A bear named A.G.

A Bear named A.G.

By Kamran Connelly

As the police car arrived at the little house on Bellow grove. The younger of two brothers stood peering from the upstairs window of the humble home. He watched the police men walk up the driveway and relief washed over him. They were both bigger than dad and could surely get them away from this place. The fear of a furious father, vicious and possessed by a spirit from Russia, subsided when the sturdy knock of authority banged on the door. The younger of the brothers, nine years old, assured his older sibling who was still frozen in fearful silence. Too afraid to move. Things were gonna be OK, he told him. Mom was coming back.

The bold little boy crept to the door of the bedroom, their safety barrier. And cracked it open. He listened in. Voices flared up and then calmed down. And flared up again. Dad was putting up a fight. The word Custody kept presenting itself. It was the name of the Boogie man dad used to scare mom with. The policemen spoke in stern tones and things began to settle. Then one said.

“You have to leave while she comes to get her belongings and the kids”

The little boy ran back to the bedroom window, past his petrified brother and looked down the grove.

A week earlier, the curious little boy had stumbled across some hidden pictures while playing in the back of a cupboard. The photos depicted only two people; in a place he didn’t recognise. It was dad and his boss. A nice lady that he had met a handful of times and received money from on every occasion. The photos were still in the little envelope the printers give them back in, with the little pocket for the negatives in the front. At first, they seemed innocent enough. He flicked through. The scene, a bathroom. The third picture in and dads' boss was topless. By picture six in the pile, both were naked. The little boy stopped when he reached a picture of a fleshy part of someone’s body that he didn’t quite recognise. The next stop. Mom. The little boy handed the over the envelope and watched his mother as she flicked through a slideshow of infidelity. Her face painted with predictable disappointment. She thanked her young son and sent him on his way.

That night, tempers raged downstairs and echoed through his bedroom floor as the confrontation played out. The front door slammed as dad turned tail and the quiet before the storm, rolled over the house. The storm took a few days to arrive and came in on a gust from East. Triple distilled Russian rage, burst into the house at 1am. Chaos ensued. Doors were ripped from frames, cupboards torn down and thrown across the small space. Even a few windows felt the Russian wrath and were smashed from the inside out. Random household items became missiles and launched in every direction. The younger boy and the mother sat huddled in the corner of the small living room. The older boy played a version of dead and pretended to somehow be asleep and undisturbed by the raging alcoholic ape. The younger boy became the centre of the attention.

“You want to see pictures? You nosey little bugger” the dad yelled.

He stomped upstairs to retrieve the pictures of his infidelity and returned to the fear filled room and threw them in his little face. Then it was time for character assassination. The raging drunk, so desperate to squirm from beneath the guillotine and save some face, turned his anger to mom's past. Dirty laundry not fit for the ears of children aired aloud. This was as bad as the bad had ever been. The little boy knew that the Rubicon had been crossed and that things would never be the same again. And all because of him, and his curious nature to explore whilst playing alone.

The morning after, mom left at first light while the monster slept off the Russian rage upstairs.

“Stay down here. I’ll be back soon. We’re leaving here” mom said to the traumatised little boy.

“Ok mom, I trust you” he replied.

The monster hadn’t been sleeping as soundly as mom had hoped, and fifteen minutes after she left, he roused.

“Where is your mom?” he asked, his breath laden with the previous night's poison. “Go upstairs to your bedroom and stay there"

The little boy retreated to the bedroom where his older brother, was still trying desperately to stay hidden under his blankets. Too consumed with terror to get involved. From there he watched. Waiting at the window for mom to return. The then police arrived and signalled that mom, had been serious this time. And they were actually leaving.

After the policemen had stated their intent and he returned to look for mom down the grove, his eyes met with her. Walking back to the house, the cavalry already in place. He turned to his older brother and melted some of his fear away, freeing his feet from the spot.

“Mom's back!”

Both ran to the door and opened it, they stood at the top of the stairs and waited for her to round the bend at the bottom. When she appeared they both felt hope fill them, from their feet to the tops of their heads. They were getting out of there, at last.

“Pack your stuff, we’re leaving now” she said. “If it doesn’t fit in here, leave it” she added as she handed the boys one black bag each to supplement for a lack proper luggage.    

The boys went around the little room trying to get their favourite clothes, shoes, comic books and toys together. They packed the thin plastic bags carefully so not to split them. The older boy filled his bag quickly in silence. He was less attached to silly things at his grand age of twelve. The younger brother filled his bag to almost capacity before he faced the reality that some things, he would have to abandon. Three pairs of old and tatty shoes became one as he made space for his most prized possession at the top of the bag. A bear named A.G. The teddy, a polar bear with a red corduroy jacket that had the initials A.G. embroidered in blue stitching on the chest. He had been bought by mom from Woolworths as a birthday gift and when new, had a voice box in his back that would record a few words spoken into his tummy and say them back.

His voice box was long gone. But he was still his best friend. He packed him carefully into the bag, careful not to squish him for the journey ahead. Downstairs and a policeman greeted them.

“Hello lads, we’re going for a little ride in police car now. Are you ready?” he asked, filled with pity.

He was huge and strong looking, but gentle in his nature. The boys both nodded and he led them outside and past the other policeman who was stood on the driveway with dad. As they walked past, they looked at the drunk, but he turned his face away, shunning any blame. 

A police car ride.

A visit to a station where another officer brings free chocolate and fizzy pop.

A taxi ride to a strange place under darkness.

A huge secure door like that of a prison opens, and a kind lady with horrific burns on one side of her body welcomes them in.

A room in a hostel for others in similar trouble. All women. All kids. There’s a pattern. Nobody says so, but they all know what it is.

Fear free and safe from Russian storms and flying doors. Mom left the room to talk with the burnt lady and the boys stayed in their new room. The older boy disassociated with the aid of a television. The younger boy took his one bag, with his every worldly possession inside it. Over in the corner of the large open plan room with three beds, he opened it. And final released his best friend to show him the new place. Out of habit he said to A.G.’s tummy.

“I think we’re safe now”, and that night, he slept soundly for the first time in his little life.

Fin.