Pink Dragstar

When I was a young girl, I really wanted a dragstar bike.

I had a second hand pump up scooter, a little rusty, that did the job zooming down the hill at the top of Rosedale Road. It had rubber grips and a back-wheel brake.

I saw the dragstar boys and girls around the neighbourhood. They travelled together in a gang. (I thought they could all do wheelies.)

And the girls’ dragstars had pink and lime green and baby blue streamers attached to the handlebars. They had sparkles in them...tiny flecks of gold and silver glittering in the sun. Those streamers fluttered in the breeze like butterflies. Some of those snazzy bikes even had 3 gears and handlebar brakes. They were amazing.

After zooming down Rosedale Road, I’d push my pump-up scooter back up the hill, do a loop up on the flats, past Professor Waterford's garden of camellias at the far end of McIntosh Street, and then head down the hill again.

And again.

And again.

I’d tuck my short plaits behind my ears. I’d steady my grip....Ready, set, go.

I liked going fast. I liked the wind. I liked breeze on face. Still do.

I liked to hear the whirr of the tyres and the tick tick tick of a leaf snared in the metal somewhere.

All that scooter speed...and for a moment I pretended I was a princess on a dragstar. I’d tilt my freckled face to the sun, and in the distance I’d hear that rich call of the currawong. It felt very scary but very safe...fast was so safe...safer than the risk of home and staying still.

***

One day, as I was riding my scooter, the dragstar girls called me over and spoke to me. It felt nice to talk to them, to stand in the sun and to be accepted. They had new clothes and they had fancy jewellery too. A couple of them had little gold heart shaped rings with a bluebird engraved and a tiny blue stone inset.

Wow, I thought. That's really pretty. 

(I imagined them in big homes around friendly dinner tables with lots of laughter and hugging. I imagined them with their own bedrooms and pretty bed covers and mums who came in and talked softly and kissed them goodnight.) 

Next time I saw them was a few weeks later. I was riding my scooter. It was weekend again.

I called out hi and smiled.

But they didn't call me over.

Instead, threw road grit at me. Enough to skittle me.

The grit hit my eyes, and I slid sideways onto the footpath forward, grazing my ankle bone and calf to the bone.

And when I looked up, all I could see were those dragstar girls with their flashy streamers glittering in the distance in the breeze. Riding off and laughing. 

what a waste of all those pretty sparkles. 

I tried to pick myself up, but my ankle didn't feel right. I couldn't really walk on my own

And that's when Mrs Waterford came out of her garden. She took off her garden gloves and looked at me gently and said, "let's go inside. I'll help you clean up."

She picked up my scooter and wheeled it to the front gate, where she propped it up just against the wood palings. We walked up the flagstone path and up the steps. Then she took my hand and led me into the great big house.

It was grand. And felt kind. It felt loving too. Georgian style columns. Lots of beauty. Big rooms with real paintings and Professor Waterford's camellias were outside of every single window. (I'd often see him in the garden too, tending them on weekends and afternoons with her.)

She pulled out her medicine kit and took out gauze and iodine and started dabbing at the cuts and scrapes.

"You know, if that happens again, you can always come in here. Just duck inside the garden.

My husband and I are mostly in the garden. So you see? I'm usually around and you can come in here and lean on me."

"If I fall again? Is that what you mean?" I replied. 

"It's ok," she said. "I saw them."  

Then we spent time together out in the garden. She showed me the collection of camellias her husband had developed and which he was so famous for. 

We talked and she told me about making life real and about making beauty in the face of adversity.

Over the years she told me about a lot of things, and I suppose, looking back, I realise she was my first real life-altering mentor/coach and guide.

And for the rest of my childhood, on that street, I never again felt completely alone. 

**********

Have you ever felt alone? Unable to break through your pain? 

This is only a little story about bullying, and I know some of you have much heavier stuff you deal with, day in and day out. I've had heavy stuff to deal with too. 

But not so much anymore. 

I love my life. 

The fact is, adversity and past trauma can seal you off in a place of loneliness.

And it's tough. 

That's why we're starting the free weekly CREATING YOUR PATH Conversations on Zoom.

It's a weekly meeting space and it's for women. 
It costs nothing. 

It's never too late.

Register here: 

Zoom Registration and Link

Love, Camilla x