Future Writer In Progress Archives | A Million Beautiful Pieces

A Million Beautiful Pieces November 26, 2018

Fictional Short Story: The Women In The Bathroom by Desirae Pillay

(Please note the content and language may be explicit for some readers)

The Women In The Bathroom

Shardha squeezed the Colgate toothpaste on the toothbrush, and hoped that Nandha wouldn’t moan that it wasn’t Aquafresh like they used at home. In her haste to pack their school uniforms and books, she didn’t think about packing toothpaste.

“Nandha, we are going to be late. Hurry up.” She tried to whisper across the passage from the bathroom to the bedroom where her brother and her had slept last night. He was always dragging his feet but she knew after what happened last night, it would be harder for him to get going today.

She could hear her aunty Raksha in the kitchen. Her aunty was newly married to their maternal uncle Mitchell but Shardha and Nandha felt as if they knew her forever. Shardha was grateful that aunty Raksha had the sense to suggest that Nandha and her stay at their home last night.

The night before seemed in one part like a distant memory yet in another part she could remember every word yelled between her parents; when every punch and kick happened and she could still see the madness in her fathers’ eyes as he pounded her mother.

Nandha and her were also yelling and crying; begging him to stop but he just hit their mother harder. Their screams were heard by their neighbours who like so many times before, knew to phone their uncle Mitchell.

Shardha was a pro at calming down her brother enough so that atleast he didn’t make a noise when he cried. Her mother staggered to the bathroom, ignoring the whimpers of her children. Or maybe she was deaf after all the yelling? Shardha found that easier to believe. When uncle Mitchell and aunty Raksha arrived, their father was gone. Shardha opened the door and then the big gate. Her mother was still in the bathroom.

Every time he did this, her father left for a while. Sometimes it was just a few hours. Other times it was weeks before he returned. Then when he came back, it was like nothing happened. Mum and dad would be happy again until the next time she spoke out of turn or forgot to ask his permission before she bought something or who knows what silly things she did to make him angry.

Shardha’s thoughts were interrupted by Nandha. He came into the bathroom, his eyes puffy from crying himself to sleep; and the same terrified look he had the night before. Shardha, handed him his toothbrush and whispered to him to please try to hurry up. Then, quite unexpectedly the bathroom door flung open causing both children to jump with fright. Aunty Raksha stumbled in. She looked away from the children while she leaned over the bath tub and opened the tap.

Shardha thought she saw red on her aunty’s hand but her mind resisted the allusion to what it might be and she tried to dismiss it. But she couldn’t unsee the deep red stream flowing from her aunty’s face, mingling with the water as it cascaded down the drain. She knew, she knew that her aunty was silently crying and a scary idea entered her mind.

Did her father come here and do this to her aunty ? Was he cross that she had taken them with her? Was he in the flat right now? Shardha’s mind was racing as she tried to understand why her aunty was also a woman in the bathroom like her mother.

Just as her confusion was becoming panic, her aunty stood up with a towel over her mouth and nose and said “Shardha go get your lunches from the kitchen. I’ll take Nandha down to the car. Go get your bag, Nandha.” Shardha knew better to ask her aunty anything now. She went to the door, opened it and listened. She couldn’t hear her fathers’ voice. She could only hear her uncle getting ready in his bedroom.

She slipped out of the bathroom and walked slowly down the passage to the kitchen. There were the lunches. She grabbed them and turned back hoping to catch aunty Raksha and Nandha and to walk down with them. As she turned back into the passage, she could hear her uncle talking to his friend from next door. They were on the balcony off the lounge.

Uncle Mitchell sounded so angry. “Bloody bitch. She thinks she is too smart.”

Uncle Mervin asked him “What? Raksha? What happened bru? She wasn’t looking right when I saw her on the stairway now. She having a problem with your sissies kids being here?”

“No f&*%! Not problem with the kids. No, no she likes them. She wanted to bring them last night. My sister and my swaer got into it again. So we brought the children here while they cool off. But this bitch, thinks because we took the children, she can talk about my sissie. This morning she was chuning me that my sissie must think about the children. She said my sissie can’t keep letting the children see this. What the f&*%? She thinks she knows better than my sissie?

Shardha drew a deep breath. Her eyes widened in horror. She knew why aunty Raksha had a bloody nose and mouth. The tears filled her eyes and her throat felt dry and painful.

“I clouted her a solid one. Bloody sh**.”

Uncle Mervin “ Hey bru, sometimes you have to show these things their place. Your wife, you know with her education and all, she needs to be brought down a bit. Good you showed her quickly how to shut the f&*% up. “

“She finally managed to fully open her eyes.”

Shardha tip toed down the passage, not wanting to see her uncle and not wanting to hear anymore. She was just six years old when she understood that nowhere was safe if you were a woman.

Twelve years later, that memory came back to her as clear as day. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a baby crying. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was her baby that was crying.

Her eyelids felt so heavy as she tried to open it. She became aware of the cold tiles against her cheeks. Then she remembered. He was angry because she left the hotel room to buy food for the baby. She didn’t wait for him to come back.

How could she? The baby was hungry and he was already an hour later than he said he would be. So she raced like a mad woman to buy mash and gravy from Kentucky Fried Chicken. But she was wrong to leave. She knew, she knew it as soon as she opened the hotel room door and saw him glaring at her.

As it all came back to her, she also felt the stabbing ache in her jaw and the burning sensation running through her arms as if it was on fire.

“You bitch. Who did you go to meet?” He fisted her jaw. She went down, landing on the beautiful Italian tiled floor.
“You want other men to look at you? F&*%*#@* whore! Just like your father. You want to sleep around.” Kick to her face but her arms were up trying to block him. She blacked out.

As Shardha remembered what just happened to her, and her baby’s cries became more frantic; she lifted herself onto her elbows, then onto her haunches. She stood up and steadied herself on the wash basin as her head spun.She finally managed to fully open her eyes. She saw herself in the mirror; bloodied and wretched.

Her heart ripped itself in two as it called out to her “When did you become the woman in the bathroom?”

Shock turned to focus. Her baby’s cry sobered her fully as the realisation of the weight of her life came crashing down on her. Her daughter was not going to be like her. Not ever.

She went to her baby. She knew what she had to do. Run.

THE END

Glossary: South African Indian slang particular to Indians who moved from Durban to Johannesburg in the 1970’s and 1980’s.

Bru: Close mate or friend

Swaer: Brother-in-law

Sissie: Sister

Chuning/Chun: Telling/Told

A Million Beautiful Pieces August 9, 2018

Guest Post: I Can Only Imagine by Talisa Pillay

Today, as we celebrate Women’s Day in South Africa and my family celebrates our eldest daughter Savannah’s 22nd birthday, this guest post is a touching tribute to sisterhood, the value of relationships and love in its purest forms. It was a great reminder to me about simply accepting life for what it is. About living in the moment and to appreciate that my daughters are much braver than I could have hoped for.

Talisa my second daughter wrote an essay for a school assessment. Yesterday when she received her score she was thrilled and as soon as I arrived home from work, she asked me to read it. I was blown away. Not only by my daughter’s writing but by the depth of her content and her bravery to share an emotional and personal story.

For Women’s Day 2018, I honour my daughters by sharing their story as written by Talisa Pillay: I Can Only Imagine.

“My worst fear is to be trapped. To be stuck with no way of escaping. To know that no matter how many times I try to break down the walls, I just end up being pushed down again: like an unwanted toy, shoved into the darkness of a cupboard. When my voice becomes one with the stale air around me.

My sullen thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a strange sound. I frown, creating creases on my forehead, as I try to riddle out where exactly the sound is coming from. I stride over to my window to hear if the sound is coming from outside. As I gaze out onto the brown, lifeless grass; I realise that the strange sound is music. It is not coming from outside but from the room next door.

A wide grin stretches across my face like the sun’s bright rays on the earth. I close my eyes and let the jumble of music dance in my ears and sail through my memories. It starts off with Whitney Houston’s ” My love is your love”, jumps to “Shake it off” by Taylor Swift, slides to Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal” and ends with a bang to “Desi Girl” a beloved Bollywood song.

I’m smiling now because not only do I know all the songs from the top of my head, but I also know who is playing the songs and why. Sometimes when words fail her, music is the only way of expressing her most inner, intimate feelings. Music is entwined with her soul. Marvelous isn’t she? My older sister Savannah, my Savannah. That’s who she is.

As I open my eyes back to reality, I turn to my ancient wooden desk and see my forgotten cup of tea begging to be drunk. I let my black leather chair engulf me as I sip my now iced tea. There is a bouquet of soft white, purple and pink flowers that I catch myself staring at as though I might spot an ant on the dainty petals.

Savannah picked them out for me. She’s honestly the most humble, thoughtful human on this wide wide planet. In all fairness she shouldn’t have to be. Do you know why? Because although she has a smile that will melt ice and a laugh that will drive away your misery and a brave, precious, enduring soul; she also has a body that works against her. Yes, she is a person with complex disabilities.

Please don’t pity her or shower with bland, meaningless “You are such an angel” or “You are a special girl” but pity us people who get so annoyed for not being able to understand her slurred speech when it’s not her fault. And through all of this she still loves unconditionally and gives when we don’t deserve it.

She is the real warrior in this upside down world. I don’t know how she does it and I guess I never will. As the last drop of tea knocks against my lips, all I know is that…..I can only imagine.”

Posted with the permission of Talisa Pillay and Savannah Pillay

Happy Women’s Day to WOMEN everywhere!

My Story February 27, 2018

Loving Savannah – by Talisa Pillay

What a surprise for Michael and I to read Talisa’s essay. Her teacher wrote”Look after Savannah – she is a blessing. Treasure what you guys have. I think with some polish you can be a great writer”.

I agree.

Here it is.. Talisa’s perspective.

Who is Savannah? You may ask. Well she is my almost twenty year old sister. No biggie,right. You are probably thinking just a twenty year old girl in varsity who goes out to parties and gets her hair done every week at the salon. Just like any other twenty year old. But she is different. Savannah is uniquely different.

Savannah is autistic and has cerebral palsy. Autism affects how she experiences the world. Her brain is just wired differently. Cerebral Palsy affects her body. It doesn’t function the way ours does. She also had an operation to correct her scoliosis. She had rods put into her back to keep her up straight. The good news is that her back is straight. The bad news is that she lost her ability to walk and now uses a wheelchair.

That was honestly the hardest time for me. I couldn’t grasp the idea that one minute Savannah and I were playing Hide-and-Seek, and the next minute she couldn’t even get from the bedroom to the bathroom on her own.

During that time we lived in a tiny townhouse in a complex. Our unit was upstairs, so my parents carried Savannah up and down those stairs for four years. Eli , my brother was a baby then, so they also had to carry him up and down those stairs. Savannah and I shared a room since I was two years old. When she had the operation I was six years old and my parents tried to get me to sleep in another room. But I didn’t want to be away from her.

Even though the house was small, I have the best memories of that time. Savannah and I used to dance together all the time (before the operation), and we played “teacher-teacher” or “doctor-doctor”. It did not worry me in the slightest way that Savannah was different from other sisters. In my eyes she was and is as perfect as can be.

In 2013, we moved to a bigger house. This house was like a palace compared to our tiny house. It has a pool, a front and back garden, a lapa and even a cottage for my Gran. My Gran’s cottage is way bigger than our old house.

We all have our own rooms. It was weird for me at the beginning; not having Savannah with me. Eventually I got used to it. But there are still times when I miss having her in the same room as me.

I am an animal lover and the best thing that happened to us, is that we have a dog now. His name is Jaime and sometimes he sleeps in my room, sometimes in Savannah’s room and sometimes in my parent’s room. This was the start of a new chapter for my family.

Savannah no longer attends school as she cannot cope with it. She used to attend the Johannesburg Hospital School for autistic learners, but after the operation, she was unable to physically and mentally cope. My parents tried respite care for Savannah to have a break from us and for my parents to have a break from caring. It’s not easy being a parent, but being a parent to a person with special needs is much tougher. We thought we all needed the break but it was not so.

It was too weird not having Savannah there with her music blaring out when I got home from school. I felt sad that she was not there to ask me a million questions about my day. Although these things can sometimes be annoying, that is what makes this family. We all felt lost and empty. I missed her. We all did. When she came back we couldn’t let her go again because our home was not the same without her.

She spends her week days at home and my mother has designed a program so that she is still learning. Everyone in our home helps Savannah to do something everyday. It can be baking, tracing letters and numbers or helping her to type e-mails to her old friends. She can’t read or write but uses a special picture program to type. On week-ends she does whatever we are doing as a family. Sometimes she has her own plans with her friends.

All Savannah’s quirks and strange ways, have made our family weird and unique. I would not want to change that! I will always continue Loving Savannah.