In Memory of Katrina Miles11 May 2018

In Memory of Katrina Miles

11 May 2018

1. It takes me nearly five years to finish the book that you lent me because I cannot get past that first page which has your name and number on it, the number I send a text to the morning it happens— Heard there was some trouble out in Osmington, hope you are ok?

2. We met at Gloucestor Park. Was it football training? Or game day? Our boys tumbling about like puppies underfoot. Was it one month, or two months before? You were leaning against the fence. We swapped numbers. Our girls were friends at after-school art class.

3. Friends?

spidersilk spanning the gap
between two branches

4. My girl did not have many friends.

5. Squawks of laughter from my living room. The strange things that teenage girls find funny: memes with cats; words, repeated: moisturise, moisturise!

Can we go for a walk by ourselves, Mum?
Of course you can.

6. Friends?

a cup of tea
taken together

7. You invite us to the farm. The kids run off outside. I tell you that you’re living my dream, out on the land. You tell me about your ex who wants to see the kids, who parks his ute and waits at the property boundary.

I do not know what to do with this information.

I turn to the bookshelf: every book on autism, homeschooling, and personal growth worth reading. I pick one up. That’s a good one, you say, Would you like to borrow it?

I say yes to The Gifts of Imperfection.

8. But I mean no. I want my life to be perfect. I do not want to have these bullet-holes. I do not want this world where a husband can batter his wife behind closed doors while their children scream and cry; this world where a father can get up before dawn and shoot his daughter and grandchildren while they sleep, and then his wife, and then himself.

9. Friends?

feet tread a path
between two front doors

10. At the funeral, your besties get up and name you Mama Lion. They speak of your ferocious intelligence, of how you rose to defend your cubs, of how you threw yourself into the hunt so your children could survive and flourish.

They roar with anger and grief.

I sit in the congregation with my husband, silent, tearless.

My daughter refused to come.

11. I do not know what to do with this information.

In this year of so much other loss, our last year in this town, our reputation under a cloud, betrayal to the right and gossip to the left, I cannot let myself think of you, Katrina. I have to carry on.

12. Friends?

waiting for an answer

13. Someone we both know shares your poem on Facebook. The one you wrote as you were leaving your ex. It begins:

“I’m battered not broken”

14. In a surreal moment I find myself chatting to Rosie Batty at the Readers and Writers Fest. She asks if I knew the Miles family. Yes. I ask her how we can understand what defies understanding. What was Peter Miles doing? Was it some misguided effort to protect? Or to control?

She looks at me and says, It was domestic violence.

I nod but I still don’t understand.

15. Friends?

God, where are you?

16.Three women from church turn up when our boxes have gone. Wordless, they wipe out cupboards, scrub floors, and sponge down walls.

At the other end, in Perth, three men from another church turn up, and help unload.

17. My husband sets me up. He knows I won’t talk to him. He finds someone trained, someone I might be willing to trust, he sets up a meeting, makes it look like it happened by chance.

18. Friends?

we talk
so many
feelings
to find words for

19. My daughter talks too, though not to me.

20. And then, one day, it happens. I get past the first page. I read The Gifts of Imperfection and, I see you, Katrina, on every page. I see your messy brown hair, your glasses, and your smile. I see your struggles and your vulnerability. I see your courage and your compassion. I see your bullet holes. I do not look away.

I finish the book. It is mine now, it cannot be returned.

I accept this information.

21. Friends?

I take God’s hand.
I can feel
the nail holes.

22. this tiny overlap:

one cup of tea
one life, taken, violently

One day at the judgement seat!
One day justice and mercy meet!

23. One day, I hope we’ll all be living the dream, someplace good. I’ll hear a knock at the door. It will be you, Katrina, asking: Have you finished that book yet?

Yes, but it’s mine now, I’m lending it to you.

You’ll lift an eyebrow. We’ll both laugh. I’ll go and put the kettle on. Friends? I’ll ask as I pour. Yes, friends.