Chapter One

It’s been sitting there on the page now for nearly three days. Chapter One. And that’s not to say that nothing has been written underneath it; stuff has been written, stuff has been written and unwritten; it’s occupied the white a few minutes before the irritated holding down of the backspace key has brought about its death.

Do I feel guilty?

These weren’t even my darlings.

They weren’t even close.

“There was a time when Marty had believed in everything. In Christmas, in family, in hope, in prosperity. But that was before the time he lost all those things. First the house in the fire, then the family in the insurance debacle to follow, hope with the loss of prosperity, and it seemed as if nobody was going to invite him to Christmas….”

Yeah, nah.

“The ship had almost taken off without him. Marty had had to force his way through traffic, he’d jumped up and down, one foot then the other, afraid that he would get there just after the launch sequence, too late, and his chance at the stars….”

But give Marty a break here, he’s not that dumb. He’s not going leave his drive to the spaceport until the last minute, he’s going to have planned all this months ahead, and come to think of it, I imagine they would have the participants camped out at the facility, undergoing training, weeks in advance…

Hm…

And maybe that could be where he meets Tracey…

“Marty stood at the fence-line and looked out over the world. The view of the green basin was lush and serene, trimmed with a darker, deeper green of surrounding trees, a sky the blue of cornflowers. The rocket ship Tandaror jutted out like an icicle, incongruous in the…”

OOOPH!

Fuck sake!

Why can’t I do this?

Should fence-line have been all one word, without the hyphen?

Fenceline.

Nope.

I look at the screen in front of me, I realise that the laptop is in imminent danger for its life if I sit here trying to find the start of this story anymore. I was told once - by somebody, I can’t remember who, he had glasses – that beginnings are the easy part, and then once you have the beginning the next will just sort of follow out of it, and then the next, and if at some point you get lost thereafter the already-written will help you find your way to the next next, and then the one after that, and eventually the end. I can’t remember where that advice came from, but I sure hope I didn’t pay money for it.

In the next room I hear the raise of their voices.

“Again, again. Why can’t you give it a rest, woman?”

“I could give it a rest if you’d get it bloody done!”

“I’m old, I’m tired. Good God, what do you want from me?”

“Anything. Anything would do.”

And if I want to take a break I’m going to have to sneak along the hall and slip out the back door, unless I want to get in the middle of that…

I almost make it….

“Loretta.”

Crap.

I turn. I feel that creeping red-blackness under my skin. I feel as if I don’t have the right to this irritation, this reluctance. It’s their roof I’m living under. And I know they’re thinking: still. And: when is she going to grow up and get a place of her own?

We’re millennials. It’s what we do these days.

I’m twenty-five.

But:

The last two places: already taken. And the rent was half of my pay.

When one of the novels finds a home in a publishing house…

Well, first you gotta send one out…

When one of them is right…

“Loretta.”

“Yeah, Mum.”

“Will you tell your father that he either needs to fix that gate out front or just admit he’s not going to?”

Dad, jumping in, “I’ll fix it when I’m ready.”

“You don’t do ready. Look at those hooks under the cupboard. What about those floorboards? You were going to fix those when you were ready too.”

“My tools are in the shed. Feel free. Have at it!”

“How about I just hire a bloody tradesman?”

“We don’t have the money for that. Maybe if you joined the twenty-first century and got yourself a job….”

There were a couple of ads for flats in the paper yesterday that looked promising. I’m going to have to make some calls.

The best I can do with what’s happening right in front of me: “I’ll go out and have a look at the gate if you want.”

Rolled eyes. Sighs. Like I would know how to fix a gate? And they’re right. And Dad looks at me as if I were on fire: that’s a man’s job anyway, and if he’d had a son instead of a couple of daughters, then maybe he wouldn’t need to keep fending off these requests to get things fixed.

“It’s all right, love,” Mum says, “you have enough to do.”

I don’t. Really. And I think Dad wants to make a point of it…

Luckily the phone rings, and Mum goes for it, and the distraction is enough to take me out into the garden, where it’s kinda quiet, and where the breeze blows in traffic noises from a distance enough away that they sound soothing, they sound more like waves coming down on a sandy beach. Like a conversation heard from a distance. I try to work out what Marty should do to start his story. I wonder about my four other novels. All written, all edited at least once. Not all that bad… And I’ve read up on publishers, and cover letters – all I have to do is write one, attach a first chapter, hit send. I have a list. I don’t know why I can’t quite…

I should look at that gate. It’s probably not even all that hard to fix.

Mum’s voice is shrill, coming from the house. “Get in here! That was Peter. It’s your sister, the baby’s come early!”

#

Too long a ride. Dad’s seat is too far back, and my legs are pressed up against my chest, they feel like they’re going to snap. And all the way over to the hospital the two of them are arguing about what route to take.

I tell myself that this is nothing to worry about. It’s not. There’s no indication that there’s anything wrong with the baby. Or Sheena. Early doesn’t mean broken or in danger, or that anything bad is going to happen. Sheena’s young and healthy, the baby’s been fine all the way through. It’s been tested and scanned and there’s nothing wrong…

“Take a left up here.”

“Don’t be stupid, we need to get onto the one-way.”

“It’s not any faster-“

“Don’t you go telling me how to drive now.”

“I’ll go telling you whatever I…”

#

We got there anyway.

We tumbled on in through the door, looking around for Peter, and seeing him waving us over, we all kinda pounced on him.

“Steady on,” he held his hands up in his defence. “It’s all right. She’s okay.”

Mum demanded: “What went wrong?”

“Nothing. Just early labour. A baby in a bit of a hurry.”

“Is she doing all right? Is it… normal?”

“Yes. Yes. I need to go back in there.”

Mun saying: “Well, I want to see her.”

“Okay. Sure. But they won’t let you stay. Just one support person, you know…”

They both looked like they were ready to drop into argument mode. But neither did. Mum went with Peter. Dad bought a paper. I bought an orange juice and sipped it in the waiting room, walking back and forth.

“Oh cut that out, the man said she was fine.”

“I get restless under stress.”

“The man just said she was fine.”

Dad gets shitty under stress. “Sorry Dad,” and I plonk myself down on one of those nasty white plastic chairs and try not to look at the stains on the wall or floors. I try not to think too hard about what’s come and gone through these halls.

Dad looks at me like: maybe you find yourself a nice doctor.

No Dad, I don’t need a man to be happy.

How long is this all going to take?

Wait… Crying….? Crying?

Peter steps out into the hallway. “A baby girl, guys. Everything’s fine.”

“What about Sheena?”

“She’s great.”

Mum: “Well, I’m sure you think she is, but you didn’t just have to go shoving a baby out of your man bits. You would think she’s fine. Now I want to see my granddaughter, get out of my way.”

Dad: shaking his head: “He won’t get up and walk in the next two minutes.”

I study a pot plant. I don’t like to admit that I’m embarrassed, or wanting to distance myself just a little bit. I half close my eyes and sip on my juice. At least Sheena’s okay.

Peter stands at my side, “ready to meet your niece?”

“I guess I am.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I really don’t have much experience with babies.”

“Yeah, me neither. But… you’ll see what I mean.” And there’s this big dumb grin on his face like he’s just learnt the meaning of life.

I’m scared that I won’t though – see what he means. I’m not sure I can have the kind of visceral reaction other people have to babies. I’m not sure that’s in me. I feel a bit ridiculous, being scared of a ten-minute-old baby, but I do walk in there with my hands clasped in front of me, fingers twiddling.

And then I get a good look. Those eyes. Where do those faultless blue eyes come from? I can’t think of anybody who has eyes like that in our family. And everything about her is so tiny, so perfectly miniaturised – her eyes are too big for her head, and her nose is too small, but between them they make something perfect.

“You can hold her.”

“I…”

“Go on.”

“I’ll drop her.”

“You won’t. And Dad can catch her.”

This little thing feels warm in my arms. It feels like I’m holding a cat. But there’s something in its face, something I really didn’t know was a thing, the way it – no, she – makes eye contact. The way those eyes remind me of winter skies, or a swimming pool, fresh and new, before the school kids come charging on into it. How did this person just suddenly become a thing that exists, that is…?

This is what miracles look like.

I hadn’t gotten it. I’m a little bit blown away now that I have.

“We’re going to name her Ursula.”

I’ve got this ridiculous tear in my eye. I’m pretty sure Sheena’s laughing at me, sharing her laugh with Peter. I really don’t care. “It suits her. It’s really just right for her.”

#

The sky’s still a little bit light. I’m almost ready for bed. The day’s seemed so exhausting, it seems to have covered so much ground. Aunty Loretta. Aunty Lori. Aunty Lolo. I’m testing them all in my head. It’s unreal.

I open my laptop. I’m just going to post on Facebook…

But Chapter One beckons me.

My fingers know the words:

“Marty took this baby in his arms, his actual, living, unprecedented daughter. When he looked into her blue eyes, he knew without a doubt: his life was going to begin all over again; the rest had been a dress rehearsal, the real beginning was here and now, in this moment, and in those eyes.”

 

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work