The Oasis - Ch 4

The day of her big escape arrived. Rachel had to try hard to seem unconcerned and not too happy. She tried to act as if she was simply going back to the farm even if she didn’t want to. What she was really feeling was a weird mix of excitement and nerves. She was about to make the biggest move of her life. The single biggest independent decision she had ever made. Not to mention the riskiest. Though when she thought about it Rachel decided going back to the farm was probably riskier, she had no idea what surprises Trevor had planned for her this year or what she might do to him if he tried and he was by himself.
She had had enough. There was no way she would continue to allow herself to be treated that way and now she was old enough to be able to do something about it. There had even been the odd occasion when Rachel had thought about what she might like to do to Trevor if he tried again. She been taking self-defence classes, and learning things from those who knew how to handle themselves.
Her parents had been surprised when she had asked for a gym membership, they had compromised by getting her a trial three month membership, which they later extended when it became clear to them that Rachel was serious about using it. Rachel had become driven. She had decided it was her body and no-one was going to do anything to it she didn’t want them to. She wanted to choose who she let touch her. She was a physical person and she realised the better her body looked the more likely it was she would get the kind of attention she craved.
Rachel got on the bus refusing to wave to her parents or even acknowledge they were there. She was being dumped at the bus station as her parents were on the way to the airport. They were heading to Bali, she’d found the plane tickets in her Dad’s study one night when she was looking for spare cash.
Part of her thought her parents would figure out her plan before the bus pulled away from the station so she refused to allow herself to relax until the bus was driving along the open road. Rachel couldn’t believe she was really doing it. The thing she had spent the better part of twelve months planning. She wanted to get up and move around, she was feeling excited and a bit scared all at once.
She made herself stay seated, something could still go wrong. Her aunt and uncle might actually be on time and waiting for the bus. It hadn’t happened in four years but it was one of those things she couldn’t control. If they were there, there was the chance they may try and flag the bus down and if that happened she was stuffed. They may even call the police who might then be waiting for her at the bus terminal in Perth. She wouldn’t know she was clear until she was checked into a backpackers.
Rachel looked at her watch, her parents could know something was up in as little as eight hours. That was providing someone could contact them in Bali, which was by no means a certainty they weren’t particular about checking their messages when they were on holiday. As for their mobile phones, well if they had them on technically they could be reached, if they were staying somewhere there was signal, but they usually had them off.
Rachel knew all this because there’d been a few times over the last six years she had tried calling them to tell them what Trevor was doing to her. She had even asked her parents about their contact-ability a couple of years back only to be told “When we go on holidays we like to be as un-contactable as possible.”
“But what if I really need to talk or something happens to me?” she had pushed.
“Your aunt will know how to contact us.” Her mother made it sound as if that was the end of the conversation.
Rachel, unwilling to give in so easily, tried a different approach. “What if something happens to her?”
The response was a very unsatisfying, “Don’t be silly nothing is going to happen to Lena.”
Rachel pretty much gave up on her parents after that. She just didn’t understand them. Even though she’d been annoyed, angry and hurting, there was still apart of her that wanted to believe her parents really did care about her. They were supposed to love her, they said they loved her, but they never actually did anything that showed her they loved her. In fact if their actions were anything to go by she seemed to rate low in their priorities.
Rachel stared out the window not really paying attention to the scenery racing by. She was thinking about her new life and wondering if her parents would even miss her.
“From now on,” she whispered as the bus drove through the town she was supposed to be getting off in, “I’m going to live my life, my way and no-one is going to tell me different.”
She breathed a sigh of relief as they drove right past the service station that served as the town’s bus stop. It looked as though whoever was supposed to be picking her up was running late. She now had a little extra breathing room and with a bit of luck their first thought would be they must have gotten the dates mixed up.
There was no-one waiting when Rachel’s bus arrived at the East Perth Terminal. She waited impatiently for her bags to be off loaded, as soon as they were she quickly made her way to the train platform so she could get into the city proper. She wanted to get out of the terminal as soon as possible, the quicker she got into the city the quicker she would be able to get lost.

Journey Home - Entry 2

It’s funny looking back on your life. Viewing the events that shaped you, made you the person you are today, through the perspective of time. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, I’ve got plenty of time for it. Apart from a couple of things my life has been pretty normal. It was those two events that dramatically altered the course I thought my life was going to take.
I wonder if life ever takes the path we plan for ourselves? If the person you want to be as a kid, or even as a teenager, is ever the person you end up being? Perhaps that would be expecting too much. A life without hiccoughs, what a concept. Then again the person you think you’re going to be is pretty two dimensional I suppose.
They say (well that is to say I’ve heard it said somewhere) surviving difficult situations is something that makes you stronger. It supposedly develops your character.
They, whoever ‘they’ are, make it sound like it’s something that’s good for you. Well let me say I’m not sure I want to have my character developed any more. I have had enough of growing, maturing and adjusting to the results of other people’s problems.
I just want my life and my daughter back.

Fear

Fear is a funny thing. I made the choice to look up a couple of people from my school days the other day. It’s one of those things people do on facebook. It was interesting seeing what they look like and are into now but I wasn’t prepared for all the stuff it unearthed.
High school wasn’t a great time for me. The first two years I was the brain or the teachers pet. Year ten was an anomaly because I knew some of the popular kids before I moved to town, but then it was a small town only ten kids in the graduating class. Then six months at one Senior High School and eighteen months at another. Through most of it I never really felt I fit and looking those people up brought back all the fears and insecurities I’d known. What if they don’t remember me? What if they don’t want to reconnect? What if they think I’m a failure? Of course discovering there are very early stages of a twenty year reunion being planned only made the anxiety worse. It didn’t matter how much I mentally slapped myself across the face I couldn’t get past those feelings of rejection from high school.
Then in the car I heard a song that reminded me of my time in England and I realized that high school just wasn’t that important, it wasn’t worth the energy the fear was wasting. Those people who don’t remember me (and there were loads I didn’t remember either) well so what, why should they? I didn’t circulate with them, I wasn’t particularly active in school things and truthfully I didn’t even know who I was back then. It wasn’t until uni and more significantly the almost two years I spent based in the UK, that I was able to define myself. I met people who got me, who shared my interests and accepted me. At the end of high school some people were really sad, they viewed it as the end of something. Me I saw it as a beginning, high school was simply something I had to do to get myself out into the world.
So my conclusion was it ultimately doesn’t matter if those people remember me or not, or if they think I’m a success or not because I like who I am (though I am still working on losing the last of my baby kilos that won’t seem to budge).
Here’s me. I have a wonderful husband of more than ten years and two beautiful little girls, a degree and an associate diploma. I spent nearly two years overseas; Christmas’ in Holland and Ireland, New Years in Edinburgh and Dublin, summers in Greece and Spain, a weekend in France. I have performed on stage in Australia and the UK; done intense dramas, comedies, pantos and Shakespeare, been naked on stage on an extremely cold opening night, even written, produced and acted in my own play. I’ve also done some short films. I’ve written; two novels (as yet unpublished), two full length plays (working on my third), and a bunch of one-acts.
I am scared of stuffing up my lines, especially the first one and yet there is no greater high for me than stepping out under the stage lights. I often think I’ll suck at things but I’ve tried them and I conquer, not because I’m not scared but because I try and I persevere. I’ve been hurt plenty but I still try to make friends and if I didn’t I’d have missed out on having some wonderful people in my life. I’ve been brokenhearted because I thought I was in love, yet that didn’t stop me and now I really know love. I worried about what people might think of me until I realized they didn’t know me so why should I care. Why should I let what someone else may or may not think dictate my self worth and actions. And really am I that arrogant that I think I really matter to all those people?
Fear can hold us back or drive us forward. It can paralyze or motivate. The thing is though I think most of the time fight or flight is our choice. Fear is something to be overcome. Yes it can be a warning and we need to take those times seriously but a lot of our fear is irrational. There are times we need to fear not. Dare to love yourself, the skin you are in, the person you are and be true to you.

Art?

Sometimes there are things that really blow my mind and right now it’s this Bill Henson thing. For those of you who don’t know Bill Henson is a photographer and there is an exhibition of his work going, well it was closed down for a few days because it was raided and certain works confiscated. The controversy is this – in the exhibition were some nude pictures of an (allegedly) 12 year old boy and 13 year old girl.
In my opinion it’s completely fair that these pictures have been removed. If this was some guy showing pictures of naked kids on the street corner, or with a stash of pics on his computer or in a shoebox in his cellar, we’d be yelling for him to be sent to prison. This guy happens to be an artist so people are now saying we can’t complain or shut it down because that would be censorship of art.
Bollocks to that. Just because the photos are artistic – read black and white and well lit – doesn’t mean it is acceptable to have them shown in public. Bay all you want about ‘who the hell do I think I am – the morality police’, and what right do I have to tell you what is or isn’t morally acceptable. Bottom line is these are kids. We should be protecting them, not exploiting them. We should be looking out for them not taking a position that says ‘well as long as it’s artistic then it’s alright’. That attitude opens a floodgate I don’t want open, even though in some cases it’s obviously already been opened. If we don’t say something now people are going to realize they can do just about anything and get away with it as long as they say it’s art, and lets face it some people do already.
One line of comment is that Henson is a renowned artist (a point I won’t argue – I’ve seen some of his work). Well so what, it’s not hard to have your models keep their clothes on. His work with clothed models is intriguing. And yes the argument would be different if the models were older, once people hit a certain age they have the right and hopefully knowledge to make their own choices.
The other thing supporters are saying is that the images aren’t sexualized. Here’s where I think it’s not so simple. We live in a highly sexualized society, so many images thrust at us are sexual in one way or another. Movies and tv used to imply/suggest sex, now they just show it. Advertising shoves it down our throats. When we sexualize so much how is that we are surprised when something whose subject is obviously indicative of sexuality (nudity) is condemned for being sexual.
We want to have it both ways. We want to say images of naked kids are pornographic and we shouldn’t sexualize children but this is okay because it is art. Well I don’t think that’s good enough. I think it’s terrifying in a way but mostly incredibly sad that we find ourselves here.
There are many comments about the photographer but what about the parent/s of the models? No-one should be able to make that kind of decision for someone else – not even a parent (there is simply no way I would let my children do it). How do you even contemplate it for your children? And these children – for that is what they are – don’t have enough knowledge or life experience to make an informed decision about doing something like this. What happens when they are older? What if they regret it? It’s not something they can take back. My thoughts turn to so many negative possibilities. “I’ve already seen you naked so we may as well…” You know what I mean. Perhaps I’m being overly negative but surely it’s got to be a consideration.
We need to realize that images like this are put into the public domain and no matter what our intentions may have been when we produced them, we can’t control what the public think or their interpretations. And truthfully to me displaying pics like that does convey a definite tone of – it’s alright to look at naked children. From there how many steps is it to more explicit pictures, more than looking, and so on? Sure many people wouldn’t think that but what about those that do? And the lives they end up effecting. Then again maybe I only think that because my life has intersected with people from those places we wish didn’t exist. Take picture by all means. Be artistic. But please take the time to realize some boundaries simply don’t need to be pushed. I know we can’t be responsible for someone else’s actions but we can sometimes limit the repercussions our actions produce.

Journey Home - Entry 1

Where do I start? I’m not even sure why I’ve decided to put pen to paper. I haven’t kept a diary since I was a kid. Well I was actually sixteen and if anyone had have called me a kid I’d have thrown a fit. But I was. At least I’m honest enough to say that now. When you’re that age you think you know so much, maybe not everything but enough to know your parents can’t say anything you need to hear. Back then things were less complicated. Okay so they didn’t seem that way at the time, but from where I’m standing now…
Anyway back to this diary thing. I suppose the main reason I haven’t kept a diary all these years is that I haven’t really had the time. Life has been too full, too busy for me to spend my free time, on the rare occasions I had any, sitting on my butt rehashing the events of my day. I also haven’t had cause to keep one, even once they became the in thing to do. Now my situation is certainly different, I have both time and reason. Besides it sure beats talking to the wall.
Now where to start? I’m twenty seven, five feet and seven inches. I have longish dark brown hair and dark eyes. My hobbies include hiking, - wow this stuff isn’t necessary it sounds like I’m writing an ad for the personals. Something else I’ve never done by the way. Like keeping a diary it simply held no interest for me.
I told you I hadn’t done this in a while. I don’t even know why I’m writing it this way, like I’m talking to someone, it’s not like I’m hoping anyone will read it. I just need a way to get my feelings out, sort through the mess of emotions flying around in my head.
I’m looking for a way to fill in time. Time I used to spend being with my little girl and teaching. Not anymore though, work has given me as much time off as I need.
What is that anyway? ‘Take as much time as you need’. I know they’re trying to be understanding or sympathetic or something but please, as if I really need more empty time. I guess they figure that being around other people’s kids would just be too much for me. In actual fact I wish I was at work, at least then I would have something else to think about, to focus on.
I suppose put that way it sounds kind of cruel or cold but the truth is I’m at a loose end. I really don’t know what to say or do about it, about everything that’s happened in recent weeks. After all how to deal with a situation like this is not something you ever get taught.
So where does this all leave me? My daughter, my little girl, has been taken from me, violently and unexpectedly, and sometimes I even have trouble accepting that as my new reality.
Instead I try to focus on something else. Anything else really. I just try to forget. I know that isn’t really possible, nor is it practical, deep down I don’t want to forget her. I love her and I miss her. But what else can I do? I don’t know how to cope.
I’ve had enough for today.

Journey Home - Prologue

“Mummy, do monsters really exist?”
Those few words haunt my memory even now, months later. Though I no longer remember what my answer was that day, I know it should have been yes. I know that isn’t a very reassuring answer but it’s the truth. Maybe not the big, ugly, scary ones from under the bed or in the closet, but just the same I know without question real monsters do exist. And they look just as human as the next person.
Twice now they’ve changed my life forever. Once should have been enough. More than enough. Or at least that is what you would think.
The image of a child’s innocent and trusting eyes fills me with so much pain. She was only a little girl. A sweet, precious, little girl. So young. So innocent. So full of potential. And now…now it has all gone. Wiped out in a matter of moments. Never given the opportunity to even really live.
It just doesn’t seem right that it turned out this way. It doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t seem possible. But I know it is. It has to be because I feel so empty. As though there is nothing good left inside anymore.
She was my reason for getting up every day. The reason I kept pushing on. Now what? How can I keep going when there is no real reason to? More to the point, why should I?
The eyes that stare back at me from the mirror seem lifeless. Unfocussed, as if unseeing. I shut them in an effort to forget. But now, instead of my own reflection, I see her. The way she looked that morning. That cheeky smile, the way it used to light up her whole face. A dimple denting her right cheek. Her eyes sparkling. It seems clichéd but that is what I see.
My mind screams, partly in denial and partly in anguish, as it replays the events of that afternoon.
I struggle to regain control of my emotions. I try to focus on the brush in my hand, but that image gets lost among others as memories of my daughter come flooding back.

The Oasis - ch 3

The year that followed was a rough one for Rachel. She didn’t care about anything much, especially school work, and her parents chose this year to try to get her to apply herself, little realising it was way too late for that. The years of abuse and neglect had done their job, as far as Rachel was concerned her parents were parents in name only.
She had been sneaking out since she was twelve and they had never stopped her, in fact they had never even noticed as far as she could tell. Her parents had never given her a curfew. They’d tried grounding her a couple of times but being as they were seldom home she’d just walk out the front door making sure she was back before they were. Her dad had tried to discipline her once by taking her stereo but that made no difference because she just listened instead to music on her computer.
Rachel was convinced her parents had no idea about what was going on in her life. Not that it mattered because to her mind they had given up the right to know years earlier. She didn’t respect them and she felt no obligation to. She also knew they wouldn’t kick her out because it wouldn’t look good and appearances were everything.
There were many arguments that year. Rachel didn’t appreciate her parents trying to force their way back into her life after so many years of neglect. There was a particularly nasty one where her mother had been getting on her case about homework again, and somehow it led to the truth finally surfacing.
“You need to apply yourself young lady or you will find yourself in some dead-end job, that is if anyone will employ you, your attitude is terrible.”
“Says who?” asked Rachel.
“Says I,” retorted her mother. “I don’t know what has happened to you but I know you are smarter than this.” She sat down on Rachel’s bed.
“How would you know?”
“I know what your report cards are saying.”
“So? Since when did you care?”
“We wouldn’t be having this argument if I didn’t care.”
“Fine let’s stop talking then.” Rachel got up to leave.
“Don’t you walk away from me.” She stood and went to grab Rachel’s arm.
Rachel spun to face her. “You know mum, you have never cared about anything that wasn’t image or work related.”
“That is not true.”
“Really? Well you would think if you cared about me even a little bit you would know I’d been raped,” Rachel practically spat at her mother.
Rachel’s mum’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Rachel stared at her for a few moments. When it became obvious her mother wasn’t going to say anything else Rachel picked up her jacket and left. Her mother was waiting for her when she got home the following morning. Sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the door, holding an almost empty coffee cup.
“I think we need to talk about what was said last night.”
“Well I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But honey something this…” the words tailed off. Her mum paused, took a big breath and tried again. “You should have told me.”
Rachel couldn’t believe it. “I tried mother. The day after it happened the first time in fact but you didn’t have time for me. If I remember correctly you told me to try and ignore it, because after all boys will be boys.”
“I would never have said that.”
“But you did.”
“Just a minute,” Rachel’s mum interrupted. “The first time?”
Rachel ignored her and continued. “I so desperately wanted you to come,” it all came spewing out in a torrent of words, “and take me away from Aunty Lena and Uncle Jim’s but you had more important things to do than listen to your ten year old daughter’s problems. You had a taxi to catch. I knew from that moment on that I wasn’t important to you. You never asked me about that holiday, about what was bothering me, and you kept sending me back. Every year I protested and every year it was the same thing, ‘spending some time on the farm will be good for you’. Well it wasn’t.”
“Honey I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“Can’t you figure it out? It’s not really all that hard.”
“Rachel what are you talking about? One minute we were discussing…well you know.”
“Say it mother, rape.” Rachel’s frustration was getting the better of her.
“Yes that, and the next you’re talking about Lena, Jim and the farm. I don’t understand.”
“Fine if you are going to be so stupid about it then let me spell it out for you. T R E V O R.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly mean what you just said.”
“Why not?” Rachel was almost shouting at her mother.
“Well he’s your cousin.”
“So what?”
“You must be confused, that’s all, calm down and we’ll sort this out.”
“There is nothing to sort out.”
“Trevor is such a level headed guy.”
“Are you saying it never happened, that I made it all up just for fun?”
“No. No of course not, I just think that maybe you’ve gotten your cousin confused with whomever it was that did this to you.”
Rachel stood up. She was tired and angry with her mother for bringing all this up. And the raw emotion combined with her mother’s disbelief was beginning to take its toll. “Sure mum. That is exactly what happened. Like I can’t possibly remember who it was who did this to me, repeatedly.” Rachel turned around and left the house, she couldn’t handle being there and being treated like that.
Rachel stayed away for two days after that fight. Her mother only tried opening the subject up with her once more. Rachel just walked away. She figured if her mother really wanted to know the truth or better yet, actually believed her, then she would’ve been more insistent. Her mother’s stubborn refusal to take Rachel at her word only reinforced the belief that her parents really didn’t place much priority on her needs or problems.
When her mother told her of the date she needed to book the bus ticket to the farm, Rachel thought it was a nasty joke. There was no way her mother could’ve completely erased that big fight from her mind. Rachel knew her mother wouldn’t admit to believing her but she’d been sure some part of her must have been willing to contemplate the possibility. Obviously she’d been wrong. There was no way she was going back there, even if her mother was living in denial, no matter what her parents wanted.
She had finally gotten the chance to tell her mum the truth and it had been completely ignored. Even though she would’ve said her mother’s response didn’t surprise her, the truth was it still hurt deeply. With everything her parents had done part of her still wanted their love and their support.
Rachel tried convincing her parents she was old enough to stay by herself. They didn’t agree. Then she said she would make plans to stay with a friend. Her parents again said no, adding that they didn’t trust her, and her attitude over the course of the last few months hadn’t given them any reason to do so. She tried everything she could think of to get out of going to the farm but her parents still insisted.
So Rachel decided to leave home. Instead of getting a bus ticket to the town nearest to the farm, Rachel booked one to the city. She’d been thinking of leaving anyway, and figured her parents probably wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t thought they would send her to the farm this year, even without having told her mum about Trevor. She really thought they would agree to let her stay home by herself. It would’ve meant she’d have had two weeks head start while her parents were on holiday. When it became obvious that that wasn’t going to happen, Rachel adapted her plan, she didn’t drop the idea completely because the way she figured it the holidays were still her best chance of getting away unnoticed.
She had been saving all year, ever since she’d got back from the farm the last time. She’d also managed to supplement her work savings by stealing from her parents. Sometimes she asked them outright for cash and sometimes she just took it. She had put aside quite a lot of money, her bank account read a healthy $3792.84 and she had an extra $1950 in cash hidden in a couple of pair of socks she didn’t wear.
While the other kids at school were planning their summer holidays Rachel was planning her big escape. She didn’t see it so much as running away from home as leaving a harmful environment. Her life had become a game of survival of the fittest and she was determined to survive.
She had her deadline, the date set by her parents, and she had her finances sorted out. By using the internet so thoughtfully provided by her parents as a study aid Rachel made up a list of the cheapest half a dozen backpackers she could find. She prepared as much as she could, determined not to be tripped up by silly little mistakes.
When it came time to pack she had to do so very carefully. She couldn’t take too much or it would make her parents suspicious, after all she was only supposed to be going away for two weeks. Knowing she had quite a bit of money made things a little easier because she knew she would be able to buy the things she needed but couldn’t fit in. She didn’t want to rely on that though because she had no idea how long she would need to survive on money she had.