Demi's Afganistan

When Demi went to bed she heard whispers, and she crept to the living room door. At first she couldn’t make out what her parents were saying. Then her mother spoke louder, “Michael, come to bed, it is more comfortable there.”

Dad sighed. “Sue, it’s easier for me to sleep here.”

Dad kicked the cat off the couch, and it came and jumped on her bed. The last thing Demi heard was her Mum slamming the bedroom door. The house grew quiet, except for her father’s heavy breathing. She drifted into sleep.

When morning came, Demi was huddled against her Mum’s back. She had a dim memory of waking in the night and looking for her Mum.

Mum said “ Hello sleepyhead.”

She giggled and tried to wiggle her arms right around Mum. She lay still, and listened to her father’s heavy breathing again. Pressing close, she asked,

“What’s wrong with Daddy? Why is he taking pills?”

Mum lay on her back, her fingers brushed against Demi’s.

“You know how strange Dad acted the other day—“

“Yes, he scared me Mum. I have a bruise on my back.”

“Your father didn’t mean to hurt you. He has something called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“What is that? Why does he have it?

“It’s something that can happen in the mind of a person who’s been through a very bad experience.”

“Like going with the army to Afghanistan?” Demi’s voice trembled.

“Yes, and seeing people die.”

“Has Dad seen people die? “

“Yes, three of his friends died, just a month before he came home. It’s like his mind won’t let him stop thinking about what happened to them.”

“Poor Daddy.”

The men sat on the house verandah: men with solemn faces and shorn heads, in “militant solidarity” Mum said, drinking from long-necked brown bottles and playing cards. It was the third weekend in a row they had been there. Mum had become angry, Demi could see. Mum retreated to the lounge where she sat and read a magazine. Demi wasn’t upset about them being there. The one called Kelly had given her chocolate: he said it was the same sort the troops had given the kids in Afghanistan. She sat on the front steps of the verandah until it seemed the men forgot she was there.

Kelly asked her Dad, “How are things with the Mrs?”

Her Dad shrugged. Kelly’s mate Nicolo piped up, “ Don’t get chucked out like Smith did. He slept on different people’s couches for six months.”

Demi’s Dad stood up. Kelly grabbed Nicolo’s arm, “ Settle down. Smith’s Mrs didn’t like him before he joined the army.” He squeezed Nicolo’s shoulder, and nodded toward me, and Nicolo raised his hand and grinned, “Hey there.”

After that she went inside and sat with her Mum for a while. Later, she escaped her Mum’s grim expression and drooping posture by a permitted visit to Beth’s house.

That night her parents shouted. She remembered shuddering beneath the blankets in her bed; something smashed in the kitchen. Her Mum’s voice sounded high and whiny.

“Please Michael get some help. Please.”

“ You want me to have visits with that head doctor at veteran’s affairs.”

“Yes.”

“Why? I’m OK; I’ve got my mates. They understand what I’ve been through.”

“Some of them need help as much as you do.”

“ Are you knocking my mates?”

“No, some of them have been through trauma too, and need a professional’s help. That’s all.”

“What would you lot know about fucking trauma?” Her dad was roaring.

“Please, Michael, please”

Demi buried her head under the pillow.

Two days later when Demi came home from school Dad was gone. He wasn’t at tea that night. The day after, policemen were sitting at the kitchen table when she got home. About a week later Grandma came. She wrapped her arms around Demi’s Mum, “ Oh Sue,” she said. Demi’s Mum wept.

Grandma cooked roast lamb and potatoes for tea, and read to her from a book about a girl who reunites with her family in war-torn Afghanistan. Demi grew tired of her grandma’s voice. She said, “ I want to be alone.” She started to read to herself, but then thought, My Dad is gone, and it seemed as if the war had swallowed him, and would suffocate her.

Outside the door she heard her mother say to Grandma, “You weren’t reading her that book about Afghanistan?”

Grandma was silent. “Peter Rabbit would have been much better”, Mum almost shouted.

“Shh, she’s tired.”

Demi heard their feet walking slowly toward the kitchen. Her eyelids were droopy, and her chest hurt.

She woke late in the night her Grandma had come, and heard voices. Hiding behind the kitchen door, she listened to Mum’s words. “He’s been gone ten days and it seems like a year. He hasn’t called and doesn’t answer my calls, he hasn’t used his ATM card, none of his mates have heard from him. How hopeful do you want me to be? I’d rather be ready.”

Her Grandma leaned toward Mum and rubbed her back.

“I love him Ma, but what does that mean right now? I feel so helpless.”

The weeks dragged by. Summer became autumn, and Demi’s teachers began to complain about her. One day she was taken out of the Year Five Mathematics test because she refused to work. She threw balls of paper at the back of the boy in front of her. When her Mum was called, and had to leave her work at the local supermarket to come to the school, she stared at Demi. In her eyes, was that same disappointed look she had given to Demi’s father and his friends.

Two weeks later Demi went to Beth’s for a sleepover. Her mum was going out for a girl’s night with her friends. Demi thought she seemed too cheerful. When she had returned home her father’s razor and shaving balm were gone from the bathroom. The spot beside the hall stand reserved for her Dad’s shiny black lace ups, was empty. Later that night she climbed into bed with her Mum. While the darkness hid her Mum’s face Demi asked, “Do you think Daddy’s dead?”

There was silence, and she beat her Mum’s back with clenched fists. Her Mum wriggled away from her then grabbed Demi’s arms, and tried to get her arms around her. “ Stop, Demetria, stop.”

Demi sobbed. Her Mum held her for a long time. Finally, she spoke,

“I don’t know. If he doesn’t want me to find him, how can I find him?”

The words were like dark birds perching on her mind, but hope fluttered free. Maybe, maybe I could find Dad, she thought. She fell asleep and dreamed of the Fitzroy house. She woke. An image of red bricks and cast iron falling towards her made her tremble. She thought she heard her father’s voice. She sat up, “Daddy, Daddy ”, but there was no reply.

The following year Demi met her Year Six teacher Miss McTighe. During a class about social media, the teacher explained that she had once found her dog by posting a video on Instagram. “ My dog ran away from my neighbour who was caring for him while I was on holiday. A man brought him back from 50 kilometres away. Social media can be really helpful.”

Demi’s heart moved in her chest. She was ready to do something to find her Dad.

When Demi had gotten home that afternoon, Kelly had stood on the front porch, talking to her mum through the screen door. She heard him say her Dad’s name, and the sound went through her. As Kelly left he ruffled her hair; she remembered Dad used to do that. It was so long since someone said Michael. She needed to find him.

Later, her Mum went out the back to do some gardening. Demi went to her wardrobe, and found her Mum’s camera. She clicked through the photos. There was one clear photo of her Dad sitting on the porch thirteen months before. She uploaded the photo to her Facebook page. She typed a post: This is a photo of my Dad, Michael Wade, an Afghanistan veteran. If you see him please contact his daughter Demi. She added her email address, and clicked the button.

The following night after her Mum was in bed she made another post: I am looking for my Dad, Michael Wade, a veteran of the Afghanistan War. He may be in the Melbourne suburb of Fitzroy. If you see him please contact me ASAP. With it, she uploaded a picture of herself with her Dad taken two years before. She sat and gazed at the photo on the screen for a long time. She should make a page just for Dad: Help find Michael Wade. Beth would help her.

Demi arrived home from school, one day, and found a note from her Mum. It read: Come around the corner to Beth’s house. She gulped down some cold lemonade, and changed out of her uniform into shorts and a t-shirt. When she walked up Beth’s driveway, she could see her Mum standing on the porch with Beth’s Mum, and Beth, who waved to her.

They sat down on the porch and Demi joined them.

“Demi”, her Mum said, “I know you’ve been looking for your Dad. I want you to know I’ve been looking too. I received a phone call from Melbourne today.”

“Dad?”

Her Mum shook her head. “ But I believe the man who called has truly seen your Dad. He has been living on the streets of Fitzroy. The caller said he believes he is homeless, because he visits a shelter there to get food.”

“ But Dad has a home and food here.” Tears filled Demi’s eyes. Her mother wiped them away.

“Here, Demi, this is the picture the man sent.” Demi stared at the picture, sent by the caller to her Mum’s phone. It showed a tall man with straggly hair covering his chin, his blonde hair was collar length, and he wore a mustard coloured polar fleece jacket. Then she looked at the eyes, the nose so like hers. She had been holding her breath, and released it. “I really think it’s Dad.”

“So do I. It looks like we’re going on a trip.”

Her mum smiled. Demi reached out and held on, her hand filled with hope.

———————— The End ————————