The Pain, My Mother, Sir Tiffy, Cyber Boy & Me

by Michael Gerard Bauer

  I tried to appear calm and unthreatening. I even remembered to let out the breath I’d been holding. Good start! Then I spoke.

  ‘Hey, Jeremy. Sorry to disturb your reading. Ah, can I talk to you about something?’

  He looked at me and then did a quick scan of the library like he expected to see snipers hiding in the shelves or ninjas ready to spring out from behind the photocopier. Eventually his eyes wandered back to me. They were nice eyes, I decided. Slightly jumpy and uneasy, perhaps. But nice.

  ‘O-kaaaay.’

  Cool. We were having your actual two-way face-to-face communication. We were rocking the library!

  ‘Well … ummm … it’s about our St Brenda’s graduation dance. You know about that?’

  ‘Uh-huuuuh.’

  ‘I was wondering … if you might be going with someone already … you know, to the graduation dance?’

  Jeremy did a second edited sweep of the library.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay then. Well … seeing as how you’re not going with someone already … I was wondering … if you might like to come with me … to the dance … as my partner?’

  I beamed my best ‘Aren’t I Adorable?’ happy face at him.

  But Jeremy seemed to be taking a long time to digest what I’d said. Too long. Perhaps he needed to have the horrendous alternative pointed out to him.

  ‘Or … not,’ I added helpfully as I giggled, threw out my arms and slapped them back to my sides. (What was wrong with me!)

  But it appeared to do the trick. Jeremy frowned and opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘You’re asking … if I want to go to the graduation dance … with you?’

  ‘Okay, if you want to put it like that … yes.’

  Jeremy’s expression changed. Wait a minute. Was that a mild version of my corpse face look there?

  ‘Thought you’d be different,’ he muttered.

  Well, that made no sense to me at all. Did I mishear him?’

  ‘What? Sorry?’

  Jeremy shrugged and turned away. His hair fell across his face.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Not important.’

  Then he climbed (awkwardly) out of the beanbag. He was a good head taller than me. He glanced down from under a thick veil of hair just long enough to mumble quickly, ‘No, I don’t want to go to the graduation dance with you, okay?’

  Someone had set fire to my face. I could feel it sizzling away as Jeremy Tyler-Roy started to leave. But he only took a couple of steps before stopping and turning back round. Wait. What’s this? A change of heart perhaps?

  ‘In fact I’d rather have my tongue stapled to the ceiling. Happy?’

  Not reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally.

  Then he strode out of the library (after carefully placing his graphic novel back in the correct alphabetical position on the display stand).

  I’ll be totally up front with you here. I’d been hoping for a slightly more positive response than that. I mean, I’m not saying that going to the graduation dance with me is the equivalent of winning the lottery or anything. But I’d like to think it would rank fractionally higher than the prospect of being suspended from a ceiling via your own staple-skewered tongue!

  What the hell was going on? Why did Jeremy react like that? Did he find me hideously repulsive up close? Had I done something to offend him? Was there some sort of sacred geek taboo I’d unwittingly broken? And what was that thing about thinking I was different? Different from what?

  Nothing was making any sense to me at all. I felt like curling up in the recently abandoned beanbag in front of me and crying myself stupid. But I didn’t. I waited till I was home in the privacy of my own bedroom and curled up and cried myself stupid there instead.

  I wasn’t alone for long.

  Sir Tiffy pulled himself up and bulldozed his way in beside me. I didn’t push him away this time. I wrapped an arm around him and rested my chin on top of his head as he purred and rattled by my side.

  At least somebody loved me.

  26

  A very agreeable zombie

  What a great way to kick off the school week! I thought that losing out to the porking porkers was bad. But hey, coming second place to a ceiling-suspended tongue-piercing, now that was going to be hard to top even for me. Not that I wasn’t about to give it a red hot go!

  The very next day in English, Sister Evangelista handed back our Macbeth assignments.

  I got a B+.

  Hear that gurgling sound? That’s the sound of Goal 3: Get an overall A for English being flushed down the toilet!

  After I clapped my eyes on my grade, the rest of the lesson turned into a blur. I spent it staring at the assignment on my desk and waiting for the bell to ring so I could get out of there. Apparently the Sister-minator must have picked up my unhappy camper vibes (we possible future actors must have very expressive faces) because when the bell finally sounded and everyone else got to bolt outside for lunch, I was asked to stay ‘for a quick word’.

  Yippee.

  Once we were alone, Sista Lista placed a chair beside her desk and asked me to sit down. Then she hit me with her wisest Yoda-like smile.

  ‘I know it’s not the A you wanted, Miss Butt, but B+ is a very fair and a very commendable grade and you should be proud of how hard you’ve worked and what you’ve produced. A big improvement from your draft.’

  I nodded along to her words like a very agreeable zombie.

  ‘Yes, sister. I am. I’m fine with it. Honestly.’

  And you know, I’d almost halfway convinced myself that I was.

  ‘Well, I hope so, because I’m here to tell you that you have the makings of a very good writer, and you were very close to an A with your essay. Very close. You were almost there.’

  Almost there. Sure, tell me about it. Maggie Butt is the undisputed champion of being ‘almost there’. Like I almost had a proper family until my father ran off. And I almost had some friends until I drank myself stupid and scared them away. And I almost had a date with Jason Price and maybe a partner for the graduation dance until The Pain stepped in and ruined everything. And I almost had another partner for the graduation dance, a real one, one I might actually like, except … except Jeremy Tyler-Roy apparently preferred self-inflicted tongue torture to the obvious downer of being seen in public with me.

  Sista Lista asked again if I was okay. I tried to tell her that I was, but something had begun crumbling apart inside me that I couldn’t stop. My shoulders started shaking and my chin got all wobbly and before I knew it I was gulping for air and blubbering out big chunky, choking sobs like a two-year-old kid who’s lost her favourite toy. What was wrong with me? (And the first person who suggests something about ‘time of the month’ gets their face ripped off!)

  Sister was as confused as I was. She quickly whipped multiple tissues from the box on her desk and handed them over.

  ‘Come, come, child. What is it, my dear? This is not just about one silly grade on an assignment, surely?’

  I somehow managed to splutter and gulp and hiccup out a reply.

  ‘It’s not … just … the grade … it’s not … It’s ev-er-y … thing … noth-ing ever … works out right … Why does … my life … always … have to be so … so … mu-mucked up?’ (Not exactly the word I wanted to use to describe my life, but with Sista Lista present, it was close enough.)

  Sister Evangelista didn’t answer my question. Instead she pushed another stash of tissues into my hand and told me to ‘stay right there’. When she returned she was carrying a big glass of water. It helped. After a few big guzzles, I’d stopped sounding like a badly misfiring engine. Sista Lista’s normal happy face turned serious as she waited for me to finish with the water.

  ‘You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you, Maggie? You know, you can tell me if you are. I’m a very good listener.’

  I could just imagine the possibilities that were going through her head.

  ‘Oh no, Sister. It’s nothing really.
Just stupid stuff. I don’t know why I’m being such an idiot.’

  Sister Evangelista’s trademark smile returned.

  ‘I don’t suppose any of that stupid stuff involves … an affair of the heart?’

  I looked her. Huh?

  ‘A boy?’ she said.

  I could feel a ‘YES,’ burning in bright red letters on my cheeks, but my mouth was mumbling something like, ‘No. Not really. Well, maybe. A bit.’

  Sista Lista squeezed my hand and chuckled.

  ‘Don’t worry, child, I’m not going to pry!’ Then she sat back. ‘It’s a funny old business, life, isn’t it? And love?’

  Funny? I must have missed the punchline.

  ‘Neither of them hardly ever goes to plan from what I’ve seen, Maggie. Always full of twists and turns, ups and downs, highs and lows, swings and roundabouts. So if you sometimes feel your life is “mucked up”, child, remember you’re not alone. Welcome to the human race, I say.’

  Sista Lista seemed lost in her own thoughts for a second but she snapped out of it with a quick smile.

  ‘Perhaps a little story might help?’

  27

  Being all metaphorical

  A story? This was going to solve my problems? I had my doubts. My serious doubts.

  But obviously Sista Lista didn’t.

  ‘It’s a true story and it involves a colleague of mine. Let’s call her … Patrice.’

  Sister Evangelista settled back in her chair. I wasn’t exactly on the edge of mine.

  ‘Now, ever since she was a young girl, Patrice wanted to join a convent and become a nun. But one day she met a fine young man and they fell deeply in love, so Patrice abandoned her original calling and she and her young man began planning their life together. Then Patrice’s young man was called up to fight in a war.’

  ‘World War One?’ (We’d been studying it in History.)

  ‘Vietnam War actually, my dear. Not that it matters. An unnecessary tangent. War is war. But to continue.’

  She did.

  ‘Now when the time came for the young man to leave for the war, he promised Patrice with all his heart that if she still loved him when he returned they would be wed immediately. So off he went, and Patrice prayed every day for his safe return. Despite that, one morning she received the terrible news that he’d been killed in action.’

  What? Killed? If this story was meant to be cheering me up, it wasn’t doing such a terrific job.

  ‘Patrice was heartbroken, of course, but eventually she found strength and comfort in her faith and decided to follow her original calling and join the order.’

  Riiiiiiiight. So the message here is that if I join the nuns, then everything about my mucked-up life will be honky-dory? Is that it? Was Sista Lista on a nun recruiting drive?

  But there was more.

  ‘Then not long after, wonderful news came through that a mistake had been made and Patrice’s young man was still alive and was being treated in a remote hospital somewhere. Apart from some minor injuries, physically at least he was still in one piece and he was coming home.’

  Ah, I see! I get it now. Sister was just trying to cheer me up with a Disney-ending-type story. Even though things might look bleak, everything always turns out just fine. The same as my life would! Thank goodness. So that’s all my problems solved, then! I thought I’d save her some trouble by cutting to the chase.

  ‘So the soldier came home and married Patrice and they lived happily ever after, Sister?’

  The Sister-minator smiled back at me sweetly.

  ‘Oh no, dear.’

  What? Uncle Walt won’t be pleased.

  ‘It seems that while the soldier was being treated in hospital, he lost his heart completely to a young nurse who was caring for him and even though he loved Patrice deeply, he came to love the young nurse more.’

  What? Now things were getting interesting! I shuffled forward on my seat.

  ‘So, when he came home he told Patrice he couldn’t marry her, because he was in love with someone else?’

  ‘No, dear.’

  Wrong again.

  ‘The young man had promised to marry Patrice if she still loved him and it was obvious from her letters that she did. He returned home intent on keeping his word.’

  ‘But … what about the nurse, Sister? She’s the one he really loves.’

  ‘The young man told her everything. She was devastated, of course, but she knew he had to do what he thought was right. He was that kind of man. It was one of the reasons she adored him.’

  Well, this was starting to get crazy.

  ‘But how could he do that? And how could she let him? I mean, I know he’s sort of doing the right thing and all. But it’s so … wrong. And that’s how it ends up? He goes home and marries Patrice … and the nurse, who he really loves and who really loves him, is left … what … with nothing?’

  ‘No, dear.’

  Have you noticed how totally crap I was at filling in the gaps in this story?

  ‘Then he doesn’t ask Patrice to marry him?’

  ‘Oh no, he does. But she turns him down.’

  Now I was completely lost.

  ‘But why in the world would she do that? I thought she wanted to marry him?’

  ‘She did. With all her heart. But someone intervened and changed everything.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The nurse’s brother. Even though the nurse had accepted her fate, she’d written and shared every detail of her sad tale with her older brother, making him promise that he wouldn’t tell another soul. But the brother loved his sister too much to keep his word, so before the young soldier returned home, the nurse’s brother secretly tracked down Patrice and told her everything.’

  Time to give the prediction thing one last go.

  ‘So … when the soldier came home … he asked Patrice to marry him … but because she knew now that he was really in love with the nurse and was just keeping his promise out of duty and principle … she turned down his offer … even though she actually still loved him just as much as she ever did.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Yes! Nailed it! Call me Maggie ‘Nostradamus’ Butt!

  ‘And,’ Sista Lista went on, ‘Patrice explained her refusal by telling the young man that even though she still had feelings for him, her love for the church was greater. When he heard that, the young man confessed his love for the nurse and Patrice pretended to be surprised and happy that everything had worked out so well for both of them.’

  ‘Wow. She must have been a good actor, Sister.’

  ‘Oh, yes. She even went to their wedding. She cried, of course. But everyone cries at weddings, don’t they?’

  Sister Evangelista drifted off into her own thoughts again. Why did she tell me that story? Was there some kind of a message in there somewhere that I’d missed?

  ‘That’s such a sad story, Sister.’

  She looked a little surprised.

  ‘At times, perhaps. But there’s a great deal of joy and beauty in there as well, don’t you think? Much like life in general, Maggie – yours, mine, Patrice’s, everyone’s. It’s never just one thing or the other, is it? It’s good and bad, joys and sorrows, highs and lows all mixed in together. And you can’t just pull out the bits you don’t like, because everything’s … connected.’

  Sister Evangelista clasped her hands together.

  ‘You know what it reminds me of?’

  ‘No, Sister.’

  ‘It reminds me of the big tapestry in the main hall of the convent where I did my training. A wonderful floral landscape. So many different colours and patterns and shapes all woven together. Glorious! But the thing is, if you stood too close to it and focused on just one spot, it could appear messy and confusing. To see it properly, to see its true beauty, you had to stand back and look on it as a whole. The same applies to life I think, Maggie.’

  There was a pause before Sista Lista threw her hands into the air.

  ‘Well, look at me wa
ffling on and being all metaphorical with my tapestry talk. You’re a bad influence on me, Maggie Butt! Now, have we dried all those tears? Do you feel up to catching the end of lunch?’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘Off you go then, but do come and see me any time you feel you need a chat. Oh, and Maggie. You will get plenty of As in Senior. I’m sure of it. I just wish I could be the one to give them to you. I’m going to miss being your English teacher when they eventually send me back to my room.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister. I’ll miss you too. Heaps.’

  Until I said it, I didn’t even know it was true. As I stood to leave Sister Evangelista placed her hand on my arm.

  ‘Remember what I said, Maggie. It doesn’t help to get too focused and fixated on just the messy and mucked-up bits of life. Step back. See the big picture. See how it all fits together. You might be surprised by how beautiful it is.’

  ‘I’ll try, Sister,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

  Sister Evangelista aka Sista Lista aka Sister Yoda held up a finger and smiled at me wisely.

  ‘Do, or do not, child,’ she said. ‘There is no try.’

  28

  Best trick evaaaaaar!

  I wanted to believe that Sister Evangelista’s tapestry metaphor was true, but after the events of the next day it felt like my particular tapestry was made up entirely of disasters, and the thing that was weaving and linking them all together was The Pain.

  Think about it. If The Pain hadn’t ruined my date with Jason Price, then Jason probably would have asked me to the graduation dance, and if I was already going to the dance with Jason, then I wouldn’t have even thought of asking Jeremy Tyler-Roy to go with me, and if I hadn’t asked Jeremy, then he wouldn’t have turned me down so horribly, and if he hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have become so angry and upset when I found out that day exactly why he turned me down, and if I hadn’t been so angry and upset about that, then I wouldn’t have lost my mind and done what I did next, and if I hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have had to attend a ‘crisis’ meeting in Principal Chalmers’ office that very afternoon to discuss, among other things, the ‘conditions of my attendance at St Brenda’s Girls College – going forward’.