Meaghan
by Karen Goldrick
On Wednesday April 1st, 1992, Meaghan lost her keys.
Steve, her Understanding Partner, was amused: “But you never lose keys, Little Miss Megs.”
“I know. Are you sure you haven’t seen them?”
“Positive.”
“Well some-one took them.”
“Perhaps you left them with your hair.”
“What?”
“I liked it long. And red.”
“Cut it out Steve. Where are the keys?”
“Maybe the Elves took them and deposited them in the void of no return.” Steve leaned on his crutch and watched as Meaghan searched. A logical search. She retraced her steps from the night before. He waited for the search to become disorganised and frustrated, but it didn’t. She simply borrowed his keys. She would not be late.
Meaghan cut new keys. Two sets.
The next was a little more serious. On Monday, May 4th, she lost her wallet.
“I can lend you money, it’s only coffee,” said Alice.
“No. Thankyou. It’s here somewhere,” and the contents of Meaghan’s bag were strewn over her desk. Two diaries. Two sets of keys. No wallet.
Rather than borrow from Alice — who was always losing hers — Meaghan would forgo the coffee, and tolerate a less sharp more irritable afternoon in the office.
“I’ve not seen it,” Steve said later, with a small limp down the stairs.
“Well someone’s taken it.” Meaghan was logical, retracing steps.
“Maybe it slipped into a parallel universe.” Steve let his voice rise, and waited for accusation.
“Maybe you could clean up a bit. You can manage at least that. You don’t need me to do it all.”
“Maybe you’re right, Little Miss Megs. Maybe it’s time to go.” Ready to sulk now, he turned and limped — with greater effort — back up the stairs. “How did she pay for those splendid mauve nails?” he asked the stair rail, walls, ceiling.
“I remembered the perennial plastic number.”
“But was it yours or mine?”
On Wednesday, June 17th, Meaghan lost her Fashion Sense. Then she knew she needed help.
“So Meaghan, are you happy?”
“I was. I had everything.”
“Everything, Meaghan?”
“Everything I desired. A terrific apartment filled with all my own things. A great job. An Understanding Partner.”
“What happened, Meaghan?”
“I lost my keys.”
“That’s not good.”
“I lost my wallet.”
“That’s bad, Meaghan.”
“Now look at me.”
“I see. Yellow daisies. Pink stripes. And you’ve put on weight.”
Meaghan covered the pink and yellow with a long camel trench and walked to the beach. That’s when she saw her, dancing to a persistent drum on the grass above the sand. A drum which caught Meaghan’s feet and slowed her walk.
Meaghan’s first thought was that this person should not be wearing a purple bikini. Her hips were too large. As Meaghan watched, she realised these same hips were drawing perfect circles in the air. Smooth. Concentric. Slender arms raised sensually above the shoulders, wrists enticing the beat. Long dark hair swept back behind long neck. Sallow face. Arched nose. Burgundy lips. Then Meaghan realised she wanted more. More than those things that were everything she desired. She wanted to dance like this.
Determined not to lose what she already had, Meaghan formulated a plan. At work she hid her loss of Fashion Sense under long suit jackets. Her clients seemed not to notice. If they did they said nothing, at least, not to her face. Occasionally she caught Alice as she looked, assessed and probably noticed the weight gain — to be discussed over coffee and cigarettes with the other girls. At home she watched as Steve packed his bags.
“The Doctor said I could go back to work next week.”
“That’s great Steve.”
“Hooray. No more sickness benefits. I’m whole again,” and to prove his wholeness Steve danced awkwardly around her bedroom. To prove his wholeness, Steve tumbled against her, and started to kiss her neck her breasts her belly. Fully dressed, conscious of the gained weight and loss of style, she tried to find the desire to join Steve’s rhythm. But on this day, when Steve was finally well, she couldn’t find desire. She thought of shopping lists and catalogues and solved a few financial woes, going through the motions step by step. It wasn’t until she remembered the girl on the beach that she felt some release.
Steve said nothing as she untied him. He packed the rest of his bags, kissed her quickly on the cheek, and left. Back to his own apartment, filled with his own things. She should have helped him carry his bags down the stairs, but he seemed to manage OK.
Meaghan set about carrying out her plan. She cut five more sets of keys. She carried no money, and hid her cards in a brown leather travelling wallet close to her heart. She filled her apartment with new things. Kitchen gadgets she would never use. Plaster ornaments for the cleaner to dust. Heavy curtains to hide the harbour view, and to hide her from the world when she didn’t want the world to see.
She studied fashion magazines and searched for her lost Fashion Sense. It had been instinctive. Easy. Black with a few touches. Classics with a salute to modern. Now she could not wear the black. She would try it on, then throw it helpless in a pile under the bed.
She went on a diet.
She washed her hands every time she passed the bathroom.
She checked and rechecked the doors the windows the locks when she left the house.
Meaghan was sure that by being careful, there would be no further loss.
And for a few months it worked. Steve returned to work, no longer required pain relieving medications and seemed more like the Understanding Partner. Meaghan allowed herself to be happy. Allowed herself to forget about the dancing girl. Forget about desire. Stay home.
“So you had a dream, Donald.”
“Yes. But this was different.”
“Different? In what way, Donald?”
“This time it was real. Speaking to me. An image inside my head louder than everything else.”
“And what did that image say to you, Donald?”
“It said I should rob a bank.”
“But Donnie,” said Janice through a mouthful of meat, “It was just a dream.”
“I don’t care. I’ve made up my mind. Are you in?”
“Me?” Janice stopped chewing and dropped the spaghetti back on her plate. “I thought you liked Davus this month. Or Brian ... Bruno ...”
“Byun and no, he’s not available. Davus is straight, at least, that’s what he thinks.” Donnie’s sigh ended in a groan as he covered his eyes in mock despair. “So it’s just you and me babe.”
“Just you and me ...”
“Just you and me.” Donnie left his wine and burning cigarette, and moved around in front of her. He held both her hands and looked hard into her eyes. “But before we do that which you most desire, we need to decide which bank?”
“Wasn’t it all in the dream?”
“I can’t remember the details.”
“Maybe we could go for a drive somewhere.” Steve didn’t look up from the paper. He never used to read the sports pages.
Meaghan looked out his kitchen window. No water views for Steve. Just other rooftops. Other people eating breakfast. “I have to work today.”
“You never work weekends, Little Miss Meggs.”
“I work this weekend. Steve, please don’t call me that anymore.”
“Why?”
But Meaghan couldn’t think of a reason. She tried to come up with some plausible lie. The silence hung until it no longer mattered, and she went to have a shower while Steve washed up. As she prepared to leave he offered her a lift.
“No thanks. I’ve got to use my bus ticket.”
“Look. It’s OK now Little ... Meaghan. I’ve got my licence. I’ve been given the all clear.”
She considered. A small step really. Not too hard. To let Steve drive her. But ... cars were unpredictable. Traffic was unpredictable. The bus would be better.
“You’ve got to get back in the car sometime, Meaghan.”
“I don’t got to do anything.”
“We only take $40,000.” Donnie lit up a Kent and placed his feet on the table.
“Why, Donnie? Why 40,000? It’s not enough ... I mean, it’s enough to be some serious shit, but not enough to buy decent stuff. How about 100,000? We could buy a Beamer ... to share. Or maybe a house with 200,000.”
“Janice ... Janice ... Janice ... believe me when I say 40,000 is the amount. The Totale Grande.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s all in the dream. My dream. And for this to work we must follow the dream.”
“I thought you’d forgotten the details.”
“Not all the details,” he said, and lit up another Kent.
“It was going so well. I was back in control. The apartment was clean. My clothes were starting to fit. All the accounts up to date. Even Steve ...it was better. I didn’t have to make so many excuses. Not great, but better.”
“Go on, Meaghan.”
“My ring. I lost a diamond from my ring. One diamond. One tiny small insignificant ... very small diamond. Gone. Vanished. Gone, as Steve says, down a wormhole to another existence.”
“That’s no good, Meaghan.”
“No. No good. It was an antique. A gift from my mother. Maybe from her mother, I’m not sure. There were seven stones. Now I only have six.”
“That’s bad luck, Meaghan.”
“Bad luck! Oh, I know. I know just how bad this is. It means I’m no longer in control. That things will just happen, no matter what I do, what precautions I take. I’ve looked everywhere. Upstairs. Downstairs. I’ve been down on my hands and knees, scouring the floorboards. There are 119 of them. Two inch mahogany. Now I’ve strained my neck and I’ll miss my lesson. It’s all started again.”
“Your lesson, Meaghan?”
“Yes. I’ve taken up bellydancing.”
That night, Steve poured the red wine into two glasses and placed one on Meaghan’s pile of tax returns.
“A celebration, Little Miss ... a celebration. Might I have you attention for just a wee minute?”
“What are we celebrating?” The harbour was hidden by low thick clouds and smog.
“We ... are celebrating my new position as Executive Assistant Manager.”
“Executive Assistant Manager of Goodyear Tyres, Five Dock branch. Why Steve...well done. And you’ve only been back at work three months.”
“There’s no need to sound so sarcastic. My job doesn’t come with the bells and glitz — or wages — of yours. But I work hard and I work with good people.”
“Sorry. I really mean it, Steve. It’s fantastic. Really good.” Meaghan took a long sip of the wine, and waited for it to warm her throat her oesophagus her stomach.
Steve sat down. “We have to talk.”
“About what, Steve?”
“About the accident. We’ve never mentioned it. Not once. Not since I left hospital.”
Meaghan waited for the wine to warm her brain.“What’s there to talk about?”
“I’m serious Meaghan. We had a terrible accident. We were driving. Someone got hit. I got hurt. God, it hurt. I can’t remember the impact, but I sure remember the pain. I’ll never forget the pain. But — and you have to help me here — I’ve forgotten who was driving. Whose fault was it? Was it yours, or mine? Which of us knocked her down? Killed her, for all we know?”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“No, we don’t, because while I screamed in agony you somehow drove that crippled car away. Funny ... weird how I remember that bit, but not the other. Then you ran it into a pole! Another accident! More pain!” He struggled to find her. “So who was it, Little Miss Meggs? Who knocked that girl down?”
“I don’t remember.”
Steve emptied his glass. Filled it again. “Were we drunk? It was daylight, wasn’t it? Where were we going? What were we wearing? You see, I can’t even remember that. There don’t seem to be any blood stained clothes in my wardrobe. I know something’s missing. Some outfit. But I can’t remember what. You have to help me here, Meaghan. Help me remember.”
Meaghan finished her wine. She turned the glass upside-down leaving a red ring on the table. “I can’t.”
Steve watched her for a moment. She didn’t even flinch when he smashed his glass on her harbour view. He picked up his keys. She could clean up the mess.
“But wouldn’t a syringe full of blood be easier? My brother’s a vet. He could get it for us.”
“No no no no no.” Donnie shook his head and crouched down in front of Janice. He clasped her hands and looked to her eyes. “It has to be a gun. That was the dream. A gun.”
“Where do we get a gun?”
“From Toys-R-Us.”
“A pretend gun.”
“A pretend gun. No blood. No violence.”
“How can you rob a bank and use no violence?”
“Trust me, Janice. This will work, but only if we follow the dream.”
“I get the feeling there’s something about this dream you’re not telling
me. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Donnie? I’d be a bit cross, if I found you were lying.”
“I’m relying on the the fact you find me cute and irresistible.”
“Cute. Irresistible. A cute irresistible gay virgin. Mummy always told me to beware ...”
Donnie shoved his hand over her mouth, then followed it with a kiss, hard, silencing her. “Do you trust me now?”
“No. But I don’t care any more. Kiss me again.”
“Have you had any more dreams Donald?”
“No. I have one at a time. And when I’ve used that one, I’ll have another.”
“And are you using the dream?”
“Yes, and it’s all going extremely well. I have a partner. She’ll do, for now.”
“For now?”
“Until I find Her. That’s why I have to go through with it. Once I’ve followed my dream, and followed it to the letter, I’ll know who She is.”
“Or He, Donald.”
“No. She, I’m afraid. I always wanted Her to be a He, but She’s going to be a She. I must follow my Destiny.”
“And where does your Destiny lead, Donald?”
“ It leads to the next dream.”
Something was different. Not right. Wrong. Definitely wrong. Meaghan walked around the small bathroom. White tiles. Stainless steel. No soft pastels or florals. Industrial grey toilet paper. She sat on the toilet seat. Everything was tidy. Nothing missing. Her suspicion lifted and hovered, and she frowned. Then she realised what it was. She was sitting at an angle. The toilet was angled at 45 degrees to the wall. No longer perpendicular.
She stood up. Stared at it. Tried to remember when it had last been normal. When it might have happened. How it might have happened. There were no scars. No evidence of trauma. The floor tiles were perfectly aligned, each flawlessly licked the stem of the bowl. How many weeks had it been like this, and she’d just had not noticed?
Her system was failing. The system of lists and checks, to keep everything ordered, was just not working. She would write Ôcheck toilet’ on the list. Then, every morning, before she left for work, she would check that the toilet had not moved. And if it had she would tell it off and send it to its room.
Meaghan looked into the mirror. Meaghan looked back. Another Meaghan. Not trim taut fantastic in black always in charge Meaghan. Not Meaghan with the terrific apartment, great job and Understanding Partner. This other Meaghan was more rounded, less certain. This other Meaghan seemed to have lines on her face where no lines had previously been. This Meaghan wore a midriff mauve top and brown striped pants. Around her waist, her rounded waist, a string of coins wound several times, which sang as she walked. Sang and transported her walk to a rhythm and a dance, her hips to a swing.
Who did she think she was? What must other people think? Poor Meaghan, heading for a breakdown. We thought she was doing very well, seemed to have no after effects. But look at her now, poor dear. And look what that poor Steve has to put up with. Not much fun anymore, is she. Doesn’t want to go out. Doesn’t want to stay in. He’s recovered well, though, hasn’t he. They said he’d never walk again.
The toilet was crooked.
The toilet had changed.
Meaghan sighed, and added it to her list.
“Nobody move, this is a hold-up!” Donnie burst through the door.
Janice followed — gun held out in both hands — just like Bodie and Doyle: “Everybody down, on the floor, now!”
There were only two customers in the bank. Only one teller serving. There did not appear to be anybody else. Nobody in the sun in the street outside. The world condensed to consist of Donnie, Janice, the three and the bank. Then Donnie shot out the cameras, and the young teller screamed.
“I thought you said these were toys!”
Donnie ignored Janice, and aimed his gun back at the teller. “Move back from the desk love. That’s it. Nice and slow. Now place your hands on your head.”
Janice stood in her world of disbelief. She tried to convince herself she could walk away, that this was somehow all pretence, play-acting. She tried to remember her part.
“Janice my love, focus on the customers. Don’t let them move. If they do, shoot them.” Donnie moved closer, his gun a foot away from the teller’s forehead. “Now, do you have the keys?”
“What?”
“Keys, to open the cash drawers?”
She shook her head. “We use the computers.”
“No. No computers. It has to be keys. A set of brass keys to open the cash drawers. There will be exactly $40,000 in the drawers. No need to open the safe.”
“But we don’t keep that much in the drawers. Just in case..” she sobbed.
“It must be keys. What can we do? You have to help me out here, sweetheart. Do you have any keys on you? Any at all?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
“In my pocket.”
“Then fetch them for me please, Princess.”
In her skirt pocket there was a green plastic key-tag and one brass key.
“That’s better. Now we have a key. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe I just have to see a key.” He handed over a green backpack. “OK Princess, fill the bag. Quickly now.”
She hesitated.
“Quickly quickly quickly quickly like a little mouse,” he tapped his foot in time.
She ran between computers and drawers, stuffed cash in the backpack and dropped some on the floor.
“Quickly quickly quickly quickly all around the house.”
Janice watched the teller hand Donnie back his bag. Janice watched - and almost didn’t notice the internal door open. “Donnie!”
He aimed his gun at the large grey suit which emerged and fired.“OK, Janice my love. Run for your life.”
They ran. Janice in front. Hot. Sweat. Tears and fear. She couldn’t see through the black stocking. She never saw the car, just a flash of green and the smell of burning rubber.
“This is the worst thing that could happen.”
“Why is that, Meaghan?”
“They don’t need me anymore. After all that hard work. I looked after all those accounts. Important clients. I thought I was important. I thought they really liked me. But no, they have no further need of my services. The position no longer exists. Even Alice is more important than me. Maybe if I’d kept wearing the black?”
“What will you do, Meaghan?”
“They gave me some money.”
“You could easily find another position, Meaghan.”
“Perhaps.”
“You are talented.”
...
“Experienced.”
...
“Driven.”
“Driven ... no ... I wasn’t really driven. I drove.”
“You seem much happier, Little ... sorry ... Meaghan. Much better out of that place. Maybe you like not working.”
“Maybe you like that you earn more than me.” The lift door opened, and they walked down the sunlit timber corridor.
“Meaghan, stop for a minute.” Steve was out of breath. It had been over twelve months, but he was still unfit.
“What?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For letting me drive you home. I know it was hard, getting in a car. Thanks, for letting me do that.” He picked up her hand.
Instinctively she tensed, wanting to pull away. Not wanting to hear the next.
“Meaghan, why don’t we move in together? Run one place? It makes sense. We’ve been together five years. We’re not moving on. We’d save money, which is important right now.”
“I don’t know Steve. I like having my own place. My own space. Not sharing.” Meaghan walked on.
“But why? You could have your own room. This is ridiculous. A waste of time.”
“Sex-on-tap.”
“Well ... yes ... but not just that. Meaghan?” He couldn’t keep up. “Meaghan, look at me.”
“I’ll think about it, Steve.” She pulled out her keys and opened the door.
...
Everything was gone.
“Everything! Even the recalcitrant toilet. Mats. Curtains. Kitchen. All gone. Just walls and floor. White walls. Timber floor. Bright sunlight. I don’t have anything. I have nothing.”
“What did you do Meaghan?”
“Nothing. Steve panicked. Shook. Called the police on his mobile. I did nothing. I counted the floorboards. There are still 119 of them. I walked around in circles. Steve wanted to get me a sedative. A drink. All gone. Tampons. Pens. CDs. Clothes. Nothing.”
“How do you feel Meaghan?”
“I feel like nothing.”
Steve, the Understanding Partner, leaned down and kissed her on the neck. His bedroom was dark and cluttered.
“Not now, Steve, I’ve had a bad day.”
“OK. Think about what I said, before. It makes even more sense now.”
“Not now, OK.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“I’d like a Panadol.”
He left the room and she lay on his bed. Cool. Vivid abstract sheets. She stretched her legs and arms out as far as they could go, felt the cool firm on as much of her surface as she could, sinking further still. His bed was low and her hands could feel down the sides of his mattress. Her left hand touched something.
She slipped off the bed to investigate further. A drum. Under his bed. She didn’t know Steve played the drum. She ran her fingers over it, slow. Tapped it, soft. Smelled the lacquer, the wood. Imagined: Steve playing, Meaghan dancing.
There was something else under the bed. She lifted up the sheet. Under the bed of the Understanding Partner. Her keys. One set. Her wallet. Her Fashion Sense. Meaghan held the drum, quiet, a moment more. She knew this was the last. It was done. There was nothing left to lose.
The girl was there again. No longer in a purple bikini, now wearing translucent coloured skirts and jewelled bra top. Head high, torso straight, her arms traced lines down her belly her hips her thighs as she enticed the drummers to follow her lead.
She was there, but this time Meaghan didn’t slow her walk to watch the dance. Meaghan walked down to the beach. Meaghan wore a purple bikini. Perhaps there are some who would say she should not. Some who would say her hips were too large. But Meaghan didn’t care. She walked to the water, her toes squeaking in the hot sand.
It was January 1st, 1993. The beach was crowded. There were plenty to watch as she stood at the wave’s edge, and removed the bikini. Plenty to laugh at her. Plenty to admire her courage. Plenty to watch the rhythm of her body as she danced into the sea.
Meaghan closed the voice in her mind, and walked through the waves. She felt the water approach then move through her. Her skin tingled with the salt and foam, and the sun began to burn her back. She moved a path between the flagged bathers and the surfers, and her way was clear. She cut through waves that broke upon her, and continued out past the breakers.
She was beyond the crowd. Her audience had lost interest. She floated and moved with the swell. Held her Self together for a few moments, then felt her Self start to dissipate in the water. Soon there would be no Meaghan left. This was her destiny. Her molecules to stretch out with the oceans.
But this was not her destiny. A cloud covered the sun. The change aroused her voice. Triggered her subdued control. How would she get back?
By now a strong current had carried her out too far. She could barely see the swimmers, the dots on the beach. She dared not try to swim against it, because if she found herself unable to, she would panic. So she went with it as it carried her across the face of the beach, and started to push her back in. But at the far northern end were jagged rocks and crushing waves. Meaghan would have to try to swim. Try to get somebody’s attention. She put her hand up, but who was going to see her, this far out? Who was interested in what happened to Meaghan? Who was Meaghan, anyway?
She started to swim, but the current was strong, and she began to swallow water in her effort to breathe. There was nothing to go back for, but she desperately wanted to go back. There would be headlines: ‘Naked girl nearly dies in surf,’ but she didn’t care. She fought. Swam harder. Tried to gauge if she made any headway, and allowed herself to imagine that she did.
But, after much effort, she tired. Her arms, no longer one with the water, felt as lead. Her legs numb weights to be dragged behind her. Again and again she swallowed water. Each time she stopped to recover, she lost any advance. It would not be this way.
Meaghan wondered how long it would take. Would she float around for hours, then quietly sink beneath the surface. Or would the water grab her and drag her under. Her senses dulled. She could no longer smell, or feel. Her vision blurred by the salt. But she could hear something, a low steady murmur which grew to a song.
She turned.
It was a dingy.
“I’ve found you!”
She didn’t reply. She could barely hold the tin side of the boat. Barely see her rescuer.
He held her hands as they clung to his boat. “I knew it was you. I just had to follow my destiny, and it would one day collide with yours.”
Meaghan raised her arm, and allowed her rescuer to extract her from the water. It was hard to get used to the hot solid floor of the boat. Almost as if her body would have preferred to remain with the fluid currents. She lay amongst newspapers and nets, and allowed the noise of the boat, the vibration of motion, to still her thoughts, consequences.
“We’re on the run, my love. If we travel north, no-one will find us.”
She had forgotten the owner of the voice. On the run. This was OK. On the run was fine, for now. Now she had nothing but her Self. But she knew that she wouldn’t be satisfied with just her Self for long. After a rest, she would set about achieving her heart’s desire. She would again have a terrific apartment and a great job.
Meaghan turned her head to finally see the driver of the boat. Wind caught the ash from his cigarette and blew it onto his foot. He laughed and kicked it into the coiled ropes. Dark sunglasses. Sunburnt hair. Perhaps she could properly train this one. Perhaps this time, this one would become the Understanding Partner.