…it is like a little word sized window is left open at night and stories hop in, one after the other, while we are sleeping. Before you know it there is a litter of stories giggling on the floor just waiting to trip you up when you get out of bed. I grabbed this short one before it went and hid under a chair with the others.
I was 18 years old, 3 months pregnant and wearing a stunning white hand me down wool dress, when I bit the arm of the man with the newspaper.
We were on a plane. I was being sent to Auckland to live with the nuns. Through an error of judgement, too much fun and too little sense, I was pregnant and unmarried. Being a teenager and just a wee bit wild, my parents had decided that I was better off living in a convent with a very large laundry that took in girls like me and helped us adopt out our babies. There is a fierce amount of sadness in that sentence. But actually the convent was not that bad. The time I spent living in the Home for Unmarried mothers is an extraordinary story all in itself. But not today.
Today we are in a small plane flying from the beach up the island to Auckland. The fog had delayed the flight for six hours. Our home was only five minutes from the airport so I had spent the six hours in the big chair at home watching the sea. I remember absolutely those hours sitting. I left myself in a way. To cope with what was to come, as I sat watching the tide move back out, I allowed My Self to lift into a bubble and float along above me like a helium filled balloon. I was totally detached except for the most transparent of strings. Dad got the call that the airport was open again and I was shuffled off. My mind bumbling along behind me. My hands clutching the incongruous macrame bag. My Mother’s friend’s older daughter’s beautiful white wool dress smoothed down over my small teenage body to my knees. Leaving home in disgrace meant a good dress, stockings and my good shoes. So I could be somebody else for my Mother.
In the plane, amidst the muted hum of silent passengers and smooth motors, I was seated beside a man who was given a newspaper by the beautiful tall air hostess. She did not offer me one, I guess I looked too young to read or something. God knows people make the most dreadful assumptions about the young. Anyway this man was in the aisle seat and I was sitting looking out the window. My Balloon Me still floating way above my body bumping gently on the luggage rack. My Balloon Me also had an eye so I was drifting up there watching myself and watching the man unfold his newspaper.
Now in those days the newspapers were about twice as wide as they are now. To open a newspaper fully you had to be a bit careful not to knock things over or hit people in the face. These newspapers were in fact best read at the table. Preferably after the butler had ironed each page for you. I had seen this in a movie and it had always amused me, I was thinking.
This man was all newspaper. Holding the news by its two edges, he reached both arms out to the full width of the paper, spreading his arms, then he would shake the paper a little so it flattened, bring his hands together to grab another page, spread them out again, shake again,, then he would turn it back out and down, fold it again into a manageable size and read the chosen section. Then he would open it up again, wide as he could go, shake it, close it, open it, turn it and then fold it back in. Then he would do it again. And again. Well you get the picture. Out in. Out in. In a tiny plane flying to a big city.
What he did not realise of course was that there was a bubble girl sitting next to him and every time he opened the newspaper right up and shook it, he shook his arm right in front of my face. Like a challenge. Again and again he did this, I could smell his skin and count the golden hairs on his arm. Every time he reached his arms out wide, I shifted my body as close to the window as I could, holding my own hand in front of my face to protect it, but as he got more space he stretched wider. He had no sense of personal space. No sense of the girl beside him with her Self doing a slow boil in a balloon above her head. Trying to be polite. Poor fellow.
His aisle arm began clipping passengers and hostesses as they swayed up the aisles. The hum of the planes engines changed as it settled and still he shook and rattled his paper, clonking passing people with grunted apologies, and smashing his arm through the air in front of me.
After a while, I put my hand back down, slowly took off my convent girl gloves and laid them in my lap on top of the sensible book my Mother had chosen. I crossed and recrossed those long gangly girl legs under the perfect white wool dress, my stockings slipping against each other, my sensible heels dangling. My tiny teenage mind reached up for my balloon self and she and I connected. I turned to look at the man behind the newspaper. He was oblivious. He unfolded his paper, stretched it out wide, joined the paper together to turn the page, his paper flapping in and out like huge wings, he shook it a little, and as his arm was presented to me once again, without even moving very much or thinking terribly much (as usual) I just gave him my teeth. A decent but tiny bite. Well a nip really, but a good sharp nip. A puppy warning. With my sharp white untried teeth. I bit ever so gently, just teeth, then pulled my head back and inspected with satisfaction the little teeth shaped dents in his arm as they puffed and subsided.
The man froze, the plane engines throttled back, the air hostess glided by. He did not even glance at me or say a thing. He was quite still. He looked straight ahead. Then he just inexorably shrunk into himself, his arm was carefully retracted, his elbows slowly clicking in beside his body. He moved his bottom ever so slowly in his seat until he was as far away as possible from me. By then the newpaper was folding itself into a small rectangle, while he still stared at the chair back in front of him. Making no sudden movements he settled his hand with his paper in his lap and carefully retrieved a pen from the little plastic sleeve in his shirt pocket. He stared at the crossword for the rest of the short flight. And at last it was safe.
I picked up then re-placed my gloves on top of my book, returned my eyes to the window and disengaged my balloon Self again. Then I went straight to sleep, like children can.
cecilia
Good morning. I hope you are all going to have a super day. The roosters are crowing and the sky has allowed that first glint of navy that heralds another dawn. It is time to start work. Oh dear I wonder if I should have told you that story. Ah well. I was young. I never bite people now.
This baby is the one flying in on Sunday to help around the farm for a week. Not such a baby anymore!!
celi
The Kitchen's Garden 
110 responses to “You know what happens when I start telling the stories…”
Brilliant story Celi, I was just leaving you a message from yesterday’s post wondering if in fact it was today or tomorrow, so confusing with time zones.
Your bite reminds me of my friend Gilly, who bit my arm watching an England footie match, different time, different reason, it was as you say, a small wee nip, if I’d had a newspaper to hand I would have clonked her with it !
Oh and a perfect story – great opening line, and leaving us wanting to know the outcome of the real story.
toodle oo
morning Claire, I love Gilly! nothing like leaving teeth marks to emphasise the point!! c
Can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to do just that – bite. Good for you! But now I wan’t to hear the rest of the story – Did you keep the baby or did you put him up for adoption and were re-united later?? Sorry if this is too intrusive. Is that your first frost – poor you, summer seems to be here – at last. Laura
Yes that was the first tiny frost.. a harbinger.. and Eldest son was adopted out to a lovely family and we all got back together a little later on. What was such a big secret then was actually never a secret for me or my family, my kids always knew about him and that we would soon see him again. c
Oh Miss C! I’ve been reading every day, as usual, but I just haven’t known what to say in the comments. How to express all the emotions your stories bring: the laughter and the sadness, the suspense, the nostalgia, and all the other ones that there might not really be proper words for? I still haven’t found a good way to express it but today I just had to say *something* so here we are. I love your writing. I love hearing about young Celi. It’s like being there with you. Thank you x
That you for reading Carol Anne and thank you so much for this gorgeous message, I am very happy to have you here with me! c
You are a woman with many identities and backgrounds. And solo compelling!
Silly typo; of course I meant sooo compelling, but spell check has a knd of its own, and thinks it is an editor.
I I love both comments!!! have a great day ronnie.. c
Wow! I am so glad you bit him. Serves him right, and I wonder if he became a little more aware of others after that. The world was such a different place when pregnant teens were packed off to save face for the family…I am so glad this “baby” is in your life (there’s a great deal more to that story isn’t there?) …a happy ending with a lot more stories in between. Open that tiny word window wider please! More!
My word window is so funny!! It was a different world and not so long ago either, but there you are. i always think that we cannot go back and say oh that was a mistake. We all do what we do with the info we have at hand at that time. Looking forward is much more fun! c
Another classic 😀
morning honey! c
So excited about the Eldest coming in to visit for a week!!! You all will be having a fabulous time on the farmy!!! Just loved your nipping story! It certainly did solve the problem!!! xo
Eldest son is on a mission to help me get ready for winter. My John is still working very long hours and the work is threatening to snow me under, a big strong son is just what i need!! c
So sad, so eloquent, so vivid, so deserving (paper guy), such a happy ending. Have a fun week with baby#1 Luv da cuz xxxxxx don’t often comment, but always read; bcs we only have a half hour lunch, I lock the door, turn off the lights and head to your place. So industrious. So inspirational xx mcc
So wonderful, out there in the outback reading about the prairies!! Love love Cuz darling.. c
I want to read your memoir. That was a wonderful story. Yes, you should have told it. Wishing you a good day on the farm as I travel off to my little corner in a corporate office to crunch numbers. Pick up some more of those stories on the floor.
Oh number crunching.. that is satisfying work if they all crunch out the way they are meant to! morning sabra.. c
living in convents , you and I ..so many similarities. I would never have been brave enough to nip however, no matter how much he pushed his pushy arm into my face. YES, I would have entertained the thought..but without the courage.
J
I was not that brave .. just impulsive i guess, and in all honestly i probably just felt like biting someone! c
A wonderful story – and an object lesson in how not to behave on an aircraft (the crass man, not you – you, I applaud). I’m so glad the baby was able to stay with you. Parental pressures were horrendous in those days.
I did adopt him out to a lovely family, and when he was in his late teens we reunited again. I had kept in touch with his mother the whole time so we were ready for him when he wanted to meet again. And he dropped back in with his brothers and sister like a brick in a well. My parents truly believed they were doing the best for me and I was not brave enough to go against it. Eighteen was young then. Not so much nowadays.. c
I am loving reading more and more about your Celi! I feel that by the time we meet in person one day (yes we will) I will know you perfectly well!
Have a beautiful day.
🙂 Mandy xo
Morning Mandy and I have always wanted to visit your side of the world!.. c
I do hope there are lots more stories spilling through. I love them. I had one one of these personal space invaders next to me on the train last week. I totally understand the puppy bite. 😉
At least nowadays the newspapers are so little! morning kristy, aren’t we having the most wonderful weather.. c
Others have responded so eloquently; I won’t repeat. I’ll just say wow! That memoir is being written right before our eyes, I think. Keep the stories coming. Funny how, when they start, they just keep nagging us to come out!
True. A wee sliver of light and in they rush.. morning gerry.. c