I'm at the house, we're partying again. It's just us core dwellers. I'm drunk. Yay! I worked today -again- so I'm a bit pooped. Sometimes when I come here I just want to chill and hang out and listen to music and have some small talk but today the boys are being all INTELLIGENT and EMOTIONAL and talking about things that they know NOTHING ABOUT.
Ireland. They're on about Ireland; the IRA, Belfast, the Republicans, the Protestants . . . the whole mess. It's a complicated time there, I know that. But it's also a complicated time in Isreal, in Germany, in Eastern Europe, in Czech.
They're Irish you see, most of these kids. If you haven't noticed by the names. Janet too, with the red hair. I never though of it, she's got a whole Lucille Ball thing going on. I think Johhna is Polish or something, but the rest of them are definitely Anglo. With a decided Irish bent. The boys have been going around in a circle of argument for almost an hour now. I ignore them, as I always do when they get tiresome. It's difficult though, because they get all intense and sometimes they raise they voices which bring me out of my reveille I've been enjoying. When Janet speaks I try to listen slightly, and she makes a good point: that they are not there so they cannot say.
Kevin McBride is by far the most militant. He is 1000% pro IRA and thinks they should go as far as they think they need to free the Republic. The others are varying degrees of extremism, with Trevor -much to my surprise- having the most level head and championing the whole 'keeping an open dialogue' thing. Bill is in there like a dirty shirt, not because he believes powerfully as they others do but because he loves to get a strong debate going. I don't like it though because there is entirely too much advocating of violence going on. I like a good debate though and listen with one ear (mostly not listen though), but I think I perceive of Bill subtly switch positions to keep the debate going strong. At that point I lose interest entirely and am completely immersed in my own thoughts when I hear my name being repeated.
Janet, realizing she is losing ground, calls on me to back her up. The boys look over with barely conceiled sneers on their faces; they will patronize the female by pretending to allow her a voice. But really they are taking the moment to gather more of their individual arguments.
At this point I have had more than a few beers and am rather pissed that I have to deal with all this seriousness on my time off. I think most of them slept all day, but I fucken just busted my ass in the hot sun for eight hours. Plus I got yelled at by the super-mean Maitre d' for leaving a knife on a still-seated table I had cleared. That super pissed me off because I do an amazing job most of the time, but it was like he's been hovering over me for the past several shifts waiting for me to make a mistake and he POUNCED. I mean he was shouting at me in the service area to the point that a waiter stepped in and told him he was too hard on us, at which point he got a major earfull as well.
So I've got a major supply of venom and anger welling up around my vocal chords when these CHILDREN, these pampered, these comfortable, these safe and never threatened, these North Americans, give me a prime opportunity to vent.
But I've gotten in trouble before, and big time, for speaking the truth with no holds barred. I have been accused, more than once, of destroying a person. A person that came out of a position feeling completely safe only through innocence of ever having been harmed. A person that was playing a GAME, as these kids are now, that baited me, that taunted me, that challenged me to "do my thing". And when I could no longer bear it, when the sweet delicious thought of bringing the person down to reality could be held off no longer I took the floor and I spoke. As I spoke the truth and the stark reality I could see those around me suck in their breath, lose their breath, their eyeballs popping out of their heads as they have never SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT BEFORE most particularly never seen anything like it from a person that LOOKED LIKE ME.
I have removed myself from those times with a deep, abiding sense of satisfaction. That a liar was brought down. That a cheat was exposed. That a masquearader was unmasked. But always ALWAYS a short time later I would be approached -almost invaribly by a female- and told that I am mean. That I am too harsh. That I am unforgiving. There have been times when several weeks have passed and I have been told that the person "was never the same again". I have offered no apologies; if they want to play a game they cannot complain when they must pay the price. But apparently being female, and looking a certain way, precludes me from the task of pointing out a person's glaring foibles.
The burn of it is, as in this case with these kids, I was always off to the side barely paying attention, minding my own business. Until I was called in and asked to speak my opinion. Like I said, I was baited. The foolish thing is the participants ASSUMED that I would play the game. What else could be expected of a girl that looks like I do? Of course I could never have a mind of my own, of course I could have no reading, no logic, nothing practical nor reasonable to back me up. No hard life lesssons. Of course I could only have been as comfortable, as safe and as pampered as they themselves had been their whole lives.
But I did feel bad, those times, to be told that the person who was flirting with disaster that presented itself so capably in myself was "never the same again". Even though that probably meant they -I should say he because I can't think of a single instance that the perpetrator was female. not that females don't play games, far from it, but games of a different sort entirely- were merely not as playful and childish with the serious issues they toyed with, I was very uncomfortable with the idea that I had 'ruined' a human being.
So I hold my tongue better now than I used to. I won't pretend that there are not times that I blurt out the very point people are dancing around in their tiresome little game of chicken they play where they try to maneouver the other into the hot seat. I won't pretend that there are not times where i don't bring all the conversation in a room to a halt with the stark truth of what I say; a truth that everyone knows in their hearts but is trying desperately to avoid. And needs all others to avoid it as well, or else it doesn't work. But I have learned to prevent such jarring and life-altering pronouncements as those that could alter a human being forever.
So I take my time, I turn to Janet slowly and ask, "What?". Just to buy myself some time so I can gather my thoughts and speak in a way that isn't crushing.
Janet knows I have a strong opinion on the subject and won't let me off the hook that easily. The boys are exchanging glances that say, "We will let the little girlie speak for a minute then we will resume our all-important manly debate."
"What are you arguing about, exactly? Who should have ownership of the land? It should be whoever was there first, it doesn't matter who came later. It doesn't matter how long ago it was or how many centuries people have been living on that land. Whoever was there first has a rightful claim."
I take a big swig of my beer as the boys explode into an uproar .. .
"But what about the people that have lived there for the last 800 years!?!?"
"It's not about the land, its a religious issue. The Protestants have to leave!"
It's idiotic and I don't want to get involved but -as always- they don't let me hang back. Now I am challenged in my assertion. A big mistake.
Everyone is talking at once and I can't even discern individual sentances, so I pretend to be confused and hope that will get me off the hook. No such luck. The boys weren't expecting me to express an actual opinion so now refuse to end the discussion. Janet simply repeats what she always says (which is valid enough) thus is ignored.
"What the hell do you know?", of course it is Trevor, my intellectual nemisis, who dares to challenge me to my face.
"Yeah, what do you know about it, you're not even Irish!" The other boys start to turn to each other, ready to ignore me.
"What do I know? I know all about it."
This is one of those moment where I have total clarity. There is nothing but my voice and what i have to say. I can't make it happen intentionally, but when it does it takes posession of me entirely and -no matter what the circumstance- my voice will be heard. I speak very softly but everyone hears me clearly. In fact there is no other noise except my voice; no music in the background, no TV playing with the sound off, no sounds of people passing the house outside. My quiet voice is all they hear, and -as always- they are transfixed. It is as if we are all held by an invisible hand, and no one is allowed to speak or move until I finish.
"I come from a country that is occupied," I continue. "We escaped from my country and came to Canada as political refugees. Tanks came in to take over that day, and since the Soviet army never left. They had no right to be there, it was none of their business, it was not their territory, they had no claim at all. But I cannot talk to my aunts, I cannot know my cousins. My mum can't speak to the family that she knew. We left with nothing; our property was taken away, all assets were seized. My family was rich, there, in Czech." I have to stop to drink a beer, if I do not gulp right now I will start crying.
Keta does not cry. Ever. The last time I cried was when I broke my hand, and after a gruelling two hours in the hospital where they wanted to release me and gave me a hard time when I insisted -four times- on an x-ray only to be told my hand was broken and would be in a cast for six weeks when my gymnastics finals competition was six weeks away plus my lifeguard course final exam was that week too and I would be expected to lift fully grown men out of the pool.
Apart from that I do not cry.
The room is still gripped in that powerful moment of clarity that seems to frighten everyone else but me.
"You guys are arguing semantics, you're not looking at the big picture. Besides, it's easy to debate such a thing here when you are safe, but to suggest that people risk their lives for something you know NOTHING about (here i look directly at Kevin) just shows how you know nothing about it. If you were there and watched people die, and knew people that had their kneecaps blown off, and were torn between sides and trying to be recruited, you wouldn't find it so easy to proclaim how 'things should be'."
That's it, I didn't want to get involved in the first place. And I always get uncomfortable directly following one of my 'tirades' because when the words stop coming there is a gap in time before the people fall out of their mesmorized stupor. I am left to look at them, frozen, looking at me with complete wonder in their eyes and incomprehension in their brains.
That moment always seems like an enternity and is too much truth for even me to handle.
The worst is that interval when I am still in real-time but they are all in super-slow motion. I am condemned to watch them come out of being transfixed with varying levels of being able to accept reality. One by one I have to watch them struggle with the truth they have just heard; my heart breaks repeatedly as one by one I see them reject it. Some rationalize, some pretend to not understand, other erase it from their memories entirely. Those are the most difficult to watch, because I know they are farthest from the truth in general. Life has taught me to note those in particular and to always remember they actively chose to reject the truth when it was plainly before them.
Slowly they come back to life. Janet tries to commandeer the conversation and turn everyone to her point of view. Unfortunately she says the same thing she always does so no one listens.
"See? You can't provoke violence. It's more complicated than that. The English don't belong there but they've been there a long time and that has to be considered."
This is not an answers and just angers everyone. I don't blame them, that kind of wishy-washyness would piss me off too, if it was my country.
The boys use Janet's ill-chosen timing to pretend my words were never spoken. Although they have trouble starting up, and have clearly been shaken, they manage to muddle through and within moments are back in their futile argument. I knew it would be so and share a bitter joke with myself about the predictability of human nature.
The only other person that seems to have noticed the gravity of the past few moments is Johnna. So easy to ignore, she sits across the room -as close to Janet as possible- watching me closely. She hasn't spoken in well over an hour; it is my mistake to underestimate her because she was obviously paying attention. Now she has seen what comes over me when the truth demands to get out, and I know she will share it with Janet at the first available opportunity.
But I'm pissed so I chose to ignore her once again. I hate it when I have to talk about my family, about my past, and about what happened on that bullshit day in August 1968. I hate it when I have to remember the wealth, the riches, the art, the crystal, the jewellery, the servants .. . everything my mum and her siblings enjoyed until Czech voted left and was insidiously encroached upon by the Soviet Union. Although I am forever grateful that i did not grow up in Czech I hate that it's not the same here. I hate that I can't go back. I hate that I don't have any of the comforts, that my life was so hard, that my mum remembers so clearly and finds everything and everyone here so lacking.
But I can't do anything about it. These children, these unitiated, these BABIES, they are back in their argument as if they have the slightest idea. It's just an esoteric discussion for them between trying to get laid and buying chocolate bars. They have no idea what it's like to go without.
I turn away from Johnna's peircing gaze and look out through the dark front window. Everything fades from me as I am once again lost in my thoughts. But this time, instead of minor surface thoughts about work or tomorrow, they are deep dark internal thoughts about things lost and a life never to be regained.
It's a good thing I have lots of beer in the fridge because I don't think I could stand to be in the same room with these people for much longer if I couldn't drown myself in mild drunkenness.
