A different Anna (a story).

The last time Anna’s hands had touched this wood she had been sitting beside her Grandmother ten years ago.


Eight year-old Anna had been scraping into the top layer of the curiously soft wood, only halting to flick out the remains from underneath her fingernails. Her mind had wandered as the monotonous voice of Murwillumbah’s parish priest filled the air, punctuated by his hoarse cough, like a bark, Anna had thought. Every time he coughed like this, her Grandmother’s eyes would flit to Anna’ busily working fingers and she would perse her lips in annoyance. Anna was sullen with frustration and boredom as her blank gaze drifted from her handiwork to the priest in response to her Grandmother’s disapproving eyes. More than anything Anna had wanted to be back at home in Sydney with her friends.

Anna sighs, she had been such a brat when she was young. She pulls back her legs to make room for her Auntie’s boisterous figure as she bustles past her to sit next to her Dad and the strong scent of gardenias fills the air. Anna twists in her seat to peer at all those who have come. There are plenty of people, most of whom Anna doesn’t recognise; some aged with years of rough laughter and crinkled smiles, others’ skin still smooth and sombre. As the organ starts up, Anna turns back to the front in time to stand with everyone else. But the faces linger in her mind, they are friendly faces, she thinks.

Twelve year-old Anna had been tugging absent-mindedly at her lower lip with her left hand, while her right arranged and rearranged the seven lettered tiles in front of her. GF IAYLM. MAY.YAM. LAY. MAIL. GAILY. FAIL. Anna frowned at the last option as her eyes flicked towards the score board; she was coming fourth...

“Come on, Anna.” Her Grandmother’s words awoke her from her reverie,

“I’ll just be a minute,” she had muttered; discouraged by the impatience and her own low score. She glanced at the tattered paper again before scoping the cramped board for spaces.

“Well, I should hope so. At this rate we’ll be here ‘til Christmas.” Anna looked up at her Grandmother for this snide remark, but it was softened by her smile, as she leaned in to offer Anna some advice, her hands deftly moved the pieces. FAMILY. “If you place it here, you can get 22 points.” she whispered discreetly, as Anna’s Dad came back from the toilet and her brother walked back with a wooden bowl of Smith’s Crisps.

It had taken her another four years until she had finally won a game of scrabble without any help, Anna muses. The priest’s voice is ringing out through the church and Anna keeps catching phrases, “you may not grieve as others do who have no hope…The word of the Lord”. She nibbles her lip as she fails yet again, to join in on the congregation’s response: “Thanks be to God” they murmur, unified.

Fourteen year-old Anna had been lying with her left cheek against the itchy carpet of her Grandmother’s flat against her left cheek, as she gazed blankly at the television screen which had been playing cricket for the last four hours. She sighed heavily and her grandmother had taken pity on her and suggested she read a book. After much persuasion Anna had unenthusiastically began reading Pride and Prejudice. But by the end of the week, Anna had clutched the faded copy (now her very own) to her chest as she had finished reading the Darcy’s letter. A new fervour could be found in her eyes.

As the organ and congregation wobble into Psalm 23,Anna’s mind returns to the present and her hands, sticky in the north-coast humidity, gripped the bench’s edge; she can hardly believe what she saw on the back of the pew. It is still there…the furtive and wicked ‘A’ she had carved there ten years ago. Anna surprises herself by suppressing a smirk that quickly evaporates as her eyes are drawn once more to the mahogany coffin on her left. Anna thinks about her Grandma and Murwillumbah and a part of her feels like if she leaves the town tomorrow afternoon, she will have finally lost her grandmother. As the priest’s parting words ring out through Saint Patrick’s, Anna’s hand finds her mum’s.

Afterwards, Anna once again sits down at the empty pew, her fingers trace the rivets and she leaves, feeling satisfied. But only after carving her grandma’s initial beside her own.

The World Through Beryl

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Pausing for barely a second now and then like a motor gently missing, Oriel stopped to watch Beryl, who had grown paler still. That woman will disappear if she keeps fading like this, she thought. What was it with Beryl? Hunger for a man? What man deserves a good honest woman like Beryl? Even as she watched, Oriel saw Beryl fading by the window. She saw the mulberry tree through the tall woman's translucent, veiny arms. The sky moved behind her. You could see the whole world through Beryl Lee.
         Take a break, Beryl.
         No, I'm right. Truly.

(excerpt from Cloudstreet by Tim Winton)

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Asleep

It's funny because the whole time she slept, she felt tired. 



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 I don't know why she fell asleep, or when, but she did.
At first it was sporadic, but as time wore on she would be unconscious for days at a time, and then one day, she didn't wake up. And it stayed like that for a long time.

Weeks passed. Months.
She was unaware of the exterior world, instead tuned in solely to this battle raging within her, these dreams and thoughts and emotions that swelled internally. And on the outside, people tried to wake her, first casually and then in frustration, by the end they could not hide their panic.
Eventually, she began to sleep-walk, and that eased their worries. Allowed her to sleep in peace.

anna



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There is a small smile playing on her lips, and as your eyes follow her you get the feeling she's smiling at her own private joke. She walks, head high, long strides across the stage to accept her award. Smiles as she shakes his hand. There is an air of unashamed intelligence about her, a calm manner that suggests not shyness, but a level of confidence in which attention-seeking is not necessary. That is probably what is most appealing about her, that wicked smile and quiet air -it makes you wonder what she's thinking, because that's all you can do, wonder.
I suppose she's pretty, in a dark-haired, olive-skinned way. In a sweet-smile way. But what makes you look at her is her eyes, not because they are beautiful, but because they are deep and dark and steady. Because, she has this way of looking you directly in the eye without ever meeting your gaze.
And you wonder if she's slipping away from this world as you speak to her, like gradually she's distancing herself until all she needs to do is pull the trigger.

your story

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Watery sunlight leaks through your curtains, your eyelids.

It will become apparent to you, maybe wake you.
Gradually and then suddenly.
You will tug at your limbs, that lie dead against the thin, the white sheets.

It will be easier to give up.
To lie in half darkness, to let it wrap you up in it's consuming warmth. To let it smother you. To stay there all day, longer.
And so you will. You will lie and sleep and doze in a murky haze of reality.
You will lose track of time.
Family, then friends will worry. And -even though none of them are bright enough, and those that are will be too bright, too artificial- they will want you to wake up. But no, all the while you will drag your heavy curtians shut tighter.

You will choose darkness. Because there is a kind of comfort. A familiarity in it.

You will choose darkness. Because for as long as you can remember, that's how you knew it would be.

You will choose darkness. Because that's how the story goes.

100

So I will show you...

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Annette Finch Naked.

Standing naked in front of the mirror was not something Annette Finch normally did, in fact it was not unusual to find her decently clothed. However, today was not a regular day. “Funny,” mused Anne (as she was sometimes called), “if I had any other life, today may not be special at all. In fact, it would be almost ordinary.” Fortunately, for the sake of this story, Anne did not have any other life. She had –what could only be described as - an old person’s life. Anne, aged seventy-nine, lived with her youngest daughter Louise and her daughter’s family. She attended Church almost every morning with her only sibling, Marie. She saw the doctor regularly because she had a stubborn set of corns on her left foot. Basically, her life was a compilation of mundane tasks and disappointingly normal moments.


The excitement surrounding today was based on the fact that Anne was finally getting a moment’s break from her life, from those in her life. For one blissful day, Anne had the house to herself while Louise and her family (all five of them), went to Sydney. To get them to travel the 3 hour journey to Sydney had taken a solid effort on Anne’s behalf and for a moment she felt guilty for her relief in their absence.

“It’s not that I’m a bad person,” Annette reassured her reflection, who was brushing the long, silver hair that cascaded down her shoulders, “it’s just...I hardly ever get to be around only me anymore.” And is that really so hard to believe? In a split level house with one bathroom, she was never alone. Although it sounds like a reasonable space for six people, when you accounted that three of those individuals were between seven and seventeen years of age, it made the area dreadfully small. The air was constantly filled with laughter, screams and yells. Not to mention Louise and her husband Derek were constantly hassling Anne about her health, appetite and corns, because “You’re not as young as you used to be Mum.” It’s not that Anne wasn’t grateful, but it was exhausting, being cared for.

Her grandchildren weren’t proving to be great company either, they were extremely talented at avoiding Anne and on the few occasions they had held up a conversation it had ended with them asking for a laptop. In fact, the only company Anne really enjoyed was the cats, Marco and Benji, who spent their time curled up in the sun or meowing at dead cockroaches. “Oh, and of course, my darling sister, Marie” Annette nodded her head, completely understanding the fond note of sarcasm in her reflection’s voice. Marie had always been the perfect daughter, reasonably bright, desperate to please and completely void of any innovative thoughts or challenging ideas. Unfortunately, she had never grown out of this faze and made a pathetically clichéd grandmother, who (naturally) was adored by all her grandchildren. In fact, her sister was so set in her modest ways that the only way Anne had been able to escape her treacherous persistence’s for Church was to feign terrible pain from the corns on her feet and ignore her when she stood at the door for ten minutes, knocking.

Finally, Annette had managed to be alone in peace, in this modern house that they called a home. And, naturally, the first thing Anne had done was open the windows, put on a fresh pot of coffee and shortly after, undress herself and stare at her exposed body in the mirror. After a short time of scrutinizing her reflection, one of the cats walked in through the open bathroom door and stopped, staring at Anne. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been observed by a cat as you stood naked but Anne found it rather off-putting. “Excuse me Benji; I’m just having my mid-life crisis. I’ve been meaning to do it for a while now and I don’t want to put it off any longer so if you would just leave me to it...” Benji stayed in the doorway, watching her with bright eyes. Anne wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but something about the intelligence in those piercing eyes made her feel a bit perverted, and she felt the need to explain herself.

“Have you ever looked at yourself, really looked Benji, and not recognised what you saw?” Benji didn’t reply. “I’ve been feeling like that lately, when I glance at myself, ‘who are you?’ I want to ask, ‘because I remember distinctly wanting to be someone else’. You can’t choose your body though Benji and I suppose you don’t have much choice in the rest of your life either. You just kind of get caught up in it, but on days like today, I just can’t see a single aspect of myself in it, in the mirror that is.” And as Anne stood there assessing her body, she decided that was how her life felt sometimes, like it wasn’t meant to turn out like this. She turned towards the cat, “Funny, isn’t it?” but the doorway was empty, sometime during her monologue the cat had walked away out of pure disinterest, she had always preferred Marco, Benji was a bit self-centred. Undeterred, Anne rallied on in her musings.

The longer she stood there, the more flaws had become apparent: the rivets shadowing her eyes, the harsh angles of her face, the dappled skin that folded in ripples across her body gathering at the thighs, bottom, stomach. The silver hair flecked with grey that curtained her face then suddenly reappeared, unexpectedly almost, between her legs. Something about the flecks of light in the hairs surprised Anne; she had always overlooked that area, never before having scrutinized herself so scrupulously. It shocked her; it was beautiful, in a vulnerable way, modest and shy. And as Anne stood there in front of the mirror that seemed to hold all her problems and very few solutions she decided that maybe she had been too judgemental of her body, of course it was different than how she had planned but that’s what makes life so amazing. Maybe she had been too critical.

Anne felt her heart warm. Silently, she dressed and walked through her home to the kitchen, where she started to prepare dinner for seven. Marco and Benji sauntered into the kitchen as she cooked and she couldn’t help from reassuring Benji, “Just so you know Benji, I’ve decided that maybe I like my body after all. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine.” Anne wondered if he understood and thought he probably didn’t, he was only a cat after all.

Story.

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Once, in a land far from here, in a time that may never come to pass, I escaped from Despair, a demon who was hunting me. I arrived in an unfamiliar land, where despair did not follow me. As I walked through fields of tranquility, I met a young girl with sweet melodies plaited through her hair and light in her heart. She spoke in colours. As we talked I told her of my world and the monster I was fleeing, confused, she questioned me, "What colour is despair?"
"Black, I suppose."
She thought about this. "But what kind of black? Black like a crow's feathers? Or nightfall? Or-"
"No," I cut her off, frustrated, "black like in your room, alone at night. Like the deepest part of the ocean where just looking at it you feel like you will lose yourself. Like nothingness, the unknown."
Confusion clouded her face and envy filled my depths. She lived in a world where that colour wasn't a feeling, where it didn't exist, her next words confirmed it.
"I don't think I've ever felt that colour."
"How I wish I could stay here," I whispered with a voice like glass.
"You can." She murmured, her face filled with warmth.
"I can't," I whispered, longing clouding my voice, "what about all those I love?"
She hesitated, "Love? What colour is that?"
My breath ran away, and in an instant my envy transformed into pity. After much thought, I spoke, "Well, I suppose, it's every colour."
The girl who spoke in colours searched my eyes for the hidden meaning that she couldn't reach, not here.
"Do you mean white?"
"No," I choked on the words, "not at all...I'm sorry, I- I don't think there is a colour."
And with that I leant down to kiss her on both cheeks before walking away. And as soon as she was out of sight I began to run. And as I ran I sobbed, my heart cracking open, emotions filling my lungs. I prayed I could find my way back home and no longer feared the monster that had chased me here.
Because feeling horrible beats feeling nothing.
Because I didn't want to close off.
Because that poor girl would never feel love because she lived in a world without hate.
Beacuse I'd rather be fucked up anyday.

Milkman.

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Carolina Drama
                 -The Raconteurs

I'm not sure if there's a point to this story
But I'm going to tell it again
So many other people try to tell the tale
Not one of them knows the end

It was a junk-house in South Carolina
Held a boy the age of ten
Along with his older brother Billy
And a mother and her boyfriend
Who was a triple loser with some blue tattoos
That were given to him when he was young
And a drunk temper that was easy to lose
And thank god he didn't own a gun

Well, Billy woke up in the back of his truck
Took a minute to open his eyes
He took a peep into the back of the house
And found himself a big surprise
He didn't see his brother but there was his mother
With her red-headed head in her hands
While the boyfriend had his gloves wrapped around an old priest
Trying to choke the man

Ah Ah Ahhh...

Billy looked up from the window to the truck
Threw up, and had to struggle to stand
He saw that red-necked bastard with a hammer
Turn the priest into a shell of a man
The priest was putting up the fight of his life
But he was old and he was bound to lose
The boyfriend hit as hard as he could
And knocked the priest right down to his shoes

Well, now Billy knew but never actually met
The preacher lying there in the room
He heard himself say, "That must be my daddy"
Then he knew what he was gonna do
Billy got up enough courage, took it up
And grabbed the first blunt thing he could find
It was a cold, glass bottle of milk
That got delivered every morning at nine

Ah Ah Ahhh...

Billy broke in and saw the blood on the floor, and
He turned around and put the lock on the door
He looked dead into the boyfriend's eye
His mother was a ghost, too upset to cry, then
He took a step toward the man on the ground
From his mouth trickled out a little audible sound
He heard the boyfriend shout, "Get out!"
And Billy said, "Not till I know what this is all about"
"Well, this preacher here was attacking your mama"
But Billy knew just who was starting the drama
So Billy took dead aim at his face
And smashed the bottle on the man who left his dad in disgrace, and
The white milk dripped down with the blood, and the
Boyfriend fell down dead for good
Right next to the preacher who was gasping for air
And Billy shouted, "Daddy, why'd you have to come back here?"
His mama reached behind the sugar and honey, and
Pulled out an envelope filled with money
"Your daddy gave us this," she collapsed in tears
"He's been paying all the bills for years"
"Mama, let's put this body underneath the trees
and put Daddy in the truck and head to Tennessee"
Just then, his little brother came in
Holding the milk man's hat and a bottle of gin singing,

La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la, la la la...
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la, la la la...
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah
La la la la, la la la la, yeah

Well now you heard another side to the story
But you wanna know how it ends?
If you must know, the truth about the tale
Go and ask the milkman


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqp12b61pFo

because this isn't twilight.

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"Why did you say that?", Jonesy said, his eyes searching her. Lee's eyes widened and she shrugged her shoulders, praying it would come across as apathy and not her stomach coiling and recoiling, as if her nerves were on fire. She could hear the words hanging in the air, the words he so badly wanted to say but couldn't.
"Why does it matter?", she choked out, amazed how his physical presence alone could affect her.
Now it was his turn to shrug, before -after a few moments of studying her- turning and walking away. It wasn't that she didn't love him, it was that she'd proved it to him enough times already and now it was his turn. That she wanted him to prove this was a mutual feeling, this love. But he couldn't, because he had too much too lose and he didn't know if there was anything to gain.
Because this wasn't Romeo and Juliet or Pride and Prejudice, this was real life, and he probably never had loved her, and he would never come back, and Lee would find another boy with laughter in his eyes and warmth in his mouth and give her heart to him, and hope he would take care of it because it's the only one she's got thank-you-very-much.
"Fucking coward." Lee muttered as she shook her head, her dark hair loose around her face catching her tears as she bent down to collect the shards of her self that lay scattered at her feet like glass.