StandingUp.
I worried my lip, fiddling with the hem of my pink shirt that she liked but I hated. It was just passed lunch time and already I had a mark on my cream cargo shorts. She'll hate that. I stood in the doorway that led into the big lounge, where she sat watching TV while talking on the phone. I didn't want to make her pause her gossip so I'd written my request down on paper. "Can I play the PlayStation please?". I expected her to say no. It was her typical answer after all.
Taking a deep breath I walked in and turned to face my stepmother. She continued to chat, talking about work and the guy who tried to beat her. I waited until she noticed me before showing her my written request. She glanced at it, shook her head and went back to complaining that she'd had to fill out a bunch of paperwork to prove the disabled mans attack had been unprovoked.
In my opinion she deserved it, and no way was it unprovoked.
I wasn't disappointed by the denial of my game time I'd had planned. I hadn't bothered getting my hopes up, so there was nowhere for them to fall. I simply nodded in silent acceptance and walked away, picturing my hands around her fat neck and squeezing tight. I wasn't angry. Just upset, and visions like these don't come to me often, they can normally be chased away by running different stories through my mind. Both made up and real.
I dropped onto the three person couch in the little lounge and spread my body over its entire length, trying to touch one arm with my toes and the other with my hands stretched over my head. I was too short but that never stopped me trying. I could see into the backyard through the floor to ceiling window where my younger brother was bouncing on the trampoline, all smiles and joy because my stepmother treated him like a prince. He was her son. I was just the package deal that came with my father. She didn't get along with me or my older brother, but only because she doesn't try or treat us fairly. We hate her for that. I heard her walk into the kitchen and rolled my eyes when she told me to get my head off the couch because the protective blanket had fallen off. She thinks that even though I wash my hair every morning that I'm going to ruin the couch.
I turned so I was leaning against the back of the couch on my knees and looked at my stepmother, having to work up some courage to ask her my question.
'Lou?'
She looked at me, I couldn't see what she was doing at the bench due to the raised counter, but the clink of plates and the sound of running water told me she was doing the dishes. 'What?'
'Can I go to Tegan's?'
'Have you opened your curtains?'
'Yeah'
'Made your bed?'
For once I actually had. 'Yeah.'
'Hang out the washing for me.'
Sometimes I wonder where the hell I got my manners. Kids learn from example right? How do I learn manners from example when the main person in my life doesn't seem to know what they are? I lugged the heavy washing basket over the broken tiles that formed a path to the clothes line, my tiny muscles straining. My younger brother was still bouncing on the trampoline, sound effects accompanying his every jump as he play acted a battle ground, or dragons, or even just a footy match. It was probably just his newest Mario Smash game on his Wii. I hung out the washing, struggled to reach the line as usual, but I did it.
I asked Lucinda a second time if I could head off to my friends house and she left me hanging for a moment before finally deciding that yes, I could get out of her sight for a while. I was given a five-o-clock curfew. I grabbed a few coins from my room that I'd managed to nick and put them in my pocket before grabbing my cap as well so she wouldn't ask why I went to my room. I walked carefully to the front door, making sure the coins in my pocket didn't jingle. She would know, and she would accuse me of stealing the money and punish me, with or without proof. It didn't matter that I had stolen it, it was the fact that I stole it from her, that made it worth while. Like getting just that tiny bit of control back.
I stopped by Triggy's Corner Store on my way to Tegan's place and bought myself a chocolate bar and a couple of Big Bosses. I'd finished eating them by the time I reached my friends house, the one place I felt good.
I knocked on the door, waiting for it to open because the door was locked like always because this was a family home day care place, and kids were always trying to open the front door. I could see Tegan's silhouette through the bubbled glass by the door.
She opened it and smiled in her usual way, like she didn't care one way or another that I was there. 'Hey.'
'Hey.' I walked in, looking around like always.
'Hello Darcy, haven't seen you here in a while.' Maree's voice came from the dining table where I could see her bent over some paperwork with someone else's kid in her arms.
'Yeah, just, you know, busy with homework.' That was a lie, I rarely had homework. I just hadn't been allowed to come over for god knows what reason. Or, Lucinda knows.
'Tegan's been coming home with heaps I don't know how you kids get through it all.'
I smiled, not having an answer for that.
I could hear the sounds of war echoing from the bedrooms. 'Justin playing COD again is he?'
'He's been on it all day. Only came out in time for lunch.'
Tegan walked around the kitchen counter and began cutting an apple for herself. I made sure to steal a piece. I'd forgotten to eat lunch again and by some miracle Lou hadn't reminded me.
I stayed for a few hours, there was never much for me to do there. Given the chance Tegan's would probably have simply been just a school friend, but I'd known her since primary school so it was only inevitable I'd feel comfortable showing up at her house uninvited. She never came over to my place though. She was too scared of Lucinda. If I had the choice I'd stay away too.
Maree shared with me some steamed dim-sims she made for lunch before I left. It was about ten to five, and I knew our clock at home ran faster than the one here, so either way I was going to get in trouble. Regardless I stopped by Triggy's again on the way, standing outside my front door to finish the Big Boss before walking in. Hoping Lucinda wasn't suddenly psychic and realized I'd been eating lollies.
There was an hour and a half before tea would be ready and Dad wouldn't be home until six. He doesn't normally work on weekends but for some reason today he did.
I was told to dry the dishes and unstack the dishwasher. I used to get money for that, a dollar everytime, but that stopped for some reason. Now the only time I ever have money is if I ask and get lucky (with a really good reason) or if I nick it.
It was five-thirty by the time I finished, there had been a lot of plates and cups and cutlery, and I was busy rearranging the cup draw to make everything fit. Nobody puts cups in properly, they just throw them in like there's all the space in the world in that draw. And Lou wants to buy more cups. Stupid woman.
My older brother pulled a tall plastic cup from my hand and told me to move so he could get to the fridge behind me. I scowled and did what he said, he'd only start teasing me if I didn't. Dad says Locky's a bully, I never saw it, but I suppose teasing me and being a completely unfair jack ass does constitute as bullying. Does that mean I was bullied all through primary school?
I went to my room, leaving the door open because I wasn't allowed to shut it, and lay on my bed. There was nothing to do. I couldn't play the PlayStation which meant I couldn't play my DS either. I can't read because Lucinda banned me from fiction books and nonfiction just doesn't interest me. I could knit I suppose but I couldn't be bothered. My drawing book had disappeared, I didn't feel like writing. If Locky caught me playing with my soft toys he'd start teasing me.
I looked around, my fourteenth birthday hadn't been too long ago and I could see the green and brown birthday card Grandma had made for me sitting on my desk. She'd given me twenty bucks along with the card and my new necklace. The little locket dangling from the chain had my initials on it. I doubted I'd ever put anything inside.
My floor needed vacuuming I noticed, but decided it'd only make Lucinda happy if I fixed that problem. That or she'd have a heart attack. And she wouldn't thank me for it either. So there was no point. Other than the slight chance of that heart attack actually happening.
I could hear the garage door opening and it registered that dad was home. I wanted to listen to music but I didn't know where my MP3 was because my little sister had wanted it and Lucinda forced me to give it to her. She never gave it back and will, without a doubt, somehow figure out a way to break it.
Regardless of how sturdy the trusty little thing was. How many songs would I lose if that happened? I could have turned my CD player on but that would have meant making noise, and noise attracts attention. Better to keep quiet.
I pondered over why I hated my life when I knew it was so much better than so many other peoples. How many people in the world don't even have a roof over their heads when I'm in a house with three lounge rooms. How many people share a room with their entire family while I have my own room, and my dad and step mum sleep at the other end of the house. How many people hardly get enough food to last a day when we have so much we're throwing food out at the end of every month.
But how many people are treated like people with their own minds, while I sit at my step mothers feet with no choice but to follow her every word, and shut my mouth.
All I want is a say in my own life, in my own education. All I want is a pat on the back, a "well done Darcy". All I want is a hug. A little support and understanding. Its corny yes, but all I want is a little love.
I would burn the house down, and give everything I have to rats, if I could just have those few things.
- -
At fourteen, that was my typical day. On a weekend anyway.
These were my thoughts, my experiences, my words my actions and my interactions.
although I was always the first to admit I would struggle to not have all my devices, gadgets, books and things. I would always tell myself truthfully, that even though I loved my material comforts, I would drop them in a second for someone who loved me truly.
All the wealth in the world, all the fancy gadgets, all those little material comforts and shiny things cannot replace a warm hug, or a helping hand, or even just an "I'm proud of you."
Nothing can replace a friendly place, or a shoulder to lean on.
For the whole thirteen years I knew, and lived with my stepmother, the closest thing I got to love, were rare hugs from a father who didn't understand, and the comfort of a stuffed dog who helped me through many dreamless, nightmarish nights, and bruises.
So when I learned at fifteen that it had always been my choice, that I had been able to decide to not live with my step mother since my fourteenth birthday. I yelled at the woman who had tormented me daily both physically and mentally for what felt like my entire life. I yelled at her for the first time, and screamed that I hated her. That I was going to go live with mum, because she loved me. And appreciated me. And doesn't make me feel like shit. And as soon as my mouth was shut, I began to cry. From relief, from fear of being hit for talking back I don't know. But looking back. I can't express how proud I am for finally standing up for myself.
And you know what? I got what I wanted. My mother loves me. I have a say. I struggle with everyday life because suddenly I have to decide what my every next move will be, not every second of my life is being dictated. My friends sometimes take advantage of me because I have trouble saying "no". The word having been evicted from my vocabulary for so long.
My friends laugh because I call my mum "Mummy" as though I were picking up from where we'd left off.
And the last time I spoke to my dad, he brought up how I'd come out of the closet. He told me I should go back to heterosexuality because it's "easier".
But through all this I feel more at ease with my lot in life than I did when I didn't worry about anything other than my stepmothers moods.
I feel like my own person.
I am my own person.