The Beginning

This is from my 2nd published novel 'Dancing with the Devil - Breaking chains of childhood sexual abuse...

I always knew she was there....my sister...my shadow....my protector

The South African sun was stifling and suffocating, the heat from the tarmac boring into the naked souls of our feet, but that never deterred us or drained our energy. We ran free like the birds overhead, our laughter echoing over the tops of Jacaranda trees, our pitch as vivid as their deep shade of purple. We loved the outdoors! Even then being drawn to the miracle of Nature - the simple yet wonderful. We would learn through the trying years to come, that returning to the basics of Mother Earth is what helped give us the grounding and strength we needed to carry us through. We saw a masterpiece in every single blade of grass and a watercolour canvas imprinted on every fallen leaf which created a symphony of miraculous seen only through the eyes of the soul - through the eyes of an innocent child's mind still believing in miracles.

Our dad was the masterpiece in our lives - our Hero, our Mr Majestic!

Throughout our childhood years Aurora and I visited his childhood home in Danville often where trade-offs to the Devil were prevalent every day. This neighbourhood had long ago given up on their dreams and miracles leaving only ghosts of the past to cause further dysfunction. As we playfully and innocently sprinted through the dark corridor, out into the garden creating our own adventures, we were unaware of how closely those locked away ghosts were sprinting parallel to us, hungry with their mission to never allow this generational chain of trauma and destruction to be severed.

Their mission was accomplished when two four-year old, blue eyed little girls innocence was locked into that rusted chain, tainted and spoiled. The penetrating blue of their eyes grew dull, became slowly distant as the years rolled by. The spirit inside of them no longer sprinted freely and innocently.

When I think about the stories of my dad's childhood it's as if I were there watching....I see my Ouma watering the garden at dusk, my dad crouched alongside her inspecting something in the grass with an overactive mind.

Another life inside of her is preparing to sell it's Soul to the Devil too.

My nostrils are filled with the smell of soil and water. I watch as the soil, over-watered, creates a mud-pool within the flowerbed. I am filled with deep sadness for this unborn baby - actually two little girls oblivious to what is coming. As if commanded by the Universe, my Ouma's waters rupture! The disorganised chaos following this leaves my dad shocked and confused! He finds refuge behind a bush not even aware, at that moment, that he has wet himself.

Six years old....alone and petrified.

He thinks that he will never see his mother again. In his incomprehensible child's mind she is dying. No 'goodbye', no exchange of 'I love you's', only another traumatic event borne from neglect.

My dad flees up to the mountains which tower ominously to the side of the house. He does not feel the gravel injecting pain into the soles of his feet. He never felt the hot tears run down his cheeks as the wind carefully dried them. He did not feel his heart beating out of his chest, the rhythmic force of fear igniting a fight-or-flight response within him.

Only six years old....alone and petrified.

Watching from a distance I see him trek up the highest tree with ease. I know that he has been here many times before, a lone wolf returning 'Home’ to where it's safe. I heart-achingly sob and reach out to touch him but it's not possible as we're on different timelines.

The saddest thing of all was that nobody even noticed that he was gone for three days. One lost child to another I look into his sad eyes over deafening silence, sending him energy of love and comfort, then slowly, I turn around and walk away. I force myself not to look back believing that this is not my Journey. I was so wrong! My dad's journey WAS the start-line of my own Journey. His pain and secrets being forged onto Aurora and I, created the Silent Author of a story yet untold.

To this day, my dad's ghosts have remained chained to the darkness, not easily recognisable to anyone looking in but in reality having held a much more powerful position of authority in his subconscious where the mind became a battlefield, where a bloodbath of emotional turmoil was unfolding. The only prisoners of that war, US, his family.

Life continued. Every morning the sun rose and every night the moon took over. Every weekend we visited that house in Danville unaware at our tender age, of how the heart-wrenching pain of trauma and alcoholism embedded securely within those foundations were, in actual fact, shaping our Destiny.

The old man next door housed row upon row of racing pigeons, maybe his way of somehow sending his fallen dreams upon coloured Messenger Wings to somebody who WOULD care. They really were coloured wings: pastel coloured feathers of pink, blue, yellow and green that would whisper our names as they listlessly floated upon our path. We were always intrigued by their mysterious beauty. I now know that, even then, we were being given strength and courage for the years to come.

As Aurora and I lay in bed in the bedroom that once belonged to our dad as a child, we felt the energies, not of a safe haven, but a torture chamber of boundaries crossed and voices silenced. Not a single word was spoken between us as we instinctively knew what the other was feeling.

I remember always staring at that horrible ominous-looking dark wardrobe menacingly smirking at us from that cold corner of the room. The little light that entered through a tiny window alongside the wardrobe never quite seemed to radiate. The emanating darkness snuffed it out like refugees being turned away. Cold chills danced up and down my spine and I prayed for morning to come quickly.

The two little girls who entered this world while I was reaching out to that broken six year old little boy....they paid the price for a mother who had given up. A mother who had drowned her demons with alcohol. They were labelled 'Brandy Babies' also known as Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. The first little girl was gifted with cerebral palsy, which for us being exposed to this early on, taught us so much compassion and patience. The second little girl seemed perfectly fine but at only six-months of age she died. It was said that she'd contracted Polio. I think this is tinged with yet another untold secret. The times not spent at Danville, our adventures continued at our own childhood home.

The first tattered snapshot depicting those by-gone years is carried upwards in the breeze. As I reach up to grasp it, I see her....

Five years old: expertly clambering onto a brick wall adjoining the one-bedroom granny flat and separate toilet. As she balances on the narrow wall I hold my breath hoping she won't fall. She doesn't. With one hand she pushes her blonde hair away from her face, with the other she holds onto a thin pole that seems to stretch upwards for miles overlooking a flat corrugated iron roof. Without a second thought she climbs up the pole with ease and jumps barefoot onto the roof. She moves to the furthest edge of the roof and peers down. She's not afraid of falling. She shifts her gaze to beyond the horizon and I know what she is thinking....I remember that day! I wanted so much more than what was happening to me. I wanted to touch the flames that fuelled the sun and ignited my dreams. I wanted to fly without wings away from the dysfunction. I wanted to be somebody special. I wanted to matter. I wanted the World!

Aurora and I had to fight to stay in this World....

Our first sepia snapshot starts with us joining the stampede of life together, our souls intertwined and merged in an intricate way. Aurora was seven minutes older than me. I like to think that our parents chose our names carefully but how could they have? They were unaware that there were two of us and further shock presided when we were born two months prematurely. I became Electra, a decision I suppose that was tinged with shock.

Although there were two of us, many times we fought our inner tornado's, tsunamis and hurricanes mostly alone - me feeling lost, isolated and out of reach trapped in Dissociative Disorder, and Aurora's physical and emotional body breaking under the avalanche of a destructive choir playing out an eating disorder.

And so the Journey began….

THE BEGINNING

My twin sister and I came into this world

Fighting to be here....

Always one another's strength to carry us through the

Unknown of a puzzle

Missing the last piece

Two tiny heartbeats

Separate yet in sync

Entering this World prematurely

Bound by an invisible cord

A cord of alliance

A cord unravelling

In the quest for Truth

A cord regenerating for survival

In the face of adversity

A Journey paved with unimaginable challenges

Inconceivable heartache

Incomprehensible hopelessness

Although the pure, white canvas was brushed with

Shades of childhood trauma

They stood united

To face every colour splashed

Into the essence of their lives

Together they integrated

Every contrasting parallel

Challenged all

Unhealthy belief systems

To RISE

Reflecting back on those years of

Unanswered questions

Of fractured Hearts and broken Wings

The colours of this haunted

Perfectly imperfect masterpiece

Smudged and faded

With the realisation that the

Truth depicted In this disturbed art

Also held underlying vibrant colours of gratitude

Forgiveness, love, resilience

Tenacity and hope

One could not exist without the other

On this day in a quiet suburb of Pretoria, South Africa, two little girls entered this world, Aurora leading Electra....

We were immediately whisked away to be monitored during this crisis of arriving two month early. It was a blessing, after being denied crucial bonding with our mother, that they placed us together side by side in one incubator. I believe energetically, as we fought for survival, that Aurora and I sent waves of healing back and forth to whichever one needed it most in that given moment. If it could be seen by the naked eye however, this healing pendulum would be seen to be giving me more healing, therefore allowing me to be released from the hospital first. Unbeknown to us at the time, Aurora had just been placed into her 'carer' role towards me as she lay on her little stomach all alone fighting for every laboured breath.

Before this moment arrived, we'd already been kept alive for nearly six weeks contained to the restrictive enclosure of clinical glass and penetrating mechanical sounds of breathing apparatus. I'd already stopped breathing twice, and then the doctor realised that my dad was standing on the tube he was using to try and clear my lungs. So, after being torn away from our mother's womb she was sent home after recovery with no babies to hold. As she sat in a wheelchair staring through an obtrusive dividing window, almost semi-severing that bond between mother and child, she used what little energy remained to ward off a build-up of tears begging for release. With a suffocating lump in her throat she whispered an inaudible heart-wrenching goodbye to her babies feeling so hollow inside it was as if her mind were tricking her. No matter how broken she felt, my mother would not show her grief and sadness to the world. She was an extremely private person and intended to keep it that way. At times this could be seen as her being very emotionally distant and unavailable even though that was not the truth.

The drive home held an aura of heavy dark colours smearing all boundaries of balance. In the bright morning sun my mother paused before taking that step over the threshold into a cold silent house that should have been emanating 'lamb' like cries of newborns. Her heart sank to below zero and she shuddered as she stood staring at the empty cot in the nursery. As she guardedly stepped forward she envisioned her babies warm and safe huddled together but no amount of wishing delivered them into her present moment. She sank down to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably without resistance behind closed doors. Despair rained down on her, further penetrating the hollowness inside. My father instinctively knew not to enter into her 'space'.

By the time my mother emerged out of that empty room blind-sided by gloom, the light outside echoed her mood as night descended. This became her daily ritual in-between visiting her babies every morning and evening. The excitement of briefly holding them was tainted by the matron and nurses in charge, as their negative stern disposition smothered any light or short-lived joy. None-the-less my mother treasured every given moment she was granted to get close to Aurora and I.

After much needed nurturing and silent healing from Aurora, the day arrived for me to go home to be introduced to our nursery. It was bitter-sweet for our mother who felt ecstatic! and simultaneously burdened having to leave Aurora all alone.

The first time Granny laid eyes on me, she was horrified at how very tiny I was at only 3.11 lbs. Her exhaled breath cut through the surrounding atmosphere while she inspected every inch of me. She became concerned that I was deformed with no body fat protecting my soft bones and no shape or sign of any buttocks. My mother assured her that all was well.

With me home my mother's daily dedication shifted from sobbing uncontrollably whilst staring into an empty cot, to sobbing in unison to my high-pitched cries where all she could do was nothing! She had been advised by the hospital staff not to keep picking me up as this would facilitate weight loss and I would then need to be readmitted - her worst fear!

As I write these words, I feel angered and appalled! How could they not know how critical it is to hold babies, how paramount it is to soothe babies, skin on skin for future healthy growth?!

By the time Aurora joined me two weeks later it brought new challenges for my mother. New tears of frustration and exhaustion were brought forth as she was left isolated to manoeuvre through dirty diapers and feed times going wrong. The local pharmacy continually stocked up on teats that were subjected to a red hot needle piercing the tip carefully and with precision aiming to produce the perfect sized hole to deliver the exact amount of milk to her babies so that they wouldn't choke. They would suckle as best they could, weary after only a few sucks leaving them drifting eagerly back to sleep. My mother did not welcome this as she stared at the feeding bottles still containing the white liquid so necessary for their weight gain. Gently she would blow into their angelic little faces to startle them awake, so that the feeding routine could resume. Not long after this feeding time ended, the next one began. The days collided and merged into one leaving my mother feeling overwhelmed and isolated.

Daily routine continued as normal for my father. He ran out the door escaping to work every morning to the car dealership where he held a managerial position. His nights were filled with drunken freedom, only taking his family hostage. Alcoholism took its place on our Family Throne. Granny highlighted love and acceptance within our dysfunctional world. She was a very powerful woman! The epitome of authoritative grace serving justice: the matriarch of a family going under.

Every single memory of her brings forth, first and foremost, beautiful goddess-like hands adorned by slender perfectly shaped fingers, their tips splashed in a bright shade of red, her signature colour. Her floral perfume still lingers in the four corners of our reminiscing minds. I watched from a distance, examining two little girls and a boy perched on the stoep.

I can see they are anticipating something of importance but I cannot see what it is. They become restless. The little boy fidgets in the grass before him. Aurora jumps up performing a perfectly presented handstand, her agile body, the envy of many. With an unseen knowing, I start sprinting towards the entrance of the cul-de-sac embodying our many adventures, some acceptable, some not. The other two stop what they are doing as, through my actions, they are alerted of the arrival of our important anticipation.

I feel the wind rushing through my hair carrying me upon the breeze. My mind is severely focused on reaching Granny first but, as usual, our cousin Phoenix overtakes me with his natural athletic abilities and willpower to ALWAYS win! None-the-less, I know that Granny's love is not only spared for the 'winner'. She is equal and fair. Her love for all three of us is undeniable. It reaches into the depths of our under-developed souls: already silently she is setting foundations very necessary for us in years to come, to help us once we step into the 'adult' lives chosen for us. With admirable dignity she tenderly plants 'seeds' which will allow an unbroken connection to her even after she takes her last bow from this particular lifetime.

Even though Granny's arms were heavily laden with grocery bags she continued her graceful stride with ease never faltering. She did not allow any of us to grab a bag, as if knowing that it would imbalance the scales of her stride. We ran alongside her, having to take two steps for every one of hers. As usual we were barefoot, therefore having to dodge any thorns camouflaged in the African grass. We quickly discovered the art of rather venturing forward along the edge of the pavement, as if navigating across a tightrope. From years of practice we'd now become pros!

Although the three of us could not see the packets of Hubba Bubba grape-flavoured bubblegum, we knew they lay somewhere in the depths of one of those grocery bags. It became a very important ceremony every time we saw Granny walking up the road and this memory has walked with all three of us along every road we have walked throughout our lives thus far.

The sepia snapshots of my mind bring forth a house I recognise. It looks 'olden day' not quite fitting into this era. I open the little gate nestled in its chosen place between plank on plank of white structure. As I enter, a high-pitched melody rings out from the neighbours garden modulating perfectly in rhyme with the leaves rustling in the breeze. I listen with amusement. Something glistening in the gravel catches my eye. I skip towards it to investigate. As I sit on my haunches with ease, I squint at the silver coin pinched between my fingers having no perception of it's value.

After some time I shift my attention, adjusting my vision to focus all the way up the long gravel driveway. My gaze collides with an old wooden boat mourning the loss of once having felt content in a limitless ocean. Its tears are shed in the faded red peeling paint. I feel sad for the boat but also grateful for the amazing adventures experienced there.

My mind races around a nearby corner to an alleyway where I'm staring at the closed door of a store room. My heart starts pounding, my breath becoming shallow. Cautiously I push the door open and it creaks sending shivers down my spine. The door frame is decorated with cobwebs. I squint into the darkness trying to readjust my eyes, and in the dark, far corner I can barely make out the shape of the yellow stroller that I so desperately want. I inhale deeply, shut off my logic and make a run for it! I feel afraid of what unknown creatures might be lurking within the dark, but I push those thoughts away, keep running, and then take hold of the handle and run back towards the light. Made it! I shut the door behind me with a loud bang, and I sprint until I'm safely out of the alleyway. Once I catch my breath and my heart rate slows down, I look down at the familiar patterned plastic-like material and smile. A downpour of sepia snapshots crash down on me - all happy lighthearted images of a mother and her dolls feeling safe and loved and accepted.

The snapshots disintegrate into the gravel as my thoughts are interrupted by my aunt appearing on the stoep bubbling with excitement at seeing our arrival. I race up the five deep steps shining in all their maroon coloured glory.

Our footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden floor as we made our way along the entrance hallway and veered off to the second door on the left, leading us into an over spacious lounge room. As always, my eyes are instantly drawn to the aged piano taking centre stage. I faintly hear the black and white keys delivering a Ballard and I see Granny sitting there, regal and focused, her fingers gliding naturally and with flow. Then without warning her image fades and the music ends abruptly and my heart sinks. I miss her every single day and would give anything to see her one more time.

My memories transport me to a hospital corridor, cold and clinical:

I see our mother reprimand Aurora and I and we are banished to an over-sized chair placed awkwardly and out of place along the corridor. The two of us look at each other and we start giggling. Knowing that we have to be quiet spurs us on and the explosive sounds escaping from our inner depths are clumsily muffled by tiny hands. The air around us is shattered by shrill pleas being shot our way from where Granny is lying in a hospital bed surrounded by family. As we stare with our mouths hanging open, our hearts racing, we watch as an array of Guardian Angels surround her bed, which we now know, were an army of nurses administering drugs into Granny's veins. Then silence reigned.

These 'episodes' became a normal occurrence as the years rolled by. Approximately four years later on that horrible day when our sun clouded over as Granny gave her last breath, we were enjoying a family break along the Durban Coast. We were staying at our uncle's home where he lived a relatively peaceful life close to the beach earning a living running a cool beach shop on the ocean's doorstep. During the holiday season the place was swarming with vibrant, luminous colours of lycra stretched over different shapes and sizes. The smell of coconut sun-tanning oil filled our nostrils, alighting our souls with zest and invigoration Our energy was boundless as the sun-kissed glow of our legs epitomised health and happiness.

Aurora, Phoenix and I spent hours building empires in sand castles and moats, the sun casting sharp glares upon the white sand. When our bodies could no longer withstand the scorching heat we'd cantor into the shimmering turquoise water like wild stallions depicting ultimate freedom feeling liberated as the cool water washed over us. The seagulls overhead screeched at us, as if approving. In the healing salt-water we transformed into beautiful mermaids with magical jade tails and long golden hair. Our community of friends accepted one another, standing strong for equality and justice. Our coral reef was fiercely protected by loyal sea-horses, silk eels, turtles and rainbow coloured fish. The dolphins imitated child-like playfulness rising above the sea-spray feeling alive!

Our Atlantis Kingdom filled us with pride and overwhelming joy! Our adventures contained limitless creativity that knew no boundaries. Only once the skin on our fingertips looked like shrivelled prunes, did we exit the Kingdom and sprint up the sand dunes stopping intermittently to stand on our beach towels for our feet to gain some respite from the heat rising up from the sand. At long last we stepped into the cool of the beach shop. As we snaked our way through the numerous shelves towards the aroma of food, we scanned all the exquisite items staring at us. We were not disciplined enough to not touch, even though we'd heard the speech time and time again. Oversized sunglasses, bright coloured inflatable beach balls, yellow, red, green and blue spades and buckets - already in our minds, filled to the brim with beautiful intricate shells in shades of pink telling their own story. There were straw hats like thatched roofs offering protection and beautiful silky scarves. Oh! This was unbelievable torture! We wanted all these things and could not comprehend why they had to remain on these shelves unloved and unused.

We strolled into the kitchen as if we owned the joint. The African staff welcomed us with gigantic smiles revealing teeth as white as untouched snow. Pearl was in charge of the clock-work running of this kitchen. She worked tirelessly and efficiently, passing this down to her staff, to deliver perfection in brown take-away bags. One by one she handed us our parcel filled with hot chips and thick warm succulent slices of ham. We hurriedly thanked her and once again we were on the move. The three of us walked up a steep hill in unison savouring every morsel drenched in salt and vinegar.

When we reached our 'recharge point' we all clambered with ease onto a low cobble-stone wall, our legs dangling freely. Our laughter, in-between mouthfuls, soared beyond the treetops splashing high pitched notes upon the hidden stars as it touched the galaxies.

We never missed a perfect opportunity, so while inside, we decided to play our game of 'Dracula' in the lounge room that we successfully transformed to omen dark by draping blankets over the curtains with some difficulty. In one corner of the room stood a huge blanket box which was home to the blankets we'd just used to create our very important atmosphere. We pushed it into the centre of the room and positioned it correctly. Without spoken words we all took our cue, this inner playground our stage, as if our parts had been rehearsed many times before. Aurora was the 'good' Vampire, Phoenix was Dracula and I was the innocent victim. Our stage was set alight with action, horror, tragedy and hope. Children have that innate gift of being in the moment which is sadly lost and forgotten as adulthood takes over. Reminder to Self - "Live in the Moment!"

All the time we performed our 'play' with childlike perfection, Comet was watching us intently from his cage. He was an adorable baby monkey. As the last scene faded into the dark surrounding us, Comet shrieked mischievously - our greatest fan! We joined hands and bowed over and over basking in our envisioned fame, laughing hysterically. We ran out leaving the lounge-room reeling in the aftermath of a timeless tale.

We headed back to the beach, back to the gates of Atlantis. By now it was already mid-afternoon but the heat of the sun still remained relentless. As we reached the white sand we walked slowly collaborating on our next plan of action. We collectively agreed to dig a bottomless pit to see how much water it could hold before the walls would cave in. Our nine-year-old eyes were blinded to how emotional waters were about to cave in the walls of our souls, casting our hearts into a bottomless pit of sadness and never ending tears. We dug and dug and dug, at times our fingers entangling with one another, bringing forth untamed giggles. Aurora stood up wiping her brow and informed us that she was running up to the beach shop to get us juice. We nodded in unison without looking up.

We were confused when she returned too soon with no juice in sight and walking so slowly that we thought she'd hurt herself. We ran out of the water where we'd been balancing knee-deep after our 'bottomless' pit got white-washed. As we approached Aurora we saw that she was crying. She morbidly told us that Granny had died and that we had to return to the beach shop. We looked at her and burst out laughing, telling her in unison to stop lying. She cried harder and repeated with conviction "Granny is dead!" We knew she was not joking.

As we entered the beach shop all the adults were standing solemnly around the counter whispering. Our mother and aunt were in tears. The three of us instinctively knew to be on our best behaviour and we did not say a word. We didn't even touch anything on the shelves. Brisk arrangements were made and we left early that evening to undertake the drive back home to Pretoria. All the adults were talking over one another as we drifted off to sleep in rhythm to the rocking motion of the moving car.

As the morning sun woke us up with the promise of 'screened' joy and laughter, the truth glided into place, the blinding harshness cutting deep. Granny really was dead! The next week dragged by painfully.

Slowly we pulled up at the cemetery and our dad parked the car. The sun was shining brightly, the intensity burning my skin through the glass of the car window. Did the sun not know that our Granny was dead!? Did it not know that it shouldn't be shining today?! Our World had ended!

Aurora and I stood forlornly lost in our own prisms of confusion on a grass verge waiting for the rest of the family to arrive. As soon as Phoenix joined us we all locked eyes and we burst out crying! Actually we sobbed uncontrollably.

I do not recall any speech given. I do not recall the music played during the service. I never even noticed the ocean of tears by all for a powerful, humble woman who would be sadly missed. The only thing I do remember is the wooden coffin up ahead. I could not comprehend that Granny was stuck in there, cold and alone. My heart broke a million times over! I thought that my tears would never end. I hated this world! I hated the Gods for taking her from us! How could this happen!??? But it had happened, and every day thereafter the sun still shone, time still continued to tick by one second at a time, and my heart still continued to break a million times over.

So there it was. We began to carry Granny with us everywhere we went. Even though we could not see her we knew that she still watched over us protectively. As adults she had lovingly carried us over every turbulent wave that had smashed us to the ground. She was there through every challenge that had ripped our hearts out of place, tossing them carelessly aside.

As I numbly fell in-step with the unsettling music choreographed by the warfare of Demons and Angels of a fractured mind, she never left my side, and she lovingly held my hand and pulled me through with her strength and grace.

For Aurora and her children, Granny was their guiding light leading them through secret garden-pathways towards safety in neighbours homes and to, as much freedom as is possible, while being flung from fist to death threat. After a six year battle their miracle was granted through the Honourable Judge - The Universe and Granny smiled as the gavel hit, Justice was served, and they took hold of their Freedom!

They ran through Johannesburg Airport while the police looked on to make sure they boarded the plane safely and they soared above the clouds for a new life Down Under, one which would bring forth new challenges creating new sepia snapshots, thus forming the next chapter….