My Place Read Online Free
Author: Sally Morgan
Sometimes, heâd laugh and joke, and when he swore, we knew he didnât really mean it.
Dad slipped in and out of our lives. He was often in hospital for periods of a few days to a month or so, and the longest he was at home at one time was about three months; usually it was a lot less. When he first came home from hospital, he would be so doped up with drugs he wasnât able to communicate much. Then, he would seem to be all right for a while, but would rapidly deteriorate. He stayed in his room, drinking heavily, and didnât mix with us at all. And soon, he was back in hospital again.
Dad was a plumber by trade, but, when he was at home, he was often out of work. Every time he returned from hospital, he had to try and find another job. Mum provided the only steadyincome, with various part-time jobs, mostly cleaning.
When Dad was happy, I wished heâd never change. I wanted him to be like that forever, but there was always the war. Just when things seemed to be looking up, it would intrude and overwhelm us. The war had never ended for Dad. He lived with it day and night. It was a strange thing, because heâd told me how important it was to be free, and I knew that Australia was a free country, but Dad wasnât free. There were things in his head that wouldnât go away. Sometimes, I had the impression that if he could have got up and run away from himself, he would have.
Part of the reason I was so unhappy at school was probably because I was worrying about what was happening at home. Sometimes, I was so tired I just wanted to lay my head on my desk and sleep. I only slept well at night when Dad was in hospital; there were no arguments then.
I kept a vigil when Mum and Dad argued, so did Nan. I made a secret pact with myself. Awake, I was my parentsâ guardian angel; asleep, my power was gone. I was worried that, one night, something terrible might happen and I wouldnât be awake to stop it. I was convinced I was all that lay between them and a terrible chasm.
Some nights Iâd try and understand what they were arguing about, but, after a while, their voices became indistinguishable from one another, merging into angry abandonment. It was then I resorted to my pillow. I pulled it down tightly over my head and tried to drown out the noise.
I was grateful Dad didnât belt Mum. Although, one night, he did push her and she fell. Iâd been allowed to stay up late that night, and was squatting on the kitchen floor and peering around the door jamb to see what had happened. Mum just lay in a crumpled heap. I wondered why she didnât get up. I peered up at Dad, he was so tall he seemed to go on forever. He ran his hand back through his hair, looked down on me, and groaned. Swearing under his breath, he pushed roughly past Nan and staggered out to his room on the back verandah. I felt sorry for Dad. He hated himself.
Nan hurried into the hall and hovered over Mum. As she helped her up, she made sympathetic noises. Not words, just noises. I guess thatâs how I remember Nan all those early years â hovering, waiting for something to happen.
I sat on the kitchen floor for a few minutes longer, then I crept quietly into Mumâs room. I pressed my back up against the cool plaster wall, and watched as Nan made a great show of tucking in the rugs around her. Nanâs eyes were frightened, and her full bottom lip poked out and down. I often saw it like that. Otherwise, she wasnât one to show much emotion.
I tried to think of something to say that would make things all right, but my lips were glued together. Finally, Nan said, âIf you havenât got anything to say, go to bed!â I fled.
Iâm in the army now
The task of enrolling another member of our family in school the following year fell once again to Mum. I was pleased Jill was starting school. I felt sure I would not be so lonely with her there.
As we joined the small groups of children and
Dad slipped in and out of our lives. He was often in hospital for periods of a few days to a month or so, and the longest he was at home at one time was about three months; usually it was a lot less. When he first came home from hospital, he would be so doped up with drugs he wasnât able to communicate much. Then, he would seem to be all right for a while, but would rapidly deteriorate. He stayed in his room, drinking heavily, and didnât mix with us at all. And soon, he was back in hospital again.
Dad was a plumber by trade, but, when he was at home, he was often out of work. Every time he returned from hospital, he had to try and find another job. Mum provided the only steadyincome, with various part-time jobs, mostly cleaning.
When Dad was happy, I wished heâd never change. I wanted him to be like that forever, but there was always the war. Just when things seemed to be looking up, it would intrude and overwhelm us. The war had never ended for Dad. He lived with it day and night. It was a strange thing, because heâd told me how important it was to be free, and I knew that Australia was a free country, but Dad wasnât free. There were things in his head that wouldnât go away. Sometimes, I had the impression that if he could have got up and run away from himself, he would have.
Part of the reason I was so unhappy at school was probably because I was worrying about what was happening at home. Sometimes, I was so tired I just wanted to lay my head on my desk and sleep. I only slept well at night when Dad was in hospital; there were no arguments then.
I kept a vigil when Mum and Dad argued, so did Nan. I made a secret pact with myself. Awake, I was my parentsâ guardian angel; asleep, my power was gone. I was worried that, one night, something terrible might happen and I wouldnât be awake to stop it. I was convinced I was all that lay between them and a terrible chasm.
Some nights Iâd try and understand what they were arguing about, but, after a while, their voices became indistinguishable from one another, merging into angry abandonment. It was then I resorted to my pillow. I pulled it down tightly over my head and tried to drown out the noise.
I was grateful Dad didnât belt Mum. Although, one night, he did push her and she fell. Iâd been allowed to stay up late that night, and was squatting on the kitchen floor and peering around the door jamb to see what had happened. Mum just lay in a crumpled heap. I wondered why she didnât get up. I peered up at Dad, he was so tall he seemed to go on forever. He ran his hand back through his hair, looked down on me, and groaned. Swearing under his breath, he pushed roughly past Nan and staggered out to his room on the back verandah. I felt sorry for Dad. He hated himself.
Nan hurried into the hall and hovered over Mum. As she helped her up, she made sympathetic noises. Not words, just noises. I guess thatâs how I remember Nan all those early years â hovering, waiting for something to happen.
I sat on the kitchen floor for a few minutes longer, then I crept quietly into Mumâs room. I pressed my back up against the cool plaster wall, and watched as Nan made a great show of tucking in the rugs around her. Nanâs eyes were frightened, and her full bottom lip poked out and down. I often saw it like that. Otherwise, she wasnât one to show much emotion.
I tried to think of something to say that would make things all right, but my lips were glued together. Finally, Nan said, âIf you havenât got anything to say, go to bed!â I fled.
Iâm in the army now
The task of enrolling another member of our family in school the following year fell once again to Mum. I was pleased Jill was starting school. I felt sure I would not be so lonely with her there.
As we joined the small groups of children and
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