Help me heal

I WILL never forget those days in my childhood. If I shut my eyes now, I could describe every detail.

At the end of the long bumpy garden, there was a high fence that smelled funny.

It was painted with something brown and strong, and I didn’t like it.

But there was a hole in the fence.

It was just big enough to crawl through, and if I was brave enough to squeeze myself in one end and out the other, I would probably arrive in the Land of Oz.

I would see the Emerald City shimmering in the sun.

There would be the path of bright yellow bricks showing me the way so clearly, I couldn’t possibly go wrong.

I could skip down the yellow brick road.

Maybe I would see the Tin Man and Scarecrow – even Lion if I was lucky.

And I would feel just like Dorothy, free and happy.

If only I was brave enough to climb through the hole.

Further along the fence, there was a slit in one of the panels.

It was small and narrow, and I had to squint and squash up my face, but if I looked upwards, I could see the sky and creamy clouds scudding along like spongy marshmallows.

If I stared hard enough, and long enough, I could see the cloud people dancing on the clouds.

They jumped from one to another, their happy faces smiling, and their hair the colour of burnished sunshine – forever jumping.

They didn’t know I was watching. They thought no-one could see them.

They looked as free and happy as Dorothy.

I remember thinking how nice it must be to feel so happy.

These were my secret places.

When you lived in a house that was as big as the house I lived in at that time, it was important to have a secret.

When I wasn’t thinking about the hole in the fence or wondering whether or not to walk down the garden and peer through the narrow slit, I mostly sat in my bedroom.

I called it “my bedroom”, but I shared it with three other girls.

Lucy had the hair colour I desperately wanted. Jessie walked in her sleep. And there was Deepa.

Deepa was Indian and I liked her, but I never thought she liked me much.

Looking back, that might not have been fair.

She may have liked me, but she seemed to prefer reading books.

She sat in the lounge and read while the television blared out and no-one thought about turning the volume down.

I knew I wouldn’t be there forever.

Mum said the accident had made me a “bit wobbly”, but there was nothing to wor