359 – For Will, By Cath

Dear Will

I have no other way to sum up these ten years except to say…

mondegreens/first aid kits exploding/dancing/R.E.M./and not getting enough R.E.M. sleep/i have a little small castle/there is a light upon my teats/it’s not the ***** talking but, i love you/tissues/leaving boys in the rain/leaving people standing in the road/intercontinental phonecalls when i still lived in the hood and you had blue hair/melissa etheridge is so gay/no, you’re more gay/come to my window/but watch because the candle holder will fall out of it/fishing me out of swimming pools/red tiered skirts/sponge bob square pants/mr delivery/whatever happened to your white lab coat/the cockroach in the fishtank/bjork duvet reenactments – bitch stole my idea/i’m in labour, you’re in australia/that cath is such a nice girl/you’re coming home, i don’t care how many cigarettes this takes/can you hear the drums fernandoooo/i hate ireland/gigantic fishbowls/you really need to get rid of the yellow tee/okay keep it. but, please, for the love of Krishna, get rid of the polka dot one, and that other one i don’t like to think about/look, we’ll just go for a little dance and be home before midnight/roti on the back seat/minerva in the front/one night you scared me totally with your singing and i still hate you for it because you rock so much more at it/but that’s why birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it/olive oyl gets her arms from us/flailing/ugly cry/happy cry/blur’s you’re so great/i love your eyeliner/i invade your house often and i would do it more/the human league’s don’t you want me baby/ if i could bring you a frond from every forest in the world, i would/the groc book/pron hangman/one day we will go to Paris, not Parys/we hate splashy fen/are you sure we aren’t twins/rendezvouses/bunking and drunking/email/spleenvent/i have new shoes let’s go out/your hair looks gorgeous/wear the little black number/why is it whenever you come over i’m always wearing a towel/shuttup, towel was never a fashion statement/yes, even when i had that halter dress/darling, can i borrow your stockings?/edward fucking monkton/the pig of happiness saved my life/shit i’m pregnant, phoning you/sleeping now/frond/mutual exes/house parties/lamps/resonation/ everyone has a paradigm, can i keep this one?/parenting by proxy/this is me selling my drama but you can have it for free/meringue/pina/the will and grace finale/monday night traditions/wild bean cafe karaoke/nine million bicycles and it’s a total bitch i have never learnt how to ride one/lost in tv/omg you know who pulp is/an ascending socialite/you wrote me a postcard when i was younger and i still have it/i have every email and letter/dancing on the roof/hi i’m dying please pick me up/no i want your new squeeze to do it/keep laughing because mascara runs and that shit’s expensive/pinata/you have a furry kiddy/you know the one i speak of/random dirty shoes that annoy us/boys who wash dishes/why is it that they get the sulks/take that – say no more/michael stipe and natalie merchant/all these modern things, like cars and such/say no more monamor/interprovincial dating/you don’t look happy/i’m not happy/let’s run away/no, let’s just stay here and make them run away/watching juno with your knees around your knees/the word guffaw/the word pong/beano annuals/jam butties/teesav shorts/you were rad when you were a teenager/you were even radder when you grew up/eternal date/no, you can’t buy my shoes/i hate dumb people/Mr Men/Bionic Six/He-Man and She-Ra will never get it on because he’s homo, yo/three candles for csj/i sent you flowers but they delivered them to my office the fuckers/hiding in the bathroom watching videos and ignoring everyone else/the bitter end/no brian molko is not all that hot/islands in the stream/you wear that polka dot shirt and ill wear the gold thing/poohing on a plane/the sydney opera house will never be the same again/everyone thinks we’re dating and we’re so not/i used to make you tapes and mail them to you/let’s get tattoos/blubbing as i type this/i’m sorry i spilt water on your FICA documents/nutella sandwiches/you wrote me a poem once called my grace/eric mccormack and debra horse messing are us even though we dress better/you are never allowed to leave the country without producing a return ticket/big gay suitcase/that doctor is hot, holy shit, i’m dying/holy shit, i’m alive/mullets, we had them/peering through the roses…i posted this old picture because you look divine even though you’re wearing pink and i look like an aged leper like always… =)

Thank you for ten years of the Will and Grace show. Happy Anniversary.

It’s not the blog talking but, I love you.

360 – Dear T-Shirt Boy, By Cath

Dear T-shirt Boy

This post has been a long time coming. But, today, I decided to look you up, see how you were.

I sit here smirking, and so pleased with myself. It would appear I had a working brain long before anyone else noticed.

I spent a good night a few weeks ago, explaining to my flatmate who you
were, and we ended up in puddles of laughter on the floor.

How funny.

You were the first person who thought they could break me.

You were the first person to fail.

You hate me for that.

And I thank you for it.

It spurned me on for years beyond.

When you said “you’ll never finish anything”, you made me want to.

When you said “you’re nothing without me”, I made something and you, oh how I sit here and look at what the interweb has ushered up for me to peek at, oh how I am everything without you. And you, well, I hope you are happy.

When you said “you should listen to me, I know what I’m talking about”, I shut up whilst you whined about not knowing what to do with your life.

When you said “you broke me”,  I smiled and thought “Yeah. That was the consequence of the choice you made when you tried to break me”.

You see, ridiculous person, I knew you were ridiculous from day one. But,  still, I invested. I believed that somewhere under the ridiculousness, there was something. Someone. I hope, since that time a long time ago, that you have found it.

For someone who had his name written on his shirt, you sure seem to have spent a fucking long time finding yourself, yo.

But, I don’t write this post entirely to ridicule you. Truth is, everyone in my life has a funny memory of you, and we get to laugh and point years later at you anyway.

I write this today to thank you.

Thank you for being a complete idiot. You taught me how to spot one in 2.5 seconds flat.

Thank you for being a complete arsehole. I can now sight one before they even turn into one.

Thank you for introducing me to some people who will be with me for the rest of my life. I am strengthened by them daily, more than you know.

Thank you for being so incredibly jealous of who you could see I already was becoming. It made me very possessive about giving myself away.

Thank you for trying to scrape away at my strength. It only made me stronger.

Thank you for the worship you bestowed upon me with such clear intention to destroy me. It taught me that genuine faith in someone is far brighter and unafraid.

Were it not for you, Tshirt Boy, I would not be who I am today.

And for that, I thank you.

361- Madiba Magic, by SheBee

Being a young child in the Eighties I recall memories of the Apartheid era.  Fair enough I was lucky enough to come from a home that wasn’t racist.  My parents were Youth Leaders (being only in their early twenties) and we lived in a small town full of colourful people from all walks of life.

I went to school with coloured children, I went to church with white children who had black brothers and sisters.  In fact, I remember the day I was expelled from Sunday school for sitting in a tree singing ‘Lets talk about Sex, baby’ my biggest side kick was with me, Leon – a coloured boy who has since become the gayest man I know. 

We had a ‘nanny’ who lived in the staff quarters and as a child, her room seemed so much more inviting than mine and often my father had to call me into the house at night as I would have been quite happy to sit there and eat Putu and listen to her wireless station telling old Zulu tales which she would translate if I got lost on an odd word.  We would giggle and laugh and she would knit. 

My favourite aunty also had a nanny called Eunice.  All of my cousins and I would race to Younie (as she was fondly dubbed) when we arrived for the weekend.  She would entertain us and laugh when we teased cousin Daniel, who was the youngest, about crying for Younie to come wipe his bum.

I was in standard 2 in 1990.  Our teacher explained to the class what ‘politics’ meant and how the world was changing and we should all be prepared.  For the first time, to quote Cath in a story she told me, I noticed that we didn’t have ‘blacks’ in the new school I was at.  It had never been an issue for me, my parents pretty much kept us far away from the Apartheid drama, and other than experiencing the humility of black people around my father, and them calling him Baas – I didn’t know the meaning of this word ‘Racism’. 

Our first black student was Sabelo.  I’ve written about him before, he was my best friend all through Primary, Senior & High School.  Subs arrived with attitude, took over the school and had everyone (including the teachers) wrapped around his fingers.

When Madiba was released from Prison, our class room celebrated.  I later found out that our teacher, Miss Robin, was called in for a disciplinary hearing.  None of us cared though – we had the black boy in our class!  That made us extremely cool.  And yes, Subs did put up with hard times, bullying, teasing & out casting at school, but not for very long. 

If Nelson hadn’t fought for his freedom and that of every other South African, I would never have met my friend Sabelo.  We would never have broken out of my home at sixteen to go swimming in the middle of the night.  My mom would never have had to ground me for smuggling alcohol into the house that Subs and I had won at a work incentive.  I would never have had to fight with my step father in order to allow me to be the first white girl to attend the Debutants Ball with a black boy.  I would never had the opportunity to have Subs take my hand, cross our fingers and dub us Cadbury’s TopDeck.  I would never have gotten to witness Subs holding my daughter, joking that there was a mistake because she was too white.

The man who made all of that possible is South Africa’s oldest modern day hero and it is his special day today.  Together as a country we celebrate Madiba’s 90th birthday . The man who fought for freedom to give me Sabelo.

362 – For Andrew… By SheBee

 

She said to me

How can it be

He loved you so

I don’t think you know

 

It was more than you imagine

you just slotted right in

He felt a connection

It changed his perception

 

I still feel cheated

How long will this last

Thoughts of him are always heated

My feelings will forever be masked

 

I know I must move on

But its just not that easy

I waited and waited for the con

And yet, this new person feels sleazy

 

So much love, so much doubt

If he were alive, I’d clobber him out

I hate that he won’t go away in my head

I hate it more, that 9 months later, he’s still fucking dead.

 

 

 

For him who, in his death, made me realize that although it wasn’t like losing a child – it didn’t take the death of my daughter to be the only thing that would break my heart in this life time.

 

363 – Madame Bitchy, by SheBee

She strode into the classroom, black cape flailing behind her, her jowls a-jiggling and her eyes screwed into a scowl.  Her wrinkled arms tightly held a stack of music books complete with notes and lyrics that I already was loathe to learn.

“WILL YOU ALL STAND UP AND GREET YOUR SUPERIOR, FOR GOODNESS SAKES!” she would holler in her rich yet disturbingly deep voice, followed by a soft underbreath mutter “The youth today…frightening, firghtening. Honestly”.  All of us, even the boys, would jump in fright and stand up immediately and in a chorus, would chime our greeting to the Head Mistress and also Choir Teacher.

She terrified me.  To the core of my bone, I knew exactly when she would walk into a room because the hairs on the back of my neck would stand up.  She commanded respect and excellence everywhere she went, and everyone she came across bent over backwards to give it to her. 

The lady’s name was Madame Bewtchy.  We called her Madame Bitchy, never in a fond way.  For some reason, she took one look at me on our first day in Choir practice and decided I was her pet.  Whenever my school mates needed anything I would charge them a buck to ask Madame Bitchy on their behalf, it was the only way things were permitted.  I cottoned on quite early in life how to make the best of a bad situation.

One morning we were mid-song and I, having the lead, was dared to sing out of tune by Tarryn.  Never one to back out of a challenge, I sang to the tune of Alanis’s Ironic whilst the rest of the choir carried on as if they heard no change.

Madame Bitchy sat upon her piano stool and placed her hands delicately into her lap, tilted her head and listened. I resisted the urge to giggle and ignored the pokes I was receiving in my sides from those around me, closed my eyes and sang some more.

I didn’t mean to at all, but before I realized what was happening the entire class had grown silent around me and I was doing a solo.  So lost was I that only when Madame Bitchy took me by my ear and pulled did I open one eye at a time to realize that I had an audience and they were all smiling at me encouragingly. 

The school play was two nights away and she put me in as the closing act of the drama club.  I was kitted out in Alanis clothes, mic and barefoot.  For the first time in my twelve year old life, I had an audience and I played to it with all my might. Every second of me being the centre of attention made me realize that there was something out there for me, a niche that had gone thus far untapped, and I opened myself up to it with both arms and all my vocal cords.

The woman was evil to everyone else, but a Saint to me.  For years to come she would privately voice train me, encourage me on auditions in plays and to focus more on my story telling than break times with boys.

I found a love of drama, performance & art through our biggest Witch.  So it is fitting to say that when I read in the newspaper that she had been found dead, decapitated & raped before being rolled up in a carpet, I think to myself that she deserved so much more credit than what we had given her at school, and in life as a human being.

She taught me how to respect myself and command respect from others.  I hope she is resting in peace.

364 – For Nick, on leaving

On the 9th of June, another of my best friends leaves the country for life.

My friendship with this person is far too precious for me to elucidate. It is unconditional, even when I’m being bloody stupid, and it’s mutually protective to the point of being familial. But, I’m going to try.

Not once have i begged him to stay. I don’t believe, in any way, that it’s best for him to remain. I have always known he is destined for bigger things, brighter places, bustling more and more to distract him from himself. I have known that since before I think he did. He has always known it of me too, but it is only recently that I have truly begun to believe it.

Tonight, I realise, I will miss the far-near-ness of him. My dear friend, my silent hero. Even at tables of people, he does not speak. But in quiet, and in smiling, I know he is there.

I am not sad to see him go. I have no pangs of desire to stop him before he boards the plane. I have no illusions that our lives are and always have been our own. Sometimes, he has wavered in that regard. I don’t write this for me. I write this for him.

I hope he believes in himself enough to board that plane, and walk towards the future, and not look back. I am sure he does, but every hero has an achille’s heel. And those have a tendency for shit timing.

Someone who has always believed in me. Even when I would not. It is for that reason, above all things, that I am thankful for him. And it is his belief in me, even from when I was very small, that many a time, kept my head up and my eyes open.

Seven days.
Today is gone, that makes it six.
This is why I cannot say goodbye.
It’s pressured.
It takes away the precious and burns urgency into our heads.
Six days is not enough to even begin to try to muster up the courage to say goodbye.
To begin again, to rehash our lives from when we were little and you first rescued my bag on a bus to some random place with a wagon.
To laugh as easily as we have and to honour each day that has gone by.
As we grew up, grew older, got lives, learnt things and found out about ourselves.

Your friendship to me is far more than things we learnt in knee high socks and mustard tunics. It has nothing to do with post-school rumming, nor high school flirtations.

It has nothing to do with the ideas we’ve had or the marathons we’ve run, just to breathe.

It has nothing to do with girls i used to consider peers questioning me on why all of a sudden I am allowed to mention your name. It’s just that they had never noticed before.

It has nothing to do with dylan although I really wish you’d deck him before you leave.
Just for me, just once. Just so that I can laugh and be assured of justice in the world.

It has entirely zip to do with the ten million stars under which we live.

It has everything to do with knowing we’ll still be under the same big sky.

I will be here, moaning about myself, you’ll be there berating me for it and reminding me with surprising insight into my head, that it’s not as bad as it seems if i would just kick my own arse and focus on what is important.

Our friendship has everything to do with random insect bites and knowing that one of us is in trouble and not being able to sleep because of it.

It has everything to do with bird pooh, and being able to laugh at each other without destroying each other.

It has everything to do with insane messaging speeds and even faster reaction times when someone says help.

It has everything to do with how you have known me since I was quite small, and are not afraid to know me now.

It has everything to do with being in hospital and you wanting to fly down just to check on me. And I wanting to fly up and drop off soup when you are ill.

It has everything to do with surprise pigs. That will make no sense to anyone but you.

It has everything to do with knowing that when I’m awake at 3am, you are too. Monitor tanning, like I do.

You know I wish you everything you deserve. And so much more.

You know my dream for you is to, one day, for a change, and say “You know, Cath, you were right for a change!” and for me to think, “okay, maybe i am not so dumb after all”.

I know what your dream is for me. And you know I’m doing the best I can to make it ‘my own summer’.

You know I’m getting there, and so are you.

It is your unconditional love for me, belief in me and openness to me that has changed my life and kept me strong. Thank you.

Keep your eyes faced forward.

Don’t look back, it’s bad luck.

365 – Dr. E… By SheBee

While my daughter was alive, Dr E visited us in the hospital daily, if I missed his round he’d call me on the phone and see how I was doing.  In a world of beeping, sirens, alarms, needles and blood – he was my sanity.  I’ll never forget the day he sat me down in his office after I’d been in the NICU for sixteen hours straight, and served me coffee that he made himself.  I was 18, unmarried and scared out of my mind, and he saw that.  I remember this frail, old and gentle man sitting on his desk holding my hand while I stared at his enormous hands and spewed out my thoughts, fears and irrational questions.

While Kiera was dying Dr E had been released from his own nightmare and was recovering at home after a horrific accident which resulted in him having his back operated on.  Although he had put another doctor in her care, he still called me daily and when I picked up the phone in tears one afternoon to tell him of her latest relapse, he came hobbling out of the elevator an hour later.  I have an image in my head of him cradling over her cot and lifting Kiera up with his big hands and kissing her on her little head draped in tubes and needles.  Looking back now it is clear to me that he knew she wasn’t going to make it though this life as easily as I was convinced.

A week after Kiera passed away, I received a card in the post along with beautiful sunflowers which I had told him on one occassion were my favourite.  The words he wrote down in that note acknowledged my triumph as a mother, promised that life would go on, that Kiera had been loved and that I would learn to live again.  He went the extra mile, and by doing that he saved my life.  Not by being a doctor, but by being a human.

Entry 365, the first, is for him, to acknowledge him as being a hero to not only me, but my deceased daughter too.  Thank you.