I remember a life of nothing. That time so many and so few years ago when survival was a daily chore and inspiration came from so little. Back in those days money was merely token for exchange. A secondary currency to good will, friendship and sucking up your pride to ask for help.
I used to live in a small unit with a friend from university. She came from a wealthy Tasmanian family. The walls were beige and Chinese calligraphy hung from suction cup picture hooks on every wall. The kitchen had the same green-brown tiles as the bathroom from my childhood holiday home. My friend’s father paid her rent, her living costs. She hid her part time job from him so that he would continue to support her long after she ceased needing it. Once a week she would get a fake tan, once a fortnight her nails and hair colour, once a month a wax and facial. I’d spend hours looking at her and then looking at me. Her blonde, tanned, manicured, hairless, toned self. My shabby, spotty, boney, pasty self. Feeling as though beauty was beyond my capability because I’d never be able to sustain such a ritual. She was prim and proper and didn’t socialise with my western suburbs friends. She had her own friends who owned nice cars and lived in big houses with swimming pools and parents who paid their way. And on occasion I’d be asked out too. If the ratio of girls to boys had fallen out. Of course I’d never go. The places they went would cost my entire week’s food budget just to step in the door. Knowing how little I fit in, and knowing how little they cared about me. Still. I smiled when they asked me, and cried when I yet again was left alone.
Our landlord was girl from China who spoke very little English, especially when she was angry with me. Our house, which was never a home, was always silent. I could not play my music and soon forget how to sing. On occasion I could have a girlfriend over, during daylight hours, if we were quiet, if we hung out in my room and not the lounge. One night, my friend and I decided to screw the ‘rules’ and had some people over for a movie night. At 9pm we were interrupted and asked to break it up. We were a third of the way into the movie. A week later the landlord’s mother moved in. Rent free. Without even telling us she was coming.
While I lived here, I worked one shift a week scooping ice-cream at a major fashion shopping centre. I’d stand on my $5 op shop shoes for 8 hours, my arm hurting and fingers numb. I’d smile and chat to the fashionistas laden with bags from hours of shopping. They’d complain of numb fingers too – from holding too many bags; of boyfriends and husbands who jokingly handed over credit cards to keep their partner happy and out of the way. I’d pretend that this job was more of a hobby, that I enjoyed it. That maybe, in some alternate reality I could go out and shop the way they did. After this shift was over, I was going to pop into Scanlan and Theodore and pick up the cute little cashmere cardigan they have in the window. I have a skirt from Witchery that would work perfectly with it. There’s a belt in Sportsgirl that would tie it all together beautifully. Every lunch break I browsed the stores. Peeking through the windows into the racks, never would I step foot inside. I had my real wardrobe and my fantasy wardrobe. One was housed in my bedroom, one was housed in my dreams.
Financially, Centrelink helped me out with the rest. Every fortnight on pay day, I’d put aside my rent money and bill money. Then I would have the agonising task of breaking down what was left into some sort of lifestyle. I soon discovered every fruit tree in my suburb. I knew everyone who owned chooks, or whose family had a farm. I realised that you didn’t need meat to live off and that by rotating the colour of my vegetables, I could minimise how much weight I lost. If I bought carrots one week, I’d buy brocoli the next and cauliflower the next. All of my breakfasts were instant coffee and vegemite toast. All my lunches were 1 fruit item and 1 baked item. All my dinners were rice or pasta with vegetables. If someone’s chook laid too many eggs, I could make muffins with fruit from my neighbors’ trees. Food was just fuel to keep on living. I neither enjoyed it, nor cared if I ran out of money on Thursday and didn’t eat again until Monday when I got paid. When my periods stopped, I was relieved that I would now be saving $4.95 a month on tampons.
This situation. I may have been able to find a way out of it. But I didn’t look to get out of it. I looked to make the most of it. There is no real way to end this story. Because life doesn’t like being boxed into beginnings. middles and ends. And I still do not own that cashmere cardigan. But one day when luck came my way, and I clawed myself into a better situation. I looked back. And I smiled. And I knew what I was capable of.
Fake Memoirs
I want to create a fictional character that comes across as completely real and believable. This is my first attempt at giving her a history. Stealing parts of myself, and my past, and filling in the gaps where required.
Trace Lowe, 6 months ago
:D
skunk, 6 months ago
Sadly, your fake memoirs are a reality to some.
Well written Jo :)
Michael Lane, 6 months ago
fiction.. non-fiction.. a fine line
S.I. Sheehan, 6 months ago
Very well done…..I love the concept….. ~S
Jessica Tremp, 6 months ago
i used to pinch toilet paper and milk from work…there didn’t seem to be too much else that was as necessary…sometimes, out of habit, i still do…
Adrian Carmody, 6 months ago
You need to write a book, now… you managed to weave together a small piece of what it is that makes us who we are. Bits of it, I identify with, other parts, I sympathise with, but I don’t have to suspend my disbelief to feel those things
Thanks for sharing
pryere, 6 months ago
Self belief, confidence, self worth, is very easy to lose, if you conform, and then find yourself wanting. You obviously have now found your passion and mission, good on ya Jo, if more peeps had the chance, time and inclination to explore themselves and what they think they are good at, care about, and have a knack for, all the better. I believe that we all have a skill, gift or just something that we are good at and enjoy doing. it is unfortunate that in this `time poor` world, few have the chance to discover it.
Greg Halliday, 6 months ago
The hard times are what make the good times so good. Great story, funny how in the teen to thirty years we get so caught up in what others have and look like, then by 40 your looking at how hot you used to look back then ;-)
Samantha R, 6 months ago
very well written, you do have a special talent with not only art but words as well !
Peter Hall, 6 months ago
I can relate to this story. I used to supplement the family diet with cans of food from the dump bins out the back of supermarkets, and raid brotherhood bins in wealthy suburbs for clothes. Sydney was too expensive in the 80’s. The rents were way to high, and took up all my wage. I had another part time job to pay the electricity and gas. The 8o’s were lean and mean, but character building. It taught me priority. But using the alternative methods, I was able to keep the family well fed and clothed, warm and dry. For entertainment we used to ride the Manly Ferry. And walk the beaches over there. It’s amazing what you can find to entertain yourself when poor.
Now I’m doing ok, I like to lend a hand. Mostly relatives.
Well done on the story. I kept my interest all the way to the end.
Paul Vanzella
,
6 months ago
Wow – loved this so much! There is no substitute for true character building. The resonates so much with me, as growing up, without a father, we were on struggle street most of the time, never the right pair of jeans or clothes, never the best Christmas presents, chocolate biscuits – what were they… and we didn’t even have a car…. Love the way you write, and btw Scanlan and Theodore WAS the shop to aspire to, I remember that too!
Heather Croft, 6 months ago
Keep going – I would buy this as a book after reading the first page – so many things to delve into such as why has she no self esteem – was the rich girl really just normal or did she not appreciate life- who were the people who loved her – was it the farmers? Why did the Chinese woman get angry with her?? you’ve set me off now – really brilliant well done
Hien Nguyen, 6 months ago
Sounds like an Aussie version of the Great Gatsby :)
Rhys Jones, 6 months ago
I think its very good although you could have kept talking more about the fashionistas laden with bags….. It is a great piece and I dont want to sound like I know anything at all but I like a good story when I hear one and I lived with a writer but you sould read ( if you haven’t already) Murikami. He is the king of what Im trying to say, more adjectives etc. By the way I love this story, it maybe a modern day ‘He died with a Falafell in his hand’. Very well written
Tammy Soulliere, 6 months ago
Keep going.. Im still clawing.. Nails are brittle and breaking but Im still hanging on.. Don’t stop be an inspration a gate of sorts for those of us weak from struggling to hang on … I can relate to you in so many ways.. Thanks Jo for being you.. and evidence that someone can be themselves.. Im still trying.. Someday I hope there is no way in any creation that someone can just live a live of struggling to achive and never to.. I hope to .. Im rambling again.. Again Thank you
Suzanne German, 6 months ago
Our house, which was never a home, was always silent. I could not play my music and soon forget how to sing.
...those words Jo, really made me feel sad…how well put! The way you wove the reader into your eating (or not eating) habit…and then how your frail body suffered and stopped being womanly like becoming a child that needed a mother….made me feel for you…a lot.
I’m glad that the twist at the end is a good one.
It’s amazing how much more authentic a person can be when they know the mirror opposite of what they consider to be the good things or the valuable, meaningful things in life isn’t it?
I’m a firm believer that each contains its opposite….like the yin and yang symbol – lightness and darkness…..without having known one it is (I believe) impossible to really grasp the meaning of anything’s opposite….
This is a great insight into you Jo – thanks for sharing it..
Suzanne xx
Suzanne German, 6 months ago
oops…just noticed you said fake memoirs…...oh oh…..does that mean Suzanne’s put her foot in it again with the insight comment?? ... (hope not!!) :)