Gloves Off

by Louisa Reid

  lily, about you. you’re just like your dad.

  and your mum – she’s strong, too.”

  a look passes between them,

  then they’re both watching me.

  mum nods, welling up again.

  she watches us eat.

  have some, mum, i say,

  wishing i hadn’t the second the words are out of my

  mouth.

  the table goes quiet,

  i start to fill the silence,

  talking too much,

  trying to make her see that i don’t want to hurt her

  again,

  that i’m just trying to tell her that she is allowed.

  we are all allowed to eat, for god’s sake,

  aren’t we?

  i mean, it’s really good.

  honestly.

  i didn’t say that to upset you, i wasn’t trying to be a cow.

  “i’m not really hungry, love,”

  she answers,

  reaching out to cover my hand,

  “but i’ll have some now.

  that’s a good idea, lily, thanks.”

  i jump up, get her a plate, and we all pretend not to

  watch

  her serving herself,

  lifting the fork to her mouth,

  pretend not to see

  that her hand is shaking,

  that her cheeks are on fire,

  the most embarrassed she’s ever been.

  BERNADETTE (9)

  I know

  Size matters.

  I have been big

  And sort of small-

  Er.

  Not ever small enough.

  Chubby as a kid.

  Chunky

  Then stocky

  Then thick

  Then big.

  Big Bernie

  Big Bird.

  Then overweight –

  Plus-size

  Outsize

  Obese.

  Morbidly so, I’m told.

  Hating my body

  Every step of the way.

  Fleshy,

  Flabby,

  Fat.

  One thing I could have lived without –

  And wish I hadn’t listened to,

  (They’ve taught me absolutely nothing new)

  – Is all those voices that think they know my truth.

  And although

  I’m not allowed to argue

  With their logic –

  That I will die an early

  Death,

  Go heavily to my grave –

  The funny thing is:

  It’s not as if they care.

  I am simply someone else to hate.

  IT GOES ON

  it feels as if the walls will split apart,

  like something is finally cracking,

  smashing,

  breaking up.

  whatever it was that’s been waiting –

  laughing through the bricks

  its breath stinking up the rooms –

  is here tonight,

  rubbing its hands,

  nodding its head.

  “you do this,

  bernie, i’ll leave you,

  i swear,”

  dad says.

  “you wouldn’t, joe,”

  she pleads.

  i don’t know what this means.

  and i cover my ears,

  stuff them with pillow,

  bury myself in hot silence.

  does dad hate mum?

  what have i done?

  they go quiet.

  i hear the shuffle of slippers on the stairs and

  through the crack in my door

  see mum,

  a ghost, slipping silently downstairs.

  PHYSICAL HUMILIATION

  i’ve promised dad that i will not back down

  or run away,

  or fade.

  i find a place to change.

  pull on my tracksuit.

  the t-shirt,

  trainers,

  bend to tie them tight,

  hear laughter,

  jerk up,

  red-faced –

  certain that it’s aimed at me.

  phones out

  they look away.

  i know what’s happened

  know one day i’ll make them pay.

  “running today, lily?” miss scott asks and i nod.

  she raises an eyebrow, and that says it all.

  i struggle at the back,

  but don’t give up,

  each stride hurts

  a bit more than the first

  as i push myself on.

  my chest burns

  my heart hammers

  breakfast churns.

  miss scott nods and smiles

  even though i come in almost last,

  panting,

  gasping,

  loser red,

  she pats my back.

  “all right?”

  i gasp out a yes.

  walk past the others,

  don’t meet their eyes.

  “fuck, look at the state of that,”

  someone says.

  BERNADETTE (10)

  All it takes is a phone call.

  I’d like to see the doctor, please.

  The receptionist, suspicious,

  Supercilious,

  Already unhelpful.

  Can she guess at my problem

  From just the sound of my voice?

  Do I give myself away,

  My weakness?

  Excess?

  “What’s the name?

  Address?

  What is it that you need?”

  Here goes, last chance for me

  To dive at my future,

  Before it

  Becomes the past.

  I want my present –

  A place where

  Each bit of me deserves to be.

  Will the doctor come out? I ask,

  Another pause,

  “I’m sorry?”

  Home visit, I say, my voice quieter,

  Hopeful

  Doubtful

  Why?

  Why shouldn’t I ask?

  Add it to the list of things I don’t deserve.

  Time and respect,

  Holidays and health,

  Pleasure and prettiness.

  A job.

  Food.

  Love.

  She books the appointment,

  The doctor’s busy of course,

  And I don’t have the right to ask

  Her to come here –

  “It’s no longer good practice,” she says.

  And my heart speeds up

  At the thought of having to

  Leave

  The house.

  I don’t have a car.

  Get the bus?

  Walk?

  It’s too far.

  Still, I set the date.

  I don’t tell Joe.

  Not that night, lying in bed,

  Not the next day, either,

  That I need him to help me.

  I’ve already tried

  To explain.

  IMPOSSIBLE

  i’m asking myself what makes a woman.

  a girl.

  a female human being.

  do i have to be fragile?

  pretty?

  silent?

  do i have to sit back and let them laugh?

  or

  can i be strong and bold?

  can i live like i want to?

  smart and sassy,

  spinning straw into gold.

  it isn’t easy to step out of the past and into now,

  it’s easier to hear all the voices that tell me

  no.

  i sit at the computer,

  after school

  the place deserted,

  blinds drawn against the night

  i search and search again.

  Google throws up photographs –

  b
oxers

  girls, but not like me.

  they have muscles,

  bodies toned and hard,

  they are fierce and fearless, full of fight.

  i stare,

  eyes lasering the screen.

  searching for someone else.

  not these women,

  my impossibility.

  i won’t wear clothes that show my stomach

  or arms

  or short shorts

  that show my thighs.

  nothing that clings

  or reveals

  or would make someone notice

  i’m here.

  and i almost shut it down,

  almost throw the monitor at the wall,

  shatter the dream which is actually

  just more

  of a whisper

  of a different life,

  a shimmering

  possibility –

  out of reach,

  glinting in the distance.

  dad’s dream –

  his plan, is it mine?

  ON FRIDAY NIGHT

  dad takes me to the gym.

  i tell him i don’t want to go,

  he doesn’t seem to hear,

  it’s not what i expected, though.

  no machines

  on which people

  with already perfect bodies glide

  and sneer

  and stare,

  but a boxing gym

  that smells of effort

  and struggle

  and might,

  of sweat

  and blood

  and

  fight.

  “it’s a new thing,”

  dad says,

  “lottery funds, something like that,

  good right?”

  no one really notices me.

  no one cares.

  too busy moving in their own worlds,

  muscles shining

  and pounding,

  bodies working and hurting.

  i wear a tracksuit,

  trainers.

  new things, too,

  and i feel bad,

  it’s stuff we can’t afford

  for something i don’t know if i can do.

  i pull at the t-shirt,

  look neither here nor there –

  not one of them, for sure.

  “need to get you some proper boots,” dad says

  looking at my feet,

  then my face.

  his smile drops, eyes question.

  “what’s the matter?

  you okay?”

  i just shake my head.

  “all right, let’s just watch,” he says.

  i’d been afraid he’d push me forward

  into the ring.

  that i’d stand there,

  facing some girl i knew i couldn’t beat,

  a girl with wings in her feet,

  that she’d smash me down

  with one fast fist

  and they’d all laugh

  and finally he’d get it.

  we watch together.

  meet the woman who runs the place.

  jane is blonde and bubbly

  tanned and fit,

  she grins and shakes my hand.

  “lily, is it? great we’re always looking for

  new girls,

  fresh talent.”

  i’m glowing red

  with the embarrassment.

  she asks me if i fancy a trial.

  dad signs me up.

  i look around again,

  breathe out the fear.

  maybe i can do it.

  at least, i have to try.

  TRICK

  hallowe’en.

  the nights are blacker still,

  the clocks have changed

  and i am chasing life

  faster and faster every day

  around corners and along streets

  that are always different in the dark.

  dad’s away.

  we don’t put out a pumpkin,

  never have.

  mum doesn’t need to explain.

  instead we bob for apples,

  tell spooky stories.

  i paint my little cousin’s face –

  turn him into a lion, a clown, a vampire.

  he tries the same on me and mum and aunty clare.

  we sit patient, laughing

  chew candy

  our faces rioting colour.

  the baby sleeps,

  clare drinks wine

  mum sighs,

  happy sort of

  and smiles when she looks at me.

  then

  there’s banging on the window.

  we jump,

  mum screams.

  it’s all right, mum, just trick or treat.

  the baby wakes and starts to cry.

  “put out the lights,”

  mum whispers,

  “come on, lily, quick, hide –

  hide!”

  and i dive for the switch

  as something else vibrates

  against the glass,

  (i knew they’d get in one day

  this is no surprise)

  mikey’s crying, mum’s face is pale.

  it’s up to me to put up my fists

  and shout,

  go away.

  bangers explode

  through the letter box,

  eggs smash

  on my face and clothes

  as i open the door and yell into the night,

  aunty clare swears and screams at them to leave us

  alone.

  mirrors glitter,

  all over the house i hear them cracking

  into laughter,

  splintering

  into sharp hysterical shards.

  next time, i’ll be ready.

  BERNADETTE (11)

  I have always felt

  Empty

  And Joe can’t understand,

  Although he should,

  Because he knows

  What it’s like

  To grow

  Without

  Food.

  Joe, I say, please,

  Come with me

  Don’t make me go alone.

  “I love you as you are,” he says.

  But love,

  Don’t you see,

  It’s not about you,

  I’m doing this for me.

  HARDER

  there are the beginnings of muscles beneath my skin.

  not so breathless running any more –

  head down, battering through

  corridors

  i make my way

  towards the end of every day.

  i just want to be at home.

  the night sky booms

  and glitters with explosions.

  we stare together,

  my family,

  our faces tilted towards the sky,

  the dogs of the street

  wild with misery

  howling their objections

  in a chorus of complaint.

  “first fight soon?”

  dad wonders

  and i pretend not to hear

  but the swoop in my stomach

  sends me running inside.

  CATCH UP

  every night after school

  i train

  teeth grinding up the excuses,

  i think about everything

  i can gain

  and how doing this

  means ending pain.

  i get home, worn out,

  nodding off over my homework

  my head on the kitchen table.

  “lil, are you alright?”

  fine, mum, i mumble.

  “you know you don’t have to do this

  if it’s not your thing.”

  i want to, i say.

  because this time i’m going to be the girl

  who didn’t fail.

  i’m through with watching my
self lose.

  every day ahead of me, someone else,

  another lil,

  is running,

  and she’s holding her gloves high,

  whooping and cheering

  and she’s free,

  and she’s alive

  she’s on fire.

  i need to catch her.

  THE REALITY

  it’s hard work.

  jane doesn’t make allowances

  she expects me to keep up.

  instead of running away

  i hit harder.

  instead of hiding

  i pant and struggle.

  hot and red and wet with sweat,

  i try not to look at the other girls

  who are happy to notice

  that i’m not a threat.

  BELIEVE

  what do you believe in?

  someone asks,

  some teacher, speaker,

  someone making demands

  that we know ourselves, so soon.

  i believe

  a hall,

  walls,

  sitting in rows

  like we’re children –

  i’m not sure i know what any of it means.

  do i believe that

  this is all there is?

  blank faces

  jaws chewing thoughts

  of home,

  even the teachers yawn

  and check their watches,

  believe in yourselves! the speaker shouts

  and clichés tumble from her lips

  like snowflakes –

  melting

  before they catch and stick.

  whatever i believe in,

  it isn’t this.

  marking time

  until real life begins.

  just leave me to be

  let me become

  my own sort of

  someone.

  SOMETHING BLOOMS

  but then there’s rosie

  and i can’t help but stare

  at her face.

  in the hustle of the gym,

  she walks like

  there are no clouds,

  and if some should dare to appear

  she’d just leap up there

  and push them around

  until the sky is only blue.

  that face

  with its smile,

  that i’m hoping

  i’ll catch

  and keep

  with her friendship –