When Everything Changed: 2
Continued from this post.
When my father remarried, he moved my brother and me far from sparkling rivers, hilly streets, craggy mountains and the surrounding sea – to the flat, dry Mallee where his new wife had house, business, and her own children older than us.
The river there was wide and sluggish. The few trees were small and squat. My stepmother lived near an expanse of grape vines, the primary industry there. We could walk into the village by crossing an irrigation channel spanned by a wide plank. I was terrified, but I learned to walk it confidently and alone.
My new stepsister held my hand and showed me how to place my steps. She was 18 months older than me; we’d met when Dad brought his ‘new friend’ to our home town and introduced her around. They clearly wanted their daughters to chum up. With a love of reading in common, we did. But it was puzzling. When they married, it became instantly clear.
Merrie was often away long weeks at boarding school. When she was home, we lounged on her bed talking, sneakily smoking cigarettes she pinched from her mother’s stash. She taught me how to smoke. I was 16 by then; I wanted to be sophisticated.
Navigating my stepmother’s strange moods, strict edicts, bizarre accusations and weirder punishments, and my much older step-brother’s silent, glowering resentment, was even scarier when Merrie was away.
Our father never defended us. The only time I asked, he said, ‘I’ve had one marriage break up and I won’t let you kids wreck another!’
When I told new friends at my new school what was happening at home, they frankly disbelieved me. I was already known as a writer, a dreamer. I must be making it up.
On holidays at home with Mum and our kind, fun stepfather, I said nothing. I wanted to escape from all thoughts of that. And I believed the court ruling – term time with Dad, holidays with Mum – couldn’t be changed.
My brother said plenty, I learned years later; but without my corroboration they thought he must be exaggerating.
It took me months to realise my stepmother was drinking heavily. She masked the smell with strong perfume, sickly-sweet.
Written for Weekly Scribblings #81 at Poets and Storytellers United: Change and Renewal, where the invitation is to write of either or both.
I'm wondering if there will be more another time, this one was most interesting. Your life was similar to mine except Mom and Dad didn't separate, thus no stepfather either. "She taught me how to smoke" made me smile, I taught my little sister how to smoke also. But she got sick on the second cigarette, I had pinched them from my uncle, and tells it now that she quit smoking the same day she had started. My dad was preferential towards my sister, he would box my ears for no reason that I could see.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the prompt, some times we must endure something bad for something good.
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If only we knew that at the time, Jim, not just with hindsight!
DeleteIt is heartfelt. Despite so many setbacks, you all kept going, that is brave. Best wishes.
ReplyDeleteMore please....I am enjoying this so much.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing. Life has her reasons to us they are mysteries to unfold
ReplyDeleteHappy Wednesday
Much❤love
Or life happens, and we can choose how to respond.
DeleteIt only took me until I was much older to realize how much adults are willing to ignore what's right in front of them when they are battling their demons. It's grotesquely unfair to the children in their life to make them bear the weight of the disappointment in love or addiction issues. It's made me ruthless at trying to understand myself and making sure I have my head right for at least my children's sake.
ReplyDeleteMy experiences affected my decisions about parenting, too. I vowed I would never risk my kids getting a stepmother. I might not have been a perfect mum, but I did know I loved them and would look after them. I had learned one could not trust a step to do the same – nor a father to deal with that, no matter how nice a dad he may have been before.
DeleteI agree with you, although some would argue the point. Your view is based on personal experience thus a valid one. I think your writing of this experience is helpful to others who may have had similar experiences. I do appreciate this is not easy for you.
DeleteThere's so much that escapes us as children that often becomes clear to us adults--and it's often disturbing. Thanks for sharing this portion of your "revelation."
ReplyDeleteThank you. It's not easy, even now.
DeleteYour prose gave me chills throughout my body ... not the good kind. This was so hard to read, life-affirming at the same time. You survived.
ReplyDeleteYes, and may ultimately have been stronger for the experience – though it left scars, even more on my brother than me.
DeleteThanks for sharing this account of your life, and what was learned later in life. It must have been quite difficult for you.
ReplyDeleteWell, it has taken me all this time to be able to find a way to do it! It's funny how our 369 word limit for prose is actually really helpful to me in getting to the essence of things.
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