Annie Mullarvey

‘Polyamorous.  What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Moira’s plaintive moan, exaggerated and theatrical as it was, stirred up some king parrots awaiting their morning seed-gathering out the kitchen window.

Fran cleared a wispy grey lock from her forehead and placed her coffee mug down on the chunky, pockmarked, old table.  She cleared her throat and chose a measured response, despite the humorous drift in her friend’s outburst.

‘My daughter explained it to me.  And Moira, don’t be surprised if you still don’t get it whatever they tell you.  The idea of having more than one intimate partner at the same time and it all being hunky dory and fine by me for each member of the cozy little ensemble harps me back to the old commune days.  There was never an even playing field approach to sex in that place, and Sam full well knows it.  Even though we got out of there by the time she was six she’s heard me bang on about it for years.  Those so-called feminist-minded men turned out to be nothing but a self-important clutch of randy roosters in a chicken pen.  Oh, and were we chickens gullible!’

Gina chuckled and gave Moira a cheeky wink from the opposite side of the table.  Still attractive with her large, enigmatic brown eyes and wrinkle free, carefree disposition, she could pass as substantially younger than her sixty-seven years. Her face clouded as she was reminded of her own recent struggles as a parent. 

‘You know, when Lawrence introduced Mike and I to Paolo, I’d already decided that life was complicated enough.  All those girlfriends we’d been obliged to welcome and entertain over the years.  Then Ruby came along, and we even made her part of the family for chrissake!’

‘Oh yeah, didn’t those sweethearts live in your bungalow for a while?’  offered Moira.

Fran sighed and turned to Gina.

‘Ah yes. When I think of it you practically adopted the girl.  You and Mike were just wonderful with her, weren’t they Moira?   Remember how lovey dovey those kids were? Thick as thieves.  Couldn’t keep their hands off each other even when Lawrence was cooking up your sixtieth birthday feast.  I thought we’d never get past the savories.  Didn’t you end up going out to the kitchen and interrupting them, you know, and getting Ruby to come and mingle with us old crocks so Lawrence could cook our dinner with two hands, Gina?’

Gina shrugged.  Moira took one of her hands and squeezed it affectionately then spoke.

‘Those two really had me fooled, I can tell you.  I thought they were about as permanent together as my addiction to chocolate.’

Seeing her two friends break into sniggers she continued.

‘Our kids never cease to amaze us, do they?’

Gina rose.  Began clearing the table and hesitated on her way to the sink.  Those dramatic weeks following Lawrence’s coming out as a gay man would never be forgotten.  Ruby’s unimaginable distress as she flipped over from a strong, cheery, confident young woman into an uncontrollably hopeless weeping wreck.

            She turned to her two closest friends, still watching her.

            ‘You know, despite all the heartbreak that young man’s caused us, I couldn’t have been prouder than when you both came along to the wedding.  Didn’t those guys look made for each other?  I reckon I cried more giving my big boy away than I did when Fleur and Evan tied the knot.  And what a contrast.  Mr. and Mrs. Straight if ever there was.’

She shrugged helplessly and sat back down.  There was a brief silence.  Fran and Moira grappled for matey responses. Fran was the first to clear the air, bright and effortlessly sincere.  Moira had to admire her diplomacy, which seemed to come as second nature.  Moira had put her foot in it so many times when trying to repair a sticky situation she’d learnt to remain quiet unless directly called upon. She rose, deciding she was of best use washing the dishes.

Fran gestured for her to wait:

‘I don’t know about you Moira, but I reckon Fleur’s probably about the smartest one in the pack.  I mean she and Evan are real highflyers, aren’t they?  I can’t imagine Samantha ever having the cash to take me on a holiday to France.  If by some miracle she ever invites Martin and I anywhere on her child entertainer income it’ll be most likely Dromana and we’ll most likely say, No love, you save your money.  We’re fine.’

Moira and Gina protested in unison.

‘Now come on Fran.’ Moira’s response was immediate, heartfelt.

‘You know as well as we do that Sam is a bloody treasure.  If I’d ever been blessed with a daughter, I would have been rapt to pop one out even slightly as funny and talented!’

Gina chimed in with ‘Here, here!’

Moira, now sixty-eight, divorced, and mother of sons, Finn and Carl (who also identified as polyamorous) loved hosting her two old friends these days.  Weekends together in the rustic, not exactly impeccably maintained Dandenong’s cottage, a fire blazing in the grate on chilly evenings, helped to conjure many of the highlights of their shared counterculture-smattered youth.  Moira and Gina had met Fran at the landmark Aquarius Festival at Nimbin NSW over fifty years before.  To this day Moira was still surprised at the idea her parents back in 1973 ever agreed to allow their precious seventeen-year-old daughter to go.  But then they probably knew they had little choice.  Most likely there would be histrionic outbursts for weeks, maybe months to follow if they forbade her.  Moira’s older brother, Rick was going and had offered to take his sister in his work combi van, along with her undeniably pretty friend, Gina.  Gina’s parents had miraculously agreed to the idea.  The wily teenager convinced them somehow that it wouldn’t interfere with her final year studies and that responsible Rick would keep a close watch on both girls. Moira told Gina, not for the first time, that she had her dipsy, whimsical parents ‘over a barrel.’

It was obvious to Gina and Moira, soon after Rick had helped them to pitch their tent and unload their gear, that he wouldn’t be spending much time ‘chaperoning’ them.  He had taken two precious weeks off his annual leave and had plans to drink (or smoke) every morsel of hippie alternative lifestyle experience he could savor. After only a few days, the girls observed that Rick was proving himself to be quite a catch among some of the cutest and boldest ‘hippie chicks.’ It was fortunate for Gina and Moira that his van, with comfy mattress and blackout curtains at the ready, was parked a fair distance from their camp.  Moira had no desire to witness her twenty-year-old brother’s tomcat techniques, nor did she want to be introduced to any of his giggling weed-addled conquests.  The thought of any of them approaching her with bitter complaints of the rejected lover was truly abhorrent.  Gina, who didn’t have any brothers, only younger sisters, had little difficulty listening to her friend’s concerns with earnest sympathy.  She was both fascinated and internally dwarfed due to her lack of any relevant experience. Her few encounters with gropy, breathy boys at parties who either kissed like they were demolishing ice cream or stuck out their tongue so stiffly (one boy) that she was tempted to give it a bite, were rendered forgettable.

However, in terms of the two friends’ shared experience of the Aquarius Festival they were relieved to confess to one another that they felt like ‘fish out of water’ from Day One.  They wandered the grounds like tentative tourists, sometimes noting that they weren’t the only attendees who looked ill at ease with the strangeness and unfamiliarity confronting them.  Weird, bearded and caftaned ‘healers’, a Magic Circle for warding off ‘bad karma’, and workshops for everything from rainbow patterned ‘peace kites’ to bicycle generated water pumps and environmental and anti-nuclear activism.  The stage hosted emphatic Indigenous land rights leaders, speakers promoting sustainable and communal living, and doctrinaire types who wanted to convince listeners they had ‘the answers’, either political or quasi-religious.

Then there was the ever-changing scene down at the river.  Laughing, hairy naked bodies in action at play.  All shapes and sizes.  Splashing, swinging from ropes amongst the crowing, nature-loving fray.  And children everywhere. The thick scent of incense, particularly dominant sandalwood, which Gina admitted to detesting, the little gatherings of merry or doped out music makers along the riverbank, in the main street and practically everywhere else; spontaneous and often welcoming.  Moira, like Gina, was carried away with wide-eyed wonderment for much of the time.  In the evenings the atmosphere was intermittently joyous and meditative as they wandered from one camp fireside to another, or to the main stage to watch and listen to various entertainments, ranging from super-amateurish to impressive.  The friends had to agree that the title ‘Circus’ seemed to cover anything from a few rickety cartwheels and somersaults to excellently poised acrobatics.  They had a shared passion for Hendrix-style electric guitar riffs from, well, magnetic and handsome lead guitarists.  These were much preferred to the would-be soulful folk performers who evidently likened themselves to Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell but rather pathetically often missed their mark. 

Still though, the seventeen-year-olds never felt able to relax completely unless tucked away in their tent where they could chat and giggle and compare notes about what they saw and heard over the week.  Feeling like live bait at times when exposed to sleezy glances or lude comments from predatory looking males, they often found themselves clinging to each other like Siamese twins, especially in the evenings. The odd visit by Rick or joining him for meals sometimes at the Rainbow Café certainly helped them feel safer, despite the inevitable hints from him about how he was doing them a favor.  At the same time Moira and Gina felt envious of girls they saw around their age enjoying themselves with male boyfriends and friends.  When they got together with Fran, everything seemed to change.  Fran knew plenty of boys at Aquarius.  In fact, she seemed to know just about everyone there was to know. 

It was the afternoon of the much-vaunted Aquarius Moondance.  The ten-day Festival was drawing to a close, and there was heightened positivity amongst organizers and festival goers alike that the event had been a game-changing success.  The two friends were sitting uphill from the riverbank devouring felafels in flat bread and soaking up the sun.  The comical antics of a group of teenagers splashing about in the water below provided a ready source of entertainment as they munched.  Moira offered to grab some more water for their paper cups, after they agreed felafels could be very thirsty work.  Gina suggested Moira collect the water upstream, away from the swimmers, so off Moira went.

Gina leant back on the thick grass and closed her eyes. Recent images loomed of an older boy, fair haired and self-assured-looking she’d noticed watching her from among the group in the water.  Even Moira had remarked that he seemed interested.

‘Lucky you Gina.  That cute blond guy definitely has the hots for you.  I’m not gonna pretend it’s me he’s gawkin’ at.’

As Moira neared the river, intending to get past the teenage group unnoticed, Fran’s friendly voice stopped her in her tracks.

‘Hey Girl.  Aren’t you gonna say hello?  Promise we won’t splash you unless you wanna cool off with us.’

Moira turned to the source immediately.  A round faced dimpled girl of about the same age, with light brown hair damp and dangling in ringlets framed her radiant expression beautifully.  She was a classic nature’s child in a Fifties Hawaiian style bathing suit, and she even wore a headband of tiny fake chamomile daisies.  Moira had noticed from the perch she’d been sharing with Gina that this stunning person seemed to be something of a leader among her three friends, including the older blond boy.

She introduced herself. Then Moira, quaking with nerves, plucked up just enough courage to reciprocate with she and Gina’s names to Fran and her listening troupe.  They consisted of a slim, quiet natured dark-haired girl, and a pleasant faced sandy, freckled boy, along with the older handsome blond. Gina gave a shy wave from above when she was referred to.  Fran beckoned her down to join her little crew, now drying off on the riverbank by dodging flicking towels at one another.  The other girl, named Isobel, seemed good humored enough but couldn’t persuade the two boys, Trevor the blond and Frankie, his offsider, to call their game quits.  That’s when, to the amazement of Moira and Gina, the cheeky lads nodded to one another conspiratorially and grabbed a squealing Isobel from either side, intending to give her a good dousing in the water.  Fran blocked their path.

‘C’mon guys.  Izzy’s gotta split soon.  Remember?’

The boys did as requested, but not without carrying on like a couple of clowns, pulling long faces and prancing buffoon-like for the entertainment of the watching girls. Izzy laughed the loudest of all, wrapped her towel about her and plonked down with Fran and the newcomers on the grass for a sit and a chat. The boys decided to follow suit, and to Gina’s surprise, Trevor asked her if she could make room for him to sit beside her.  Gina felt the first heated drops of perspiration meet the underarms of her favorite embroidered cheesecloth top. The sexual energy Trevor’s proximity generated was at once exciting and stifling and she had an odd temptation to run.

Moira and Gina learnt that their new friends had known one another for some time.  Their parents were environmental activists and had met up in Tasmania during the campaign to try and stop the flooding of Lake Pedder the previous year.  Fran told a story about how a plane carrying a well-known environmentalist called Brenda and a male pilot called Max, had mysteriously disappeared at a critical time during their journey to save the beautiful, pristine lake.  The bodies of the pair still hadn’t been recovered and Fran’s parents were certain the so-called accident had been deliberately orchestrated by powerful people who wanted the destructive dam to go ahead.

Isobel had known Brenda Hean quite well, since the tireless campaigner had played music sometimes with her father at their home, or at other social gatherings or fundraisers. The sad expression on Isobel’s face as she spoke was haunting.  The tragedy of eight months prior was still raw and fresh.  Moira was lost for words at how to comfort this grieving girl from Tasmania who she’d only just met.  Then Frankie leaned forward and put his arm around her in brotherly fashion and said: ‘You’ll be okay Iz.  Just give it time.’  Grateful, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and stood up with purpose.  She explained she was off to rehearse with her dad and the other musicians for the Moondance.  Isobel played the fiddle.

Trevor, who’d been telling the others it was nearly his turn for ‘compost bin duty’ got up gingerly and managed to flex his muscles to visual advantage.  Before wandering off he bent down and spoke quietly in Gina’s ear.  The girl looked positively awestruck and simply nodded. When Trevor was out of earshot, Fran turned to Gina with a friendly smile and said:

‘Be careful of that one, Girl.  He’s a bit of a heartbreaker.  That’s for sure.’

Frankie sniggered, then talked a little about how Trevor was a good mate and an excellent source of some high-quality marijuana all the same.  Apparently, Trevor’s parents were part of the organizing group which had put on the Aquarius Festival.  They’d worked incredibly hard for the previous two years to bring their shared vision of an alternative celebration of sustainable and harmonious living free of the ‘polluted clutches of the rat race’.  They had also won fame amongst their peers for using their home as a refuge for Vietnam War draft dodgers. 

Moira thought these proud, confident, and somewhat shaggy young people were simply marvelous.  She felt at this point more inspired and less cynical about the goals of the festival than ever.

She turned to Fran.

‘You know, Gina and I can’t really boast having such cool parents as all of you, but I guess they can’t be too bad letting us come here like they did.’

Gina piped up, feeling she could air her armpits and start breathing normally again, now her male object of attraction had left the scene.

‘Don’t listen to her everyone.  Her dad’s an architect and he’s just won a big award for designing a mudbrick house at Kangaroo Ground, just out of Melbourne.  You should see it.  It’s two story with these amazing colored-glass windows and its right in the bush.’

Moira and Gina arranged to catch up with Fran and her friends later at the Moondance, then headed back to their camp to prepare. Their heads were blooming with enthusiasm and anticipation.  As they raved about their new friends and shared their thoughts from some of the afternoon’s discussion, they almost bumped into Rick who’d apparently been looking for them. 

‘Hey. Where have you two been? We got a message from the folks, so I gave them a call.  I said you two seem to be enjoying yourselves.  Keeping out of trouble.  They reckoned the festival’s been on TV, and Gina’s mum wasn’t too keen on the, you, know, nude stuff.’

He looked up at the sky and shrugged.

‘Alright.  I told them about the Moondance tonight and they made me promise I’d take you two so you don’t get up to any funny stuff.’

Gina and Moira agreed but were adamant that Rick should come and meet their new friends who were expecting them to spend the evening with them. Rick considered their request for a few moments, then okayed the idea.  He was feeling a bit hamstrung after lying to his parents that he’d spent most of his time with his sister and her friend.  He also wanted to avoid a particular young woman whose latest caustic remark to him was:

‘If I’d known you were just using me, I would have had more fun digging holes for the new toilets with those stinky looking guys over there.’

Whilst the two friends were getting dressed up for the big night; Moira in fiery red full skirt with matching embroidered gypsy top, and Gina in her suggestive black lace fronted granny dress and elaborately threaded Roman thongs, Gina asked Moira for a favor.  Could Moira distract her brother at some stage (Gina would give her a sign) so she could spend some time alone with Trevor as planned.  Moira wasn’t surprised at the request but inwardly felt a mixture of uncertainty for Gina along with a dash of envy. Gina was sure to lose her virginity tonight, and despite the danger of pregnancy, Moira wasn’t sure she would reject advances from Trevor herself given the chance.

So, Moira agreed to help.

The evening for the Moondance was still and the general atmosphere electric.  The weather, drizzly first thing that morning, had come to the party.  Now the sky was completely clear with a full moon rising.  The air temperature was a pleasant twenty-seven degrees.  Good for practically anything outdoors that took your fancy.

Isobel and the eight-piece bush band, competently led by her fiddle-playing father, were appropriately mirthful and toe-tappingly rhythmical.  It seemed like everyone was willing to join in the fun, especially given the freely circulating cannabis joints, which stifled the inhibitions of many of the participants who were generally more likely to hold back and observe. Trestle tables joined in a long row down one side displayed all manner of vegetarian snacks along with fruit punch and Indian style sweets. The Hari Khrishna catering service had been engaged all day in preparation for the feast.

It was almost impossible for Gina to judge ‘the right moment’ for she and Trevor to steal quietly into the darkness for some intimate pleasure.  From the minute Rick had been introduced to the handsome, cocky young man, Rick’s eyes had barely left him.  He noticed Trevor’s saucy sidelong glances at his little sister’s friend, and sense from personal experience what was going on.  Predictably, Gina played the coquettish damsel to a tee.

Moira knew she would have a tough time prizing her brother away from his vigilant post.  Watching him she felt an internal pride.  He was trying to be responsible for a change.  At the same time, she wondered if Rick, and possibly Trevor also, felt possessive towards Gina.  She’d agreed with Fran earlier that it would be a long time coming before men ‘wizen up and take feminism seriously.’  Moira was warming to Fran’s worldliness, and her open intolerance of anything she considered to be ‘blinkered capitalist bullshit peddling.’ Moira and Fran had exchanged phone numbers and there was a possibility Fran’s family would be visiting Melbourne soon.  Moira was delighted.

When she and the others finally persuaded Rick to dance with them near the stage, Trevor made his predatory move on moderately stoned and obliging Gina.  Rick flitted away from the boisterous dancing group within minutes and began searching for the absent couple with his torch.  By the time he found them down at the riverbank, about twenty minutes later, Trevor was growling at Gina to ‘just shut up and enjoy it will you?’  Rick intervened.

Moira thought Gina looked ever so pale up front in Rick’s combi van driving home.  She hardly spoke a word either.  Moira and Rick made small talk until Rick admitted to liking ‘most’ of she and Gina’s interesting new friends.  The three stopped over for the night at a hotel on the main street of Gundagai called The Criterion.  The girls shared a twin room and Gina, exhausted, fell asleep as soon as her head found the pillow.  In the morning over breakfast on the curved deco balcony, Gina seemed more her sold self, and thanked Rick for ‘saving my bacon.’  Rick, embarrassed, couldn’t muster a reply.

Moira decided to chime in at this stage:

‘Well, lucky Gina’s folks shouted this old pub for the night.  Another night on the ground camping out with all those hippies and we might have caught the drop-out bug.  I can’t wait to get home and slob out in front of the telly with fish and chips.  How about you two?’

The others chuckled along with her for a bit.  Then it was time to load up the van and head for home.

About Annie Mullarvey

Annie is in her mid-60s and cannot imagine living anywhere other than the Municipality of Merri-bek.  She spent her childhood in Glenroy and now lives way up the other end in East Brunswick. 

Over the years, she has worked as an inner urban community worker, a mental health social worker for Merri Community Health, and later for another local organization as counsellor/advocate for refugees and asylum seekers.  She even married a teacher from Moreland High (now defunct), and they raised a family together in Brunswick.

She is passionate about social justice and human rights, and her short stories often reflect this. Annie has recently completed her first fiction novel, ‘No Fences for Joyce.’  The story follows Joyce O’Connor, a young woman rescuing her children and fleeing an abusive and alcoholic husband in Yarrawonga during the 1960s. They eventually settle in Broadmeadows where Joyce is hired by ‘Fenton’s Electronics’ (no relation to the Ericsson company), initially as a factory hand. There she meets her lifelong friends, Rosa from Italy and Maureen from Liverpool, England.  Joyce and her companions are horrified by the frequency at which their female co-workers are developing repetitive strain type injuries due to the unrealistic work practices set by management.  Joyce eventually becomes a shop steward with their union and helps to stage a successful lunchtime rally from the roof of the canteen. Later in the novel, Joyce reconnects with her old school friend, Suzi, and together they help to establish a women’s refuge in Yarrawonga. 

Annie’s dream is to somehow convert this novel into a community play.  To see it travel between Melbourne and Yarrawonga someday, helping to spread awareness about gender-fueled violence, is her idea of pretty darn special. 

Copyright Annie Mullarvey, September 2024. All rights reserved; this intellectual property belongs solely to Annie Mullarvey.