Hurt People 1999 by Tom Gurn
Hurt People 1999
I did this PD at work recently. Mandatory. We learnt about the ‘whole school approach.’ Everything, we were constantly assured, was evidence-based. I listened. I took it in. Plenty of it made plenty of sense. Until the drive home, that is to say, when it occurred to me that it was all devoid of meaning. I thought about it the whole way. I came to the conclusion that everything in my life – every great thing and every bad thing – had occurred as a direct result of what happened to me, and everything good, who I really am, could not have been if it weren’t for that, and if things could be done differently, which they can’t, then there is every possibility that things could actually be worse, and so entombing the next generation in trauma-informed bubble wrap might not, based on my experience, be the right way to go about things in any way at all.
It really had her thinking.
Iris lost her train of thought as she pulled into the driveway. Her husband had backed his shiny new Dual-Cab right up to the roller door, which was rolled all the way up. She realised she hadn’t had a coffee since this morning and that’s probably why her head hurt. She could see piles of brightly coloured gear stacked high where her car should be getting parked. This could only mean one thing.
‘You promise it will be just one night?’ Iris said.
She hadn’t slept in that stupid tent for so long. He’d bought it when they only first started dating - a two-man, bright green. He’d said they make it that colour so it’s easy to spot in an evacuation. She very much hoped to never need evacuating from anywhere. Thankfully there was little chance of that. She could already smell the dank acrid stench that builds up under the fly. She looked down, a litany of new notifications made little glowing rows across her phone screen. She really wanted to say no.
‘Yes, just one night, haven’t you watched my channel?’ he said.
Little Daisy was out playing in the garden. Her nan had given her one of those automatic bubble guns for Christmas last year and Iris had filled it up with lavender soap that morning. She could hear her daughter cackling, probably shooting bubbles at cabbage moths.
‘Fine,’ she said.
He squinted at her, ‘Why’d you say it like that?’
He never lets anything go. Always ready to jump. She was standing at the kitchen sink methodically peeling the long green sudsy gloves from her fingers. Her eyes fell on the small garden shed that she’d pledged to use as a sculpting studio back in March.
‘No, really,’ she lied, ‘It’s unique, you know, there’s a lot of niches out there, you’ll find your audience.’
He was certain it was a good idea. He’d weighed it up for months. Watched hours and hours of top-recommended content. Stealth-camping is the future, he’d decided. The way the world’s going, one day, that’s all that’s gonna be left.
He got his way. Iris sucked her teeth and felt the pang of regret like hot indigestion. He made off for the carport with his new rucksack to meticulously pack all his precious expensive gear. He’d constructed an annotated list on his phone, she’d watched him over her sketching earlier. He had read it aloud three full times.
The in-app review said the babysitter was trustworthy, honest, and dependable. Iris had always hated having to make decisions. Paralysis by analysis her dad had once said. Somehow decisions had only gotten harder over the years. Sometimes a label only serves to make things worse. Since it had become an option, outsourcing a decision to third-party apps had managed to really help her get ahead of the problem. The sitter was in her early twenties from the profile pic. She had a warm smile and a 3.9-star rating.
He’d picked the spot after combing through Google Maps. He’d said it was perfect. Smack right in the middle of the median strip. Flanked by middle-class housing and a micro-gastro-brewery. The would-be tent spot was concealed between some tall shrubs in a lower section of ground. ‘Should generate enough content,’ he’d said, nodding and frowning.
She’d once thought he was the veggie-patch type. The crate-digging record collector type. She’d thought he might get into surfing one day, wearing those tiny fisherman beanies all rolled up, and they could all move down south to a bungalow by the sea. Brisk dog-walks along the beach on winter mornings. Hot oat lattes. Nights spent reading by the fire. He parked the ute and they both stepped out. The sky beyond the busy road was blood-red.
He set up the camera then stood very still for a while, staring blankly into the lens.
Iris gawked at his 3-quarter zip off beige hiking pants. She looked down at her phone and saw a message from the sitter.
call me please if you guys have reception - nothing serious!! no need to worry!! daisy is trying to shave her own head lol
‘What do I care if she shaves her head?’ Iris thought, ‘It’ll grow back, mine almost has.’
She unzipped the tent, stepped out and called the number listed in the app.
Making her way back from the side-street she’d taken the call, Iris surveyed the half-hidden campsite her husband had concocted. They were right in the middle of the road, with peak-hour traffic on either side. The marshy divot they were in sat lower than the surrounding shrubs by quite some way, though, so it was nearly impossible to see the setup. You would have to walk right up to the tarp and even then you’d probably just think they were homeless. She spotted him on the other side of the road, now, wearing a high-vis vest and white hardhat, carrying his work clipboard. He liked to get some footage of the campsite from the perspective of a passerby, she remembered. He wants the viewers to get an idea of how clever he really is. She was cross-legged in the tent when he returned.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said, eyeing her husband through the tent-mesh, ‘Something with Daisy, the sitter called, it’s nothing serious.’
‘Should I come too?’
‘Don’t worry about it. I won’t need you.’ she said.
‘But I need you,’ he said, through the steam of his just-add-water backcountry Thai green chicken curry. ‘What if something happens to me?’
Iris thought it over for a second.
‘I’m not a camera man.’ she said.
Her legs ached as she crunched up then stooped to collect her things. He was bent over beneath the lean-to veranda he’d spent an hour constructing. She heard the radio static hum of cars driving past, on their way home from work, probably. Normal lives with normal husbands. Maybe on their way to the airport. Anywhere at all.
‘You know I thought it would be fun to have you in the tent tonight. We could try that thing from that,’ he squirmed a little, ‘kinky post I sent you a few weeks ago. Remember?’
She didn’t. She hadn’t so much as clicked that reddit post, nor the ones before it. She’s never expressed the slightest interest in them. He knew. He sent them anyway.
‘I just think I need a break from being needed,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
She stared right past him.
‘I thought it would be nice to have you here,’
‘I just think it might be better this way,’
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘Well, I’ve always thought of it as better. Like I’m kinda, yeah, glad that what happened happened and I really wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘As in? Really?’
‘Really.’
Iris noticed light misty rain had begun to patter. Time passed slowly, or quickly, she couldn’t tell.
‘So even if you could have time over, you wouldn’t change a thing?’ he said.
‘Yeah. I mean it.’
She gazed at last into his eyes. She wanted to smile but couldn’t. Electricity shivered along her spine, a storm was coming, she felt the hairs on her arms tickle against the inside of her shirt.
‘What does that mean though?’ he said.
‘If it didn’t happen, my life would have been entirely different, is what I’m saying. Different in every way.’
‘Can we just go back to the video? I’d like to tell them about my new Salomon’s.’
Hard pellets began battering the fly of the tent. Her husband unzipped and clambered inside.
‘I’d be a different person, is what I’m saying,’ she said.
He didn’t answer and began fiddling with his tripod.
‘I like who I am,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ he said.
‘So maybe it would be worse if it didn’t happen, is what I’m saying. Maybe I wouldn’t have learnt how to handle difficult emotions or something. Maybe I’d be less resilient. Maybe I’d be a worse person.’
She rearranged her legs. He threw his head back then held a probiotic sachet up to his mouth. She watched his Adam’s apple glumly slide up his gullet as he swallowed.
‘I don’t think you could be a bad person.’
‘We can’t ever know, I think. It’s not impossible. We’ve got the lives we’ve got,’ she said.
He looked over at the camera for a moment then checked his watch. Her face felt hot now.
‘I mean, for starters, our situations are different,’ she said, ‘Would you change anything?’
‘I would absolutely change things, if I could,’ he said, ‘When Dad died - It’s the worst thing to ever happen to me. I missed him so much, it killed me, you know. I was so numb for so long. It hurt so much I think ever since then I’ve been deathly afraid of it ever happening again, and I’m aware that it is inevitable, and I do know eventually that these bad horrible evil things will happen, and I’m not stupid, but yeah, I’d stop it if I could. One hundred percent.’
The rain was getting heavier and heavier. Her phone let out a cold, abrupt notification ding. She didn’t look at him. She zipped up her rucksack.
‘Wherever you go, there you are,’ she said.
‘Who said that?’
‘Don’t know.’ she said.
Nobody said anything for quite some time. He fiddled awkwardly with his Leatherman. She pawed at her phone. A road-train, or equivalent, rolled past loudly.
‘When did you come to this realization?’ he said.
‘I think, in a way, I’ve always known.’
‘In all the time I’ve known you,’ he said.
She saw an Orb Weaver at work through the tent’s flyscreen. She saw how the moon lit up tiny droplets on the web.
‘So, then, maybe it’s better for everyone,’ she said.
‘What do you mean by that?’ he said.
‘Adversity breeds character, you know.’
Who said that?’ he said.
She shrugged.
‘That’s ridiculous, how can you – do you really think that?’ he said.
‘Do you want her to grow up privileged? Would you rather that you grew up privileged?’ she kicked her legs on the ground out in front of her, ‘I’m glad that I struggled, is all I’m saying. I’m glad he left.’
‘What the fuck are you honest to god talking about?’ he said.
His voice got louder as he swore. She saw bright lights dance in front of his eyes. She saw him clearly for what felt like the first time in a decade. A mop of curly black fringe was held to his forehead by the headlight strap. Brown, boring eyes. She exhaled and glanced at the tent’s door.
‘I’m just saying,’ she said.
‘Can you stop? Will you please stop?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ she said, and looked at the door once more. This time he noticed.
‘Are you gonna leave?’ he said.
‘It’s better this way,’ she glanced down at her feet, I’’ll pick you up in the morning.’
‘But after that?’
Find more from Tom over on Instagram!
