The Circle

PROLOGUE

Avril may not show compassion or empathy and it would be too easy to judge her, if not for her resilience against overwhelming odds. Her character cannot be determined or diminished by a criterion, or indeed a judgement.

The enigma that is Avril Maguire is woven into two worlds; it would be fanciful to suggest her character is ethereal, but I’m drawn into her world and want to believe.

She will always be a Mischief Fairy to me.

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

Avril Maguire was born on the second of November 1962 to Joseph and Lucy Maguire. She was born with a profound disability resulting in delayed growth and mental development. Her symptoms include small stature and hyperactivity to stimuli, she has no speech and requires one-on-one supervision.

Avril was institutionalised at the age of five. She spent her childhood and adolescent years until aged twenty at Pleasant Creek, located in Stawell. She was then transferred to Aradale, previously known as Ararat Lunatic Asylum, where the adult population was housed.

The abuse of clients in these notorious institutions is well documented. In 1994, new government policy shut these institutions and the population - clients - were transitioned into the public domain to houses known as Client Residential Units or CRUs.

Due to Avril’s challenging behaviour and the client mix, she has been shifted several times; this has had an unsettling effect on her. She has lived at the George St CRU for just over a year. The little town of Allawah, an Aboriginal word meaning Resting Place, is classed as rural remote by the Department of Human Services and possibly the last stop for Avril. This transitional period has been most stressful for Avril; the expectations of fitting into society after thirty plus years in ‘institutional care’ are challenging, and this is where the battle lines are drawn.

Avril has no speech and communicates through a series of gestures; she understands basic commands within the safety of her immediate environment. Her anxiety makes her unpredictable. She has a lot of frustration and anger in her which is hard to address and may never be resolved. Her progression from institutional care has been slow, and realistically, she needs twenty-four-hour supervision. That is not to say her quality of life and independent living skills cannot improve. It is with this in mind that Avril’s Care Plan is designed. Having said that, Avril is full of mischief; having a wicked sense of humour and an infectious laugh that draws you into her world.

We pick up Avril’s story as the dawn breaks over the sleepy hollow of Allawha. Every story has a beginning and an end; Avril’s mind was racing, and she knew she needed to control her anxiety! She was intrigued by the prospect of knowing what lay beyond her own mortality. Was it like stepping into a ring of Bluebells? But what if the end was the beginning? Avril had come a long way since the days of ‘Institutional Care.’

Having said that; it is possible that Avril’s frustration was compelled and expressed in the most bizarre of ways. Avril’s past and present abuses weighed heavily on her mind. Whilst her behaviour was seen as erratic; there would be moments of clarity where she could find some solace. Within these rare moments, Avril wondered how she could reconcile with the past. She inhabited two worlds: The struggle between the Sun’s rays, where the madness of her world was chemically contained and life was measured by her defiance and will; and the Moonbeams; where she was free and could do as she pleased.

There are no truths only half-truths.

For all that has happened and will happen, I feel the most,

to the longest of days and fearful nights.

Bless the spirits of my ancestors and the one’s that I love.

Help me to become a better person and be more

tolerant of myself and others.

Institutional deficit for mind and will, moonbeams

and imaginings to catch the stars.

Fairy rings and chalk to beat a heart to feel

the pain to catch the truth.

Avril

CHAPTER 2

A PERCEIVED REALITY

I had been awake for some time, waiting for the knock on the door; my body clock was running on anxiety and said it was time to get up! I could feel a tightness in my chest, it felt like a clamp pressing down! My breathing became rapid and shallow! Throwing off my bedsheets I hopped out of bed; only to find that my legs couldn’t support me! Sitting on my bed I put my hands to my face. Self-preservation was paramount! A light headiness which was beyond my knowing; threatened to short circuit the cycle of anxiety. It was all going to end badly!

Beyond the point of rational thought, I opened the bedroom door and ran down the hall to the kitchen. My care worker was sitting at the breakfast bench reading the newspaper with a mug of coffee in his hand. The useless prick!

Stripping off my nightie, I smeared faeces on my chest.

Avril, Stop!

I turned to run up the hall with Quinton in full pursuit!

That’s got his attention! By the time he reached me I was sitting on the toilet.

Empty-Out!

I could see Quinton was looking rather flustered. I let out a little giggle which caused him to raise his voice. Telling me to wipe my bum! He then directed me to the bathroom, saying No funny business!

My needs are generally met one way or another. I don’t mind Quinton; he tries to be firm with me, but under all that bluster he is easily manipulated. He doesn’t make demands on me; I respect him for that. My mind should cut him a bit of slack, But there’s no fun in that! Hee Hee.

Once under the shower, my anxiety ebbs and I can relax. Quinton directed me, handing me the shampoo and then my toothbrush. Before long I am clean and Quinton hands me my towel. I’m aware of my image in the full-length mirror. I can feel Quinton’s gaze but there’s no malice. I like my body, it’s compact and strong, my breasts are small and firm, not bad for a thirty-seven-year-old. My childlike appearance is deceiving, standing at only 137cm tall; my blonde spiky hair complements what Dan says is pure mischief. He calls me a Mischief Fairy! Hee Hee.

Quinton directed me to my bedroom; this is fraught with angst because of my compulsive behaviour, the processes are complex, and I don’t fully understand why? But there are rules! And Quinton has the power; so, it’s a battle of wills. I’m only allowed to choose between two pairs of clothes. Quinton places them on the bed. I could treat this as a game, but my attention span is too short, and would only lead to anxiety and it would be ‘Time Out’ for me. Two strikes and you’re out! I’ve already used one. Quinton doesn’t like confrontation, but I can push him a little... Power is important to men and their egos and not all men keep their dicks in their trousers. But Quinton is different?

Putting the clothes to my cheek I can feel and smell the texture of the fabric. I also like my clothes to fit firm, it makes me feel safe; just like being tucked up tight in bed. Once I had gone through this process, my attention was drawn to the wardrobe. Quinton protested but didn’t stop me! Resigned to the fact that after all, he was just a male, and girls were too complex. Hee Hee.

Once I was dressed Quinton fussed over my hair using gel to make it look even spikier! He then reached for my lipstick; I pushed his hand away! He then finished with a dab of perfume on my wrists; he seemed pleased with his effort. I tapped the palm of my hand on the dresser twice in appreciation. He smiled and helped me make my bed. But I’m not happy with my top! I need to stay calm. After sorting out my dirty washing Quinton directed me to the kitchen, running ahead of him I could hear him raise his voice. Walk Avril, but it was too late, I was already in the kitchen.

To my surprise Moana was doing the morning shift, she works at the house and treats me like an adult; I have a lot of respect for her. I’m fortunate to have her in my life, she keeps me on a tight rein; Moana is hard on me and I respond to her firmness. She is predictable and I like that.

Raelene was already seated at the head of the table; if I had sat down before her, she would crack the shits! She’s the top dog and commands respect; she struggles with her autism which is compounded by psychosis. She is compelled to act on the multiple voices in her head. Dan’s the only one who takes the time to sit with her when the voices tell her to hurt someone. Dan has known Raelene for about twenty years and knows when she is about to have an episode. Sometimes Raelene will indicate to Dan, such is their close relationship. It’s important to act quickly and administer anti-psychotic medication; also known as PRN, which means ‘when necessary’ before she escalates; otherwise, the house will be locked down, leaving me and the other residents to be confined to our rooms or taken to a safe area.

Good morning Avril, what would you like for breakfast? Moana placed two packets of cereal in front of me, Wheat-Bix and porridge. I indicated the porridge, tapping the palm of my hand on the bench. Moana helped me make my breakfast; her skin is dark, which was a contrast to my pale skin. Her South Pacific Island blood was proud and strong. She was my Black Fairy and I was her Shit Fairy! Hee Hee.

Moana’s daughter’s name is Mafi. She is six years old; a little princess with a mass of curly hair that threatened to topple her over. You could see the pride in Moana’s face when she talked about her daughter. This is something I will never know.

Just like Raelene and the other clients, my disability has defined me; I get cranky at times! I can’t help it. Danny bears the brunt of it. I love him dearly; maybe that allows me some kind of decorum or freedom to berate or challenge him. It’s usually for minor things or no reason at all; it frustrates me! He likens me to Joan of Arc. It’s a metaphor. My armour, as opposed to hers, is to smear faeces on myself. She was brave, if you call bravery some kind of madness that is subjective, then there’s some truth in it. I’m one mad bitch and don’t deserve to be loved. Dan sees in me things I don’t understand; It angers me and my heart aches for some clarity. He tries hard to understand my logic; it amuses me at times when he struggles with my unpredictable behaviour. I’ll make it up to him in my dreams; after all the Moonbeams are mine to do with as I please. When things become clear and I’m a better person.

Creepy Lyle sat opposite; his eyes are fixed on me! He thinks I’m a little girl and speaks to me in a patronising way that makes my blood curdle. I’m safe sitting at the kitchen table, but when no one’s around he tries to touch me. Yuck! I feel like vomiting.

Avril kicked me!.

Avril Stop.

Putting my hands to my face I started to giggle, much to Lyle’s annoyance, by now his glare was more intense and threatening! I turned to Moana for reassurance and support, she was well aware of Lyle’s intimidation.

Lyle, concentrate on eating your breakfast.

Lyle was mumbling something incoherent as I tried to suppress my smile.

Megan came into the kitchen showered and dressed and looking like Quinton had done a number on her. With ruby red lipstick and makeup that made her look like a tart. Megan sat down unaware of the scrutiny. I think if Quinton was a girl, he would be a proper tart! Hee Hee.

Sorry, that’s a little unfair; although he seems to court the drama of social change? It doesn’t bother me; after all, I was Jolene’s bitch in Aradale. Tom was the last to come into the kitchen. He kept me awake last night but he doesn’t seem the worse for it? All smiles. I tolerate Tom although he teases me and calls me rude and mimics the staff, telling me to go to ‘Time Out’! He thinks it’s a joke. I don’t feel threatened by him, when he looks at me it’s through vague eyes that are heavily medicated. The amount of medication handed out around this table would kill a horse, it’s a wonder how Tom and Raelene can function. No amount of medication can change Creepy Lyle’s nature; he has paedophile written all over his face.

When I’m tucked up tight in bed, I feel safe; after I say my prayers and when sleep comes, the Moonbeam adventures happen. It’s when I’m not burdened by my disability. Because of it or despite it, I’m able to enter into a world that treats me as an equal. A far cry from my waking hours.

There’s a lot of pain in my life and I don’t want to discourage you from reading my story. It’s up to you if you want to believe me or not. My wish is that you don’t treat me too harshly. As you know I have no language; Dan Walters is my care worker and best mate. He’s advocating for me. It’s a complex relationship and we have both taken liberties; it hasn’t been all plain sailing.

Entering the Moonbeams is not a given thing. There are protocols I have to abide by and being tucked up tight in bed is one of them. It doesn’t mean that I will be safe. The mix of casual staff is always a worry; they tend to come and go and there’s little accountability, but tonight I feel safe.

CHAPTER 3

DREAM No 21 THE LOST SOULS of ALLAWAH

Looking down I could see someone holding a bunch of flowers, she was tall and her lace-like skirt appeared translucent in the moonlight, leaving nothing to the imagination. She was beautiful; her well-formed breasts were not so much a statement of her gender but a delicate provocation of nurturing and knowing.

Her long red hair hung freely catching the breeze. That’s strange... The night air was still and lit by the full moon? She was standing over a freshly dug grave. Maybe I know this person? But I was at a loss to think of anyone; my curiosity got the better of me and I ventured closer. Conscious of my surroundings I blessed the lost souls and approached the apparition. She was unaware of my presence as I hovered in front of her. She was looking at the freshly dug grave. Her face was haunting, yet there was a sadness belying her beauty. Tears trickled down her cheeks, glistening in the moonlight; momentarily suspended, before delicately falling into the darkness. The awareness of her grief consumed me; my heart seemed to be beating to her teardrops. But that’s not possible! Was it me? My heart began to race; I could feel the panic rise in my throat as I tried to control my anxiety! It was then she looked at me; her intense gaze mirrored, asking, Where’s Dan? He hasn’t visited me... I’ve got a good mind to scold him! Taken back I gathered my thoughts and introduced myself; I don’t know why but I said, I’m a Shit Fairy.

She looked at me and smiled. I know. You visited my grave; do you remember? The Black Fairy said. I bet that person can see what you had for lunch! Ha-ha. You were sitting on my gravestone. Pointing to her headstone she laughed, and to my surprise, I burst out laughing. The recollection of the prank Moana and I played on Fat Marlene in Rumple Town came flooding back.

My name is Donna Anderson. She held out her hand for me to shake, I don’t know what I was expecting but her hand was firm in mine, and it felt reassuring; there was some energy exchanged. She could sense my apprehension.

Sorry I didn’t mean to do that... It’s just that you’re the first person I’ve met in over thirty years.

Are you a Ghost? She laughed. I’m as real as you!

But you are very young to be in a cemetery? I pointed to her grave; Donna looked towards her grave and laughed. Yes, I could think of better places to be! Do you know Danny Walters?

Yes, why?

Dan and I were childhood mates. You know he doesn’t even know I’m buried here! She said scoldingly. I’ve seen him at his brother’s funeral; see his buried just over there," pointing in the direction of his grave. Donna looked to be in her late teens, possibly twenty; too young to be dead. She had hazel eyes with freckles on her nose that was very becoming; suiting her pale complexion and red hair which, on closer inspection, was wild and unkempt, that would account for my initial impression of her hair.

Under a veil of haunting beauty, Donna’s face appeared to change; her eyes seemed to twinkle resembling a cheeky face that was up for anything. Her youth had returned; she was eighteen again! Her body breathed for the first time in thirty years. She stretched and gave a groan which made me blush; reminding me of when I last fucked Dan.

Can you tell Dan to visit me?

I wonder if Dan and Donna were lovers; looking at her near-naked body I wouldn’t have blamed him. There’s something about the female form with its curves and crevices that invites you to explore and fondle. I knew men couldn’t help themselves; the urge to appease their appetite was basic and that’s what men were. But I wouldn’t blame Dan if he had lapsed with Donna; after all, she was dead!

My curiosity got the better of me pointing to the freshly dug earth.

Why were you weeping at that grave?

Donna turned to me and said, That’s Danny’s grave; I want him to play with me.

The shock and realisation of what Donna had said caused me to question her. It can’t be Dan, he’s at Clarence Hall. I’m supposed to meet him for tea.

Well, you tell him to hurry up, or I’ll tell his father that he’s been wagging school again!

Relieved, I gathered my composure and was in two minds; one was to stop the Moonbeams which were turning into a nightmare, or fly back to Dan’s Hall and warn him. My curiosity chose the latter and I promised Donna that I would tell Dan.

Flying high over the lake I was preoccupied; forgetting to bless my spirit ancestors that resided in the Reserve. It wasn’t until I reached the hall that I remembered. Chastising myself I promised to go back after I checked on Dan; to see if he was alive or not!

I needn’t have worried; looking through the glass doors of the main entrance, I could see Dan sitting in his armchair. The Art Deco reading lamp providing enough light to read by and illuminate his face. Breathing a sigh of relief, I knocked on the door. Dan turned to see me peering through the glass doors. It was then I realised I didn’t have a stitch on!

Danny was accustomed to my nakedness; it was my power and he never stopped marvelling at my petite figure, which he knew was capable of many things; one being, fucking him senseless! He opened the door trying not to make eye contact for fear I might read his thoughts. Smiling I hugged him in my no-hold-barred grip; it was shameful as he wasn’t immune to my advances and it excited me.

I’ve witnessed the most unusual thing!

So have I... What was that?

Do you know a person named Donna? Dan looked puzzled, but he was accustomed to my ambiguous questioning.

I know a Donna Anderson but she’s dead.

No, she’s not! I’ve been talking to her; she wants you to play with her!

I proceeded to tell Dan all about my encounter with Donna Anderson but leaving out the freshly dug grave.

I had to smile as Dan tried to concentrate.

Talking to you while you’re got no clothes on is too distracting, Avril Maguire, I swear to God!

Dan retrieved a dressing gown from the guest room and handed it to me; I smiled knowing that I had his full attention.

She’s a bit old to be playing with?

What do you mean?

You know!

I had to smile at the flicker of jealousy in Avril’s voice; holding her hand I kissed it.

You are the most delightful creature I have ever known.

Don’t change the subject.

What do you want to know?

About Donna; did you! You know?

Realising that she was serious I tried to defuse the subject.

Donna died thirty years ago; we were best mates; I have fond memories of her.

You’re my best mate and you fuck me!

Yes, you are my best mate and I love you.

My cheeks flushed realising my childish behaviour.

If you fucked her, I wouldn’t blame you; she is beautiful.

Are we talking about the same person, Donna Anderson?

Yes, why?

Dan smiled; We were just kids; We would wag school together, We were inseparable.

Suppressed memories come flooding back; Donna would look at her watch and say, Schools out! She was a master at wagging school and drew me into her endless scams and adventures. We would spend the day exploring the local swamp. Back then it was pristine; the natural billabong was our favourite haunt. As ten-year-old’s the swamp seemed vast, we could run free and not be noticed.

Our curiosity in Aboriginal artefacts drew us into a magical world, rummaging through the midden sights on the banks of the billabong and surrounding dunes. Sometimes we would come across older kids wagging school, we learnt to avoid them. Donna and I would stick together in our own little world. She was an expert at rolling tobacco, an art she learnt from her mother.

Donna’s mum was a round woman who always wore an apron and swore like a trooper… Well, let’s say she was well versed in the