The Mimosa Tree

by Antonella Preto

  Mum is waiting for us when we get home. It’s close to midnight but there’s a fresh pot of coffee and a selection of pastries on the table for our arrival. I want to go straight to bed but she looks so sad about this that I sit down at the table with her to make her happy. Having spent most of the night in the dark crying, I have to squint against the bright fluorescent light burning above us.

  ‘How was the party? Was it lovely, Mira?’ she says, pushing the tray towards me and resting her head in her hands.

  She has her dreamy face on again, and I know what she wants to hear but I can’t give it to her. She is expecting wistful tales of easy laughter, budding romances and warm friendships. She is thinking about the day that photo was taken, with her friends at the seaside: her carefree youth, the best days of her life. I want to give her these stories, I want to tell her what she is hoping to hear, but there is nothing in my experience that she could understand. My night has been a nightmare I want to forget.

  ‘It was great, Mum.’

  ‘Did you dance?’

  I nod, try not to remember in case I start to cry. Via stares at me carefully as she smokes but if she has any thoughts she keeps them to herself. I can see Mum eagerly waiting for more but I can’t trust myself to speak.

  ‘Did you meet any boys?’ says Mum, trying again to engage me. Her hand reaches out to touch my fingers and I see her eyes fluttering in excitement.

  I do my best to smile and look natural for her. ‘No one special.’

  ‘Never mind. Your time will come.’

  ‘I’m in no hurry.’

  ‘That’s good. You finish your studies first.’

  ‘It’s been a long night,’ I say pushing my untouched pastry away. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  She tries hard not to look disappointed. ‘All right, darling. We can talk in the morning. Say thank you to your Aunty Via.’

  ‘Thanks Via,’ I say and she smiles around her cigarette and nods.

  I leave them to their coffee and their gossip and walk down the dark hallway to my room. I turn on the radio, softly so that I don’t wake anyone, and like the radio often does it’s playing the perfect song for how I am feeling. ‘Blue Monday’ by New Order. I open my underwear drawer and dig to the bottom, lift up the paper liner and pull out the note with Harm’s phone number. I begin to shred it and shred it again, until the tiny pieces spread across my floor like confetti.

  June 1987

  Chapter 9

  ‘I suppose you’ll be going to that nuclear protest march at lunch today?’ says Felicia.

  She is being a little weirder than usual, biting her fingernail so much that I think she’s sure to start chewing skin soon. Something is making her anxious but so far she isn’t telling. Not that I’m asking. I have more important things to be thinking about than Felicia and her I’m-not-feeling-perfect-today nerves.

  ‘I wasn’t planning on it.’

  ‘But you hate nuclear bombs.’

  I shrug. ‘Blow it all up, I don’t care. My life is shit anyway.’

  Felicia rubs the bridge of her nose like she is getting a headache. ‘God, you’re depressing lately. You were much more fun when you were just angry and rude.’

  ‘Well I’m sorry my emotional and mental states don’t suit you anymore. Maybe you can hang out with your fluffy-brained friends. I’m sure they won’t burden you with their problems.’

  Felicia shakes her head slowly. ‘Self pity isn’t really your style either. Though I must say, you’re becoming more adept at it with practice.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means that since that party all you’ve done is feel sorry for yourself. I wish you would just tell me what happened between you and Harm.’

  ‘What more do you need to know? I thought he liked me but he dumped me like I was nothing to him. That should be dumbed down enough, even for you to understand.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ she says cheerily. ‘More of that biting sarcasm and less woefulness, please. You’re in danger of becoming boring.’

  I make a stabbing motion to my chest and pretend I am dying and she laughs.

  ‘Come on Mira, just because things didn’t work out between you and Harm doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. There are plenty of guys out there who’d be interested in taking on a cynical, introverted underachiever.’

  ‘Not funny,’ I say but I can’t stop a small smile from escaping. ‘It’s not just Harm, okay? There’s a whole lot of other shit stuff happening right now.’

  ‘Maybe talking about it might make you feel better?’

  I rub my face in my hands and scrunch up my eyes. Why is Felicia so obsessed with this talking stuff? Isn’t it enough that we have to suffer our emotions; why parade them around for everyone else to see? Harm used to be such a nice thing to think about but now I just feel angry when I picture him. How could he be so stupid to like that jerk Andrew? How could I be so stupid to think that he actually liked me? And I hate to admit it, but I feel embarrassed about the fight with Apocalypse, like it says something about me that she attacked me. I didn’t even try to defend myself.

  ‘Maybe. Right now I just need to be left alone.’

  ‘All right, have it your way. But if you don’t talk to me soon I’m going to start bugging you about this again, understand? And I’ll keep bugging you until you let me into that weird little head of yours.’

  ‘Not sure you could handle it princess.’

  ‘You’re not so scary. You’re just a mixed-up kid that needs a bit of love.’ And she starts making kissing sounds and trying to give me a hug.

  ‘Save your smooching for your other friends,’ I say stepping out of the car to get away from her. ‘I’m sure they appreciate your attempts at affection. See you at lunch?’

  She suddenly stops being playful and goes back to biting that fingernail.

  ‘Actually, I’m having lunch with someone else today.’ I try not to look surprised but I am and it shows.

  ‘Are you upset?’

  ‘Upset? Of course not,’ I snort. ‘It’s good actually. It will give me a chance to catch up with some, um, other people. Or a seagull maybe.’

  ‘Look, it’s not what you think. I met this guy...’

  ‘You’re having lunch with a guy?’ I say and now I really am upset.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mira. I’ve been trying to tell you but I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘No, I’m glad you left it to the last minute. It always makes it easier to deal with that way.’

  ‘Are you going to be okay?’

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m used to being friendless. So who is he anyway?’

  ‘I met him at a dance at my parents’ social club.’

  ‘Wow, that’s like my mother’s fantasy for me. What’s he like?’

  ‘He’s smart, good-looking, rich – you know, nothing special. You sure you’ll be okay on your own? I can cancel if you need me.’

  And I know she really means it. She would cancel her date to hang out with depressing old me, and as much as I hate being the only dateless loser of this friendship, there is no way I could let her do that.

  ‘Nah. I was thinking of going to the library anyway.’

  She opens her eyes wide.

  ‘No really. I’ve been giving this study stuff a proper go, now that I have nothing better to do. You go have fun and tell me all about it later, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ she says trying to be solemn but she can’t help herself and ends up doing a little dance and rubbing her hands in glee. ‘I’ll tell you everything!’

  ‘Oh, I know it.’

  She smiles then slings her handbag over her shoulder and click-clacks away.

  I pick up my own backpack, heavy with files and books, marvel once again at Felicia’s ability to get through university armed with only a comb and a tube of lipstick. I shake my head and walk slowly towards the education building.

  My classes finish early and I have some spare time befor
e lunch. The old me, the ‘pre-Harm’ me, would have spent this time daydreaming in some sunny patch, but the new me is heading to my recently discovered respite from the world – the library. In an effort to avoid Harm, I haven’t been to my painting class for weeks and I avoid the cafeteria as much as I can. The flip side of eating lunch from vending machines and failing Observation and Perception is that I have discovered the absorbing art of study at the library. There is an escapist relief in having my brain led not by my own distorted and confused thoughts but by the guided and logical steps of someone else’s well thought out plan. With study, things are either right or wrong, and if an answer eludes me I can be sure that I will find it if I just look hard enough. So, like an alcoholic setting off to a bar, I head to the library seeking relief.

  It turns out to be quite a fix, and I manage to prepare all my research for yet another assignment before I look up and realise that it is already half past twelve and that I am absolutely starving. It’s going to take more than a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar from the vending machine to satisfy this hunger. I pack up my stuff, stack the borrowed books on a nearby tray and decide to risk the cafeteria.

  Outside the library, the nuclear protest is in full swing. The crowd is a mass of stomping legs, peace signs and slogans, booted jeans, spiked hair and open, angry mouths. People are jumpy and raring to go. Wandering in and out of the throng is a guy with a megaphone whose job it is to keep the mob angry but controlled. It’s hard not to want to be part of it but I know that if Harm is going to be anywhere he is going to be here. I have to push through the crowd to get to the cafeteria and as they realise I am not joining them I get a lot of snarls and abuse. I feel a pang of guilt. Part of me thinks these protests are useless anyway. I mean it’s laughable to believe that Reagan or Gorbachev are going to care about a bunch of weed-smoking uni students that don’t like their bombs. On the other hand, if I do nothing then doesn’t that just make me as bad as all the other deadheads that refuse to see what’s really going on?

  Somewhere a drum begins to bang, and around me protestors begin to step in time until everyone is throbbing and leaning and shouting in unison. Megaphone man orders the march to begin, and suddenly I am pushing against the tide and fighting to get to the other side. Some less zealous people notice me struggling and form an exit. I smile thankfully and make a dash for the sidelines where I stop and watch them leave.

  ‘I thought you’d be right in there,’ says Harm appearing suddenly at my side.

  He takes me completely by surprise. I keep my eyes on the crowd and try to sound as casual as I can. ‘Lately I’m not so bothered about the world blowing up.’

  ‘How about just our city?’ he says lighting up a cigarette. He points it over my shoulder towards the protest, and smoke trails up my nose. ‘They want to stop the US warships from using the port. If we let them dock there that makes us a target when the war starts. Not to mention they might have some kind of accident that makes us all radioactive. It’s pretty important stuff, don’t you think?’

  ‘I know what the protest is about, Harm,’ I say, feeling that pang of guilt again. Beside me some girl starts singing, ‘US Forces’ by Midnight Oil and now I feel really bad but there is no way I am going to let Harm know it. ‘So why aren’t you rushing in to join them?’

  ‘I have something more important than the world to fix up today.’

  ‘Your hair?’ I say.

  He laughs, and I feel a blast of cigarette smoke on my neck.

  ‘Since when do you smoke? Cigarettes, I mean.’

  ‘I’ve always smoked a bit. I guess it’s creeping up on me. I should probably stop. It’s really not good for my asthma.’

  I swing to look at him. ‘Who the hell takes up smoking when they have asthma?’

  Harm laughs. ‘We’re all going to die, remember? Doesn’t really matter what the fuck I do to myself, does it?’

  ‘What do you want, Harm?’ I say, turning back to the protest.

  ‘I wanted to make sure you are okay.’

  ‘My bruises have faded, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about what happened,’ he says breathing out more smoke. ‘Apocalypse was way out of line, but it doesn’t explain why you’ve been avoiding me.’

  ‘I’ve had a lot on.’

  ‘Right. So it’s nothing personal, then? We’re still friends?’

  ‘That would imply we were friends in the first place.’ I say and start to walk away, but he puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him.

  ‘All right, Mira. I get that you’re angry at me, but can you just tell me why?’

  ‘Well, right now I’m angry because you don’t know why I’m angry.’

  ‘Is it something I said?’

  ‘You really want me to believe that you don’t have a clue?’

  ‘I’m not a mind-reader.’

  ‘You’re not even a reality reader.’

  Harm tilts his head to the side as he takes a final suck from his cigarette. I am so angry with him I hope the smoke triggers an asthma attack.

  ‘You can abuse me as much as you like,’ he says, ‘but it’s not going to make me understand any better. Why don’t you just stop playing games and tell me what I did wrong?’

  I turn back to the protest, but now that the crowd has dispersed there’s not much to look at. I stare just the same. What the hell does he mean about me playing games? I haven’t done anything wrong here, he’s the one sending mixed messages and dumping me when something better comes along. Or maybe that’s it; I’ve just been really stupid thinking he was sending me messages when he was never interested in the first place.

  Suddenly I feel like a complete fool.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, kicking a small pebble at my feet. ‘You did nothing wrong. I’m the one playing games. You’ve been upfront with your intentions at all times, and I’ve just been reading too much into things, right?’

  Then he does the worst thing he could possibly do. He rolls his eyes, and seeing this gesture coming from him, of all people, makes me want to cry.

  ‘Come on, Mira,’ he says. ‘Why are you in such a rush to put a label on things? Can’t we just relax and see where it goes?’

  ‘See where what goes? Are you saying something is happening between us?’

  ‘Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. Part of the fun is waiting to find out, right?’

  I blink slowly, wonder if perhaps I am missing something about how this stuff is supposed to work. I never realised that the boundary between friend and something happening could be so blurry. Maybe that’s because all I’ve ever been told about how people get together is that they go to a dance and end up married. This is just starting to feel too hard.

  ‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I think you’re right. We should be friends again. Friends is exactly what we should be.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ he says and reaches up to touch my cheek.

  ‘My friends,’ I say snapping his hands away before he can touch me, ‘don’t usually feel the need to stroke my face.’

  There’s a look in his eye, a flutter of uncertainty that I am not used to seeing in his usually confident manner. He steps away from me, and I am sure I feel a breeze blow between us. He puts his hands behind his back.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘If that’s the way you want it.’

  ‘It’s not about what I want,’ I say feeling sad. ‘I just need things to make sense right now.’

  He nods slowly, smiles, but it’s easy to see it’s not coming naturally to him. There’s a shift in his posture, in the way he is looking at me as though he is snapping out of one way of being and into another. ‘So, friend,’ he says. ‘Want to get some lunch?’

  ‘Another time, okay?’ I step away from him and while part of me is screaming that I have made a big mistake, most of me has a strong urge to run before I decide to get tangled up in this mess again.

  ‘Okay. That’s cool. So maybe we can catch up tomorrow?’

 
; ‘I’ll see how my studies go,’ I say taking another step back.

  ‘Right. Well, you’ve got my number.’

  ‘Sure have,’ I say picturing the jagged confetti sitting in my bin. He looks at me hopefully, but there is nothing more I can do except return to my books and my notes where everything lines up perfectly.

  ‘Well, see ya,’ I say and walk back into the library before he can pull me back into his spell.

  ***

  After turning down Harm’s lunch offer I am forced, once again, to feed from the library vending machine. As Felicia drives us home I am munching away on my third chocolate bar, but no closer to feeling satisfied.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re dating someone called Guido,’ I say, as Felicia pauses in her regurgitation of every detail of her lunch date. ‘Sounds like someone who makes pizza.’

  ‘That is such a stereotype, Mira, you should be ashamed of yourself. At least Guido is a noun and not a verb. What kind of name is Harm? Talk about asking for trouble.’

  ‘Well that turns out to be strangely true,’ I say, taking another bite of my chocolate bar. ‘So, what does Guido do when he’s not making pizza?’

  ‘He’s a physicist.’ Her eyes open wide as she wraps her lips around this word. There is obviously something very special to her about a guy that likes pocket protectors.

  ‘Wow. That’s so interesting. So what exactly does a physicist do?’ I say, picturing Guido as a big-nosed, curly-haired Einstein flipping pizza dough and singing ‘La Donna è Mobile’.

  ‘Research. He just got a job with a very prestigious science institute.’

  ‘Amazing,’ I say, placing a hand on my chest and nodding slowly. It’s nice to practise sarcasm on someone who just doesn’t get it.