The Magical Appearance of Earthworms: Part 2 - a Kid No More

By N. A. Moncrief

Mickey, the narrator of this book, looks back at his life growing up in Tilburn, thirty miles out of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.

In reflecting on his life, Mickey explores how children let the world in rather than judging it at a safe distance. We inevitably get hurt in the process, and we carry wounds – until we have the courage to revisit them.

A theme of the book is that if we revisit our stories with fierce compassion, they can work to free us rather than enslave us. They can become our most trusted companions as we realise we have all we need.

In sharing stories from his life from a very early age, Mickey explores wonders and horrors, inviting the mysterious alchemy of wounds becoming gifts.

Join Mickey on a journey that seeks to get everyone to a place where they lay down their masks, shed their armor, and put down their swords to let the distant voice of truth speak as they find their true selves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728397870

N. A. Moncrief

N. A. Moncrief began writing this book intending to highlight the fascinating work he’s done to help companies and conservationists protect forests and safeguard people’s livelihoods and cultures. That led him to look back on his earliest memories to find a deeper connection with himself and those around him.

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© 2020 N. A. Moncrief. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/27/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-9788-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-9787-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover design by Manon Wright

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1 The Parting

Chapter 2 Long Days and Wicked Farewells

Chapter 3 Blood

Chapter 4 The Kiss

Chapter 5 Crying

Chapter 6 The Door

Chapter 7 The Bike

Chapter 8 The Kick

Chapter 9 The Long Descent

Chapter 10 Ross

Chapter 11 The Magical Appearance of Earthworms

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Chapter 1

The Parting

Mum had been mentioning her need to go to Albury to visit her dad’s grave. She hadn’t gone since she and Dad had been married, and I knew how important Grandad Fitzgerald had been to her life. She’d been telling me for a while that she felt the need to go. Would you be OK if I went away for a few days, Mickey? I’ll not be away long.

I’ll be OK Mum, I told her bravely. I could see it was super important to her. She and I had never spent a single day apart in my short life. I was nine years old, but she was remembering when I was little, how I’d chased her car down the street if she went anywhere without me. She wasn’t asking my permission, I knew that. She was just preparing me for the inevitable.

Truth was I didn’t really like the idea of her going away, but after the pet shop extravaganza I knew she badly needed a break. It had changed her; she was tired. Darren and I would regularly be in strife at school and occasionally get the strap, but the pet shop fiasco had gone way beyond those petty problems. I don’t think the issues at school troubled her, particularly in my case, because despite the occasional misdemeanours of fight or lifting girls’ dresses, I was getting great marks. I was playing footy and cricket and seemed otherwise well balanced. I hoped that a few days away from us horrors and Dad might perk her up a bit. I was worried about her.

I’d use these occasions to ask about Grandad Fitzgerald. I could see she loved talking about him. She had many stories of her life with him and how terrible it had been for her when he’d died way too young. I just need to go and see him, love, to pay my respects. It’ll recharge my batteries, she’d tell me.

Time passed and plans were made. She and Dad spoke about it and a date was set. She was going to be gone four days. Albury was a good four or five hours’ drive away in New South Wales, just over the Victorian border, the other side of the Murray River. It sounded like the other side of the world, the deep unknown. For me it might as well have been outer space; I had no concept of where she was going. But I was growing up fast, so I figured us lads—Dad, Darren, and I—should be able to cope, to be brave in the face of Mum doing something that was so clearly important to her. I felt, for the first time in my life, that I was giving something back for all she’d done for me.

She packed her car with suitcases and stuff in advance, and I watched her pick at her cupboard, pondering which clothes to take. It seemed a lot of thought and decision making went into it; she was taking a lot of stuff for a four-day trip. Dad joked that womenfolk were like that when it came to travelling.

Not long before her departure, I bought her a brown boronia plant. She’d mentioned how much she loved their smell, their perfume she’d called it. There had been a fete at school run by the Mothers’ Club, and I’d spotted one, so instead of buying myself fairy floss and ice cream, I’d invested in a really lovely plant. I was proud as punch when I brought it home. Mum loved it, and we planted it together in the front garden, right near the mailbox. I’ll send you a postcard from Albury, she told me, and when you come every day to the letterbox, you’ll smell the boronia and think of me. I loved the sound of that and planned to check the letterbox every day she was away.

The fateful day finally arrived, and we had what turned out to be quite a long goodbye. It was early morning, just after breakfast. Mum got all emotional and gave me extra hugs and kisses and told me that she’d be back to see me soon. Just four days, she said as she knelt in front of me and held my shoulders, crossing her heart with the index finger of her right hand before gently stroking my face and head. I’d never seen her from that angle. I was looking down into her eyes. She seemed small and fragile, and my heart swelled with the need for her. Her eyes and her magic smile shone as she poured love deep into my soul with an intensity I’d never before felt; it scared me. Promise me you’ll be good. Cross your heart and hope to die? she asked.

I promise I’ll be good! Cross my heart and hope to die!! I replied with a big flourish across my chest. I gave her a big smile and a massive hug because I loved her and I wanted her to feel it. She did, and she returned my hug in spades, wiping away a tear.

She said goodbye to Darren and then to Dad, and as her car backed out our driveway I felt a terrible pang. I went over to stand by the letterbox and the boronia. I could smell its perfume and thought of Mum driving all that way on her own. I hope you’ll be all right, Mum! I thought to myself. I waved to her as she turned, arm out the window with a big smiley wave, and headed off down the road.

See ya, darling! she called out.

See ya, Mum! I replied, and off she went.

I watched the car roll away from me, and that pang didn’t go away. I didn’t feel the urge to bolt off down the road after her. I celebrated that as a sign that I was growing up, but I did feel totally wretched that she had gone.

I took the dogs down to the pond. Bruce seemed to know my spirits were low because he never left my side. Wally bounded about, frustrated that I wouldn’t leap over the ditch with him. Mary and Holly were lovely girls, and licked me lots and splashed about extra happily in the water. It was good to have them with me.

I eventually wandered home around lunchtime, made myself a sandwich, and headed to the bungalow to listen to some music. Dad had installed a really old record player there, and I’d sometimes go to listen to our two records. One was something by The Singing Nun, and the other was The Best of Al Jolson. I gave The Singing Nun a spin, wondering how we ever came to have such a record. We weren’t at all religious. Mum sometimes joked that when they’d finally gotten around to getting me baptised, I’d been four years old and not at all keen. It had taken them five hours to find me and drag me to the waiting priest, who’d been unimpressed. I didn’t mind listening to The Singing Nun, actually, but I really loved listening to Al Jolson’s Anniversary Song:

Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed; | We vowed our true love, though a word wasn’t said.

I listened to it over and over, enjoying a lazy afternoon, lolling away listening quietly to the music, with Bruce stretched out beside me. My spirits were starting to slowly lift, when suddenly Darren interrupted everything by bursting through the bungalow door.

Come quick! he said, and I could tell that something was seriously wrong.

What is it? I responded as he turned to head back out the door. After the pet shop experience, I’d learned not to follow him or go anywhere near him. With Mum away, I was especially wary.

What is it? I yelled after him, letting him know I wasn’t going anywhere until he told me what was going on. For all I knew he’d set some nasty trap for me.

He stopped, turned around, and spoke gently to me. Mum’s called—she’s leaving Dad. Come inside. There was no violence in his voice, only a deep seriousness. He was eleven, a bit older than me, and the grave look on his face told me that he was in some sort of shock. It immediately started to transfer itself to me.

What do you mean, she’s leaving Dad? I demanded. She left this morning; you were there. We all said goodbye. She’s gone to Albury.

No, you’re not getting it. She’s leaving him; she’s not coming back. She’s gone!

She’s gone? A cold chill burst into my stomach, grew across my chest, and invaded my heart. I started to feel sick. I jumped up off the floor to head inside. Bruce jumped up too and followed along. Darren held the door open as I passed out into the bright sunshine. It was possibly the first tender, brotherly thing he’d ever done for me. He leaped up the stairs to the house ahead of me. My usual approach was to take them two or even three at a time, but not today. I was in a daze, and while I was moving quickly, I was in a state of utter confusion. What did She’s gone mean? She can’t be gone; she’s my mother, I thought. She said she’d be back in four days.

I followed Darren inside and saw Dad there in the kitchen He was in a state. He was on the phone. I heard him say, Where is she, Jim? and I realised he was speaking to old Mr Batman. Dad wasn’t calm. He wasn’t speaking to Mr Batman as much as yelling at him, beseeching him, a quiver breaking, urgency in his voice. He was gripping the phone in one hand and running his other through his hair. Dad wasn’t wound up tight now. His emotions had exploded, a wound spring come unhinged after so many years, bouncing, coiling, pinging, tangling. I could see now that he loved Mum. Why had it come to this?

Mr Batman had shut his stables a year or so earlier and moved to the other side of Melbourne, to Battleburn, wherever that was. I couldn’t grasp why Dad was asking Mr Batman where Mum was. Mr Batman clearly didn’t know either because Dad kept saying, Come on, Jim. You must know. Tell me! I need to bring her back!

I was becoming increasingly confused and traumatized. My dad was in tears before me, acting irrationally, and my Mum was gone. Dad needed to get Mum back? Where the hell was she? I wanted Dad off the phone so he could explain to me what was happening, but he spoke for at least another ten minutes, which held an eternity of pain. But it was a waste of time because poor old Mr Batman clearly knew bugger all about where my mother was. I kept asking myself why he would.

Dad finally got off the phone, and the ashen look on his face told me not only that he was also deeply confused and bewildered, but that we were collectively in serious strife. He was in shock. He picked up a fag and lit it, his hands shaking uncontrollably. What’s happening, Dad? I asked him. Darren seemed to already know.

Your mother’s left us, mate, he replied, and straight away I grimaced at us. Dad could see I was looking at him in total disbelief, gobsmacked. I had no idea what he was speaking about. He saw I needed more info. Frank Batman called me and told me that your mother was going with him, that she was leaving me and never coming back.

Never coming back?

Frank Batman?

Jim’s son. Mr Batman’s son.

I’d never really met Frank Batman. I knew his name, knew he existed, but that was about it. I’d heard he couldn’t get a job because of health issues, epileptic seizures. I’d seen him walking into the sheds sometimes at Mr Batman’s stables. Dad had spoken to him to say g’day, but I never had. I couldn’t place his face. I knew he was short and round, but that was it. Suddenly those hours spent waiting in the car with Darren biting my arse while Mum was inside supposedly chatting with old Mr Batman took on a new dimension.

Dad was panicking. He had tears rolling down his cheeks, and he was smoking cigarettes five at a time. He clearly didn’t know what to do. He kept repeating, I’ve got to get her back and She’ll come back; she can’t do this. He kept pacing the kitchen, and it just kept hitting me that we were all in trouble—deepest, darkest, worse-than-pet-shop trouble. I gathered through Dad’s broken, tear-filled explanation that sometime after lunch, just thirty minutes or so ago, while I’d been out in the bungalow, Frank Batman had called to tell him, It’s over, Peter; she’s leaving you. Pattie is coming with me. Darren had been in the kitchen when the call came through. He told me later that Dad had gone ballistic and screamed expletives down the phone, telling Frank he’d kill him. Frank had apparently remained calm and told Dad to settle down and not be an idiot. He’d advised him to not come looking for her, that she was gone.

Gone.

When Dad told me that last bit, it seemed to strike something in him. It woke him up, gave him an idea. I saw the lights go on in his otherwise rabbit-in-the-headlight eyes. Come on, he said. We’re going to find her.

But where is she Dad? I asked.

I dunno, he responded. Jump in the car. Come on.

I was deeply worried. Dad clearly wasn’t himself. He was extremely agitated, and it seemed to me he was being big-time irrational. We didn’t know where Mum was. She’s gone, Frank Batman had said and told Dad not to come looking for her. And yet here we were jumping in the car, and Dad clearly wasn’t in any fit state to drive.

Shouldn’t we wait here, Dad? I suggested. I was thinking that Mum was gone and now we were going to kill ourselves trying to find her. I’d been in two pretty serious car accidents with Mum, and Dad had had a few nasty ones too, so I knew that people died on the roads.

Dad ignored me, started her up, and we screeched backwards out the driveway. Dad didn’t even look, and I was thankful that we lived