Angels of Hope Part 2

[The Way of the Eternal Dove]

Life on the Edge



Chapter One



Jenny Taylor was something of a good girl in high-school. She got decent grades usually, although there was a tendency to slacken off from time to time in certain classes were she apparently did not get along with the teacher. Her parents bemoaned this fact, but realized that was life, dealing with a teenager. What worried them the most, though, was Jenny’s taste in men. Paul Robinson was not the upright and respectable kind of young man they wanted their daughter going out with. In no way at all. He listened to ‘The Sex Pistol’s’, quite apparent from the T-Shirts he wore when coming around to visit Jenny, and said Bon Scott was either an angel sent from God himself to grace us with his magnificent voice, or the Devil was currently missing from hell. Punk & Heavy Metal – the banes of the Taylor family’s good Christian name. And while they, as Christian, felt it was always important to show mercy to sinners, in true Jesus fashion, there were still limits. Even for Christians from the Salvation Army.



But Jenny didn’t really care what they thought of Paul Robinson. She made that apparent when she let slip she was no longer a virgin and that Paul was the one who took her all the way. That was bad enough, but being pregnant at 15, not even of legal age, was too much for the Taylor’s to put up with. They took her aside when she got home one night, gave her $5,000, her inheritance apparently, and gave her the suitcase they had packed and wished her well in life. She was on her own now.



Jenny hated her parents after that but, soon, in the arms of Paul Robinson in his father John’s caravan, on the outskirts of town, not even going to school anymore, she no longer cared. The school sent around social workers to look into her case, but she screwed them around for a year, turned 16, and they left her alone after that. Let the Robinson’s look after her.



John Robinson did marijuana – had smoked the stuff since the 60s, and while his son, Paul, was a Rock’n’Roller all the way through, he didn’t want to fuck up his mind with what he had seen happen to his father. But Jenny did not seem to care and, despite Paul’s objections, took to Marijuana and soon the harder stuff. And then she was an addict.



‘Come on Jen. Don’t do the fucking stuff in front of the baby. For fuck’s sake, Danny will have enough shit to deal with when he gets older; he doesn’t need to see you doing fucking drugs. Sure, smoke, booze, those things I don’t give a fuck about. But not fucking drugs, sweetheart.’

‘Fuck off Paul. You aint no fucking saint.’

Paul Robinson, looking at his sweetheart, whose good looks over the last couple of years had gone from sweet 16 to someone who looked a hell of a lot older than that, sighed. Here she was, doing every fucking drug cocktail his father could get for her, another kid on the way, and she didn’t care. And she was a Christian girl? Proof positive there was no fucking God.



He picked up young Danny, who was playing with a rattle, and stared at her with daggers in his eyes. ‘Not in front of the baby, ok. I’ll take him outside. He can watch me with the car.’

‘You and your fucking car,’ responded Jenny. ‘It will never fucking go, you know. The bloke you bought it from was a cunt. I knew him in school. He ripped people off with all sorts of scams. Your lunch money was never safe.’

‘The car will go fine,’ said Paul. ‘Besides, I don’t care. It’s the Holden I have wanted for a long time. Sure, I don’t know much of how to fix it up, but I’ll learn slowly.’

‘Probably forever,’ she said, taking a swig of rum and cola.

‘Yeh,’ he said, looking at her as she was getting loaded for the afternoon. ‘Probably.’



Paul took Danny Robinson, his son, out the front of the caravan, out to the old model Holden Commodore, which went with sputters and smoke, which Paul had taken it to himself to see if he could repair and cruise around the city in. Perhaps he was naïve, as Jenny’s description of the salesman was quite accurate. But Paul didn’t care, and it was only $300. He would be hungry for the rest of the fortnight, but he had lived on pasta and rice before. That was standard fare for the dole bludger, after all. Woolies special 38 cents pasta packets. Meal for a family. Shit, that was what he had now – a family. Barely out of school, and he was a father. A family man. Probably, probably he should be responsible, probably. But, somehow, no matter how much a little voice in his head said to him that he would eventually have to grow up and act like a man, that little voice also had a dark side, perhaps that little devil, who said ‘don’t give a fuck man. Nobody else does.’ And, unfortunately, despite in his heart having dreams of one day making something of his life, of one day escaping this hell hole of a suburb in a city he would rather disown, the monotonous regularity of the same old shit was like the drugs he disdained – addictive, but nothing he could really do anything about. Which was a shame, really, as he fancied himself as a professional man in his heart, about town, in the latest model supercar, dressed for success, living the high life. But he was a loser, he knew that, and would be on the dole for the rest of his days. Of that he really had few doubts.



Inside, the 8 month pregnant Jenny Taylor, lying down on the couch, suddenly felt sick in her gut. Suddenly a lot of pain was there and, as she put her hand down to feel her crotch, she pulled it back up with blood on her hands. And then she started screaming for Paul.



8 hours later the doctor said it was a miracle that the kid had been delivered safely. With the blood loss and poor way she had been in a caesarean had been the only option, but the child might be dead already. Somehow, this miracle in the life of young Mikey Robinson, never seemed to give him the luck in life he perhaps deserved. But it was a miracle nonetheless. Despite the heavy abuse he had gone through from his mother with the constant drug use, alcohol abuse and addiction to nicotine Jenny had gone through during the pregnancy, he had come out a reasonably safe and sound child, in good enough condition, with no real health concerns. So it seemed, the Devil had been unable to take him out.



Later that year, when Jenny, despite saying she really hated her parents religion now, had her children baptized in a Uniting Church, simply because they were a traditional church which had more tolerance for people like her. And, still, despite saying she hated religion, Paul would catch her late at nights, just before she fucked off to the pub, reading a New Testament she hid from him to the kids, telling them that Jesus loved them and would forgive them. It went on till they were 4 and 5 respectively, and then she threw the book out, but she confessed to Paul later on that she had done her religious service, so fuck God, they were his kids to deal with now.





‘Danny. Do it, Danny.’

‘Ok.’

Danny Robinson picked up the dead magpie and, looking around carefully, the 9 year old walked across the road, opened the post-box of Mr Chang, and stuffed the dead bird inside. As he ran back across the road the two kids ran back home, down the street, over the dirt track and through the fields back to their caravan, laughing incessantly. Danny was Mikey’s hero now. He had stuffed a dead bird into stupid Mr Chang’s mailbox.



‘That was so cool, Danny. Awesome.’

‘I bet he will puke when he sees the dead bird. I bet he will puke. Vomit up all his Chinese food. Dogs and cats everywhere.’

Mikey laughed at that. ‘Do they really eat dogs and cats?’

‘Mum says so all the time,’ said Danny Robinson to his innocent young brother. ‘They are different in China. It’s there culture, mum says.’

‘I’m glad I’m not Chinese. I couldn’t eat a dog,’ responded young Mikey.



The two kids sat around in front of the caravan, playing with an assortment of objects which had built up over the years. There were car parts from dad’s Holden all over the place. The car had never worked as long as they had known, despite their father claiming he would eventually get it going. But, for the two young children, it made for interesting things to play with, to foster their fertile young minds.



Later that evening a certain Mr Huang Chang was not impressed with young Mikey and Danny but, despite being certain they were guilty of the offense, had no proof and Jenny defended her children against the chink to the nth degree. Somehow, somewere, along the way, Jenny Taylor had developed a mean streak against a lot of people, and newer residents to Australia, well, who gave a fuck.

‘Don’t worry. He’s a stupid chink,’ said Jenny to her two impressionable young children, who learned what a chink was through firsthand experience.



The following day young Samantha Jones, back from her mother’s place were she spent 1 week out of every 2, back with her father, came around and played with her best friends again. Danny liked Sammy, but Sammy liked Mikey. Funny that.



‘Why don’t we throw rocks at the stupid chink’s window.’

Danny, playing with one of the Holden’s inner tubes, shook his head. ‘The chink will just winge again.’

‘What’s a chink?’ asked the innocent Samantha.

‘You don’t know anything, do ya,’ said Mikey with pure male pride.

‘Mr Chang is the chink,’ said Danny.

‘What does it mean?’ asked Samantha.

‘A Chinaman, I guess,’ responded Danny Robinson.

‘Oh,’ responded Samantha, her curiousity abated.

‘Why don’t we take the BMX and do some jumps,’ said Mikey, eager to find an activity to please his older brother.

‘Maybe,’ said Danny, looking at Samantha.

‘We could watch Star Wars again,’ said Samantha. ‘I love it.’

‘For the millionth time,’ said Mikey, but was up for it anyway.

‘Why don’t we watch Rocky instead,’ said Danny.

‘If you want to,’ responded Miss Jones.



Mr Jones, Samantha’s father, had 2 video players, one on top of the other, with a cord running between them. This was to make it possible to do the technically illegal activity of dubbing video rentals from the local store possible, which had led to Mr Jones acquiring around 100 dubbed video cassettes of the best movies the 1980s had to offer. The young trio were in the habit of, on weekends and after school, watching their favourite movies, Star Wars movies and the Rocky movies being amongst their favourites.



‘Mr T could mutilate him in a real fight,’ said Danny. ‘Everyone knows Rocky is not that tough in real life.’

‘Rambo is pretty tough though,’ said Mikey.

‘Shuush,’ said Samantha. ‘We are getting to the best part.’ As the children watched ‘Clubber Lang’ suffered his humiliating defeat at the hands of the triumphant Rocky Balboa in the third instalment of the neverending series, and later on, outside in the playground of the caravan park, the two boys were throwing punches at each other and Samantha, acting oh so grown up, was saying ‘Boys will be boys’ all the time. Unfortunately the boys were just that – larrikins – and Mikey, the younger, ended up with a black eye which, despite Danny’s numerous claims, and Mikey not confessing, both of their parents just knew was Danny’s fault. The strap almost came out from Grandpa John, then, but after he glared at Mikey, he smiled and put his belt away. ‘Just scaring ya,’ he said to relieve the look of fear in Mikey’s eyes.’



Perhaps these years were the good years, in retrospect, for the Robinson clan. Perhaps they were not that bad all things considered. They were a family, of sorts, and still did some of the things traditional families were supposed to do. They did occasionally eat together, although this was usually at McDonalds or the rare visit to Kentucky Fried Chicken both boys delighted in. They celebrated Christmas occasionally. Not with any church attendance, or any songs or the like, but they did get presents and it was one of the few nights of the year which Jenny made a half decent attempt at preparing a proper meal. For regular meals they usually ate sausages or chops with potatoes poorly mashed and peas, but on Christmas they got roast chicken and turkey, and Jenny spent a lot longer than normal mashing the potatoes and making them taste ‘real good’ as Danny was want to say. And, despite the family’s lack of significant funds, most of it going on their addictions, they managed to visit Luna Park in Sydney occasionally, which was Jenny’s idea of a holiday for the family. But, in truth, that was about as good as it got for the family. Jenny and Paul never stopped arguing, although he was not the kind of man who would hit her, really, they sometimes got very passionate. They would both swear a blue streak and would use the ‘F word’ without hesitation, so much so that it seemingly came naturally to the two of them. Grandpa John would never complain, though. He had been through something like that in his own marriage, and knew the rougher side of life. He was usually found ensconced in the 1 private room the caravan/cabin had to offer, and would not get involved with these arguments. The boys, often, hid with their grandpa when their parents were going at it, and more often than not one, if not both of them, fell asleep in their grandpa’s double bed. For a long time Danny had the one spare single bed, and Mikey would sleep on the couch, but as he grew both his parent’s knew they would have to do something about the sleeping arrangements. But how could they afford it?



Still, all things considered, they were a family of sorts and, with the 1980s coming and going, the brave new world of the 1990s seemed hopefully to offer something new to the Robinson clan. It seemed that, but real life often has a way of biting you in the bum.





Chapter Two



‘Paul. I’m pregnant.’

‘Again?’

‘Oh, nice fucking attitude mate. Nice fucking attitude.’

‘You know we can’t afford another kid. I aint made of money Jen.’

‘You should have thought of that before you removed the condom.’

‘Fuck,’ Paul swore at the world, sitting in the caravan, drinking a beer, looking pissed off. ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ll just have to cope.’

‘Oh, there is something we can do about it alright.’

He looked at her, unsure what she meant, but quickly made the connection. ‘NO FUCKING WAY, JENNY. You are having that baby.’

‘Whatever she said,’ pushing her cigarette butt out in the ash tray.

He looked at her and, perhaps, for the first time in their time together he really wanted to hit her for almost saying what she would do to their kid. She was supposed to have values, the bitch. She was supposed to have values.



Destiny, funnily, often works out the way we want it to, even if we don’t say so and regret it afterwards, because the child was miscarried, which left a numb feeling in the caravan for months. Paul and Jenny didn’t talk to either much – there was nothing to say, really. Nothing to say. And, despite Jenny’s earlier uncaring attitude, it hit her the hardest. She had been buying pink baby clothes, because they had a test and knew it was a girl, and she had been looking forward now to having a daughter. Someone like her. Someone like Jenny. Someone to pass off her own feminine values, ways and traditions to. A girl like her. She had spent afternoons fantasizing about her daughter playing with crayons and looking anxiously for her mother, the way Danny and Mikey did. Stupid things like feeding the child, and taking care of it in general. Just having a girl kid. A buzz which never quite happened for her boys. It hit her hard – harder then either was prepared to even talk about.



But Paul saw it late at nights. In her staring off into space. In her vacant eyes, and her absent expressions. This child was going to mean something to Jenny – a ray of light in an otherwise dark world. And then, right near when she was happiest, she was plunged into hell and the Devil finally had his victory over the Robinson clan. Life sucked.



And then she hit the grog even harder, and the drugs claimed the remainder of her soul.





1991 was a dark year. After the death of their child in January, Jenny’s parents were killed in an automobile accident and, despite the fact she didn’t visit them hardly at all since they kicked her out, it still hit her hard. She had no other real family to speak of and, although it had become her life anyway, really there was no escaping her destiny in the Robinson family now.



The money for the house and the belongings was split between the Taylor’s church, a number of charities, and 10% for Jenny. At the reading of the will Jenny wanted to insult her parents, but let the final remaining modicum of Christian charity still rule her heart. At least they had left her something.



In those days, mid to late 1991, she brooded around the caravan, looking twice her age, needle marks everywhere on her body, a wreck of a life of a young girl who once had promise, but fell into bad company. But, somehow, even Jenny couldn’t blame Paul. In many ways, despite his own reckless ways, Paul was still something of a survivor. He still had a bone of decency in his heart and, even when he was bashing on a bloke down at the pub, there were limits in what he would do. He could go psycho on guys, from time to time – it was the Sex Pistols in him – but there were limits. It was only fighting to Paul Robinson in the end. A bit of the biff. A bit of the State of Origin ruff stuff. Nothing too much more. Just the Aussie way. And while he smoked, drank, and swore a blue curse, that was about the limit. He was a brawler, a bad boy, but he was not a diehard criminal. Not an evil guy. He still had standards, and would stand by his mates, and fight for his country if he needed to.



But Jenny. What would they make of Jenny Taylor when all the shit had had its day. A girl of promise, turned to the dark side, and seemingly hating all who would offer a way back into the light, disdaining religion, disdaining her family, even disdaining Paul in some ways for getting her into this mess. But she didn’t blame him most of the time. Most of the time she understood, this was what God had dished out for Jenny Taylor. For the little girl in Sunday school who said God’s rules were too strict and that God was a hypocrite. And the girl who, despite complying with her parent’s ways, had a heart which could really hate people at times – really hate them, and only give lip service to the virtue of forgiveness. She was a bitch. A druggo. A loser. A Robinson. And she didn’t – really – care.



Somehow the kids survived those years, thinking there mother was just unwell most of the time. The boys had worked out that their mother did drugs and that they were supposed to be illegal, but the family didn’t apparently give a fuck. Those rules were for the people who made those rules, a common Robinson family saying. Yet Paul spoke with his boys from time to time and while he admitted their grandfather smoked dope made it equally clear that he didn’t and didn’t think that much of the shit. He would tell them ‘don’t do the shit. It will only fuck you in the end. Don’t waste your life. I did nothing with mine but you Danny, you Mikey. Fuck, maybe something good will happen in the end. Somehow I feel that. I don’t know. Somehow something good will happen for us in the end.’



Those words stayed with the impressionable young children and both Danny and Mikey, despite loving their mother and in some ways wanting to excuse or justify her behaviour saying ‘it wasn’t that bad, was it,’ in their innocence, knew there father was speaking the truth to them. They seemed, in their innocence, capable of making that leap.



‘Mum. Why do you do drugs?’ Mikey, who was now 11 in early 1992, and starting to make sense of the world, needed to know if his mother was really normal. If she was a proper mother. A regular mum. He had met other mums, mainly Samantha’s mother, who had problems of her own as well, but who seemed a little more normal than his own mother. A little bit more responsible. He wanted to make sure his mum was ok as well. That he had a good mum.

‘Kid. I just do them, ok. I’m an addict.’

She had gotten into that habit in the last few months, calling her children ‘Kid.’ Almost disowning them. Separating away into her own little world, the world of Jenny Taylor, were things as stupid as children, even her own, even those who depended on her, were little fascinations - like miniature umbrellas in a cocktail - which looked pretty, but served no real purpose apart from amusement. And Mikey, the young one, the stupid one she had grown accustomed to thinking in her heart, what purpose did he really serve now in the life of Jenny Taylor. Just something which half her social security was pumped into. Just another little bludging Robinson.

‘Can’t you stop doing them. Perhaps if you did you could get a job at Woolworths like daddy says you could do.’

Mikey wanted a normal family, now, more than anything else. He wanted to be a proper kid, in a proper family, and somehow he had worked it out that he wasn’t in that – a normal family. Somehow things were wrong.

‘Don’t fucking judge me, kid. I fucking hate that. I hate it in my mother and I hate it in my father and your fucking father. Hypocrites judge people. Fucking hypocrites. People who think they are so fucking holy that they have nothing better to do. So don’t ever fucking judge me, kid.’

Mikey had been sworn at before, but the little 11 year old was somewhat used to that in the family. But it didn’t sway him. He knew his mother was not right.



Later that night Danny found him crying in their grandfather’s bed and, hugging his younger brother, Danny said ‘One day it will be ok, Mikey. One day.’



* * * * *



Samantha Jones had a frog she had found in the pond near the caravan park. She was showing it to Danny and Mikey and they then started playing leapfrog. Jenny came out and looked at the kids playing with the frog and started swearing at them. ‘Don’t bring that fucking thing inside you brats. I fucking hate creepy crawlies.’

‘Aww, mum,’ said Mikey, but Danny just took the frog and gave it to Samantha and said ‘You know what she is like now. Better take it back to the pond. Make sure it is ok, ok. Don’t hurt it.’

‘I won’t,’ said Samantha, and disappeared.



Jenny, who no longer came out of the caravan very much, sat on the porch in the sunshine, staring at the kids. Staring at her own children.

‘You kids are like your father. Fucking losers.’

That shocked Mikey, being insulted by someone who he expected love from. From someone who, earlier in life, had cared for them, making them Christmas dinners and giving them presents. Their mother.

‘But that’s what I get,’ she said, lighting up another cigarette. ‘Shagging a fucking Robinson.’



Danny looked at his mother and, perhaps for the first time in his life, he judged. He looked at her and said ‘You’re a bitch.’

Jenny looked at him and, despite perhaps the expectation of a firm rebuke or a coarse insult in response, she just laughed. ‘Yeh, Danny. I am. I am a fucking bitch. So go fuck off, ok. You and Mikey, go fuck off.’

Danny looked at his mother, didn’t swear again, but turned to Mikey and said, ‘Come on. The bitch doesn’t want us hanging around.’

Mikey, though, looked at his mother. He looked and, in his heart, in his innocent young heart, he felt the only thing he could – shame.



They disappeared over to the other side of the caravan park and that day, with words said between them, they swore to look after each other, even if their mother could not really care for them properly anymore. Even if she didn’t care anymore.



In 1994, when Mikey was 13 and Danny was 14, they had gotten over their mother somewhat. She was, in a horrible way, dead to the kids now. Dead. They watched as she did drugs in front of them, even injecting the fucking chemicals into her crotch in front of them and in response to Paul who said ‘For fuck’s sake, Jenny,’ she responded saying, ‘Who gives a fuck? They will see them soon enough anyway.’

Paul, who had been in jail for the last 6 months for brawling, did not really know how far his girlfriend had fallen. How far from the tree she was now rotting away from. She was not the girl he had taken a liking for. She was not the same Jenny Taylor. She was, he hated saying, but she was just fucking evil. A loser, by even Robinson standards. And, the worst thing, she didn’t even care. She didn’t even want to change her lifestyle, to do anything about it. She saw her dealer every allowance day, paid for what she needed, gave Paul a small amount of cash for food, which she still fortunately looked into, saying she still needed to eat, and then she sat in front of the TV all day, watching daytime and night-time dramas, high half the time, or locked up in John’s bedroom, listening to the radio, drinking booze and sleeping. And while this pissed off John severely, he had started to sleep in the other double bed in the main living room with his two grandsons, while Paul took the single bed. Whatever else, they would not abandon Jenny. She was the children’s mother, and needed help. She wouldn’t take it, but she needed it. She needed it before it was too late.







When she overdosed for the first time Paul was not surprised. These things inevitably happened with druggo's. Of course, Jenny was actually quite a smart girl in her own way, and knew what the drugs were doing to her, and knew about handling them in something approaching moderation not to kill her. She had learned that much in school, and still took some care of herself in that respect. In other areas, though, she was not as diligent. She didn’t go to the park showers very much anymore – sometimes only once or twice a week – and often she went days at a time without taking proper care of herself, and she stank because of it. They were used to the smell as a family, had really come to expect it, but did the best they could. She was family. And, despite all the problems they had with her, they still loved her. But then she overdosed, ended up in hospital for 4 months, going through a detox program and coming home, they thought the worse would happen straight away. They were lucky – for the next year or so, until Mikey was 15, she did act responsibly somewhat. She washed herself, insulted Paul and the kids a lot less, and tried to go walking to lose some of her weight once a week or so. But, slowly, the devil reclaimed her soul, and dragged her back downwards, ever downwards, into the deepest addictions of her life – addictions she never recovered from.



Mikey found her one morning. Lying on the couch, after he got back from playing. It was a Saturday morning, and he had just turned 16, and was hanging with some kids from the caravan park, kids who had recently moved in, who were around 16 and 17, some with tattoos, riding skateboards, and even doing some drugs. They were his new friends, apparently. His new entourage. His new gang. They had been around for a few months, and Mikey had grown to care less and less about his mother. Less and less about the woman who raised him, but turned her back on him. And then he came home, his father in prison again, Danny off the other side of town with his latest girlfriend, leaving Mikey on his own, with John at his usual mates house, old man Nick, who also lived in the Caravan park. He came home, nudged his mother, and after no further response he took her pulse. Nothing. ‘Shit,’ he swore. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’





Later that night, John spoke to the boys. ‘It is just us 3 now. You’re father is still inside and will be for another 3 months. I’ll do my best, but you will have to take care of yourself mostly. I’m an old man, boys. I can’t do much anymore, apart from piss and shit and eat. But I’ll do what I can.’

Mikey put his hand on his grandpa’s shoulder saying he understood, and Danny nodded. It was just the 3 of them, then. There mother was in the hospital, somewhere, her dead body waiting for the cremation, which had been her wishes.



When their father got released from prison 3 months later, the family took the ashes, went off to the sea on a day trip via the train, and Mikey took the urn and poured the ashes into the ocean. And then, not really knowing what else to say, he prayed and said ‘God. Please take mum into heaven. Please forgive her.’



It had been the end to a tragic life, one which had deeply affected the Robinson men, leaving them with scars which would perhaps never heal. Jenny had been a difficult person in latter years to come to terms with. Her uncaring attitude towards them, as if they were just another bunch of losers like herself she was caught up with, instead of a family she was supposed to love and care for, was difficult to handle. And, as time passed, Mikey grew to hate his mother’s memory, and refused to think of those good times with her. She didn’t deserve that. The bitch didn’t deserve that. In his heart, deep in his heart, he knew he still loved her and would miss her, and did hope she was in heaven to meet them again one day. One day, were she would be better, and they could finally be a proper family. But for now he swore at her memory, and was glad to see the back of his own mother.



It was a dark time for the Robinson clan and, despite thinking 1997 was a horrible year, 1998 only got worse.





Chapter Three



‘Fuck. Why don’t we?’

Mikey was unsure. While the chink was still, to Mikey Robinson just that, a chink, he didn’t think he wanted to throw eggs at the man’s window. An old lesson on that had told him the wiser. But Ronald Baddely was not of the same opinion. He was dressed in a Metallica T-shirt, had a small tattoo of a skull on his arm and also had a nose ring. He looked the shit, so the gang often said.

‘Come on Mikey. Don’t be such a fucking pussy, ok. I have the eggs – we go later tonight, and throw them at his window, and scamper before he catches us. It will be a laugh riot.’

And so Mikey, his brother Danny not around, and his grandfather not there to correct him, nodded vaguely somewhat and agreed to the juvenile request.



Later that night, around 10, Ronald Baddely knocked lightly on Mikey’s caravan door and Mikey quickly appeared, dressed all in black like Ronald was, with a black balaclava covering his face. He didn’t want to be recognized just in case.

‘Shit, you ready to rob a bank?’ said Ronald.

‘Maybe,’ responded Mikey.

Ronald had his eggs and they carefully, avoiding the lights of the caravan park and being seen, came to the edge of the park, crossed over the paddock, onto the end street were Mr Chang lived and, coming to his lawn, Ronald handed 3 eggs to Mikey.

‘You ready,’ Ronald asked him.

‘Sure,’ said Mikey.

And then Ronald yelled ‘Now’, and started throwing the eggs at the nearest window, with Mikey soon following him. They threw about 8 eggs or so when Mr Chang appeared, swearing at them, and they ran off down the street back to the caravan park.



When they got back to Mikey’s caravan Ronald was laughing and boasting, but Mikey didn’t really think it was that funny in the end. And he was scared at the violent words Mr Chang had sworn at them.

‘Maybe he’ll call the cops,’ said Mikey.

‘Who cares,’ responded Ronald. ‘They’ll never trace it to us.’

‘You hope,’ responded Mikey.



The following day a cop car did make its way slowly through the caravan park, responding to Mr Chang’s fervent hassling, doing the rounds to give the park a scare. They knew there was not much more they could do than that. Mr Chang hadn’t seen the lad’s faces, so there was no proof. They had suspects, but no proof. So all they could do was send around the patrol car to scare the residents.



These sorts of activities, on the shadier side of the law, happened for quite a while in the small group during early 1998. Ronald’s older brother, Geoff, occasionally did shit with them also, but mainly Mikey and Ronald were becoming little criminals around town. They were very lucky – somehow the hand of grace was upon them, keeping them every time just out of the coppers reach, but perhaps grace would only last for so long.



Despite these reckless times, Mikey was still a likeable enough kid. He just got a kick out of being something of a bad boy – in some ways like his father, who brawled a lot. Ronald, a thug, was the main instigator behind all of their wrongdoings, and Mikey was easily led by him. Things they got up too included throwing trash on Mr Chang’s lawn a few months later, spray-painting their names into the concrete walls of a local underpass, as well as a lot of shoplifting from the nearby Woolworths, were they always seemed to manage avoiding being busted, despite the manager, when he was around, pretty certain the two kids were involved.



Yes, somehow the hand of grace was upon Mikey Robinson for that year for a time, but grace only lasts so long, and even angels can fall from it.





‘But we can go inside for breaking and entering. They will do that to us now – probably.’

‘So what. I can handle time inside,’ responded Ronald. ‘Besides, it will be fucking awesome. We can totally fuck the place.’

And so, despite thinking he should know better, they travelled across town to the Milk Depot late one night, or perhaps early in the morning, and going through a back entrance, they broke a window, came into the place and started busting up milk containers, milk all over the floors of the depot after a while. This time they were not so lucky. They had tripped an alarm and, shortly, 3 police cars had shown up and they were hiding in a closet out of sight. They were not lucky as one of the coppers opened up the closet and, threatening them with a baton, brought them out, out to the cop car, and down to the station. They were both arrested and Mikey’s grandfather came down and bailed him out on pension day.



Mikey fronted the magistrate, but had a good public lawyer from Legal Aid. He was sentenced to a good behaviour bond and had to do 6 months community work. Ronald was not as lucky, and had 3 months in Juvenile detention.





‘What’s your name?’ asked the blonde girl, picking up litter by the side of the highway, were Mikey was doing his service.

‘Mike. Mike Robinson.’

‘I’m Sheila. Sheila Davies.’

‘You are fucking kidding, aren’t you? Sheila? What, you’re parents fucking hated you?’

‘Fuck off,’ she said, but didn’t walk away.

They continued for half an hour, walking up the side of the highway, the head of the program, Daryl, coming up from time to time to look at them and to monitor them.

When Daryl had disappeared Sheila spoke again. ‘What did you do? To get this job?’

Mikey said nothing, but instead turned to have a good look at the girl. She was blonde, but it appeared dyed. She was tallish, just a little taller than himself, and she had multiple ear-rings, nose rings and even eyebrow rings. And there was dark mascara around her eyes. She was a little cute, though.

‘What. You a fucking Goth?’ he asked her.

She nodded. ‘I guess. Society hates me. I won’t conform,’ she said with a smile. He laughed at that.

‘Who the fuck wants to conform. Rules made by the rich to control the masses. Up the fucking Proletariat!’

She smiled. ‘What. You a fucking commie?’

‘Probably,’ he said, continuing to pick up garbage. He had read some of Marx’s literature recently, and had begun thinking that the world he lived in was fucked up by Capitalism.

She moved closer and soon they were picking up garbage together, Daryl who occasionally came over to check them giving them a funny look but not saying anything.

‘Try anarchy,’ she responded. ‘Even communism is a system of order. To control the masses in the end. It is not true freedom.’

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her seriously. ‘Fuck. As long as I am controlling the masses, I don’t give a shit.’

She laughed.



They spent the rest of the morning, till lunchtime, picking up garbage and then they were taken to McDonalds and given an allowance for their work to buy their lunch with.



Mikey sat down, eating his French fries and drinking his cola and was not surprised to see Sheila shortly standing in front of him. ‘Can I sit here?’ she queried.

Mikey, while Sammy Jones was his unofficial girlfriend, could see no real reason to object. The girl seemed alright. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Free world.’

She sat down.



They ate their meal in silence to begin with and he stared at her a bit, looking at her rings and her makeup and noticing the tattoos of tears on her hand. ‘What sort of music do you listen to?’ he finally asked her.

‘Metallica. Megadeth. Slayer. Morbid Angel. Harder stuff, usually,’ she responded. ‘My brother listened to these bands back in the 1980s and he gave me some CD’s not long ago. I used to listen to Madonna and Wham and Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson and other popular pop stuff. I hated Nirvana to start with, but now I love them.’

‘Right,’ he said.



They continued eating and he had found a question to ask her.

‘So you are anti-social?’

She nodded, but then amended that by saying, ‘But I still get along with people, I suppose. I’m probably contradicting myself but I try to like people I meet. I don’t like all the rules, but I do try to get along.’

‘And that is anarchy to you, is it? Getting along?’

‘Probably not. Probably not really. I’m probably a tryhard,’ she responded, taking a sip of cola.

‘Probably,’ he said smiling.

‘Hey,’ she said, punching him lightly in the arm, bringing another chuckle.



They finished their lunch and Daryl came over and said they could finish up for the day if they wanted to, but he would count their hours if they wanted to work extra today. They both declined that.



They walked down to a nearby park and she sat on a swing and he stared at her. ‘Do you do drugs?’ he asked her. Somehow, that question needed to be asked now. For some reason he needed to know – was she his mother.

She shook her head. ‘Some of my friends do, but I’m not that stupid. My brother said they will mess with your head. I smoked pot once and got the point. I won’t do that shit again.’

‘Right,’ he said.



She continued swinging and they didn’t say much. There was not much to say, they didn’t know each other very well.



Finally, she came off the swing and they walked over to the see-saw and both of them, despite Mikey thinking it was a bit juvenile, got on and they did little see-saws.

‘Where do you live?’ she asked him.

‘Over at the northside caravan park. It’s shit, really, but we can’t afford anything better.’

‘I know where that is,’ she responded. ‘We’ve never been there to stay or anything, but we’ve driven past it. Have you lived there all you’re life?’

He nodded.

‘We’ve been in this town a decade. It’s a boring place, but mum likes it. Dad died, and we got some life insurance. She works in a supermarket, and my older brother left town a year ago. He is probably going to get married soon, the idiot.’

‘You don’t like his girlfriend?’ asked Mikey.

‘I don’t believe in marriage,’ responded Sheila. ‘It is society’s way of oppressing women. It sucks. Its control. I would never get married.’

Mikey found something to say on that. ‘My parent’s never got married. They lived together, but never tied the knot. Mum didn’t believe in that either. Said it was a waste of time. Her parent’s religion.’

‘What. They were Christians were they?’

‘They were. They’re dead now,’ responded Mikey.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said.

‘Don’t be. I hardly ever met them, and we didn’t get along. They were just like – well, like people you knew but nothing more.’

‘Acquaintances,’ she put in.

‘Yeh. I guess that’s the word,’ he responded.



It was Saturday, school awaited them on Monday, and Mikey found himself finding a girl who he actually seemed to like. Sure, he liked Sammy Jones, but he had always known her. They had been friends forever. Here was a new girl – a new friend – with viewpoints on life which, for the young Mike Robinson who was starting to question the fundamentals on society and life, could just be the tonic of inquisition he needed at this impressionable young age.





‘Where do you live then,’ he asked her.

‘Not far from here,’ she responded. He found out she went to the school in the next suburb to the one he went to. They were practically neighbours.

‘Well, do you want to do something Monday. After school,’ he said. ‘We could hang about. I could meet you here, I guess. Go to Maccas. Talk and shit.’

She nodded. ‘Sure, Mikey. We could do that.’

‘How did you know I was called Mikey?’

‘Uh, sorry. I didn’t. I was just being cute, I guess.’

‘It’s ok. That’s what they normally call me.’

‘I’ll call you that then.’

He nodded.



‘So I’ll see you here Monday? Around 4?’

‘Sure,’ she responded.

‘Cool. Well, I guess I got to go now. Shit to do.’

As he walked off, she waved at him and he got to the edge of the park and turned to see her at the water fountain, drinking. This new friend, this girl he liked. Perhaps even more than Sammy, even though he had just met her. But they seemed to click. Perhaps the right kind of girl to bring into the life of Mike Robinson.



* * * * *



They caught up on Monday. She got there just after 4 and he was sitting on the swing. ‘Hey loser,’ she said.

‘Hey bitch,’ he responded, and she giggled a little.



They spent half an hour chatting over various subjects, and she began relating something of her history. Her father had worked on a construction site in Sydney and had fallen from a height, which had given them a good life insurance payout. They had moved to the Robinson’s hometown and purchased the house outright with the sale of their own home in Sydney which had still a large mortgage owing and the payout, so they were in a decent enough financial position now. Sheila’s mother worked for a private supermarket on the other side of town, in the delicatessen cutting meat and cheese and that sort of stuff, and had worked for the past decade for the most part, bringing home the money for the family. Her brother had left for Sydney with his girlfriend to live a better life but, funnily enough, ended up working for the same construction firm his father had, which Sheila called ironic.



‘So now it is just me and mum,’ she responded.

‘What is your mother like?’

‘Ordinary enough, I suppose. She brings home men, occasionally. She fucks them, I think. Pretty sure of that. Blokes from the pub were she picks them up. But they are becoming scarcer now. She is a bit older and they are apparently harder to nab. A lot of them married.’

‘It’s a hard life,’ said Mikey.

‘I don’t think I want her marrying again, though,’ said Sheila. ‘While I don’t believe in marriage for myself, I know it is popular with my mother’s generation, but for me, well,’ she trailed off, not saying anything more.

‘Well what?’ queried Mike.

‘Well I still think my mother should honour my father. He’s MY dad. He’s my brother’s dad. She shouldn’t fuck more than one guy. That is wrong, somehow.’

‘Shit. You almost sound religious.’

‘Do I?’ she queried. ‘God save us all then,’ and they both burst out laughing.



‘I guess I can understand were you are coming from,’ he responded momentarily. ‘My mum and dad were always together until she died. Somehow, despite the fact that the stupid bitch hated us in the end and did drugs till they killed her, we were still a family. Still had that much sense in her.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said.

‘Don’t be,’ he responded. ‘The bitch got what was coming to her.’

She frowned. ‘Not a very nice way to talk about your mother.’

‘You didn’t know her, ok. Let’s just leave it at that. You didn’t know her, and you are lucky you didn’t. She was a real loser, and that is saying something from me.’

‘Oh,’ she responded, in a softer voice.



‘Shit,’ let’s change the subject,’ he said.

‘Ok,’ she said in response, but the conversation had dried up for a while.



Shortly Mikey stood and indicated for her to follow and they walked to the stone fence of the park and climbed up on it, gradually making their way all around the park, Mikey doing his best to quickly run along the steel gates without falling, but he fell and bruised his ankle and Sheila laughed.



They spent a while there that afternoon, and Mike didn’t make it home until 6.30. Danny quizzed him were he had been and suggested he get to his homework, but old man John didn’t seem to care. But he was like that these days – lost in his own world, perhaps not long for this one. He seemed to be now failing in health and, soon enough, the boys might be left to fend for themselves.



‘I’ve met a new girl,’ said Mike, as they were eating pasta for dinner.

‘You’ve got one. Samantha,’ responded Danny.

‘I know. I know. Sam is cool and all that. This girl, though. Well, she’s just a friend at the moment.’

‘Will she be anything more than that?’ queried Danny, picking up the remote and turning on the news.’

Mike didn’t say anything in response until Danny finally turned to look at him. ‘Well. Is she your kind of bitch?’

Mike finished his pasta and went into the other room. Danny shortly came and stood at the door. ‘You like her then. That’s obvious.’

He finally responded. ‘She’s not like mum. She knows about drugs. She’s alright.’

Danny picked up a little football from on top of the fridge and tossed it around in his hands. ‘Then you may as well get her fucking pregnant, bro,’ and he smiled, went back to the TV, leaving Mikey thinking over that very thought.





The following day they met up again and Mikey had Danny’s words on his mind. Sheila was sitting on the grass, with Mikey sitting on the fence when he sat down next to her, which didn’t bother her, but suddenly he moved his head forward to try to kiss her and she quickly pulled back.

‘What the fuck is your problem, Mikey?’

He stood, walked back to the fence and sat down and stared at her.

‘Are you serious?’ she asked. ‘I thought we were just friends, you know. Nothing more than that. I haven’t been giving you any signals that I know about.’

He turned away and responded, ‘No. I guess not. Sorry. It was my brother’s idea.’

‘Your brother told you to kiss me?’

‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Look, sorry. I like you, I guess. I just thought that maybe it was the right thing to do.’

She softened. ‘Look, maybe it is. I like you. But we are still getting to know each other. Give me some time before you get heavy on me, ok. And at least let me know that is what you want.’

‘Cool,’ he said.



Basically, he did want to fuck her now. She was about average in looks, perhaps a little on the cute side, and they got along really well. But perhaps it was just meant to be a friendship of sorts. Not that Mikey really knew what from what in that respect – he was still a virgin.





Later on she asked him if he wanted to come around to her house the following day after school, and he agreed. The day came and they were in her room and she was looking at him. She had adjusted, and knew that he was interested.



‘Do you want to? I don’t know. Do you want to kiss me?’

He looked at her and, a little nervously, came away from the computer games, and sat next to her on the bed, and they started petting. They were there for half an hour, tongue tied, when her mother opened the door, and they were caught. She stared at him. ‘Who is this, Sheila? A new friend.’

‘This is Mikey Robinson. Remember, I mentioned him the other night.’

‘Oh, yes. Your new friend. From the caravan park, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right Mrs Davies.’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘It’s Miss Jenkins now, ok. My husband is dead.’

‘I know,’ he responded. ‘Ok. Miss Jenkins.’

She scratched her head, looking at the two of them. Her daughter had scored, so it seemed. ‘Look, do you want to stay for dinner Mikey. We are having roast chicken from the supermarket. I’ll cook some vegies.’

‘Uh, sure. Do you mind if I call home though. To let them know I will be late.’

‘Sure, kid,’ she responded.



They ate dinner, there, and Mikey, in one of his rare guest appearances at another home, was somewhat happy. It was a normal, regular house. Something he was not used to. Miss Jenkins was a kind enough host, serving him and pouring out Coca Cola for him to drink and asking him what he studied in school and what he wanted to do with his life, which he answered as well as he could. She seemed to take a genuine interest in him, and she was what Mikey always thought a mother should be acting like. Caring like. After dinner they sat in the main lounge room, him sitting next to Sheila, who had her arm on his leg, and they were watching pay tv. Terminator 2 was showing, and as he sat there, a new girlfriend next to him, in a nicer house than usual, a kind enough lady smoking quietly, but otherwise being the perfect host, he thought to himself. ‘Hey, this is ok. Life is ok.’



Later on, around midnight, after they had watched another late movie, Sheila’s mother retired for the night and left the kids to their own devices. Sheila liked kissing him and then, slowly, with Miss Jenkins snoring in the other room, he put his hand for the first time under her T-shirt. Slowly he edged it up to her breast, and, slipping it under her bra, he started playing with her tits. She moaned slightly, and kissed him more passionately, and they were at this for 10 minutes. Finally, she pulled away and looked at him. ‘I’m a virgin,’ she stated flatly.

‘So am I,’ he responded.

‘You’re not just saying that, are you?’

‘Do you care,’ he responded.

‘Not really, it’s your life.’

She looked at him, and looked down at his trousers at his crotch. But then she shook her head. ‘Look, Mikey. Not yet. I’m not ready. I mean, sure, you can squeeze my tits. But nothing more, yet. Not so soon, ok.’

He looked at her, thinking perhaps he should be a little disappointed, but it was true as well – he still was a virgin.

‘Sure, Sheila. I guess I came on a bit strong.’

‘No, you were fine. It’s just me.’

They looked at each other for a few moments, and then Mikey turned to stare at the TV set. ‘Well, the movies over. I guess I probably should get going.’



They came outside of her house and Mikey looked up at the stars in the sky. He shivered a little, as winter was approaching, and he was only in a T-Shirt. She looked at him, and said ‘Wait here,’ going off inside. Soon she returned with a large duffle coat. ‘It was my brother’s. He left a lot of stuff in his room. I don’t think he will mind. Go on, take it.’

‘Uh, thanks,’ he said, putting on the coat. Suddenly he felt a lot warmer.



‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ he asked her.

‘You can count on it,’ she responded.







As he walked home that night, he looked up at the stars. He looked at the stars and wondered, quietly, wether they really shaped your destiny. If they did, had they brought him and Sheila together? Were they now meant to be together, perhaps forever? It was early days in their relationship, and perhaps he was making way to much out of the situation, but he knew he liked the girl, and perhaps liked her a lot. She didn’t believe in marriage or anything else like that, but he was way too young to get married anyway. And, besides, his parents never got hitched. Perhaps they were just meant to be close fiends, lovers, maybe even partners one day. Or perhaps the friendship would not work in the end, brought to a sudden ending for some reason that God only knew.



Shit, God? Did he really believe in God? Somehow, tonight, old lessons from childhood seemed to be there. Old lessons saying God was there and he had a plan for your life. He felt like a dickhead for thinking it but, perhaps, perhaps God was there. Perhaps he had brought him and Sheila together. Perhaps.



All the long walk home Mikey Robinson was happy enough. It had been something of a dark year for him. He’d been in trouble with the law, had done a lot of shady things, but somehow these had been overlooked by the powers that be, and he had been given a break. He had what looked like to be a new girlfriend and somehow, this girl, seemed to be offering him a new lease on life. A new adventure.



He got back to the van, found Danny asleep on the double bed and John snoozing in the other room. He got a beer out of the fridge, sat down out on the front porch, and stared up at the stars. It felt like a new beginning. Like a new and better chapter of his life had started. Perhaps he was being given a break after all the shit he had been through after all. Perhaps.