Chapt 3
Then and Now
She wasn’t always a druggie. No, Phoebe wasn’t always a
wasted druggie – she used to be ok, not great, but ok – before she became nothing
but a sad, skeletal frame.
Her daddy- Phoebe’s daddy – used to go away to work.
She didn’t know exactly what he did, but she always
overheard people speaking, saying her daddy worked on the oil rigs in an
African country. She wondered what an oil rig was; it sounded strange- an oil
rig, but whatever it was, Phoebe knew that it kept her daddy away for two
months at a time.
As a little girl, she didn’t like that he was away so
often and for so long. She wondered many times if all of the problems in their
family – her father’s drinking problem, her mother’s depression, her brother’s
sickness, her protectiveness, her baby sister’s neediness, the arguing and the
objects flying in anger – was the result of the oil rig.
As she became older, she had a love/hate relationship
with the idea of the oil rig. She hadn’t bothered to enquire more about it, no
longer interested in knowing.
When her father was gone to the oil rig, the home was not
as chaotic, or as dark, although the sinister element in their home life never
completely went away. But when her father was there, at home, the dark cloud that
only ever just hung would suddenly begin to pour, not stopping until he left
once again.
Life has a way of knocking the life within you right out
sometimes. It’s as if there’s a personal choice about whether or not you allow
it to completely take you down, or if you will arise from the ashes to which
life burnt you, and resume your former self. The choice is nothing, if not
personal. It’s a matter of inner strength. The problem is that life doesn’t
stop; it only continues. And at times, getting up doesn’t even feel like an
option. At times, getting up seems like it’s nothing but a dream.
Sometimes when one cannot deal with the reality, or the
dreaming becomes impossible, more options become available. More options, like
escape.
They were dark nights- darker than just being without the
light of the sun. They were dark nights in that she started knowing that after
sunset, a meal would follow, which would be like an introduction to the evening
chores – giving her baby sister, Hannah, a bath; doing the dishes, if her
mother’s mood was sombre; seeing that everything was ready for the next day –
and then it would be time to go to bed. At first, going to bed was the one and
only activity that brought her peace; where she could close her eyes and drift
away to a land of grey ‘nothing’ and spend hours there, before awaking to start
another day of energy-draining interactions and chores. At first, her bed
brought her comfort, but then things changed.
It started when she was fourteen years old, about seven
months after she first started menstruating.
She had started becoming shapelier, her hips swelling slightly,
giving her a softer, more womanly appearance; her breasts becoming tender
bumps. She had first admired the transformation, monitoring it all with
pleasure. She had run her palms over herself softly, slowly, each morning and
evening when she bathed and moisturized herself in front of the mirror in the
bathroom.
But the beauty she had thought she’d started loving, she
immediately came to loathe on the first night when Riley crawled into her bed.
His touch was hard and desperate, leaving her growing swells feeling bruised
and infected. He seemed to love and hate the way her body was changing- he
loved looking at it, she could see it in his eyes; but he would touch her like
he hated what she had becoming, hurting her more and more each time he would crawl
underneath her comforters with her.
She hated nights. She hated Riley, her older brother.
Phoebe Ludick, second-born child of Ryan and Phyllis
Ludick, but first-born daughter.
It wasn’t a secret that Ryan Ludick fell in love with his
first little girl the minute he saw her red cherubic cheeks and blue-green
eyes.
“Wow,” he was said to have murmured, over and over again,
from the minute she first screamed, and for months to follow.
She was his angel; the apple of his eye.
Phyllis Ludick was said to have been one of those mothers
who, while undeniably having love, also possessed a certain degree of envy
towards her daughter.
It was safe to say that she adored her little boy, Riley;
he had been the cement that had made Ryan and her relationship something more
permanent, although it was only when Phoebe was born, that Ryan had proposed.
With Ryan being away from home the majority of the time,
Phoebe spent most of her growing years with her mother who seemed to despise
more than love her; a mother who did practically nothing to stop her older
brother from bullying her.
In the beginning, Phoebe would tattle on her brother when
Ryan returned from being away, but had eventually stopped, when she realized
that Phyllis would always get the last word in. Phyllis always maintained that
Phoebe had fallen into the habit of telling tales that were only for the
purpose of getting attention, and that she in no way felt remorse about what
trouble her tales could cause for anybody else, let alone her own brother.
Ryan fell deeper and deeper into his alcoholism; so much
so, that he didn’t even have the heart to care about himself, and even less for
the apple of his eye.
That was why she didn’t even bother telling anybody about
Riley’s visits to her bed in the dark of the night.
Her mother said: Children should be seen and not heard.
And so, what was the point of talking, if nobody was
willing to listen?
Phoebe was ten-years old when Hannah was born.
Ryan and Phyllis called her The Little Late Lamb.
At this point in their marriage, it seemed like Ryan was
either bored or just simply not interested in family life anymore, or maybe the
novelty of becoming a father had worn off; Phyllis didn’t seem to have any
particular interest in a little baby either. But when there were people around,
they would coo about The Little Late Lamb, how different to Riley and Phoebe
she was.
“Look at her jet black hair, how thick it is- I wonder
where she gets it from.”
“Oh, she’s the quietest little baby, The Little Late Lamb.”
“Phoebe is like The Little Late Lamb’s mother, she is! I hardly get a chance to even hold her, its true!”
It wasn’t even that Phoebe wanted to assume the role of
‘mother’. Of course she was very fond of her little sister, and what ten-years
old doesn’t want to play ‘mommy’ or ‘doll’ with an actual baby, but the truth
was that Phoebe felt sorry for Hannah. Poor Hannah was just left alone in her
crib while Phyllis gossiped on the phone about how drunk Ryan was, or how glad
she was that he had just left for another two months, or how anxious she was
that he was returning soon, or how she couldn’t possibly leave Ryan,
considering that he had done everything he could to cripple her and ensure that
she stayed with him, no matter what- she had no work experience and was now so old.
Poor Hannah was left alone with a dirty nappy for hours
while Phyllis would lie in Riley’s room with the door closed and locked, the
only sound escaping being those of pages in her latest novel turning, or her
sniffling and sobbing into pillows Riley would have a tantrum over when he
returned from rugby practise or from his friends.
He’d whine, “Gross, my pillows are wet, and slimy. Gross!”
Poor Hannah would grab at the bottle with such force, it
would often hit her on the forehead, and she would wail, which would cause
Phyllis to complain about the ‘child’s awful racket’ and scream for Phoebe to
please keep Hannah quiet, before she made them both quiet forever.
Phoebe simply had
to take care of Hannah, because if she didn’t, who would?
When Riley started coming to her at night, she had to
protect Hannah even more.
Phyllis was capable of nothing anymore; her depression
had become the only thing she could concentrate on.
Ryan only thought of work, and his next bottle of brandy.
Riley was sick mentally.
The whole family had gone down the drain.
There was only her – Phoebe – to keep some of form of
normalcy alive in the household; keep the smell of food in the air, so that
those who popped in could smell ‘home’ instead of ‘house’; make sure that
Hannah ate, so that she picked up weight for her next clinic appointment, to
avoid the risk of the Sisters becoming concerned to the point of sending Child
Welfare around to their home – Lord knew about the way rumours went flying
around in their neighbourhood; keep things clean and tidy enough, so that the
conditions were decent enough to live in; even make sure that her
paedophiliac-brother’s basic human needs were seen to.
Life had become pointless and unbearable. It was simply
one day giving way to another. And she tried to find some common ground.
“Mom, may I talk to you about something important?”
Phoebe had tried to engage with her mother.
“No! No, you spoilt brat! You may not speak to me? And
what on earth could be so important,
huh? I’ll tell you what… nothing!
Nothing, because you’re not important, that’s why…”
She had tried to speak to her mother a few times, trying
different angles, but nothing worked. Her mother was not interested in a single
word that came from her mouth.
It was frustrating at first, because there were household
issues that Phoebe believed her mother was responsible for, that she wished her
mother would assume control over; but her mother wouldn’t budge.
Then it became sad, because it was like the only thing
Hannah knew of her mother was a puffy, red, just-cried face, with deep frown
wrinkles between her eyes, or her back – the way her mother would drag herself
away from wherever she had to come into contact with her baby, her baby whose
arms were always outstretched, looking for love from a woman whose arms only
ever hugged herself as she seemed to be keeping herself together before the
sobs caused her to fall apart – and nothing more, which she eventually seemed
to become used to.
The sadness became numbness, as the endless chores,
duties, responsibilities and expectations turned into a never-ending cycle that
only concluded when the night swallowed her into restless oblivion, accompanied
by the disgusting, unwelcome ache between her thighs.
Once, Phoebe had waited, with anxious hope, for her
father’s arrival. She planned on telling him everything, from her mother’s
downward drop, to her brother’s sick obsession with her. She had counted down
the days to his arrival the way she had always counted down the days to her birthdays,
or to Christmas. She planned to steal him away from Riley, away from Phyllis;
away from the bottle he was licking his lips for – before he could take even a
sip, before she lost him to intoxication – so that she could beg him to save
her, his little girl, the Apple of his Eye, from the evils that had overcome
their home. She believed that he would know what needed to be done and that he
would see that it got done, so that his little girl could be safe and happy
once again. She believed, she believed, she believed; as if her life depended
on it, because in some way, it really did.
And so it felt as if someone had taken her up in a
helicopter – as high as it could possibly go – and dropped her, the height of
it so extreme, that death met with her not even halfway through, yet still not
preventing the ugly crash that follows such a tragic fall.
He said, “Now Phoebe, why would you say such things about
your mother? I mean, she’s your mother. And my god! Riley is your brother!
What are you trying to do? Ruin him?”
“No, I…”
“I want to hear no more. I can hardly believe you! Do you
know how difficult it is for me, working away the way I do, and now you want to
tell me things, as if you want me to feel guilty?”
She’d stood before her father in utter shock, her lips
slightly parted, making a tiny dark circle, filled with confused emptiness- at
a complete loss for words.
She felt hollow and worthless except for caring for
Hannah.
If it wasn’t for Hannah…
Phoebe could have believed in miracles again, when one
early morning, she heard her mother’s heartbroken cry break the sleeping
silence, and rushing to find out what had happened, she found her mother
kneeling before the coffee table in the lounge, weeping hysterically (to that
point where the body shakes violently), with a piece of A4 paper, folded in
half, clutched to her heaving chest.
Her first thought was that her father had been in an
accident, or worse, had died, but she knew that it couldn’t be, because she
usually suffered from terrible dreams and crippling stomach aches when
something bad had happened, or if unpleasant news was on its’ way- none of
which had occurred.
“Mom?”
It was like the sound of her voice had sent her mother
into a state of shock for a few brief moments- the way she froze in her
position, not moving an inch, with the paper still firmly held against her
chest – and she contemplated tiptoeing back to her bedroom.
She could hear Hannah moving around from her bedroom down
the passage; the sound seemed to break Phyllis out of the frozen trance she had
gone into.
“You!” Phyllis suddenly sprung up from the floor, her
index finger pointed accusatorily at Phoebe, fiery anger flickering across her
face, “All of this is your fault- If
you had just shut up instead of
always acting like a complete baby!”
Phoebe took a few steps back. She wasn’t afraid of her
mother’s physical capabilities, knowing that they were minimal, if not complete
non-existent, following years of depression that had eaten away at her.
Putting a few feet between Phyllis and herself felt like
a safer option, even if it was just to prevent the disaster defending herself
could become, if the confrontation went so far.
Her mother’s eyes were wild – the emotion therein –
looking directly into hers, with deep, boiling, dislike.
“You!” her mother’s voice was low, dangerous, “You being
the spoilt little brat that you are… You always wanted your own way- could
never handle being without the spotlight!”
Phyllis was walking slowly, steadily towards Phoebe,
causing her to back up into the far end of the passage wall, until there was
nowhere left to back up into.
“You made him look for a job overseas, you selfish little
bitch; you and your little lies have robbed me of my Riley!”
Phoebe caught the strong body odours that came off Phyllis
as she spoke, proof that her mother had long since stopped caring for her
personal hygiene.
She couldn’t think of when the last time was that she had
been so close to her mother, but judging by how tall she was, as she towered
above the woman in whose lap she used to fall asleep in, it was obvious that it
had been a very long time.
Somewhere to the left side of Phyllis, Phoebe could see
her sister’s frame, emerging cautiously from her bedroom door. Hannah was a
pre-teen then, and had become accustomed to her older sister protecting her,
seeing to her best interests, and so her eyes were shaped into large balls as
she witnessed the wild animal that had become of the woman she had come to call
mother, but with whom she shared no such connection.
“Mother, I don’t know what you mean but I have no idea
what you’re talking about,” Phoebe said, calmly, but sternly, assuming the more
parental role, considering Phyllis’ incompetence in performing the duty, “What
are you crying about? Who sought work overseas?”
“As if you don’t know, you little bitch!” Phyllis lunged
at Phoebe, hands reaching out to grab hold of her throat, but missing slightly,
as Phoebe darted sideways, screaming, “You insist on playing this innocent
victim, but we all know what you told your father about Riley – the most
disgusting thing in the world!”
Boiling point had been reached, and Phoebe charged full
force towards her mother and upon reaching her, she clutched her mother’s
shoulders in her fists, shoving her against the wall that was behind her,
holding her in place so that she couldn’t move.
“Now you listen to me, Mother!” Phoebe’s words came out from between her thinly pursed
lips, in what sounded like a harsh whisper, “Who exactly are you to come at me
with accusations, when you have been anything but present or involved in the
running of this family, for at least
the last decade?”
The words tumbled out of her mouth as she had imagined
that they would, in the countless scenarios that had played through her mind,
over and over again, in the preceding years leading up to the moment she had
always known would come.
Her mother looked pathetic, small and helpless against
the passage wall, her eyes bloodshot from the crying, cheeks clammy, with
mucous running down her nose, which she quickly sniffed up, almost with perfect
timing, before their trail reached her moist upper lip. Beneath the red of her
eyes, Phoebe could see that her mother was frightened, now that she was pinned
and unable to move.
“Say something, you witch!”
Phoebe screamed; her nose was pressed up so close to her mother’s, they almost
touched; she strengthened her grip on her mother’s shoulders, feeling the bones
in her fists. She wondered how often her mother ate.
The silence that filled the house was loud, filling every
second with anxiety, broken only by the reckless sniff of her mother, pulling
the mucous back up into her nostrils, making Phoebe scowl with added disgust.
“SAY SOMETHING!”
“I have nothing to say,” Phyllis whimpered, somehow
folding into herself, as if she was squeezing herself into the cracks in the
wall.
“You had so much to say a few minutes ago, you bitter
hag!” Phoebe hissed, “Calling me bitch, and a liar, saying I made up stories
about your precious little Riley!
“But let me tell you about your precious little Riley, even if it is just to make you
listen to it from my mouth, into your face, just to watch to squirm, even
though I wonder if you’ll even believe me.”
Phyllis, as Phoebe thought she would, immediately started
to struggle against her hold, trying to pull free, writhing desperately to get
away.
“Look at you!” Phoebe hissed, her lips inches away from
her mother’s left ear, “It’s like I’m an exorcist, and you’re possessed; yet
I’m the sick bitch.
“You’re the sick one in this family, Mother! You’re the only one living in complete denial of what is
going on around you, as if you’re just completely oblivious… and I mean, I
might have believed your whole act, if I didn’t know any better, but
unfortunately I do.”
“This whole family is sick!” Phyllis spat out, her voice
catching mid-sentence, as if the words were breaking her heart to say. Phoebe
stared at her mother, surprised, seeing the welling up of tears in each of
Phyllis’ eyes, and the area between them beginning to twitch, threatening a
full breakdown.
Something inside Phoebe melted, despite herself, and she
grabbed hold of her mother, wrapping her arms tightly, passionately around the
woman who now seemed to be withering away, if the feel of bones were anything
to go by.
The jerky sobs that escaped Phyllis along with the
anguished moan of her crying were enough to melt Phoebe completely. She knew
that while there was plenty that her mother could have done differently, it was
pointless to bring it up, and that talking about Riley’s sins against her would
get none of them anywhere; the fact that he was gone was good enough for her.
Somewhere in their moment, they had slid themselves to
the ground, still embracing one another, and Hannah’s arms were added, holding
them together.
It was as if all the energy was sucked up from the entire
house as well as its’ inhabitants as the three of them – Phyllis, the mother,
and her two daughters, Phoebe and Hannah – were huddled together, a more-than-likely
first for them, but what would also be their last.
