Below is an old story submitted earlier this year for a reputable newspaper in my home town. I didn’t win the competition, but that wasn’t the point, that would have been a bonus.
This story is based on true events. Unfortunately as the media tells us to live in fear of greater things, I believe we should be looking closer to home, understand yourself locally – it’s happening all the time and it should be made public.
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Hotel Freedom
I finally scrounged up enough money to get a pen, paper and a quiet room for the night. The hotel manager must pity me, he has seen me beg across the road and pick up cigarette butts off the floor to get my fill. Cigarettes may be bad for you but when you are hungry, a smoke or two is pretty good at helping you tighten your belt, at least for a couple of hours. I was not always like this of course. Like many of us misfits of society that do not conform to the current social contract, I have been ignored, pushed aside and trampled on without a look of curiosity or thought as to how I ended up here. I never signed up for that!
I have felt the need to record my experience for a while now in the hope that perhaps one day, I will be able to settle down after clawing my way back up to the top. I know it will be a long journey and it is not over yet, albeit twenty years is a long time and frankly, I feel as though I am running out of time. A comedian once said that it is easy to be homeless, all you need is the right girl, the right bar and the right friends. I do not know where to start with it all but I can assure you I will not bore you to sleep. Who knows the next time I will be able to be able to do this again.
I was not quite all there, thinking back now, but seriously, who really is? My father died early so my male role model from what I remember was harsh, completely left wing and growing bitter toward the world he saw before him because of some assumed knowledge of where we were headed. Capitalism, forming and storming into the giant it is today. Suicide was his out. Mum found him along with a blood stained note which I in turn discovered while snooping around in her handbag as a child. It read simply, “You’re on your own; don’t turn Jase into a wimp.” Mum never mentioned it, but it explained a hell of a lot. We moved out of the country and into the beating heart of Melbourne’s business district. The city was and is, as I recall now, in a constant state of development. With the money Dad left us, Mum sent me to one of those privileged schools, you know, the ones with those upper class snobs walking around as though they were part of the aristocracy from the Victorian Era, brat kids in all their glory. It was like living in Oscar Wilde’s wet dream, a ‘boys only’ school. I learned nothing from there, just like everyone else who went. We were groomed and fed a silver spoon. Most of my real learning came from the home. Mum read a lot and I followed suit. I had no friends except my books. What else do you need? There was Dante, Homer, Joyce, Marx, Milton, Orwell, Plato, and Stoker amongst many, many others. Sure I was young, yes I annoyed mum with a barrage of, “What is that word?” Alongside, “How do you say this?” However exhausting on my Mother, it was always worth it.
Although Mum could have lived off a passive income from her many investment accounts, she still worked full-time. Mum would also never let me stay home, even if that meant vomiting on the way over to school. She definitely got her moneys worth although I made sure I abstained from any activities involving other kids. In my senior years, I even managed to be obstinate enough to avoid sports completely. I needed a note from my mother to be able to go to the library during these periods. They knew my Mum well and knew that I would never ask her for that note. The teachers thought they would be clever and punish me by getting me to do ordinary maintenance tasks around the school. I grew accustomed to the smell of citrus while I cleaned the tables only to draw on the very same ones the following week. Although I was quite the loner I managed to keep from being harassed or bullied. People just did not know what to think of me and I liked it that way. I was in everyone else’s shadow for most of my school days, ignored, but there, doing what I needed to do during this small and now, seemingly insignificant time in my life.
During this time, Mum managed to re-marry and have another kid while I was very quickly thrown into the background, it did not bother me at the time. I left home and started my life as an electrician. Within a year, I was already managing a team within the firm. Yes, I was that good. Particularly with the union keeping me secure. Back then we fought hard for our rights. I would like to see all that happen again one day, but I have not seen a decent protest in the paper for a long time, at least, not in the ones I had used to cover me up for the winter or to wipe myself with. Looking over at the toilet and shower in this room it never ceases to amaze how often we take things for granted.
One Christmas was all it took to turn my life upside down. It began with the rumours. Mum, being old fashioned and strict Catholic thought I would go to hell because somehow she heard I was gay? I am sorry but I have seen the effect of what ‘pash rash’ can do and I can tell you, I am far from gay. This left us in disarray and at that moment, I swear to you by the heavens and the entire host of Angel’s in God’s command I noticed the insane Cheshire Cat like smile from ear to ear on my step Dad’s face.
From that moment on, using all the resources at my disposal, I managed to obtain all the information on him that I could. It was futile. Mum had already been lost to the devil of a minister of a church, the name of which I can no longer remember. The distance tore me and every time I got a chance to see Mum there was another rumour she would question me about. I was mad, sleeping with a hooker and taking drugs, everything and anything else to degrade her first born who ended up, ‘Just like [his] delinquent father.’ All was false except for the hooker. I had a secret love for them and one in particular. This is when it all fell apart. I accused my new family that they were stalking me and spreading rumours. Around the same time Mum was diagnosed with late stage cancer. It was advanced and nothing could be done for her as back then, research was limited.
Despite Mum’s state, I decided to fight back. This has always been my way, always helping the little guys, it just turned out to be me this time. Months passed before I got the courage (most of it liquid courage) to tell Mum everything that had happened since that Christmas. Transparency and honesty had never failed me yet. I told her about Carla, a call girl I hopelessly fell in love with. I of other strange things that happened just after these rumours started. Tissues randomly placed in various parts of the house on a daily basis along with ash trays mysteriously moving locations. Chairs were also moved slightly askew. I changed the lock several times but to no avail. When I found my dog dead in the backyard I assumed he had died of natural causes, given his age. Weeks later, a man I had not seen before at my local pub told me it was not of natural causes, he was force fed weed killer. Nothing is scarier than a stranger who knows everything about you, and I felt as thought I was known by all the strange and unfamiliar faces.
Mum sat there and listened to me. I was as animated as I have ever been, my arms flailing about telling her all the stories and finally I let her know who the culprit was without a shadow of a doubt. The only problem is I had as much proof as air blowing a leaf off a tree with no one around to witness. I told her it was my step Dad. I told her about the information I found out about his cult church and his leaders and the underground society of a community that would do anything to get the right people into their flock. I even managed to track down, meet and interview prisoners that told me about his so called mysterious ways. Reduced sentences as long as they acted on God’s will, when the time came. Why he wanted me banished and reborn became obvious enough, when Mum was to pass on, I would inherit everything. That was also something I had mentioned. None of what I said went down as well as I hoped. Like those preconceived ideas you replay over in your head only to have the outcome you hoped for crushed in a moment of time. I found out very quickly that honesty does not work like it does in movies and books. It’s always slightly more complicated than what it is worth.
I would never forget the fury of my Mother’s eyes and the broken hearted face of a son gone wrong. She believed she had failed herself, failed my Dad (real and fake), failed God, and failed everyone and everything of raising one of Satan’s own. She hoped and prayed right in front of me as if right then and there I would be fixed. She grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me a couple of times, looking straight at me with tears flowing down like the drip drop of a faulty tap. I am always scared about the possibility of saying the wrong thing to someone in case it was the last thing I said. Her last words to me were, “Lou will save you. Lou will save you. But for now, go and play with your devils. You are possessed; drugs have got you paranoid. You need to be fixed.” She pushed me away and turned her back at me and did not say another word.
Every year that followed was the same. At one point, Carla disappeared for an entire year, and turned up at my work. By this stage, I felt I had grown eyes at the back of my head and was completely out of turn with society. Perception is reality and I had lost control of my own perception. I did not speak to Carla at work. She became the front door receptionist. The woman I love who tore my heart and slept with a million other people just appeared out of no where! The one time I swallowed my pride to try and talk to her she stopped told me, “Father won’t have it that way.” I had no idea what she meant, but it was enough to keep my distance.
Using up my last few favours the grape vine informed me Mum was definitely on her last leg. I sent her flowers and got nothing. Mail was returned with ‘return to sender’ and a little note on the bottom telling me rather rudely to butt out, in a creative, unfriendly and expletive manner. I did not understand any of it. I kept my distance and so did they. I was always being watched, but made sure I watched Mum every now and again, particularly Sundays. I would see her attend his church and I wanted to hug her, tell her it will be okay, but it was impossible. So many in his flock, the very familiar faces that passed me by, sneering, jeering, leering. Everyone was everywhere but who could I tell? What could I prove? If I tried to explain, I was accused and told I was paranoid, crazy, Schizoaffective and even borderline psychotic. Like Joan of Arc, I had become a heretic to the wider majority.
From time to time I would try to confide in someone only to have them keep their distance from me. My duties questioned at work were the final straw that broke the camels back. The union did not want me on their board. Once that happened it was over. I was questioned about my ethics and behaviour at work, how I apparently abused the receptionist. How I looked at children as if I wanted them locked up in my house to toy with. People became very uneasy with me – people who have known me for the better part of 10 years or more.
The last time I went to check on Mum at the church she arrived in a coffin. I had no idea until the day of her funeral. About a week or so later, a lawyer called me up to explain it all, also explaining that I was to meet with everyone at a specific location to talk about the will. I was greeted better at a strip club with body guards that looked like trucks better than my step family. I sat there and listened. Mum left me everything even after all that time! Maybe in her own way, she saved me, pushed me away on purpose. I will never know now.
Irrespective of this, I was also told I was mentally unfit for which they had documented proof. They had references from my work and suspicions on how I was a paedophile and my landlord detailing my odd behaviour. I barely move a muscle off the couch of my television most days. I was too beat to do anything else, how is that odd? I was being convinced in the space of five minutes that I was not worthy of anything. The ultimatum was to come back home so that my ‘family’ could take care of me. I got up and told them that I will make it my life mission to take down their church. That did not help persuade the lawyer, but I was angry.
The years passed and the seemingly invisible torture continued. Slowly and slowly I dropped out of this world. I was being cornered, but I kept managing to escape their grasp. Every time they thought they had me, I found it within myself to keep going. My phone was being tapped, so I dropped it. My house was being monitored, so I left and stayed in hotels, hostels, always on the move using anonymous names if I could. I always used cash. I shut down my accounts. I could not even get a job – cash in hand only – where in a week’s time my boss would ask me a question and find a way to relate it back to something he heard. It was all the same. I was blacklisted from every corporation I knew. Even at the lowest end of the rank, I was pushed away. Their network is wide and in every rank of society imaginable, I was even refused entry into homeless shelters due to my perceived reputation. It was the same familiar unfamiliar faces sneering, jeering and leering. Drinking made me forget, helped me sleep, and aided in keeping me poor.
Just when I thought it was safe, I would be wrong. Or was I wrong? I was never sure whether or not they had stopped. Why would they want me? What benefit do they still have in recruiting me? I did not know my reality, I have lost face. My network in this world was broken, like someone intentionally cutting the wire in the same spot, short circuiting and destroying everything. In the end, I resorted to keep away. What was I to do? I even started to slowly start believing in their lies of me. I have to be crazy, I mean, is it possible that I have everyone watching and hating me?
Mum’s money is still sitting in a bank account untouched. I am stubborn. I can not go back. They took the house and that is fine with me. If I ever went back they would have accepted me with open arms convincing the world that they had finally fixed me. I would sign on the dotted line and they would have everything, they would have won. People I met on the street had similar stories to me, but who would believe them? You can not call me insane, can you? They are watching I know they are, and I have proof of their torture, their ways and they are scum. I know now that Lou was just a pawn. He was not the almighty ‘Father’ Carla talked about. I am sorry Mum. I do not know what I did, but I know I enraged someone. I also know I am now their liability. They can not fix me. There was nothing to fix in the first place. They got nothing on me. I will bide my time for now, as I am contented to know that my freedom has never left me. I still have my mind, my thoughts and my life.
