The Mimosa Tree

by Antonella Preto

  ‘But why?’ says Felicia, click-clacking behind me.

  ‘He’s with someone else.’

  ‘Another girl?’

  ‘No. Another frog,’ I say, spinning to give her a what-a-stupid-question look. ‘Of course another girl.’

  ‘Well,’ she says, with a bit of attitude in her voice. ‘You’re better off without him. Sounds like he’s a gigolo.’

  I put my hands on my hips. ‘Jesus, Felicia! Who the hell says “gigolo”?’

  ‘Don’t get mad at me. I’m just trying to make you feel better.’

  ‘I don’t need your sympathy. I wasn’t that interested in him anyway.’

  Felicia snorts and looks like she is about to say something but I cut her off.

  ‘I mean it!’ I say, starting to feel myself get hysterical, though I am not sure why. ‘I’m not interested in anything or anyone, okay? Because there is no point. I’m not stupid enough to get attached to anything that’s just going to get ripped away from me when everything blows up!’

  ‘Mirabella Verdi,’ says a voice at my shoulder, and I spin around with my hand clutching at my chest. It’s my lecturer. ‘I think you will find my class is that way,’ she says peering over her glasses.

  ‘I was just on my way,’ I say but she dismisses this instantly.

  ‘You should know,’ she says. ‘I fail for non-attendance. Let’s walk together, shall we?’

  I can’t even look at Harm or Apocalypse as I am forced, more apologetically this time, to push past them and climb back onto my wobbly stool. I see Harm look at me but I put my elbow on the table and lean on my hand so I can block him out.

  ‘Continuing with our study of the human figure,’ says our lecturer as she organises her teaching materials on the desk. ‘We have a live model today.’ She pauses for effect. ‘A naked model. For those of you who haven’t seen a real naked body yet,’ she eyeballs a few students as the class erupts in a chorus of sniggers, ‘this could be a little shocking. Do try to control yourselves and remember where you are and what you are here to learn. All right, settle down,’ she says. ‘At least pretend to be adults. I want to introduce you to our model, Apocalypse.’

  Oh God. This is worse than my end-of-the-world nightmares. She’s the live model? First I’m rejected, and now I have to draw my replacement’s naked body? What kind of cruel sense of humour does this universe have?

  Apocalypse glides off her stool to take her place at the front of the room. She looks bored, like she is going to yawn, and stares easily at all the faces without a hint of interest. I fold my arms on the desk and put my head down.

  ‘This is too weird,’ I say into my armpit.

  ‘At least she’s not your housemate,’ says Harm, and I turn to peer at him over my arm.

  ‘You live together?’

  ‘Moved in last week. Now I’m going to see her naked. Makes things awkward around the breakfast table. Especially when her boyfriend’s there.’

  ‘Her boyfriend?’

  ‘Tough guy, too. Hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea when he sees these drawings in my room.’

  ‘So you’re not together?’

  ‘Me and Apocalypse?’ says Harm with a snort. ‘I mean she’s nice and all, interesting too, but she’s not really my type. Judging from her boyfriend, I’m pretty sure I’m not her type either.’

  There is a cheer from the boys as Apocalypse steps up onto a raised platform and drops her dress like a towel. The lecturer scowls at them as she fluffs up a beanbag for Apocalypse to sit in. Apocalypse drapes across it like a soft white scarf. She turns to face her audience, dropping her chin so that her dramatic eyes become the focus of what we see.

  ‘Observe,’ says the lecturer, moving around the desks. ‘It’s about what you actually see, not what you think you see. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.’

  I slump across the table, rest my chin on my folded arms and stare at Apocalypse’s perfect, bulbous breasts. I’m a fool. If I hadn’t overreacted there might have been a chance of something good happening in my life, but I’ve really gone and ruined it now. Harm selects some thick charcoal pieces and begins to work. While some of the boys seem to be doing more staring than drawing, Harm works calmly and diligently, faithfully reproducing every curve and fold, as though she were no more interesting to him than a bowl of fruit. It takes a moment to realise I should be starting my own sketch, rather than just sitting here looking confused and feeling stupid. With a heavy heart, I reach for my backpack, search silently for drawing implements that may be lurking there. I’ve been so focused on this Harm stuff that I have totally forgotten about the need to pack my art supplies. All I find are some loose crayons that probably belong to Marco and Sera.

  ‘Interesting choice,’ says Harm as I begin to fill my paper with waxy purple scrawls.

  ‘I forgot my stuff,’ I say, just as the crayon snaps in two and leaves an ugly slash mark where Apocalypse’s breast should be.

  ‘You can borrow any of mine,’ he says, indicating the neat selection of chalks, oils and pencils before him.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say taking another sheet of paper. But I persist with my purple crayon, too embarrassed to accept his offer. I tap at my paper nervously as I try and think of a way to address my morning’s idiocy. ‘I didn’t call, because I wasn’t sure.’ I finally manage to say and my voice sounds like a squeaky door. He looks up and smiles.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.’

  He stops, puts his charcoal down and sits up. ‘I have something for you,’ he says reaching into his pocket. He hands me a black card with white writing on it.

  End of the World Party

  Come or don’t come,

  Nobody cares.

  I look at it uncertainly. Is this supposed to be an invite? Maybe I’m just obtuse but I thought invites were supposed to be, you know, inviting. I’m not really sure what this is. I must look as confused as I feel because Harm laughs and explains.

  ‘We’re having a house-warming party. The theme was Apocalypse’s idea. She has a certain style, you know. Here,’ he says, and takes the card back from me. With a white pencil he adds, I care. I want you to come.

  ‘That is pretty clear,’ I say trying to stop the dopey smile from forming on my face. He picks up his charcoal and continues drawing. I watch as he works his strokes to capture levels of light and shade.

  ‘Her real name is Emma,’ he says pointing his charcoal. ‘She hates it.’

  ‘It does seem a bit ordinary. For someone like her.’

  He nods solemnly. ‘Ordinary is about the worst thing a person can be. I think it’s okay to do whatever you can to avoid it. Problem is, everyone ends up being un-ordinary, which just makes us all ordinary again.’

  ‘When everyone is un-ordinary, then un-ordinary just becomes ordinary?’

  ‘Exactly. Not many people get that.’

  I start to blush and have to turn my face away to hide it. I pick up my waxy crayon and add a few lines to my drawing. I realise I need to adjust my technique if I am going to have any success with this sketch. I begin to modify my strokes until I am working with, and not against, the crayon’s limitations. Soon, Apocalypse begins to materialise on my page amongst the pale purple smudges.

  ‘You’re good,’ says Harm, leaning across to admire my sketch.

  ‘So are you,’ I say impressed at the way he has captured her eyes with his charcoal. ‘Are you planning on being an artist when you grow up?’

  ‘I don’t really plan on growing up. You?’

  ‘I don’t make plans.’

  He smiles, puts his hand over mine. It takes me by surprise and I resist the urge to pull my hand away. Harm looks directly at me and I am finding it difficult to know what to do with my eyes. They dart from our cupped hands, to his face, to my drawing and to our hands again. I can only hope they look more natural then they currently feel.

  ‘Take a break people,’ shouts our lecturer from the stage. She helps Ap
ocalypse to her feet, hands her the black dress. Apocalypse slips it over her head and begins to smooth down her still perfectly groomed hair. ‘Half an hour. More nakedness when you get back, so don’t be late.’

  Harm begins to put away his stuff.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ I say.

  ‘It’s a nice day outside. Too nice for class, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say with a grin. ‘Far too nice to be indoors.’

  ‘Just give me a second,’ he says and goes over to Apocalypse. She watches him arrive like he’s a disease and I am amazed that I managed to miss how contemptuously she looks at him. How could I have thought there was anything going on between them? I must have been completely deluded. Harm says something to her, and then gestures over his shoulder to me. She looks up and fixes me in her blackened gaze.

  But I couldn’t care less.

  I pack my broken crayon away, take my sketch over to the storage trays, then join Harm who is waiting for me by the door. He pulls it open to let me through and wouldn’t you believe it? Waiting on the other side is Ms Meerkat.

  ‘For God’s sake, Felicia.’

  ‘I wanted to see if you were okay,’ she says, palms open.

  ‘It’s the girl with the car,’ says Harm.

  Noticing him for the first time, Felicia puts her hands over her mouth and fails badly at suppressing a giggle. ‘Are you Harm?’ she says and I swear she is going to do a little dance.

  I want to kick her, but all I can do is concentrate on getting away. ‘A lift home would be great,’ I say pushing her aside. ‘I’ll see you at three.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ she says hooking a finger through my bag strap.

  ‘A walk,’ says Harm before I can put her off. ‘Want to come?’

  ‘Sure!’

  ‘Haven’t you got something to do?’ I say, but it’s useless. Hints would have to be fluorescent for her to notice them.

  ‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ she says.

  Harm takes the lead and we follow him down the corridor and outside into the dappled shade of the tall eucalypts.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he says.

  ‘Me too,’ says Felicia and he grins at us both before heading off towards the cafeteria. Harm walks a little in front while Felicia walks close to my side. I can see her checking my face for reactions but I avoid her gaze because I am sure she is just going to giggle and make me look stupid. At one point she starts pointing at Harm from behind her palm, like this is really subtle, and she mouths ‘what’s the deal?’ I gesture back with a slicing motion to the neck and mouth ‘shut the hell up.’ So of course she gestures with a zip to the lips and a heavy wink that Harm turns around in time to see. Realising she’s been caught she starts to cough and tries to make out like there is something in her eyes. I resign myself to having everything screwed up again.

  ‘So what do you study, Celica-girl?’ says Harm.

  ‘It’s Felicia. I’m doing Law.’

  Harm looks over his shoulder and nods like he’s impressed.

  ‘How about you?’ she says, and I wonder why I have never thought to ask him that question.

  ‘Economics with a minor in Politics.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’ I say and he laughs.

  ‘I suppose it’s a bit weird picking an art elective. I like drawing but it’s not like I’m going to make a living out of it.’

  Felicia nods enthusiastically. ‘It’s important to be versatile,’ she says. ‘For instance, I’m studying Law but I really love music too.’

  ‘Oh?’ says Harm. ‘What do you play?’

  ‘Cassettes. But I have records as well.’

  ‘Right,’ says Harm without a hint of sarcasm, and I confess this gives me a little burst of admiration for the guy. ‘So what kind of music do you like?’

  I am tempted to reach around Felicia’s mouth to gag her, but I am thinking this might reflect worse on me than being associated with someone who has terrible music taste.

  ‘Oh all sorts,’ says Felicia dreamily. ‘Mira is introducing me to lots of different stuff. She likes to listen to a lot of weird bands.’

  Harm laughs out loud.

  ‘It’s really good though,’ says Felicia thinking that Harm is laughing at me. ‘Have you heard of The Brothers of Mercy?’

  ‘Sisters, you idiot,’ I say.

  Felicia takes Harm by the arm conspiratorially. ‘The way she carries on sometimes, you’d think she doesn’t like me at all. But it’s just her way. You get used to it.’

  ‘I’ve had some experience in this area,’ says Harm. ‘There’s a lot of people around pretending to be mean and horrible when really they are just sensitive.’

  ‘Exactly,’ says Felicia. ‘I think I’ve worked out that meanness is often just a defence mechanism which protects a deeper fear of...’ and she makes a point of looking directly at me, ‘attachment.’

  ‘If you two have finished your psychoanalysis of me, I think I’ll go buy a Coke.’

  ‘There’s that sensitivity again,’ says Felicia giving Harm a knowing glance. She motions me over to the table. ‘I’ll get us a drink. You two sit down and have a chat.’ And with that she’s taken off towards the fridges.

  ‘Is she humming “Black Planet”?’

  ‘Her favourite band, The Brothers of Mercy.’

  We laugh together and sit down.

  ‘She’s all right,’ says Harm. ‘Doesn’t try to be anything but herself. I like that.’

  ‘I like it too,’ I say smiling to myself as I watch her battle with a fridge door that she is trying to open from the wrong end. ‘I find it amazing how someone so smart can be so daft. Don’t ever tell her I said that, by the way.’

  ‘The bit about liking her or the bit about being daft?’

  ‘The bit about liking her. I tell her she’s daft all the time.’

  Felicia returns, handbag slung over her elbow and balancing three cans and her sunglasses. Though it shouldn’t seem difficult, her stiletto heels give the impression of being somehow out of balance. She sits down and the three of us banter, and I realise with a shock that I am actually enjoying myself, and that the smile on my face is relaxed and genuine, not forced. We all have classes to go to, but nobody mentions them and the morning passes quickly, moves agreeably into the afternoon, and we don’t seem to tire of each other’s company. For some reason I start thinking about Mum and her friends at the seaside in one of her black and white village photos, and it occurs to me that she was around my age when it was taken. They are wearing those old style bathers that make their breasts look like cones, and they are laughing and holding each other like someone has said something really funny. On the back of the photo Mum had written the most beautiful summer of my youth.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ says Felicia, startling me.

  ‘Not going to fall asleep on us, are you?’ says Harm with a smile.

  ‘What is with that?’ says Felicia, and I give Harm a warning look. He nods to let me know he understands.

  ‘That lake has a strange effect on people,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe we’ll show you one day.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I say, thinking that’s the last time I’m going to try any more of that stuff. The up wasn’t bad, but I am not sure I like the confused feeling on the way down. They move on to babbling about something else, and I sit back and marvel at what I am seeing. It’s like the Sex Pistols having coffee with Bananarama. Felicia told me once that she gets on with all kinds of people, and seeing her so comfortable with Harm convinces me that this is true. I envy her ability to be herself in all circumstances. Then there is me, the girl that’s used to being alone, sitting at the table and sharing a drink with two of the most interesting people in the universe. So this must be my photo, only I don’t have a camera. Perhaps in the future they can print this image from my memory, and I will have to think of something equally corny to write on it. I try out a few captions in my mind, but nothing sticks. I suppose Mum had to have a
few summers before she could call that her best. So I guess, like her, I will just have to wait twenty years to work it out.

  ***

  Felicia sings all the way home and I am starting to question the wisdom of introducing her to my favourite albums.

  ‘You are ruining this for me,’ I say.

  ‘Too much repetition?’

  ‘Too much strangulation. Do you even know what a note is?’

  She groans and reaches for a tape. ‘You just don’t vary from grumpy, do you? Even after today you’re determined to find your way back to miserable.’

  ‘I’m happy. I just don’t find it necessary to inflict my elation on others.’ I lean back in my seat and chew on my thumbnail. Today was a good day, and on the surface there is a lot I should be pleased about, but there is something bugging me about it and I can’t quite figure it out.

  ‘Does Harm seem a bit strange to you?’ I say.

  She looks at me like I’ve said something obvious. ‘Well der, but no stranger than you. You’re perfect for each other.’

  I rub at my chin. ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Do you ever stop worrying? Harm is a great guy and you are so cute together. Stop checking the skies for A-bombs and relax a little.’

  ‘We’re not together.’

  ‘Well, okay. But that’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘I don’t know, Felicia. I get the feeling he just wants to be friends.’

  ‘What, are you blind? The guy is crazy about you. He wants you bad. I think he wants to pash you.’

  I turn my head away in horror. ‘Don’t use words like pash.’

  ‘What’s wrong? You don’t like pashing? Don’t you want to pash Harm as much as he wants to pash you?’

  ‘Stop it, Felicia, you are freaking me out. It’s like Doris Day trying to be slutty.’

  ‘I love Doris Day!’ she says and starts singing in a breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. ‘I’m in the mooooood for love. Simply because you’re near me, honey but when you’re near me. I’m in the mood for loooooove!’

  Felicia thinks this is hilarious, and keeps up her mutilation of more musical hits all the way home. She only stops as we pull into my driveway and I jump out quickly in case she decides to start up again. After a few more teases about Harm she finally leaves and I drag my backpack over my shoulder and head inside to see Mum.