DYING DREAMS by Alessandra Azzaroni
© 2002 by Alessandra Azzaroni vcaoriginals@yahoo.com.au
STORY LAST UPDATED ON 12/07/2002
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Written in Australia.
PROLOGUE
It is with great reluctance that I share my story with you. For years now, I've been writing all sorts of things - the news, current affairs, features, sports reports, novels… but never once have I dreamed of going into troubled waters such as these.
There comes a time, more often than once, when the truth comes out. And it surprises you how much you never knew… and you really should've. After all, it's those truths that hurt you in the end. We'd all live life a heck of a lot easier if we found out the truth about people when we meet them.
But it's a lot more difficult when one of those people is your very own mother.
Some had their suspicions as to why my mother never married. It wasn't that she was unattractive, oh no. She was by far the most attractive mother that any of the students in my year level had. And she was mine. She wasn't even aware of her beauty. She'd just throw herself into her work all the time, and I soon learned that she did it to hide her pain.
She wanted another child desperately. And she particularly wanted a boy. To balance the genders a bit more in our household, I supposed at the time. Whatever the reason, she said that not long after she'd got herself settled into work again, when I was grown up enough not to need her all the time, she put her name up on a list to adopt a child. She didn't want to be a foster mother. No, she specifically wanted to adopt, and to adopt a boy of a very young age, perhaps not long after he was born.
It was a few months after my fifteenth birthday when she got her wish. A teenage girl, Jelena Estelec, had become pregnant, and she wasn't ready to handle the pressures of motherhood. Not to mention the fact that the baby's father had skipped off on her. And so her parents asked her to make a choice: have an abortion, or give the baby up for adoption.
The agency set Jelena up with my mother, and the two got along famously. Maybe it was because my mother really wanted this to work. Sure enough, everything was agreed to, and as the time of the birth got nearer, Jelena showed no signs of having cold feet on the issue.
Three months before my sixteenth birthday, the day came, and Jelena gave birth to a baby boy. Not long after she named him Andrej, Jelena died. She'd lost a lot of blood, and it was a miracle that her son was healthy.
From that day on, my mother dedicated every split-second of her time to care for Andrej, to bring him up loved and happy. Indeed, he smiled at almost everyone he met, and my friends all adored him. He never cried in public, and only did so a little at home. And so my mother's hopes of a happy life were restored.
But happiness only goes so far, as I soon found out. We can't all live on a cloud with silver lining forever. We have to step down, and let someone else have a turn. But in the end, I learnt that those mystical clouds do not exist, and even happiness has its boundaries.
There's so much we all need to learn. For example, we must never take what we have for granted. It's clichéd, I know, but if we
do take things for granted, then they're likely to be taken away from us, before it can sink in how much they mean to us.
So I've written many things in my time, but now it's time to delve into the world I hasten to write, hasten to unleash the power of the things that hurt me so.
Yes, it's time to write the most hurtful thing I'll ever have to write - my life story. And it is with great reluctance that I let anyone read it.
And even now that everyone in my family knows the truth, it's time that you all know, too. For it's time to share the pains that came with just my existence.
CHAPTER ONE
The invitations were sent out to just about everyone we knew. We had ordered so many that we had even posted them to ourselves, just for fun.
You are invited to attend the joint birthday party celebrating the fact that Magda Bishop, Kara Madden and Cass Stoner have all made it to sixteen years of age all alive and in one piece.
That's what we wrote. In our own little way, we were mocking the invitations that Miranda Fisher sent out for
her sixteenth birthday party earlier in the year. She was an only child, and her parents were very overprotective of her. They were also very proud of her, which was why they had gone to the trouble to write such elaborate invitations.
It had been my birthday the day before our party. Mama had bought me such a beautiful gift that I almost couldn't believe it was really for me. She almost never bought me anything new, except for on birthdays and Christmas. But when she did buy me something, it was worth not getting anything new in between. Lucky for me, my birthday was in July, so it separated the year almost evenly in two.
It wasn't that we were poor. No, we were anything but. We may not have had enough money to buy the metallic blue Jaguar that my mother had her eye on - after seeing the advertisements on television and in the newspaper - but we got along fine in our white Toyota, that I washed once a week, when it wasn't raining. It wasn't that my mother forced me to. No, I simply
chose to. Maybe to make up the fact that I would often wear the same outfit to different Free Dress Days (for our school had a uniform, as is the go for most schools in the state of Victoria), I always made sure our car was looking good.
In the lounge, I stared down into the jewellery box, amazed to have such a gift. "You've got to be kidding!" I exclaimed. "It can't be real."
"It is, though. Well, it should be, for the price I paid for it!" Mama replied.
I lifted the pieces out of the small box, and held them up to the light. At first I'd thought she'd only got a plain gold chain, which I would've been happy with, but on it she had hung a ring, with two pieces of gold woven together, with a sparkling ruby in the centre.
"It's gorgeous!" I cried.
"Andrej chose it for you. He pointed at it through the glass."
"And what good taste he has!" I lifted my little three-month-old adoptive brother onto my lap and cuddled him close. "Good to have a bloke who knows what's good."
At the time, I had wanted to put it on straight away, just to see what it would look like. But Mama was strongly against it. "No, no, save it for tomorrow night. Spoil yourself then."
"Oh, but others will be jealous of such an expensive gift!"
"Stuff them. You wear that proud, my dear."
The next day, I was so excited about the party. I never usually got so interested by parties. In fact, I wasn't quite sure if parties suited me. But the gift gave me confidence, confidence to stand out and be proud of whom I was. It was common knowledge that I was not the most popular girl in my year level, and never would be.
I remember a particular time in Year 7. Most people in that first year of secondary college knew stacks of people at Swaydon S.C. from their primary school days. I knew very few. So at first, it was difficult for me to make friends, and it seemed as though everyone was against me.
Now things were changing. Since Year 8, I had established a firm set of friends that seemed to grow with each year. Sure, there were times when people left to join other groups, in particular, Miranda Fisher. She'd had some issues, and had gone off. We still didn't really talk to her, although she was in my form.
Not only did I have a steady friendship group, but I thought that other people were warming up to me, as well. People were adapting to my different sense of humour. It was mostly sarcastic, which could be why other people didn't pick up on it.
But it could've been because I had recently had a five-week stint on a popular soap opera,
Back Roads. I had been scouted during the school production, Copacabana, in which I had played the part of Conchita. So maybe my shot at fame was enough to make people sit up and take notice.
Or maybe it was more of the fact that I was looking more and more like my mother every day. A lot of people I knew hated being compared to their family members, but I was secretly ecstatic when people likened me to my mother. Being the daughter of Veronica Madden meant more to me than anything else did. She had a part-time job teaching French to private students, both young and old. And her parents were wealthy, and they regularly sent her cheques. Indeed, I often got large amounts of money written on the cheques they sent me for my birthday. I didn't see them often, though. They lived down in South Gippsland, and my mother didn't like to talk about her family much.
Mama was beautiful beyond a doubt. At thirty-six years of age, she still had the looks of a twenty-five-year-old. She was bronze-complexioned with thick black hair, which she had inherited from Native American ancestors. We were never really sure why they decided to come to Australia, but they did. I was lucky to get the same looks, and at times I even thought that I was beautiful. I certainly thought so when Mama was helping me prepare for the party.
Magda, Cass and I had deliberated between the choices of what people should wear at our party. Did we want something elegant, like at Miranda's, or just normal casual clothes? In the end, we had decided on neat casual, but I wanted to sparkle. I was feeling bold and daring, and I wanted to really feel as if this were my night. Cass and Magda probably wanted to feel the same, too. Either that, or it was just another of my eccentricities.
Andrej was napping, so Mama came into my room to help me choose what to wear. She had something in particular in mind, as she had purchased it just for this occasion. She came into my room carrying a coat hanger that had a red dress flowing from it. And it wasn't just a red dress. It was ruby-red - perfect to match the ring - with the fabric feeling quite slinky, though I had no idea what it was. It was sleeveless and collarless, with the neckline starting from about five centimetres below my collarbone, and the wavy hemline falling just above my knees. Mama examined it again approvingly, and handed it to me to put on.
It fit snugly, and I wondered if it was supposed to, or if I was just a bit bigger than the size was meant to be for. I wasn't sure, but Mama nodded as she made sure it was perfect on me. And it was. Even if it was just my egocentric idea, it was what I thought.
Mama ducked out of the room and came back with a pair of flat-soled, but elegant black sandals. I was happy that my mother and I had the same shoe size.
Then she pinned back a small section of my hair from the front, and kept checking in the mirror - as I was sitting in front of it - to see if it looked right. Again, it was my personal belief that it did. The finishing touches were a thick, gold bracelet and the chain and ring around my neck.
"Look at you, Kara, look at yourself," she said to me. I looked. "See what you've become? You look
exactly the way I did when I was your age. Don't think of me as vain, but I was well aware of the power I possessed. You probably don't think you have power now, do you?"
"Power? Me?" I laughed at the thought. "Never!"
"You'll soon realise, then. Others will realise, too."
I think people are already realising it, Mama, but not how you think."
She sat down on the bed next to me. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, it's just because of the acting and quite possibly my large bust, that's all."
"Kars, you listen to me and you listen good." She grabbed my hand. "You're more than just a chest. Don't let anyone forget that."
I laughed again. "I know that. Perhaps it's just others that don't."
She sighed, stood up and pulled me with her. "Come on, then. Your ride will be here soon. And you're fine to get home on your own?"
"Magda's promised to save me a spot in her car."
"Good girl." She walked out of my bedroom, and since she was still holding onto my hand, I went, too. "Go on, then. Say goodnight to little Andrej."
He was still sleeping in his cot, dummy in mouth and hands clutching a small, fluffy, yellow toy rabbit. He was adorable sleeping like that, and I didn't want to wake him, so I kissed two of my fingers and patted Andrej's forehead with them. "Goodnight, little one," I whispered.
Little did I know that I wouldn't get to see him again for a very long time.
The party was to be held at the Stoner household, so Magda's mother came by with the four-wheel-drive packed with Magda and three of our mates, and I sat in the middle row with Tracy Lee. It didn't take us long to drive to Cass's, about ten minutes. I was glad to see that I wasn't the only one to have dressed up a bit.
We all pitched in to set things up inside the house and in the backyard. Cass's parents had gone out for the evening, but had left her older sister Karina in charge, though she had told us that she'd stay in the back half of the house, and to get her if there was any trouble. I hoped that there wouldn't be too much alcohol around.
One of the groups in our year level was known to hang around the back of the oval at school and smoke all lunchtime. I'd heard what their parties were like, and I was glad I'd never been invited to go to one of them because I didn't know a nice way to say no.
Almost all of Year 10 - except for that one group - came, and it was great to go around and talk to the people I hadn't seen for awhile. This party was being held in the first week of the holidays after Term 2, and the last week of school had us all on work experience, spending a week working for a company. I had spent my week at Della's, a karaoke place. I worked at night, so at first it was difficult to convince the school that I could do it there. But dear Della got on the phone and sorted it all out. My week, working for five weeknights, was so successful that Della offered me a part-time job. And I could even work there after I finished school, she said. I didn't know what I did that was so impressive, but I was pleased nonetheless. Maybe she just liked my voice, as I was confident enough to do a few songs each night.
The party was perfect, and I was at ease being a co-hostess. I watched the presents being stacked on the three card tables we had organised in the kitchen, each one hanging a sign with either my, Magda's or Cass's name.
I was in one of those moods when I was feeling absolutely ecstatic and wanted to share that around. I was feeling wild and outrageous, and felt free to walk on the moon and take some of it home, too. A little crazy, I know, but it was what I had come to expect of myself, and what others had come to expect, too. I was proud of the fact that I actually had a personality, and that I wasn't complaining, or miserable all the time. I wasn't even sure if I knew what teenage angst was!
I had a feeling, though. It was my dream to travel around the world, and meet all sorts of interesting people. I loved Australia, and with all my heart, but I was always looking for something more. I wanted to know what else there was on offer for me to experience. I wanted to experience all kinds of different cultures, but I still wanted to be able to call Australia home.
And that's partly why I thought I had a feeling of what teenage angst was. At some stages I had tried to learn about the foreign exchange students in school, but they were all in Year 11 or Year 12. However, there was one person in our group that I had my eye on. His name was Marc Davis, and he was a New Zealander.
I know, not very far away, just over the Tasman and all that. Nevertheless, it was the closest I had come to a foreigner, and so my interest was piqued.
And in all honesty, I didn't know him very well - I didn't even share any classes with him! But I kind of knew him from lunchtimes and such. And I wasn't really sure what I found so attractive about him at the time, but I was quite certain it was the whole foreigner thing.
Of course, I had been deliberating for some time on whether I should actually make a move or not. Sure, some people thought I had been "going out" with some guys, but I wasn't really interested in them, and they probably were only interested in me because of my "fame", if you could call it that - never mind the fact that I had a large chest.
But I decided, why not? Wasn't this my night? Shouldn't I take advantage of my extremely good mood? Mama had given me confidence that night, showing me that I could be beautiful, I could be charming, I could have a good sense of humour… and I could be
powerful. I wanted to know what power was, and I wanted to know if I possessed it, but Mama was so damn sure that I did that I just
had to believe her.
However, I needed a little break from everyone, and needed a bit of fresh air. And so I tried to find a nice, quiet place outside, where no one would probably be. I found myself a good section beside the garden next to one side of the house. The Stoners actually kept the garden in good condition. There were no weeds, though there weren't many flowers, seeing as though it was winter. It was strangely a warm night, though I could've felt that way for many reasons. On a tree opposite where I was leaning against the smooth blonde brick wall were yellow flowers, though I had no idea as to what they were called. In books I read, it seemed as though everyone knew about styles of houses, and flowers and all kinds of other things. I almost felt unintelligent in comparison, though I knew the authors were just sharing the information they knew.
"Nice night, eh?"
I looked to the left, and was surprised to see Marc Davis. I had thought I was alone, but now it was obvious that it wasn't. And what luck! "Didn't expect there'd be anyone 'round here," I said, almost nervously, but glad that my voice had a smooth tone. My acting skills were coming through when I needed them.
"That's what I was thinking." He smiled. And I couldn't help but notice how well it looked against his clear-complexioned face, even features and blondish-brown hair.
"Should I leave?" I asked, feeling as though I had interrupted.
"Not if you don't want to. I was just getting some air."
"Me, too." Then I suddenly remembered something. On Friday night at Della's, I had thought that I had seen him with a group of his relatives and family friends at a table near the back. At the time I had thought I was just imagining things, even when I went to serve them. But now that I was thinking somewhat clearer, I had a strong inkling that I
wasn't imagining back then, wasn't just having a case of wishful thinking… it had been real, and as I thought of this, I almost laughed at my teenage stupidity. "Were you at Della's on Friday night?" I asked, hoping that I was correct.
"Yep. Had all the relatives over from Auckland, so we took them out for the night," he replied. "Thought I saw you there. Think I even saw you singing."
He remembered that? "I… may have."
"Yes, you did," he said slowly. "My older brother said you were great."
"Oh, so I wasn't completely terrible?" I asked, and not even my acting could hide my blushing.
"No, you were actually decent." I looked at him, confused, as I wasn't sure if he was just pulling my leg or not. He laughed. "You know you were great."
"Of course I'm great," I said, feeling my mood go back to playful/egocentric.
"Yeah, you're not too shabby."
"Not too shabby?" I didn't know what spurred me on, but I turned to face him fully, took his face in both hands and kissed him. He was surprised at first, but soon was kissing back eagerly.
This is what Mama was talking about, I thought. I do have power after all.
Marc pulled away. "Yep," he nodded, "not too shabby at all."
I had my presents and cards in a shopping bag, and I was sitting in Magda's chariot again. I was dropped off first, since my house was the closest. "Are you sure you've got your key?" Mrs Bishop asked.
I fished my key ring out of my purse and jangled it. "Sure looks like it." I hopped out of the four-wheel-drive, bag, purse and keys in hand, and waved goodbye.
"We'll organise something for next week, right?"
"That we will," Tracy replied.
I shut the door and walked up the path. Mama had remembered to leave the outside lights on for me - including the little ones lining the path - but inside it was dark, no lights at all.
Must've gone to bed, I thought. We had left a bit before midnight, so it made sense that Mama was in bed.
I slid the key into the lock, and turned it. I turned the handle as well, and the door opened neatly and, thankfully, quietly. I turned around and waved to my friends, and Mrs Bishop drove away.
Of course, I didn't know then that I would probably never see them again.
Incomplete