The Shame of it

It is Women's Day and here is a really angry piece I wrote some years back. 

There are times in your life when you know without a shadow of a doubt that something is wrong and everything inside you screams at the injustice of it.  This past week I have watched a brave friend who has been violently abused by her husband for fourteen years find from somewhere the courage to walk away from that house of horror.  She tried to find help from the police from the hospital from doctors from social workers from anyone who would listen.  She carries the two-inch scar on her forehead from where he attacked her last summer.  Her legs are black and blue from his kicks and her spirit beaten down so that she is terrified of him and the violence he is capable of.  Every time a van passes she visibly flinches in case it might be his.  Her hair has turned completely gray in the last year.  From where has she found the courage to leave? 

Because he began to beat her in front of the children.  Even waking up the four and ten year old in the middle of the night so that they could see her be beaten and thrown out of the house.  He realized that sheer violence could not force a mother to leave her children and so he turned that violence and intimidation on to the older son, knowing that she could not bear that.  He has no interest in the older son. Like so many abusers, he has no qualms or morals about who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants.  She did all the legal things.  She went to the lawyer, the police etc etc.  Scared and worried about the consequences, nevertheless she reached out for help. 

The system has not responded.  Action has been filed against him for assault and he has not even been interviewed by the local police.  A few days ago he attacked me in my car and when I too pressed charges against him this too was met with no result.  I know this man has money and position but does that mean he is untouchable?  He has beaten his wife so that the whole side of her face is black and blue.    

This man has attacked others in the past and has a history of violence.  He beat and abused his first wife until she was forced to flee back to Denmark with two children under five.  He has never contributed any financial support to that family and does not even allow the two now grown young men to meet with him, as they requested this year.  This man is without scruples.  He has convinced himself that he is the innocent party and genuinely believes it.  His violence is not a matter of regret; he is proud and feels justified in all that he has done and is doing.  This does not matter.  What he thinks or believes is immaterial.  What matters, is how you and I and the whole system respond.   This bully has got away with his behaviour and is now almost fifty and yet acts like a two-year-old with a tantrum.   I have been to the police I have helped her as much as physically possible.  She is living in my home.  My family is traumatized by the violence and fear they see before them.  She has lost her four year old, her home, and when her ten year old returns from camp, to what horror will he return?  She has been so brave and yet now there appears no option.  Even though she has official custody of the children he is refusing her even a say in what school they attend or where they live. 

All of you seem to shrug your shoulders and say talk it out.  I wish the chief of police here could have been there when she followed his advice and got punched for her pains.  This man is unreasonable and dangerous; the authorities needed to step in and say stop.  They have failed and I want it on record that they and you failed her.  I want the whole community to know what pathetic specimens are out there beating their wives and feeling macho and manly.  Shame on you.  Shame on all of you.  But mostly shame on all of us who fail to help when these victims of abuse actually get off their knees long enough to cry for help.  I want you to hear their cries when you try to sleep at night.  I want you to visualize those children caught up in that abuse who are being twisted and damaged because of your acceptance of what goes on.  Lastly, for you the abuser:  I believe our deeds are written in stones of crystallite and that one day we will answer before God for our deeds.  For your sake I hope you meet some measure of punishment while here on earth to mitigate in some way what will no doubt come.

school reunion - a thing I swore I'd never attend!

I tried to write poetry that rhymes - doesn't work but it took so long I'm putting it up anyway!

 

It was our school reunion

A thing I swore I’d never attend

And I was sitting fuming

Wishing it would come to an end

But thirty years had raced past

Since I’d seen anyone in the room

Is it me or does life pass really fast?

From the crowded classroom to the tomb

There’s Billy Gillipsie, sure he was always a twat

With his constant nose picking and nasty mood

Surely his wife could have done better than that!

But she seems to be eating practically all of the food.

And everyone is asking the questions that matter

How well are you doing? How much do you earn?

How big is the house? Is there anything sadder?

It just makes my stomach quite ready to turn

I don’t care what you have, your house or your bank balance

I don’t want to know how important you are,

I stand here in quiet desperation and silence

Wondering how much of this I can continue to bear.

Then little Richie Hamilton came into the place

Wearing some torn jeans and laughing out loud

And suddenly the room had a different pace

He didn’t seem boastful and proud

He spoke of old teachers and tricks we had done

The memories came back rich and complete

 of laughter and games that we played in the sun

when we all thought we had the world at our feet

With his tales we remembered the years that had passed

The hopes the dreams, the losses the gains

The moments that mattered and it was a reunion at last

When boasting is over and friendship remains

Tried my hand at play writing today.  Feel like Ernie Wise, here is a play I wrote today!

Nitty Gritty

(The Writer’s Group in Ballybuffy community centre meets weekly)

Anne:  Well, perhaps we shall begin by reading what you have done this week.  I think the task was a monologue.  We read a few examples last week.  Hamlet’s speech, Brutus’s funeral oratory etc. really moving stuff.  Okay, let’s begin with you Alice.

Alice:  Okay, I’m not sure if it is what you were after, I was a little confused about the stuff we read last week.  To be honest didn’t understand hardly a word.

(Sniggers all around with a tinge of relief, obviously the readings last week had not been appreciated.  Coughing to clear her throat Alice begins.)

Often life makes you feel alone and when there is no one about it can be a great relief.  I mean it is not ideal but then in life what is ideal?  Got to do the best, don’t you.  Well, like they used to tell us off about it in school but really I say there is no harm.  I mean there are worse things you can do.  Look at them folk who mess around with children and all that.  Bloody perverts should be locked up.  No locking up is too good for them.  I’d, I’d boil them in oil, slowly.  Probably peel them first too.  Anyway, back to the subject.  I think it helps tension and stuff like that.  There would probably be less rapes if more people did it.  To be honest I think there are less people having sex today than they claim and a bit of monologue would ease their sexual feelings and stuff.  It’s not something I like to write about and to be honest I was a little shocked being asked to write about it for this week but the way I see it if monologuing helps you cope why not?

(There is stunned silence, as everyone realises Alice has been speaking of masturbation.   A few are trying to work out the link and a few more are really worried wondering if what they have written is wrong)

Anne: (Recovering, speaks) Well thank you Alice that was unexpected and very creative.  I mean your play on the words monologue and masturbation a really unusual approach.  Let’s go on to Sammy.

Sammy:  What I say, is why all the long talks.  I mean most things can be said quickly, so why not keep it short.  Wittering on about stuff just wastes time.  Bloody Hamlet, I mean he were a mean bugger weren’t he?  Killing all them folk and being bossed by that bit of his.  I mean had he no balls?  Why didn’t he stand up to her and say, no bloody way!  I find that a really useful phrase.  Use it a lot with the wife,

(slowly and with emphasis, he repeats)

 no bloody way.  As for that Brutus, well he was typical wasn’t he.  First he is the guy’s friend and then he sticks the knife in.  Well there’s a lot of folks like that around here to be honest.  Bloody backstabbers everywhere.  First, they are your friends and then first chance they get they are around running you down to the social services and all.  Well, what I say to the lot of them, keeping it short and sweet, No Bloody way!

Anne:  Thanks Sammy you obviously took a lot in last week when we read the monologues and that was honest and to the point.  I think we all got your feelings on that loud and clear.  Perhaps Susan you could go next?

Susan:  Well I love him and that’s all there is to say about it.  He is my light and song and every time he enters the room I feel my heart sing. 

(A groan from Sammy and a “Bloody hell” in a low tone) 

Since the first day we met we’ve been inseparable.  He is everything I hoped for.  When we are together nothing matters.  Our hearts sing together and we are meant for each other.  Love is a dove that rises upwards and lifts our souls in delight. 

(This time Sammy’s “Bloody hell” is loud and clear.  Followed by Alice’s question)

Alice:  you writing about sex aren’t you, knew you would.  You youngsters have that on the bloody mind.  Sex, sex, sex that is all you think about, well, to be honest I’m a bit tired of it.  Homos, monos, pervos I mean I am really beginning to think that is all this writer’s group focuses on.  Can’t you people think about anything but sex?

Sammy: Bloody hell!

Susan:  Just cause you are not getting any!

Anne:  Sorry let’s get back to your piece Susan, you have a bit to go and we all want to hear what follows, don’t we? 

(Looking hopefully around the group.  Susan sniffs loudly and proceeds deliberately reading at Alice and Sammy)

Susan:  If I could put into words what he means to me I would use up all the letters and words in every book.  If I were writing a love song it would go to the Top of the Pops.  If, (Sammy groans) I could sing it, every heart would melt in happiness. (Another louder groan from Sammy).  Love is wonderful it carries me on through the factory shift and as long as I have him coming home I’ll tie a yellow ribbon round the oak tree of my heart to welcome him home.

Sammy: No bloody way!

Alice:  Need to tie a ribbon round your man’s thing, before he has the other half of the estate!

Susan:  You’re not getting any and that’s jealously talking right there, bitch.

Anne:  Well, perhaps that’s a good point to move on.  Amazing how monologues get things heated up, isn’t it? We can move on to Sarah next.

Sarah:  Mine’s very short.

(Gasps of relieve all round the room)

Sammy says:  Thanks be to God!

Sarah:  It sat alone the log, by itself in the wood.  No one to see it, move it or touch it.  A lump of wood just there.  In the dark and lonely forest, with no one to see or care.  A lonely, troubled mono log.

(Everyone is so delighted by its shortness there are claps all around)

Anne: Very clever play on the words, mono log, Sarah.

Sarah:  I don’t know what you mean, that was the task wasn’t it?  To write about a mono log.  A log on its own.  To be honest I was a bit puzzled about the rest of you.  I looked up mono in the dictionary and it said one.  I really feel if you want people to understand the task you need to use simple language.  I mean, if Anne had just said write about a log, everyone here would have got it.  They wouldn’t have been writing about sex and love and stuff.   Perhaps if we have learned anything about this, it is to be clearer.

Sammy: Bloody Hell.

Anne:  Well, clarity is important.  Perhaps we will leave it there this week.  Next week’s task is to write a short poem about flowers.

Sammy:  No bloody way!

Alice:  I knew it, another piece on love and sex.  The world is obsessed with this stuff.

Susan:  At last a simple task we can all understand.

Anne:  See you all next week!

The Sudden Loss

Relationships and stuff.  This piece just grew in stages and I had no idea where it was going.  Probably why it seems circular!

The Sudden Loss

It was difficult for Astrid to stand still.  She ached with fear and a sickly foreboding, her hand shook where it gripped the curtain.  She longed to be somewhere else not hearing this conversation.

“You say you’re unhappy with me and that Carol makes you whole.”

Astrid nearly choked on the woman’s name.  This woman was nothing to her, just her husband’s secretary, but now all had changed.  Now, she had entered their lives and their conversations and nothing would ever be the same.  With nothing to say, shock choking her every thought, Astrid felt it safer just to repeat what her husband John had just said. 

John looked relieved,  “That’s it, that’s exactly it.  Being with her brings me alive and, you know, between us… there’s always been difficulties”.

Astrid resented how this unknown woman had suddenly entered her marriage, her home, her husband’s thoughts and seemed to grow like a seaweed entwining its tentacles around all that was important and squeeze the life-force out of it.  She desperately tried to bring the conversation back to them, to their marriage, to John and Astrid.  Even thinking about them brought tears to the back of her eyes, but she desperately blinked them back.

“All marriages have their ups and downs. Things have been difficult recently but I thought we had something special between us.. something worth hanging on to, John.”

She paused and looked at him, eyes over filling, and a solitary tear ran down her cheek.

“There’s really no point in this kind of discussion, its water under the bridge, you know.” John finished with a shrug, as if throwing off a heavy coat.

Suddenly, she realized how far from her he had grown.  He was not even thinking of John and Astrid anymore, hadn’t for a long time.  He had other thoughts on his mind and he might be here in their home but his mind and heart were elsewhere.  Even now he longed to be away from Astrid.  She sensed his longing for all this to be finished, for this conversation to be over, completed.  An unpleasant task, but one needing doing, like the drains.  Her hand was gripping the curtain in a death like grip and seemed to epitomise her desire to hang on to him, to their old life together. 

John continued, “I don’t want to look back anymore. I’m thinking of the future now. Carol thinks..”

“And it doesn’t include me”, interrupted Astrid.

John was nearly fifty and completely grey haired, a little over weight, but his countenance was good-natured and, try as she might, Astrid felt incapable of anger.  Just a huge heavy sadness that pulled at her lower belly.  She couldn’t bear to hear him mention his chosen future with Carol anymore so she blurted out,

“What about the house.. and everything?”  She gestured around her.  All of it meant nothing but she was desperately fighting to get even this conversation about them and not this other woman.

John had obviously thought things through and was happy to contribute here.

“You can stay here.  I’ve found a flat Carol and I will share.  It’s modern and close to my work.  Of course eventually the house will have to be put up for sale. It’s too big for one, but there’s no need to rush into that.  House prices are still rising; even the purchase of the flat is an investment.”

Astrid sucked in her breath.  He and Carol had chosen a flat together, bought it, planned their future. John wanted this, and in his usual determined fashion, has set things in motion.  She used to love this ‘go getter side of him’ because it was so different from her dreamy thoughtfulness.  Career wise it had brought him success, and the construction company he worked for had cultivated this streak, this pragmatic deal done attitude.  Bloody investment!  Astrid tried to get angry but a sudden weariness overcame her.  She sat down and let go of the curtain.  It was a bit like letting go of a branch in a deep current and knowing that her life was being swept away uncontrollably. 

John was excited talking about his future. It was something he had spent some time planning and now was the moment.

“Carol feels we need to act..”

Astrid held up her hand and interrupted him, “Please, stop.. I’d like you to leave now.”

John looked irritated and ran his hand through his hair, “Listen Astrid, we need to get things sorted, move on financially..”

She found herself suddenly lightened.  Any sign that he was discomforted made her feel like she had taken the right direction for some reason.  She walked to the door and opened it.

She said firmly, “I’d appreciate it if you went now.”

“Look”, said John, “I realize this is a bit of a shock, but we’ve got to move on, sort out practical things, the children will need to know.  I think we…”

Astrid interrupted him again and was delighted that for the first time he had spoken without mentioning that woman. It was a sort of achievement.

“There’s really no point in discussing things. It’s all water under the bridge.” She looked serious and calm.

He was aware that she was using his own terms back at him and felt strangely discomforted.  There was a deliberate hurtfulness to that he had not expected.

“Really, Astrid, let’s behave like adults.”  His tone was one he used on their children over the years.

She wanted to say something clever and cutting but suddenly more than anything else she wanted him out of the house.  This strange emotional current had its hold on her and was sweeping her along faster than even she intended.

“I don’t want to look back anymore. I’m thinking of the future now.” She said in a strangely committed tone.

John became angry, “Now you are just being bloody silly.  Cut it out.”

He took out his keys and shook them up and down as he spoke.  His growing frustration was tangible.  She recognised all the signs of distress and anger - the hair pulling, the key shaking - and whereas before today, she would have felt duty bound to placate, to soothe, to talk things through, today she just observed them knowingly as he continued,

“I’ve got to phone the kids and tell them what’s happened. I’d like to be upfront with everyone and then all of us can move on.”

The words sounded reasonable but Astrid knew him too well.  His anger was being kept carefully in check because he wanted to close the deal.  Not leave things half finished.  Completion, that’s what he wanted. Closure and then his new rosy future.  Astrid was determined not to sign up and let her intuition guide her; logic and rational thought seemed beyond call.  It was as if her words were on a roll of their own.

“Yes, John let’s behave like adults.”

He looked like he wanted to hit her but she stood perfectly still, looking as if she were having a real conversation instead of a parrot like performance.

“Astrid stop this. We need to talk, sort things out.   This will not help. Think of the kids for Christ’s sake.  We can make this easier for them.  Jill is at university facing her finals and Josh is going through a difficult period with his health.  They don’t deserve to be mucked about.  This is not some game. People’s lives are going to affected and if we aren’t prepared to sit down and talk things out, it will be much worse for everyone.”

He looked at her hopefully. The kids were his strongest gambit and Astrid could scarcely believe it when she heard herself saying, “Now, you are just being bloody silly!”

John’s tone was of complete disgust. “I can’t believe you, I really can’t.  I thought I understood you.  I mean 23 years count for something don’t they?  But this, this.. I don’t get.  Why play such stupid games?  I mean it’s all over anyway.  Why piss on it too?” 

He walked out the open door, stopped in the doorway, turned and gave her one of his rueful good-natured smiles as if asking for a decent response even at this last moment. Astrid understood why he made such a good salesman: he hadn’t given up, not yet.  Astrid smiled so warmly at him he responded in kind with his eyes brightening from his fake smile to something more genuine, filled with sudden hope that dialogue could be salvaged against the odds.

Then as she took the door in one hand, she said carefully and clearly, “You know, between us there’s always been…difficulties.”

And in his disbelieving face she closed the door gently but firmly and the wood felt warm, familiar, solid and safe.