Night Flight To Venus
Without Prejudice
I think of her now as her plane flies to the other side of the world. The hum of engines, the lights dimmed, the faint smell of dinner still redolent in the air. She will be sleeping, belly full, ear phones in, her neck cushion tilted to one side as she snores quietly. The plane flying through the night, taking her to new love, she hopes, and old family.
Slovenia, her home lies at the end of her journey. Her birth home, anyway. Abandoned by her Mother at 4. Left in the care of her grandparents who were good to her, and then to an Aunt and Uncle who were not so good to her.
And then at 13 the Mother sent for her having made it all the way to Australia. And had married for the first time. No contact for nine years and then a summons to a new land, a new life, a new start.
She never knew her father, a product of war rape, the Mother had said.
She never forgave her Mother and the Mother never gave her the time of day, this her only child. In her will when she died, the Mother wrote, " I leave my daughter, nothing, as we have never had a good relationship " a slap in the face, even at the end.
My friend sucked it up, knew it would be that way. Her own sons getting some but not her, never her.
I knew she was troubled right from the start. Her restlessness, her lack of confidence, her sometimes disastrous relationships, looking for a Dad, never having known one. And as she flies off to new love , she must be thinking,
"What if this one goes wrong ? "
I have told her I will adopt her even though she is nine years older than me.
Give her a place to live with family. I have so many, she hardly any. Sons marry and move away and she has three. One she never sees anymore, nor her Grandkids. A falling out, years ago. I told her I will squeeze another studio on to the big block we have and put her in it.
I had daughters and daughters stay around. Even when they marry or have kids. She wishes she had had daughters. We grew up together in the seventies, she my racy neighbour, me her dependable friend. We have fought, not spoken, run into each other accidentally and reformed a friendship as
older women now.
She grits her teeth at my happiness and confidence and I shrug and say I have never known anything else. I had two loving parents, six siblings and for my parents their children were their world. And even though I was number five, I was special as we all were. My parents just loved kids.
I try and put myself in her place and imagine what it would be like to lose a Mother at 4. She says she remembers the day.
Her Grandmother seeing the daughter wanting to go, get out of Yugoslavia, run, break free.
" What about the Child ?" The grandmother asks, that day.
" I can't take her " says the Mother.
And she was gone.
She remembers her Mothers running footsteps echoing down the hall.
Illegitimate, raised in the attic for the first five months of her life, before being allowed downstairs by the stern grandfather. He loved her eventually but at first it was just shame on the family.
So a few short weeks ago she met a friend of a friend who lives in Slovenia and through Skype a relationship, friendship formed. A man she is yet to meet face to face. She has gone for eight weeks, I'm laying bets she will be homesick in three.
I wish her love, I hope he is the Man of her dreams, he is ten years younger. She used to berate me for going out with younger men. I told her they are the ones that ask, silly. I have never been out with an older man except for my ex husband and we were teens when we were together. Me 16 and he an old man of 22.
I think of her tonight as I hear Only The Lonely playing on the radio, my Orphan Annie friend, flying through the dark night sky towards love. On Her Night Flight To Venus.
Xxx
I think of her now as her plane flies to the other side of the world. The hum of engines, the lights dimmed, the faint smell of dinner still redolent in the air. She will be sleeping, belly full, ear phones in, her neck cushion tilted to one side as she snores quietly. The plane flying through the night, taking her to new love, she hopes, and old family.
Slovenia, her home lies at the end of her journey. Her birth home, anyway. Abandoned by her Mother at 4. Left in the care of her grandparents who were good to her, and then to an Aunt and Uncle who were not so good to her.
And then at 13 the Mother sent for her having made it all the way to Australia. And had married for the first time. No contact for nine years and then a summons to a new land, a new life, a new start.
She never knew her father, a product of war rape, the Mother had said.
She never forgave her Mother and the Mother never gave her the time of day, this her only child. In her will when she died, the Mother wrote, " I leave my daughter, nothing, as we have never had a good relationship " a slap in the face, even at the end.
My friend sucked it up, knew it would be that way. Her own sons getting some but not her, never her.
I knew she was troubled right from the start. Her restlessness, her lack of confidence, her sometimes disastrous relationships, looking for a Dad, never having known one. And as she flies off to new love , she must be thinking,
"What if this one goes wrong ? "
I have told her I will adopt her even though she is nine years older than me.
Give her a place to live with family. I have so many, she hardly any. Sons marry and move away and she has three. One she never sees anymore, nor her Grandkids. A falling out, years ago. I told her I will squeeze another studio on to the big block we have and put her in it.
I had daughters and daughters stay around. Even when they marry or have kids. She wishes she had had daughters. We grew up together in the seventies, she my racy neighbour, me her dependable friend. We have fought, not spoken, run into each other accidentally and reformed a friendship as
older women now.
She grits her teeth at my happiness and confidence and I shrug and say I have never known anything else. I had two loving parents, six siblings and for my parents their children were their world. And even though I was number five, I was special as we all were. My parents just loved kids.
I try and put myself in her place and imagine what it would be like to lose a Mother at 4. She says she remembers the day.
Her Grandmother seeing the daughter wanting to go, get out of Yugoslavia, run, break free.
" What about the Child ?" The grandmother asks, that day.
" I can't take her " says the Mother.
And she was gone.
She remembers her Mothers running footsteps echoing down the hall.
Illegitimate, raised in the attic for the first five months of her life, before being allowed downstairs by the stern grandfather. He loved her eventually but at first it was just shame on the family.
So a few short weeks ago she met a friend of a friend who lives in Slovenia and through Skype a relationship, friendship formed. A man she is yet to meet face to face. She has gone for eight weeks, I'm laying bets she will be homesick in three.
I wish her love, I hope he is the Man of her dreams, he is ten years younger. She used to berate me for going out with younger men. I told her they are the ones that ask, silly. I have never been out with an older man except for my ex husband and we were teens when we were together. Me 16 and he an old man of 22.
I think of her tonight as I hear Only The Lonely playing on the radio, my Orphan Annie friend, flying through the dark night sky towards love. On Her Night Flight To Venus.
Xxx
