ALL ABOUT CREATIVITY

You gotta remember it weren’t my fault. That’s what yous all say. Your fault, your t’ blame. If only you’d done this – not done that – should’ve done this – should’ve done that. Well come on then you fucking arseholes. You’re so clever, eh, you work it out. ‘cept you can’t. Don’t know shit. If you’d listen a moment, just listen instead of asking all these fucking questions. You should hear yourself. Yak, yak, yak, yak. Get this: It weren’t me. Got it? It weren’t me. I’d nothing to do with it. ‘fact. I was protecting Zayde. It’s his birthday in a couple of weeks. Yeah? So why’d I want him taken by social? Answer that if you can.

An’s while you’re about it tell me how’s it right to take a kid from family just before his birthday? Who’s he gunna spend the day with? Strangers that’s who. Fucking strangers who don’t give a toss an’ all they want is the money at the end of the week. Nice little earner for them ain’t it? Well, that’s the truth. All comes down to cash. Like how much you get paid for doing this shit? Yeah lots and lots, I know that. Yous don’t go off to Centrelink, get them letters telling you this an’ that’s being cut cause you ain’t done this and that? Nah. Course not. You’re nice and cosy. Take the kids away from family an’ go home to yer nice warm beds an’ fancy cars an’ all. Fucking cunts taking my kid like you did. An’ all because you think I’m a loser. Think I ain’t up to anything, can’t care for my own kid. Eh? That’s the truth there an’ proper. 

Listen for once. This’s how’s it was.

*

I’m having a bit of quiet time. Time to myself. TV on low, flicking through a mag, reading ‘bout Beyonce an’ all her shit. Sexy as ain’t she I’m thinking, comparing my boobs to hers an’ reckoning they can’t be for real. Jimmy’s on at me all the time about implants, says I’m not juicy enough. Think I’m a piece of fruit do yer? An’ what about you, I says, why don’t you get some botox for your dick? He don’t like that, thinks he’s the man. What’ll I do if I had her money an’ all? Reminds me of a book I read once at school: The Great Gatsby. Yeah, I can read. Saw the movie too. Unreal. I used to think I should write a book. Fuck knows I’ve enough to write about. Teachers said I could write. An’ I did too. Had this journal. Put in all the shit stuff that came in my head such as wantin to slash my wrists after that cunt Damian got me pregnant.  Where’s it now? Maybe mum’s got it tucked away somewheres. She keeps a lot of stuff in boxes under her bed. Labelled an’ all. 

This I’m thinking when there’s the intercom going off. I’m so much into Beyonce I’m wondering if it her. Wouldn’t that be great? Beyonce coming to see me! Wow. ‘cept it ain’t. How could it? But I know who’s it is ‘cause she said she’d come. Not that I mind, mum. Your me mum and that’s how’s it is. So I buzz her, flicking through the mag waitin’. In she comes looking like she been to the beautician an’ some fancy clothes shop for she’s all dolled up and swingin’ this big black leather bag in front of her, YSL all over it, while pullin’ at a gold piece round her neck an’ smelling of I don’t know what. Smellin’ tart. 

– How’s my pet? 

– You won lotto?

– Near as sweet. 

            She dumps herself on the sofa, grabs my smokes an’ does a funny sort of shimmy with her shoulders like she’s holding back this big news. 

– He took you shopping? I say, turning the pages deliberately.

– ‘bout time I had some pampering.

– What’d he say?

– You think I’m stupid! Told him nothing. He’s too pissed most of the time anyhow’s to notice something like that.

– Thought you said he’d changed?

– Ha! Men like that don’t change! 

*

She’s right. Men like that only know one way cause their dads were the same and their pops too so they only know this one way. The hard way. The hit and kick way. They don’t listen to anyone way. And as for us, what’d we know? It ain’t in them to think a woman’s got a brain too, something other than a cunt, could do with a bit of conversation from time to time just to prove we’re human not just a pair of animals on heat. Jimmy’s right up there with the best of them, his answer to everything f..ing this and f..ing that. I don’t think I’ve heard him put together a dozen words at a time. He kinda can’t keep his attention going for longer, except when he’s on video games. Course it’s the stuff he takes as well that mucks him up. Not that he’s stupid or anything. He knows how to get money mostly. But take him. He don’t know any different. He was kicked about by his dad an’ his brothers an’ never got proper school. Give him someit to read and he chucks it at you. He’s a frightened little kid inside, just like me dad. Not that that gives him the right to smash me when he’s got the shits. Not that I let him mind. I’ve ways to look after myself. I’m not stupid. But then again I’m a woman an’ when he gets physical, well, it’s not on is it? He can scuff me like he wants an’ I’ll tear his hair an’ kick him and kick him I do an’ if I can just get hold of his sack then, well, that’s it there and done. ‘Cept he’s the man and he’s got this extra. Know what I mean? Even though he’s a skinny little bastard who likes to think he’s Arnold Swaz-e-nigger. You put me an’ him in a fair fight an’ I’ll rope him easy. Yet, and this the weird bit, other times when it’s good an’ he’s calm an’ looking all innocent, like that kid I told you about, well then he’s my man. He’s my main man, know what I mean? Ever since we met at that dance. I guess that’s, what? Not love. Nah. Some sort of recognition I guess as to who we both are, both out of joint with the rest of yous. Me and Jimmy. Rolling a joint and out of joint. That’s the truth. 

Like this is. When I was at school this kid comes up to me an’ says he thinks I’m cute an’ he’d like to take me out. Ok. He’s like 14 an’ I’m 13 an’ he’s coming on hard. So I says to him: what’s it between boys and girls? An’ he says – true this – boys got brains, girls just want sex an’ a kid. I laugh an’ he’s not getting it. So I pull down my skirt an’ say: Go on then give me a kid. He don’t know what to do. He’s shitting himself. He never seen one, that’s the truth. An’ I tell him piss off, go back to kindy. That was Damian who got me pregnant. After that he must have done some reading, for next time he comes on he’s got a finger in me an’ tellin’ me to make him come. We went back later to his place an’ that’s when we did it. It was his first time. First time an’ I got unlucky. He didn’t wanna know me when I told him, said it must be some others cause he said I was random. Men. Shit holes. Full of fucking shit. 

Mum knows that too. I got this nightmare of dad belting her an’ me. I’m about five, maybe six, holding her leg an’ wanting all this to stop an’ there’s big sis curled in the corner cause she knows what happens next, got plenty of scars she has, crying, wailing more like, an’ him pumped laying into mum till she falls an’ me I look up into his face, to his eyes an’ all I’m seeing, all I’m feelin’ is don’t hit me, please, please don’t hit me. An’ he stops like he’s been frozen in one of those cartoons, you know when someone gets this hose an’ sprays it at the monster an’ it turns to ice an’ you see the monster inside all blue. It’s the same thing almost. I’ve got my hands up, mum’ got her hands up an’ sis is hollering still, waiting for him, listening to his breathing. Fuck yous all, he shouts, smashes things, throws things, anything he can, shouts: Yous all losers, an’ goes. This emptiness comes all of a sudden, the sighing an’ comforting an’ we nestle up with mum an’ sleep. It’s a week before he returns, piled high with toys an’ gifts. He gives me this plastic pony with a string you pull to make it speak. ‘I’m your friend’ ‘s what it says. 

I think what he wanted was a boy.

*

 – Got any? mum asks.

– Nah. Jimmy says he’ll bring some later.

– Where’s he?

– How the fuck d’I know. 

– He’s like your dad. You know that?

– Know what?

– He’s no good.

            I’m not answering. Not answering. She keeps on every time. Jimmy’s this an’ that. No good to you. No fucking good. So you’re the expert? That’s when Zayde walks in. Mum’s all over him. She ain’t seen him for ages, nor him her. Not that he’s into hugs and kisses an’ all. 

– How’s my best boy eh? How’s school?

            He shrugs an’ goes to get a fizzy from the fridge, then to his room, closing the door hard.

The intercom blasts again.

– That’ll be Frank, she says.

– What!

– Didn’t I say? Must ‘ave forgot.

– He can’t come here.

– He’s your dad love. 

– No he ain’t. He’s never my dad. You know that!    

            Another blast, long like he’s got his thumb on the button solid. I remember those hands an’ those big hairy thumbs with the yellow nails an’ all. How’s he grabbed me round the throat once ‘cause I wouldn’t let him touch me. I’m 11 and mum’s out and so sis when he comes into me room smellin’ of liquor, a cigarette between his lips an’ his filthy T where he wipes his fuckin’ hands cause he wants to think he’s nice and clean. I’m sitting on the side of me bed in my jarma’s writing in my book an’ he plops himself next. I know what’s goin’ to happen. It’s been goin’ on for ages this, an’ before me was sis. I don’t look at him but I know that look in his face. I see it in Jimmy sometimes. It’s the look of empty. He stamps the ciggy out on the bare boards an’ makes to get my right hand to place on his dick, shoving it down his trackies. But this time I’m ready, an’ quick. I gets my pen an’ I stabs it in his stomach so he shouts with pain. That’s what I want. Give him it, let him know what I think of him, the hairy cunt. My plan is get out of the flat, go to a friend’s a few floors down ‘cept when I go in the lounge room it’s so full of crap I can’t get to the door an’ I’m trying to climb over chairs an’ stuff. They must’ve been fighting cause there’s shit everywhere. The TV’s still goin’ though. He never wrecks that, not with his footie 24/7. I’m looking at the screen when he grabs me round the neck slabbering, You scum bitch, an’ pushing me to the ground. He’s drunk but he’s strong an’ I’m guessing he’s goin’ teach me. But I ain’t givin’ in and as he pushes me I manage to fall to one side an’ as his grip loosens I takes me chance an’ roll and grab this broken glass that’s lying there along with some shit an’ get to me feet and wave it in front of him. He’s not looking so hot this time, his eyes weaving trying to focus.

– You want this in your gut, I yell out. I mean it. I won’t stop yer know.

            He’s on his knees an’ searching in his trackie pocket for some smokes. 

– You leave me alone you hear. I tell on you, I will. 

            He’s swaying.

– You’re disgusting, you know that. You’re lower than ‘roaches. 

            He’s got one hand supporting him an’ it won’t be long for he keels.

– You’re vermin that’s what yous are, stinking vermin.

            He falls an’ knocks his head ‘gainst the side of a table. I hope he’s dead an’ I go to my friends without checking. Why’d I check a piece of shit like that? Chance be he chokes on his vomit. ‘cept he didn’t.

*

– He can’t come here, I say again to mum. I won’t. It’s my place. He ain’t welcome.

– Now that’s not right love. I told you he’s different now.

– But you says he’s not changed. How you figure that one out? He’s this and he’s not this. Which is it? 

– You’d better let him in ‘fore he smashes it in.

– That’s what I mean. How’s that different from before?

            The intercom’s gone quiet. Mum’s riffling through her smart new bag, pulls out a hairbrush an’ starts combing. I go find something to drink, shaking the bottles to see what’s left. There’s a couple of fingers of vodka so I downs that then there’s a knock on the door which is weird cause it’s open. 

– Someone let me in downstairs, he says. Kind of them since no one else was answering.

            He stands in the doorway all in black ‘cept for his bare strongman arms, his shaved head.  It’s bikie dress code an’ the Harley be standing outside sparkling chrome. He’s balancing a cardboard box in one hand tied with string, in the other a packet of smokes that he throws to mum. 

– Been to a funeral? I say. Or going to one?

– Always lovely to see you babe. Where’s the kid? 

            I ain’t answering that. 

– He’s in the bedroom love, mum says.

            I could kill her.

– Don’t you go in there, I holla.

– I got something for him. A little pressie. Birthday soon isn’t it?

– He don’t want your crap.

– Let’s see.

            I’m standing at the door, arms spread. He’s right on me, the box pressing ‘gainst me, meowing from inside, scratching, the poor thing scarred shitless. Frank wouldn’t know that, or care about that. He don’t care about nothing ‘cept whose in his way, whose not doin’ what he says needs doing. I’m holding his stare an’ remembering all those years when he weren’t there, when he did that stuff, fucked me over, yes fucked me over Frank, made me what I am. Changed! How can a monster change? 

– You ain’t his pop an’ you ain’t my dad. Why don’t you just go an’ climb back into the cess pit where you belong? 

– You not lost your tongue.

– It’s your tongue in me.

            He steps back, drops the box, folds his arms. There’s this scar on his face, some knife fight, an’ when he gets angry it starts to twitch. 

– You remember that? I scream.

            Mum’s standing behind him, she’s saying something but I ain’t got time for her words.

– Now listen here bitch, he snarls. I’ve told you before, that’s fucking history, that’s forgotten. 

– How you say that? You ‘spect me to wipe it all clear? Don’t you have any shame?

– Now love, mind what you’re saying, says mum. She’s got one hand on his forearm, one hand nervously rubbing her hair. 

– Why? 

– ‘cause you know what’ll happen.

– Let him. That’s all he’s good for. Knocking people, destroying, ripping lives apart.

            He’s ready, primed to blow I used to call it, an’ I want him to. I want him to strike me with his fist an’ smash me an’ leave me all bloodied and broken. Go on, I’m willing him, do it you fucking coward. My mouth’s full of spit an’ I gob at him, right in his face. He wipes it away, lifts his arm, mum’s shouting for him to stop an’ he pushes her back an I stare at him, stare into his empty eyes like stones.

– Heh, what you doin?

            It’s Jimmy. He’s jumped Frank, drags him to the floor, both of ‘em landin’ on that box with the cat squawking like you’d think its back been broken. Jimmy’s half the size an’ soon Frank’s ripping into him, blow after blow as mum lets out this ear splitting scream, an’ Zayde pokes his head out the door an’ I tell him get back inside. Frank’s picked up this hammer from somewhere an’ I can tell he’s wanting to use it hard. He’s got it raised kneeling over Jimmy who’s whimpering, waiting. 

– Want me too? he growls looking at me. 

– You’re a fucking animal, is what I say. 

            He smashes the hammer into the floor right by Jimmy’s ear, gets to his feet, goes. Jimmy’s whimpering. I go to an’ help him to his feet, tell him it’s goin’ be Ok. It will be Ok Jimmy, I say, and I stroke his back like you do a baby.

That’s my story. Got it? You’re all the same you sanctimonious fuckers. Don’t you judge me. Never. 

*

An’ you know what else? I’m pregnant. Yeah I knew you’d smirk. It’s fuckin’ inevitable. A loser surrounded by losers.

It’s Jimmy’s but he don’t believe me.

– Who’s is it? he says, holding me.

            I’m trying to get free but he’s got me firm, hurting me, his face pushed into mine. I’m breathing hard thinking how I’m going tell him. If only there was another way, a better way, something nice like other people have. It’s a new life, I’m thinking. This should be a celebration. Let’s be happy like we were when we first met, when nothing was impossible an’ we were invincible.

– It’s ours, I say. It’s our child Jimmy. Yours.

            I’m saying this but he ain’t listening an’ he shit scares me. He don’t want to believe me, don’t wanna believe. He’s a firecracker an’ he’s fuckin’ real an’ I’d scream but he got his hand over my mouth. 

– It’s ours, I say again. It’s ours.

He’s not listening. He don’t want to listen. There’s this pinpoint in his eye, a dot only, an’ I’m fixed on that, repeating what I just said.

He covers my mouth with a hand an’ is touching me with other an’ I’m thinkin’ ‘bout me as a child trying to be elsewhere. I’m seeing me and sis at the beach and Frank’s got us in both arms and throws us in the surf. I scream and sis she’s laughin’ at me screaming an’ we both come up into the sun an’ Frank, he picks us up again and before we has time to spew out the water he’s thrown us in again and again. Mum’s laid out on the sand under a shade not looking. I stand in the sea an’ shout to her: Look mum. I’m a dolphin. I want her to see me. I want her to wave. But she’s not looking. Sis, she’s jumpin’ up and down an’ Frank he’s got her in his hands an’ swinging her all round. He always liked her best. She’s the first. She’s number one. I’m no one. 

*

– Stop Jimmy, I’m saying. Let’s talk ‘bout what we can do.

            But he’s pulled me down, cock ready, face red as he strains kneadin’ my tit. Come on Jimmy, I’m saying to myself. Shoot your load then I’ll have you. So when he comes his body sinks like the air’s sucked out, like when you prick a balloon an’ watch it shrivel. He’s standing with his pants down round his knees, hands on his skinny white thighs, breathing deep. He don’t look like a fighter now so I takes my chance, move quick to the side, eyes on the door. 

– Where’s you…he whimpers.

I turn the handle. 

I ain’t looking back, lookin’ instead at the stairs heading down, an’  maybe someone will hear me. 

*

I need something else, something that’ll make me dream like I used. I had big dreams an’ all. Like how I’d fix up Jimmy an’ we’d get a van an’ travel, pitching wherever we want, catch fish an’ cook ‘em over a fire on some deserted beach. We’d swim and Jimmy he’d laugh like he can. He’d find work when we need the cash.  I’d look after things, neat and tidy, do the washing an’ laundry and that sort of stuff. Like normal people do. Perhaps we’d find somewhere to settle for a bit. Meet people, good people an’ I’d write letters, proper writing on fancy paper.

*

He texted could he come over to watch Melbourne Cup? I gave my girlfriend Jode a call an’ she said I was fuckin’ lunatic. Course I get it, I told her. I’m not stupid. 

            It’s noon an’ I still don’t know if he’s coming. I’ve done my best even to pretty myself up. Done my face, brushed out my hair an’ put on some scent I pulled from under the bed, rubbish scent he gave me one birthday. I got the telly ready, gave the screen a wipe so it’s crystal clear. Made the sofa neat so there’s room to sit without being crowded out by shit. I even got a bottle of Jim Beam an’ some ice. All I can do is wait. Wait an’ see. 

To pass the time I’m reading. Since Zayde’s been gone, an’ Jimmy, I’ve started reading to pass the time. I discovered this paperback of Gatsby, the school name stamped on the front cover. When I saw that I got to daydream, how I never see any of ‘em any more, ‘cept for Jimmy of course, how they’ve all just gone. Sure I run across a few now and again, Centrelink, the shops, that kind of thing, but never to talk to. I feel like I’ve been put out in the dark where the wild, untamed things are.

 I don’t understand much in the book, it’s old-fashioned like newspapers, yet sort of nice and comforting in a way, and though I have to read things through a few times, or just skim those that are too hard, I came across this bit last night that could be me: I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. 

It’s summer now. And that’s what I want to tell him. It doesn’t always have to be this. We can change, we don’t have to be stuck in this blow-fly town for ever. That’s why I want him to come so I can tell him, make him understand. Me and him and the kid making a new start where no one’s heard of us. Just like sis. 

Then he’s here. Let himself in. Not a word. Straight to the fridge to get ice, breaks open the bourbon and pours a full glass. 

– Nice seeing you too, I says. 

– Turn the sound up.

He throws the book over the back as he sits an’ offers me a ciggy automatically, eyes locked on the screen, scanning the latest odds. He’s in shorts and a tank top and smells of shit with a whiff of deodorant like he sprayed before coming in.

– Fuck that, he says, pointing at the screen. I put 50 each way an’ now look. It’s sweatin’ all over.

– Who put you on to that one? Your mate with the cars?

            He don’t answer. He’s leaning forward, one hand with the bourbon, the other rubbin’ my thigh, ciggy hanging from lower lip. 

– How you been, he says.

– Oh, thanks for asking. That a new tat?

            He don’t answer and pulls a small, square purple box from his shorts.

– I got you this, he says. 

– What is it?

– Fuckin’ open it an’ you’ll see.

– Alright, drop your tongue. 

            It ain’t wrapped or anything and I’m guessing I know what it is and working out what I’m gonna say.

– It’s beautiful.

            It’s not beautiful but I gotta say that. I slide it on my ring finger. It’s silver, silver coloured, with little bits of crystal, I don’t think diamond, round the edge. 

– How’d you know it’a fit? 

            He shrugs and goes for a refill. He slams himself back on the sofa, puts his arm around and pulls me closer. I’m lookin’ at the ring thinking, I gotta tell him, gotta tell him now. 

– Jimmy.

            He’s on his phone texting someone about the race.

– We need to talk. Can you listen for once.

– It’s the race for fuck’s sake. 

            He pulls his arm away, shifts to one side so we’re not touching, still on his mobile. I grab the remote, kill the sound. 

-What the…

            He chucks the mobile aside, leans in, face-to-face, eyes red and steaming, breath fogged with drink. I know he’s had a few before he got here. 

– What’s there to talk about? I got you the ring what else you want?

– I want a change Jimmy.

– Want a what?

– Move on. Get a life, a real life. Start again. You, me, Zayde, the baby.

            I can tell he’s not getting it. He’s slouched, legs kicked out. He’s searching for his phone.

– Don’t you want more than this? I say. 

– You gone fucked weird, he says.

            He’s up, texting. He’s walking away. He’s out the door. Slams it. I hear him crashing down the stairs, bellowing on the phone. I pull the ring off and bury it down the side of the sofa. 

I wanna cry. 

I wanna pull something over my head to suck all the air out. 

I wanna dig a hole and bury myself.

I wanna die. 

I can die. 

I’m lying on the bed dressed nice. I got the bourbon. I got the pills. I got Gatsby and I’m starting to write on the empty page at the end. It’s enough space. I haven’t much to say. Just look after Zayde for me. Tell him mum tried. Tell him I love you.

*

That’s what I start to write. 

I got as far as writing Just look after the kid when I stop.

I’m not going to die. No, not yet I tell myself. 

I got my life an’ I got Zayde an’ now I got bub coming. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

*

Jode it was who saved me. She looked in on her way from the pub where she’d seen Jimmy. He was goin’ off at everyone, getting in people’s faces, then started a fight with this English guy who was there to watch the race with his girlfriend. Jimmy didn’t want him there, said he was stinkin’ the place out, then tried to grab his girl an’ kiss her, but he was so full of booze he slipped and fell. Jode says people were laughing at him ‘cause he was so far gone he was just acting stupid. The English guy was trying to help him up, Jode says, when Jimmy sprung on him raging, laid in to him, ‘till some others dragged him off an’ took him outside and the police came and threw him in the back of the wagon.   

            She came to check I was Ok cause she knew I’d been thinking of seeing him, saw me lying on the bed with the pills and Bourbon, the book with some writing in it. She says I looked as though I’d finally done it. Truth is I was asleep, out with the fairies. She got freaked, called triple zero.  The paramedics knew I was fine but saw I had history so they ran me to the psych ward to be on the safe side. Better safe than dead, one of them said. She gave me a wink like she knew.

One of the things they ask when you get here is: Who’s important in your life? I always say Zayde ‘cause that’s the truth. Then they might ask: What’s one thing your son doesn’t know about you? That’s a good question. He knows shit about me, not his fault. It’s mine. Like he wants to know who his dad is an’ I won’t tell him. It’s not because I don’t know. I might have been called a slut when I was 16 but I sure know who his dad is. It’s that his dad don’t know, wouldn’t wanna know. That’s why I pretend to myself his dad’s Gatsby. Every man I ever loved is Gatsby.

*

I’ve started to pack. I’m not taking much, just one bag, the one that’s like a shopping trolley ‘cause it got wheels. I don’t need much. I want to be like I can be free. Free to go wherever I want. 

I looked at that book, the Gatsby book, thinking if I’d take it. Then I decided I’d take my own book instead, a notebook, to write what I want to write. I’ll write about me so Zayde and bub know something about me. The true story, not fiction. 

I’ll start tomorrow. Tomorrow.

© John Pitt, 2025.