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The Unfairness of Life - Chapter 1 - The Interview Revised
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The Unfairness of Life - Chapter 1 - The Interview Revised |
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia 
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Sometimes I hate my work and yesterday was a prime example. The day began like any other. Me crawling out of bed at the last minute, drinking scalding coffee that I could still feel in my throat an hour later when I finally got to work. The rush on public transport, missing one train and being herded like cattle onto the next. Standing wedged between the Guggi handbag and the camper's backpack with the iron braces that bruise my hips. Eyes half closed still, with the scent of a dozen perfumes clashing together and assaulting my nostrils and the rancid smell of sweat that always remains no matter how clean the carriages are. Getting to work and having the phone ringing before my feet had hit the ground or the door had shut behind me, before I had had time for that second cup of java that would wash away the sting of the first. Life is so unfair I bitch to myself. Then comes the telephone call that we've been waiting for, for six months, the one that will confirm my ideas about the unfairness of life. A child is acting out at school; we have to send a team to do an urgent interview. This is a kid we've had our eye for a number of weeks. For as long as I've worked in this office, about twenty four months now there have always been the complaints about her challenging and changeable behaviour and every-time we've gone out and interviewed we've got zip, zilch, nothing that would allow us to act. I am so sick of seeing this kid in trouble knowing there is nothing we can do. With the information at hand and a plan developed we go out, myself as the senior worker and a newie who has barely seen life let alone the more sordid side of life. The child waits for us in the principal's office - nothing unusual there except maybe that usually the principal speaks to us before calling the child to the office. We all sit down and make a cosy group of four. The principal Mr Milne is a blocky, stocky short man who looks as if he could wrestle alligators but he genuinely cares for the children in his domain. He wears glasses and they fog as he explains to Amanda why we have come. Amanda sits on a chair that is too big for her and puts on her happy face. I have seen this face before on other kids and know that if we can get this kid to talk it will not be pleasant, the trick will be getting her to talk. The new worker sits next to me opposite Amanda. She looks as if the chair she is sitting on will bite her. She is so green she could bend in a strong breeze. Her name is Janet but everyone in the office calls her gush, probably because of the number of times she has cried when she has heard a sad story. I look at the kid make the introductions and give her the spiel about taking notes so we can remember exactly what she said, Janet sits with her pen poised like a secretary taking dictation, while Mr Milne sits back and struggles to balance his concern with a relaxed atmosphere. We begin with the standard questions "who touches you on the head, the shoulders the belly, the arms and so on' it's a monotonous litany but it beats the hell out of losing a case because we've asked leading questions. The kid is fine until we get to the private parts and then she clams up. It bothers me because she's always been so free before. Something is wrong, something is very wrong. I go back to the parts of the body we've already covered and I remember Amanda previously mentioned a bruise on her leg. I ask her about the bruise. "Does it hurt, how did she get it, how long ago did she get it etc." All the questions to put her at her ease, and then I ask her the big question, "does she have any other bruises?" She tells me yes in a tiny voice, a voice so small I have to lean forward to hear it. She tells me softly she has a bruise on her belly and I ask if I can see it. Mr Milne clears his throat at this point and asks if he should leave and send in Amanda's class teacher. I agree to this and we make small talk until her teacher arrives. Amanda's teacher is well named as Ms Bird for she is tiny and almost hovers over Amanda. I explain to Amanda what I would like her to do and she gently lifts her dress. Her stomach, thighs and genital area is a mass of bruising, so much so that there is no space for normal skin colour. Janet looks away in fright or disgust I can't tell which. I talk to Amanda softly and gently, asking the questions I must ask to get the information I need to follow it further and telling her that we need her to see a doctor and I will be talking to mummy and daddy about what has happened. Amanda does not react to mummy being spoken to but at the mention of talking to her daddy she whimpers in fear. I am ready to leave the room to consult with my supervisor and get some appointments when I notice that Janet is looking green around the gills. I offer her a chance to leave and she seizes it gratefully. She will receive the secondary consult and we will then enact to plan to get Amanda out of the home. Unfortunately this will only be for one night and by the time we've finished it will be taken to court tomorrow. I'm not worried about this for we will get her removed for long enough to allow us to investigate. When she comes back, we arrange to go to the hospital together, the police will be waiting there to speak to Amanda and if we can find a suitable adult to care for her our job will be nearly done, we will then only have to do the interviews with the parents, write up the case notes and prepare a bail justice hearing. We should finish work around eight or so, not bad for a normal day. There is no family member who is willing to take Amanda because there have been too many problems in the past from the parents ringing and abusing them for anyone to be confident about taking her. None of the relatives feel confident enough to take on an angry nine year old and her abusive parents at the same time, so it will be up to the office to find her a safe place for the night. The father and mother are denying any abuse and the discussion ends in angry words being spoken and being forced to leave the family home. In the past the parents have fought with the office about our intervention; I remember the long drawn out battles, I still have the emotional scars from some of them. And it is the memory of these battles that causes a reaction. As I ring the office to consult tears of frustration leak from my eyes, this will be messy again. Janet sees them but turns away. Perhaps I make her sick with my display of weakness, perhaps she is the only one who is allowed to feel, I don't know and I don't particularly care at this point in time. When we finally return to the office about five Janet suddenly vomits all over my new shoes. I am not impressed. The supervisor sends her home and I get to do all the paperwork and tie up all the loose ends. Janet has long gone probably to a nice home and a loving family, none of which I have. I hate myself for being jealous of what she has but realise that I have long ago made my choices and I am reconciled to them. We wait in silence for the bail justice. Amanda and me in an office filled with ghosts and bitter memories. I'm getting too old for this I think as the clock ticks over a second at a time. Amanda snuggles in, I wish the hospital had kept her overnight it would have been so much easier for me, but they say no reason, the bruises will heal naturally and do not require medical treatment and the other will heal or not dependant upon how resilient she is. Again there is nothing medical services can do, the doctor looks at me with compassion, he too understands the unfairness of life and the unfairness of being bound by convention. The bail justice understands too and is gentle with his questions, as neither the mother nor father turn up it is a cinch to get Amanda placed. She has long since gone to sleep in the comfy armchair we provide for such occasions and I watch as she whimpers in her sleep. She is like a small puppy, charming and vulnerable and I remember with a rush why I do this job. Her warmth radiates in a soft pool around her, but she is shivering as I cover her with my 'comfort' coat - a coat so big and fluffy it could easily hold two people. This eases the shivering but does not take away tension of her body, an anxiety that she does not lose, even in sleep and she cringes as I touch her. I smile grimly, the vulnerability of her wrenches at my heart and I forget all about my petty problems for a moment. In the silent office I can hear Amanda's breathing along with the tap of computer keys and the ticking of the clock. I muse upon the strangeness of how quickly the frantic pace and angst of the day gives way to the unsettled ghosts of the night. The small sounds so hidden during the day are more prevalent in the darkness as if the stray wisps of thought wander restlessly looking for a place to roost. The telephone rings and I jump startled by the suddenness and shrillness of the sound. It is the placement unit who are also working back on this night to ensure Amanda has a place to stay. I marvel at the dedication of these people that against impossible odds they manage to come through with a place, however my awe quickly turns to annoyance as I realise the foster placement they have found is an hour's drive away and it is either that or they must open a contingency unit which will take more than an hour to organise. I thank them with bad grace, accept the foster care placement and take down the details. I am lucky in that the carers have a child about Amanda's age so at least I won't have to organise a clothing grant. In the next few days we will talk to the mother about giving us some of Amanda's clothing and perhaps some familiar things so that Amanda is comforted but first we have to get through the court system tomorrow and there are never any guarantees. I finish my notes, update the system and contact the carer to give an estimated time of arrival. The carer agrees to leave a light on and be waiting up. She asks if Amanda has been fed, and I tell her she was too frightened to eat although we offered her Mc Donald's - even now the congealing food accuses me of my own missed dinnertime and my stomach rumbles in response. I hurriedly drink my cold coffee and clean up the work area. I switch off my computer and wake Amanda ready for the journey, she is bleary eyed with sleep and I would love to carry her to the car and put her in but occupational health and safety rules forbid this and my own common sense warns me to keep physical contact to a minimum. This is a child who needs to be touched so desperately but who will never be touched in the innocence of hugs or casual contact. It holds too many dangers for her. In the car Amanda starts to wake up and is asking a million, zillion questions in a whiney voice that children have when they are half asleep and travelling. I snap answers at her and immediately regret my snappishness when she retreats into hurt and confused silence. Although I apologise and she forgives me there is a tension in the air for the rest of the journey as she pretends sleep, while the deep silence encloses us both in pain of emotions unexpressed. Finally we arrive at the placement, Mrs Jennings, the carer is warm and loving she has been a carer for many years and has cared for a number of babies for us. She usually won't take children of Amanda's age because of her son but she has made an exception in this case because it is only for one night and she realised how desperate we are. Not that this is any different to another child; desperation is a way of life in this business and we juggle the balls of limited resources, misfortune, and a rigid system with a casual aplomb that makes us seem hard hearted and cold. It is not that we don't care; it is more that if we care too much we end up like Janet - emotionally involved and ineffectual. Amanda does not respond to Claudia, who is encouraging her to come out from behind my leg and I also try to unwind her from me. She is like a limpet afraid to leave the rock and brave the water, as if leaving the safety of the known, no matter how hard, would destroy her. Finally after ten minutes she comes out from the shadow and stands with her body held as taut as a violin string, she stands perfectly still her eyes wide with fright. Claudia talks soothingly to her and the quivering of her body slows but its trembling but does not stop. Still it takes us another twenty minutes to get her to leave my side and look at where she will be sleeping. By now my stomach is cramping with hunger, the beginning of a perennial headache is starting behind my eyes and all I can think about is getting home and falling into bed. At least I will be able to take the car home and not have to wrestle with the public transport fiasco at this time of night. Amanda looks at me for re-assurance and I notice her face is dirty with tear streaks from when she had cried before. I see new tears forming and I am abrupt about disengaging with her. She clings to me for a moment - in desperation perhaps before kicking me in the shins and running to Claudia, sobbing. Great! I think to myself, incident forms to be filled out in the morning, more work! I leave quickly and get into the car, flick the radio to soothing music as I hear the door to the house close gently behind me followed by the echoes of sobbing and shushing, comforting noises. Right now I would give anything to be held by comforting arms, instead I must return to my cold dreary flat, my yappy Pomeranian and my busy, empty life. Life is so unfair. Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind. Unknown |
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| © Copyright 2002 Lynne Dale - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia |
Disclaimer, all the characters in this story are fictional and bear no intentional resemblance to any person living or dead. In case you think I was having a dig at you JM  Keth, Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind. Unknown |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I remember reading the first version of this....and the way it impacted me.... I like the way you wrote in more of the details and added more closure to the situation...When I read it the first time, and again now...I believed this was a true story and assumed this was your job ... thats how well you wrote it. As for your disclaimer..."gush" would be a most appropriate nick name for me...as would the "emotionally involved and ineffective." I am a moth after all, but I promise I wont ruin your shoes.  Impactive, emotive writing Keth-girlie. You should do prose more often, it suits your pen.  Tell me we belong together |
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Kethry Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082Victoria Australia |
JM, It is my job, it is my life and my co-worker who read it said "am I Janet?" hence the disclaimer. It seems most people relate to gush and although the stroy is true in parts it is an amalgam of all persens involved in the system. I try to take commonalities and build on them. Keth Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind. Unknown |
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Wanda Member
since 2001-10-23
Posts 461 |
Kethry; May I commend you for your work with troubled children? This has to be frustrating to say the least. You have given such detail to this story. Wonderfully written. Wanda |
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