I was placed in a girl’s home for Aboriginal girls. It was a place that trained you for domestic work. If you had dreams of being something better they would tell you that you were not good enough. We were taught to never aim high because we wouldn’t get anywhere in our lives because we were black. We were told constantly in the home that blacks were only dirty drunks and had sex most of the time.

All us girls were frightened of Aboriginal people. I know the girls and I were not like the blacks in the outside world. I don’t remember my real mother. Some of the girls did but like me some of them couldn’t remember. Some of us girls were sent to wealthy homes and we worked in them. We didn’t get paid. We were told what to do and we always had to obey. We were slaves.

One line-up day when we were waiting to be chosen, a lady called Mrs Johnson selected me. After a trial of a month, she was happy with me and decided to foster me and I became her last daughter. I remembered the girls in the home, they were my family too, and I also missed them. I never saw the girls in the home again. I lost another family.

When I settled into my new home Mrs Johnson changed. On the outside she was the most wonderful person in the world. People thought what a marvellous thing she was doing giving a poor orphan Aboriginal girl a start in life. At home I had to call her Mrs Johnson and out in public I had to call her mother. I was more like her maid.

When Mrs Johnson’s sister Betty came around on one of her rare visits, I would have to have the house cleaned and everything in its place. Just like me. I had to stand at the kitchen door and wait for Mrs Johnson to ring her bell. When I heard that bell I would have to deliver their afternoon tea. I would hear them whispering and sometimes I could hear what they were saying.

‘What are you going to do when she turns into a teenager? How will you keep her a way from the boys? You know it’s in them. They just can’t help it. You know what her mother was like, had all those babies and she can’t even look after them. All those black gins are the same!’ whispered Betty. She always made sure I heard it. She always looked at me and gave me that false polite smile of hers.

I would slowly sneak away and hang my head in shame. I wasn’t like what they were implying. Sometimes her daughter Anthea would be standing behind me in the kitchen and see me listening. I would sense her there and turn around and see the smug smirk on her face.

She would say, ‘You’re only going to be a *****.’

Nothing she or anybody said to me could hurt me anymore, so I thought. The worst was yet to come. It was a Saturday and Mrs Johnson would go into the city to buy her daughters and herself dresses. They were the most beautiful dresses that I ever saw. Sometimes I would steal a magazine and look at the beautiful white people all dressed up. I so desperately wanted to be white like those people. I hated my colour. There were never any Aboriginal people all dressed up like that in those magazines. I never saw many Aboriginal people on the television. Nobody wanted to see Aboriginal people.

I wasn’t allowed out when Mrs Johnson went into town, she would always tell her husband Michael to keep me inside. At first he was kind and took me to the beach. I loved the freedom, no chores and pandering to the needs of the family. The smell of the salt air refreshed my soul and it would keep me going for another hard week. I imagined the ocean water was made up of all the tears that my ancestors and people had cried for generations and generations for their lost people, their land and their culture.

The beach was my escape and I had to pay the price for my little bit of freedom. At first I didn’t know what was happening. Subtle looks and touches from Mr Johnson. It got worse and I couldn’t sleep at night. My ears would strain to hear soft footsteps creeping down the hall into my room.

‘Put on that pretty blue dress your mother gave you,’ He said.

It was a dress that my mother had sent me. It was the only thing that I ever got from my mother. I received no letters or anything else from her again. Mrs Johnson threw it out but Michael had taken it out and hid it.

He would always make me wear the blue dress. The only time I was allowed to wear it was when we went on our trips to the beach.

‘Come on Alice you know you want to go,’ he said.

‘No! I don’t want to go Mr Johnson,’ I replied.

‘Call me Michael,’ he said ever so softly.

‘Leave me alone.’ I pleaded.

‘Don’t speak to me like that you little black *****.’ He screamed.

His rage evident as the vein in his head pulsed. His saliva was spilling and spraying onto the floor. He slapped me and then forced himself onto me as he had done so many times before. I swore it would be for the last time.

‘I want to go the beach,’ I sobbed.

‘That’s better. Go and get cleaned up.’ He said it like nothing had happened.

When I returned, he said to me, ‘I have something for you.’

I turned around and he handed me a photo. It was a photo of me in my blue dress. I quickly looked at it and put it in my pocket.

We arrived at the beach and I looked around and noticed the happy families and the children playing. I knew that I would never experience happiness like that. I was just a dirty Abo. I wanted to escape, but I don’t know how. The only sound I could hear was the ocean, it was calling to me and I listened. Come here it beckoned. I walked calmly into its watery embrace. I want freedom.

I can hear gasps and people shouting. ‘Look at her, quickly save her.’

I can’t remember much after that. I remember waking up in the hospital bed with the doctor looking at me sternly.

‘You’re pregnant.’ He tells me. I have let your foster parents know. They want to see you.’

‘What does that mean.’ I ask

‘You’re going to have a baby.’ He replies.

Mrs Johnson walks in.

‘Is she awake yet, I must see her. Can we have some privacy doctor?’

‘Certainly Mrs Johnson.’

The doctor walks out.

‘You little ***** you have bought shame onto our name. Who is the father?’ she demands.

‘I can’t tell you’ I reply.

‘Yes you can and you will,’ she yells.

‘Michael.’ I whisper.

‘What? Why you lying black *****.’ She screams.

She reaches out and slaps my face.

‘I’m sending you to a home for unwed mothers. They can deal with you. I won’t have a **** living under my roof.’ Although I was hurting I was so relieved. I would never have to return to the Johnson house.

When I went to the home I told them what was happened to me and they wouldn’t believe me. I was locked away in my room until I got such notions out of my head. I kept quiet and dreamed about the baby I would be having. I dreamt of getting a job and a place of my own. I had something I could love and my baby would love me back, I just knew it.

I don’t remember much about the birth. I was so scared and alone. All I remember is the pain. I wake up. The room is sterile, white and void of any feeling. I didn’t fit in. I was black, a stark contrast to the white. The people, doctors, nurse’s visitors, and the sheets, walls, and the ceiling, white! The room and moment stays in my mind, locked away in my memory and always in my dreams. It forever haunts me. It hurts to remember.

I was like my mother. They took my baby away. I would never see my baby or mother in this lifetime again. I was sedated and the last thing I remember was the taste of my salty tears on my lips; it reminded me of the freedom I never really had. I never really understood why they took my baby away from me. They told me I was too young. I couldn’t look after myself how could I care for someone else and I would have other babies. I never did. I didn’t want another baby taken. I couldn’t go through that pain again.

I drifted in out of worthless jobs and relationships. I became cold and detached. I could never let anybody in. I didn’t want to be hurt again. I couldn’t love or trust again. A life like that will left me with nothing.

I became homeless. I was living on the streets. At night I would find shelter under the trees. I hated being confined in rooms. Mother nature would look after me. I drank alcohol to keep my body warm and smoked my cigarettes. Most of the old street people that I once knew were gone now; they are vacant shells or dead. It doesn’t matter if you are black or white here. We are all just trying to survive and waiting to die.

The night is too cold for me tonight; I need warmth. So I head down to the shelter for a warm bed and a hot cup of coffee. I ask for a shower before I go to bed. I cling onto my bag. It never leaves me. I have my shower and let the warm water wash over me. I go to my room. I put my bag under me so nobody steals anything. I pull out my photo. I look at the photo of myself and it takes me back to that day. It is the only photo that I have of myself to see how I looked then; it brings to me a deep sadness. I was pregnant and I didn’t know it. I was so naive and innocent. The girl in the blue dress looked sad and alone. I still am. Nothing has changed at all. I stuff the photo back into the blue dress in my bag. Tears fill my eyes. I quickly close my eyes so nobody can see. I drift into a beautiful dream, the first one that I have had. I am comfortable now. I feel myself floating up and looking down at the scene below me.

‘I think she gone.’ John says.

‘What?’ Larry asks.

‘D.E.A.D. Dead.’ replies John.

‘Great! More paper work to fill in. I hate it when they die on my shift.’ moans Larry.

‘I’ll call the police,’ John sighs. ‘What’s that sticking out of her bag?’ He asks.

Larry opens the bag. ‘It’s nothing… just a blue tattered dress.’ He replies.

As he pulls it out of the bag a crumpled photo falls onto the floor. He reaches down and picks it up.

‘I wonder who the girl is in the blue dress.’ John says.

‘Must be her daughter.’ Larry replies.

‘She sure is beautiful.’ John says.

‘Yeah, for a black…’ Larry laughs.

I see them throw my dress and photo into the rubbish bin. They both walk away laughing.

I drift up higher and higher. I realise that my time has ended here. Nobody can touch or hurt me again. My ancestors are waiting to take me home, to a place that doesn’t judge you, a place of love and peace. I will see my mother again. I can hear her calling me. I see the most beautiful brown face that I have ever seen. She is standing in front of me, her arms outstretched, waiting to share her love with me. She embraces me and I sink into her arms. It is so natural, pure, and warm. Unconditional love. Love that can only come from your mother. I will wait for my baby to return to me. I am home. I am free.

Copyright 2007 Alison McRae
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