for you are to be as happy as you have been and that you never experience things too painfully like I do. I love you so very very much my darling, as do the others who make up your family. You are, and always will be, first and last in my thoughts and in my heart.
My biggest satisfaction is seeing you grow into a kind, gentle, intelligent, feeling, and compassionate person. Your beauty and talent, of course, are also wonderful bonuses. I hope one day you will understand the things I do and have done. When you love someone so much the instinct is to protect. I know I step over the line occasionally and for that I am truly sorry if it causes you pain or disillusion. We are all still learning.
February 15th, 1984
~Mummy
You’re pretty lazy most of the time and that drives me berserk. You know how to read but you always refuse to. All you want most of the time is an ice cream or lollies and everything you do is related to those things in some way. You’ll do anything for a lolly. John has been less involved with you lately. He needs to work things out a lot better with Mary.
You’ve been riding your bike a lot too. You were outside all day practising until you finally got it!
You’ve been patient with us as well. Ted’s fruit shop takes up so much time some weeks, but you’ve always co-operated, and have never made it difficult for us. Those early mornings at the farmer’s market are tough, I know. The other morning was quite entertaining though. You found a ladybug on an apple and squealed in delight so loudly that everybody around us went silent and smiled at your satisfaction. We stopped what we were doing for a little while so you could watch it crawl along your finger. Your eyes lit up and you said, “Look Mummy! The bug lady likes me!” and everyone around us chuckled. It was such a beautiful snapshot of time, I wish I’d had a camera.
I really should always have this book ready to write into because there is so much that we forget and if I wrote it all down those precious moments would be with us forever!
Part Two
Love is a Weapon
I LIFT UP MY Mickey Mouse skirt and pull down on the flicky-thread of my undies. But it squishes between my legs when I sit on the torlet seat.
It smells like a baby accident and a hospital in here and my heart goes all bumpy in my chest
. I can smell that stinky liquid stuff that my mummy uses to make clothes white, and it always makes her rub her head after, and I have to bring her some TicTacs.
I can’t tell any bodies I did this. I can’t! They will all laugh at me and I don’t like it when bodies laugh at me. When bodies laugh my belly goes all feeling not nice and tears comes out of my eyes. Mrs Haydon will come a-looking for me at any minute, wondering why I’m not back to get my school bag off my hook. The home-time bell just runged. I’m going to be in so much trouble. She’s going to be so madly. Her googly eyes will go all wide through her yucky froggy glasses, and her cheeks will go so red that the chocolate splashes on her face will become not there. But the worsted thing will be when she sees what I done! She’ll speak to me all funny. Like a witch. I bet she’s a witch. Like in that book my Ted reads me where all the witches just look like normal mummies and daddies but have got wigs and they turn kids into mices. I hate that witch voice. Lots of teachers use that voice after they meet my mummy. Like they have ideas of making me into a dessert or sumfing.
Maybe I should flush my undies into the loo, and get wet hand towels to clean myself up without any grownups help. But I can’t ’cause this stupid skirt is too short, and everyone will see my chishy. Mum showed my Ted her chishy. I sawed it too when I went to her bedroom in the middle of the night when I needed a glass of water and I couldn’t reach the tap. I didn’t go in. I don’t want any bodies to do sumfing like that to my chishy. I can clean my own chishy now. I’m not a kitten.
Now everyone is leaving. They’re running across the playground, making squeals, throwing balls against the torlet block wall. I can hear them voices. Those parents voices that sound like everything is rooly serious. My Ted speaks in that voice all the time. And when he does, my mummy does doll’s eyes, and mumbles something about how my daddy was more fun and that she wishted he would come back. I don’t think my Ted can hear when she says that. I wish my Ted and Daddy and Mary and Mummy and me could all just live together. I love all of them.
I can hear chains on the metal fence. It’s Thursday. And there’s no after-school care on Thursdays.
Oh nose, I’m going to get lockted in!
My yucky undies drop to the floor and the torlet door becomes a disgusting brown mess. I could do a finger painting in it, though. Should I lick it? Maybe it tastes like chocolate fudge. I know that sometimes things don’t taste as badly like they smell. Sometimes my mummy cooks sumfing that’s rooly stinky, but when I eat it, it’s nice.
Should I yell for the caretaker to let me out? But how? How can I do that without him to saw this mess between my legs and all over the door?
My ears are hot. My heart goes bumpy. There are footsteps outside.
Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop. Clip. Clop!
They’re at my door. I hold my breath tight and my face hurts. I stand still. Trying not to move or make noises. I can’t speak. No way. I’d be founded out! But ... if I don’t speak, I’ll be lockted in here all the night. Who will bring my mummy her TicTacs if I’m lockted in here?
“Bonnie? Are you in there?” My breath comes in my neck rool quick. It’s Mrs Haydon. She sounds funny. She sighs and makes a strange coughing. I think she’s swallowing an orange pip by not-on-purpose.
Now I’m being founded out! I start to cry. I don’t like crying. When I cry my mummy cries longer than me. And then my Ted gets all grumpy and drives off. And then Mummy whispers on the phone for ages.
I hold my hands in the air. The tears are falling over my face and making skin tickles.
“What’s wrong?” It’s Mrs Haydon again.
“Um,” I suck my crying by mistake in my mouth. “I … pooed …”
Something weird happens in my head and I my mouth goes all like a fish at the disgusting air around me. If my mummy was been here, she would gived me a paper bag to breathe into—I sawed her do it before—it maked her calmed. It would go out and in and make a cool crunching sound. It's fun to watch it, chooally. Her face changes shape. It looks like if she didn’t get the air from inside the bag, she might just drop dead on the floor like a squished mouse that got squished in the laundry the other day.
“Oh, Bonnie, don’t worry.” That’s Mrs Haydon again. “Look, stay put, and I’ll go to the lost property box to find you a fresh pair of pants, okay?” Her voice goes all boomerangy. Maybe I’m in Doctor Who’s elevator, and if I just push the flush button I can make myself not here.
I won’t be maded embarrassed. No bodies has to be told—just me and Mrs Haydon’s secret. Maybe she’s a good witch. I think she’s putting a nice spell on me to make me feel safe. I take a deep sigh. Mrs Haydon leaves. I bend over like I’m going to spew but nothing comes out and it feels like Mr Stomach is doing some ballet in my tummy.
Mrs Haydon comes rushing back rool quick.
“Oh, Bonnie, darling, there’s a woman here to pick you up.”
Everything in the torlet goes on pause.
I look at the roof, wondering who it could be. Maybe it’s Mary. She’s never comed to pick me up before.
“I thought you said Mummy was walking you home today, Bonnie.” That’s Mrs Haydon again. She sounds worried.
“Is it Mary?” That’s me asking, not Mrs Haydon. I feel much better now. It must be her. I love Mary. She’s not as old as my mummy, but she’s not young like me either. I think she’s somewhere in the middle. It’s fun because sometimes she plays stuff that I like. But sometimes she gets weird and tries to act like a grownup in front of my daddy. I play on my own when that happens. She wears bright red lipstick a lot and has frizzy yellow hair. She is a bit fat and squishy and smells like musk sticks. I like her hugs.
I heard Mummy saying to Daddy one day that when people sawed her and Mary together in the street, that lesbians would try to pick them up. I’m glad Mummy likes Mary. But why did that made my Ted go all upset? And where were the bodies going to take them? Did they have a blue Ute like my Ted? Maybe I should get Mummy to tell me the story. My Ted’s always in a hurry, and he sometimes drives too fast. But sometimes it’s fun. I like to lie on my back in the back bit of the Ute and look at the clouds and think that I’m in an airplane without any roof.
“The lady says that Mummy got held up at the fruit shop. Does that sound right to you?” That’s Mrs Haydon again. She does a funny hiccup.
I think she hearded me nod.
“Okay, then. I’ll go look for some clean pants and then I’ll collect your things and take you to her, okay?” She waits a second for me to say sumfing. I can hear her turn on her foot and wait like the pause button makes bodies wait in the VCR.
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling Mr Stomach doing dances. I think Mary picking me up means that I don’t have to go home and watch my mummy pretend she hasn’t been crying all alone in the kitchen, while my Ted lockted himself in his study room pretending to be smart.
Sometimes my Ted takes me to the fruit shop, and he buys me stuffed potatoes for dinner and Violet Crumble for dessert. But it gets boring sometimes. Mummy and my Ted look at me through the silent glass window of the office, with stupid smiles. I know they just want to make sure I don’t go make holes in the chopped up watermelon pieces. I did it a few times. My Ted yelleded rool loud.
Mrs Haydon comes back. I unlock the door, my legs going all shaking from the feelings. She has a pair of blue undies with robots on them. Boy knickers. Eew! She nods at the floor. I lift my feet out of the holes, making hard to not tumble over.
Mrs Haydon helps me get cleaned up. She washes my undies in the sink, making sure she doesn’t touch my stuff, then dries them a under the electric hand machine and puts them into a plastic bag for me to take back home.
“Here you are, Bonnie. Good as gold.” She gives me the plastic bag, opens my school bag and moves her head to say invisible words. I think she wants me to put it inside the bag. But I don’t want to keep them. If I keep the undies, I have to tell Mummy what I done. But I can’t tell Mummy what I done because I have to be a grownup. I
have to be able to take care of myself. Soon Mummy won’t be able to take care of me anymore. I sawed her once, come home, and speak funny, and then fall over and go to sleep. She was still there when I gotted up in the morning. There was wet stuff on the floor next to her bed and it smelled like fish fingers.
I just spewded up in my bag.
“Oh dear.” That’s Mrs Haydon again. She stands up and wipes her forehead with some paper towel. “You must have a stomach bug, my dear. Your accident couldn’t have been helped, I’m sure. Let’s get this cleaned up and you safely home to bed. Hmm? The lady outside will make sure you get home to bed? Won’t she?”
I nod. Maybe my mummy will sit with me now, instead of hiding in her room and writing in that book. Most of the time she just looks at that book and cries. But last night she wrote in it for ages and gave it some flowers.
Tape #01
Dr Wright: Mummy tells me you that you miss Daddy. Do you want to talk about it?
Bonnie: [scribbles on paper with green crayon]
Dr Wright: She says you’re always asking for him and getting upset.
Bonnie: [nods]
Dr Wright: She also says you visit him a lot. Is that right?
Bonnie: [nods]
Dr Wright: You know that Mummy does everything she can for you to see him. She loves you very much. Would you like to tell me why you get so upset?
