Hidden Agenda

 

1

Knife-sharp bell

cuts morning silence.

‘Can I borrow Dad’s tie?’ he says

but she knows

he phoned for reassurance

this being the day

he must face reality.

 

He listens

to attempts to prepare him

and knows

she thinks

he’ll go away.

 

11

‘Like a traffic jam’ she tells him.

‘There is no way out

until it’s over.

Let it get you down

and you’ll feel frustrated

angry     tense

and will come home

exhausted and bitter.

 

‘Take it easy

use time productively

and you’ll feel enriched

satisfied

and come home

positive and eager.’

 

His response is calm

even

while inside

he quietly goes hysterical.

 

111

He hopes for leniency

thinks a record

of only minor misdemeanors

a month in rehab

to get off the booze

and the presence of his girlfriend

heavily pregnant with their second child

will ensure compassion.

 

Instead, pending fatherhood

is viewed as further evidence

of irresponsibility.

 

Anticipation

turns to devastation

as he hears the sentence.

 

His body slumps.

 

He glances at his partner

dissolved in tears

unable to look at him

to bear the pain

of seeing his face.

 

He raises his wrists

to the custodian.

Handcuffs click shut.

 

He whispers to his mother

‘Take care of my family

while I make the most

of this traffic jam’.

 

c. Kathryn Coughran

 

First published: 1994

In: Family Matters (Kathryn Andersen)

 

Fruits Of Labour

 

He came from the depths

of dark days.

 

Grandparents of unfulfilled dreams

passed pain to parents

as they strove for better

for their offspring:

materialistic emphasis

getting on

building a new world

regardless

of personal sacrifice.

 

Fear of ‘not enough’

caused his parents

to strive harder:

always doing… doing

avoiding… avoiding

their own needs

until

discontent surfaced

marriage collapsed

life shattered

fragmented

scattered.

 

Confused     hurt     angry

he rebelled:

played truant from school

ran with gangs

who carried weapons

threatened suicide

and his mother’s life

with a knife.

 

He chose alcohol

as his vehicle of destruction

the anaesthesia for his rage

and the excuse

for its explosion.

 

Long-haired and tattooed

he joined a mate

of similar demeanour:

stole a car

drove it while unlicensed

and

under the influence

ignored red lights

panicked

and planted foot

when police pursued.

 

He emerged

from holding cells

days later

black-eyed     fat-lipped

numb-fingered

from metal round wrist

to post

while body flung down stairs

nose broken in two places.

 

He emerged

with eight serious charges

to the arms     and wrath

of his pregnant

teenage girlfriend.

 

He came from the depths

of darkness

and moved into the depths

of despair.

 

c. Kathryn Coughran

 

First published: 1994

In: Family Matters (Kathryn Andersen)

 

Good Samaritan

There was a post on Facebook yesterday, about inadvertently leaving items on the roof of the car when you drive off. People commented about losing expensive sunglasses, wallets and coffee cups. Others drove long distances without realising their error, only to find a biscuit tin or a china mug intact when they arrived at their destinations.

Inevitably, there were joking little jibes about mindfulness… and lack of it, of ageing and memory variants. These were balanced by acknowledgement of how being busy (in this case, focussing on community and the environment) weakens our attention to routine activities.

We’ve all been there… and have done something we wouldn’t have done had we not been over-loaded, stressed and/or distracted. We can all identify with items left on car rooves, even if mindlessness has led us down a different embarrassing track.

I’m sure I’ve been guilty of many and varied actions born out of distraction over the years. I make no excuses or apologies for these, and neither should anyone else. We can minimise such events, of course, but we are all human, and thus subject to the pressures of everyday life.

Some years ago, I arrived home from a day of appointments and shopping, put some things on the roof of the car while I locked it, then gathered them up and went inside. Several days later, there was a note under my door saying my (very expensive) x-rays had been found and could be collected at such-and-such an address.

I hadn’t even realised the scans were missing, but soon worked out what must have happened. When I summoned the courage, I shame-facedly knocked on the door at the address I’d been given and explained who I was.

‘I found these a few days ago’, the man said. ‘They were scattered right across the road and the envelope was further down the street.’

‘I think I left them on the roof of the car’, I said sheepishly. ‘But that would have been close to a week ago…’

‘They must have been on your roof for a few days at that rate, then skidded off when you turned that corner on the rise over there’, he suggested, nodding his head towards where he’d found the precious films.

From the remainder of the conversation, I learned the man was on holidays, had no vehicle and, wanting to recuperate after heavy stress at work, was keen to keep to himself.  

After he rescued my x-rays, he took several long walks in a bid to find where I lived. He eventually found my address, but my flat number didn’t appear on the envelope, so he knocked on every door of the eighteen units trying to find me.

Unbeknown to him, most of the flats in the block were permanently empty, and the tenants of the other four – including me – were not at home. He returned several times before someone answered his knock and gave him my flat number.

With my knock on his door, his detective work and tenacity had paid off, and my necessary medical records had been delivered back to me… albeit in a round-a-bout way. The man had even cleaned them up after their adventure in the street.

I was so grateful I could have kissed him. I didn’t, of course… but I did thank him profusely, then left him in peace. I wrote a Thank You message and slipped it under the door of his holiday home at my first opportunity.

Life has since taken me to another part of the state, but I still visit that area occasionally. When I pass the house where he stayed, I think of his kindness and wonder if he left the house before my note was delivered.

A lack of in-the-moment awareness on my part led to the mishap with my x-rays, but this man’s mindfulness shone in every sense of the word ~

  • He was cognisant of the importance of my medical records.
  • He concentrated on rescuing them, cleaning them up, and getting them back to me.
  • He went to painstaking lengths to restore them to me.
  • He was selfless in his consideration and kindness.

And this was all while he was recuperating from his own stressful work situation…

This man was indeed a mindful Good Samaritan of the highest order!