by PRATT, S.
She’s damaged. I can tell. Since the very first time I laid eyes on her, I knew what vicious disease has its claws in her. I know, because my sister died of the fucking disease. A strong warning swims about my head, cautioning me to stay away, because nothing good will come from interfering. But needing her in my life has become more than wanting to save her. I want her to get better, I really do. But illness or not – I just want her.
When I break free of the school building I’m confronted by Chuck and Benson waiting for me. They fall in behind me as I walk.
‘So why are you sticking up for Jane now?’ whines Chuck. I stop dead in my tracks. They’re both flanking me and just about run up my arse.
‘What the fuck did you say?’
More warily, he replies, ‘I asked why you’re suddenly sticking up for eleventh graders?’
‘Her name is Mackenzie, you moron. If you so much as look at her wrong I’m going to break every bone in your hands so you won’t need to worry about your football career anymore, got it?’ I’m seething. I feel like punching something, just to expel the anger floating through my veins. With restraint, I decide my excess energy will be best spent on practice. Leaving both of them staring after me, I make my way to where coach has set up the fluorescent cones for our practice drills.
‘So are you in love with her or what?’ Chuck yells after me, giggling like a hyena, and only because he feels safe enough to do so with me yards away from him. Shaking my head in disbelief, I duly ignore him and keep on walking. Tossers. That’s the problem with most high school seniors. Most have driver’s licenses, are close enough in age to legally drink and hold down jobs. Problem is, though, they still have the maturity and mentality of a two year old. Maybe it’s because I have been through the heartbreak of my sister dying that I see things differently. Regardless, I doubt my parents would put up with that kind of behaviour from me. I’m lucky that we’ve always been such a close-knit family. But that in itself is what made losing Kelly all the more devastating for all of us.
‘Get your arse started on these drills, Redding. You’re late enough as it is!’ Coach is wheezing for breath and looks like a walking heart attack. He’s losing his hair and has been a pack-a-day smoker since the seventies. He knows his football, but looks like he’s about to drop dead every time he rouses on one of us. I just nod and get on with it.
I free my mind of Mackenzie for now, placing the image of her face to the recesses of my mind while I endure the physical workout. It feels good to burn the never ending energy that courses through me. For the next hour and a half I’m in the zone, loving every minute of drills, tackling practice and scrums.
By the time we hit the showers in the locker room, second period classes are filing out into the hallways. I hurry to wash the sweat from my body and dress so that I can wade through the student masses to my next class. I like Mondays a lot. The only reason, of course, is because Mackenzie has subjects that take her past my classrooms in third and fifth period. No, I’m not a stalker, but I’m damn well going to quietly appreciate the view as she walks past, oblivious to my gaze.
Lately the realisation has hit me. No matter how much I try to distance myself from Mackenzie and the potential heartache she carries around with her; sooner or later I’m going to cave. Soon the need to be with her will surpass all rational thought until I’m plain acting all cave-man like, putting my paws all over her. I hope for my sake my heart can take it.
Chapter Three
Mackenzie
It turns out that Levi and I take a lot of the same subjects. We spent the day running into each other more often than not and by lunch time I give up trying to avoid having a new friend. He joins me for lunch in the cafeteria. Not that I really have any plans on eating, but I keep up the show for appearances sake.
The line to be served is already as long as the counter so we quickly grab a tray and jump in line. While we move along, he fills his tray with more food than I’ve seen in a week. There’s a hot dog, a chocolate jam donut, custard, an iced coffee drink and an egg and lettuce sandwich to top it off. He pays the cashier and then looks dubiously at my own tray. All I have are an apple and a small carton of plain milk.
‘You sure that’s enough for you?’ I know he’s trying to be nice, like everyone else has been over the years. But I honestly don’t want, or need, his concern. So I do what I always do – I bite.
‘Are you sure you’ve got enough?’ My dagger eyes and icy tone silence him instantly. He looks away embarrassed. We make our way to a table in the back of the cafeteria; his shoulders slumped from my insult.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble as I place my tray across from his.
‘No worries, it’s none of my business anyway.’ His smile is genuine, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He seems very sad.
‘I just don’t do food, you know?’ He nods sagely.
‘I know I eat too much,’ he offers sheepishly, ‘but it’s comforting.’ Funny how two people can have such a different relationship with food. I avoid it, wanting some sort of control when I know other things are beyond it. He seems to like food – too much. It would appear in order to replace his misery he feeds himself to feel some sort of happiness. Comfort eater springs to mind and I wonder briefly what has brought about such feelings of unhappiness within him.
While Levi starts inhaling his food, I start the slow process of organizing what little I have on my plate. Milk carton open. Check. Cut apple into pieces. Check. Consume. Ah, this is the part where I have trouble. Everything in my head screams deny, deny, deny. But there is common sense in there somewhere that tells me I need the nourishment.
I take little bites of the apple; slowly chewing each one before swallowing the contents. It is extremely sour, but I know that it is what my stomach can handle most without bloating me or making me feel ill. After each bite, I take a swig of milk, careful to let it trickle down my oesophagus. Too much too soon and I will hurl chunks right here.
‘So why did you move to Sydney?’ My tone is light and conversationalist, but I know if the shoe were on the other foot, I would hate to be talking about this shit with someone else. He doesn’t seem to mind though, despite his sadness bleeding through to his words.
‘My dad’s family is from here originally. His brothers and sisters still live here on the east coast. Up until November last year we were living with my mum in Melbourne.’
‘She didn’t come?’ Nosy, I chastise myself.
‘She died.’
‘Oh ... I’m really sorry.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Tears prick the corners of his eyes and I feel like a real moron, having just brought up something that is clearly traumatic for him. We eat the remainder of our respective lunches in silence.
From across the cafeteria I spy Tyler and the beefcakes from this morning, sitting with a group of friends at a large table. Groupies, cheerleaders and general hangers-on swarm the edges, grateful to even get a minute of their time. I roll my eyes in disgust, but not before sneaking a second look myself.
Tyler is in his final year, while I’m a grade below in year eleven. That should be enough right there to stop me from looking at him at all. Throw in the fact that he’s athletic, good-natured and hot makes all the more reason for me to mind my own business and go back to being invisible. He glances up just as I’m about to tear my eyes away and winks at me as though it is the most natural thing in the whole world.
My cheeks instantly flush at being caught out perving. I can’t help but notice I receive the dirtiest look from Marla and her posse as I return my attention to drinking what’s left of my milk. Being the hottest girl in school gives her unwritten dibs on whoever she so pleases. By the looks of things, I would say she’s got Tyler firmly in her sights.
The bell rings, signalling the end of our lunch break.
‘What subject do you have next?’ Levi is studiously conferring with his printout of classes.
‘Art and graphic design.’
‘Too bad. I’m off to
Home Ec.’
‘You’re taking Home Economics?’ Stifling a giggle, I press my fingers to my lips, just to make sure one doesn’t escape.
‘Yes. I like food remember?’ His serious expression is quite endearing.
‘Gotcha.’
‘Well I’ll see you tomorrow then?’ He’s keen without trying to appear too needy.
‘Sure, Levi. It was nice to meet you.’ He gathers his things and takes off quickly, eager not to be the last one out in the hallway this time around. My leftovers get dumped in the trash and I head out into the hallway. Sometimes the mass of people can make me feel a little claustrophobic. I’m minding my own business when a nasally voice behind me stops me in my tracks.
‘Jane is it?’ I spin around and come face to face with Marla and two of her friends.
‘No, it’s Mackenzie,’ I inform her.
‘Not what I heard from Chuck and Benson.’ She’s talking about the beefcakes.
‘It’s Mackenzie.’ I give her my best steely gaze and try not to let her intimidate me. Pretty hard considering she’s a year old than me and towers a good four inches above my five foot four stature.
‘Whatever. I’ve got a message for you.’ She smiles now, her glossed lips turned up to full wattage. Her nose, if possible, seems even more upturned as she readies herself to cut me off at the knees.
‘And what is that?’ Not really caring for her response, but suddenly realizing that the term no good deed goes unpunished is just about to come true.
‘Well, us girls heard from Chuck and Benson that Tyler isn’t too happy that you keep staring at him. Apparently it makes him uncomfortable. I can see why, it’s creepy,’ she snickers as she looks me up and down. Heat rushes over me and I’m sure it shows on my cheeks. I’m both embarrassed and furious. All I want to do right now is go and purge my lunch – the only thing that I know will bring me comfort.
‘Hey, Marla?’
‘Yes?’ She bats her eyelashes at me, as though she can’t possibly understand what come back I would have to say to her.
‘Go fuck yourself.’ I turn on my heel as her mouth drops open in disbelief. The whispers of her friends can be heard behind me as I make my way to the bathroom door.
‘… so rude!’
‘Can’t believe she said that to you …’
‘Who does she thinks she is?’
I tune them out as the blood that rushes to my ears takes over. It’s like waves crashing around me so loudly that there isn’t room for any other noise. Kind of like when you hear the sounds of the ocean in a shell – it’s all just static.
Roughly I shove the bathroom door open and almost knock another student off her feet.
‘Hey, watch it!’ Ignoring her I make my way into the nearest stall and slam the door behind me. With shaking fingers I lock the door, the trembling making it almost impossible.
The room is already spinning and I can feel the bile rise up my throat. The second I hear the door close I know I am in the clear. Tears sting my eyes and I lurch over the toilet bowl and stick my fingers in my mouth. Vomit pours out, the stench of apple and milk assaulting my senses. I can feel chunks getting caught in the back my throat and hack to bring them up.
I may not be able to control who loves me and who likes me. Who stays and who goes. But one thing is for certain. I can control this. Somehow that rings untrue as the little voice inside my head taunts me too. It controls you! It controls you!
Chapter Four
Mackenzie
Thankfully my mum and her boyfriend aren’t at home. It gives me a little time to breathe, to be on my own and enjoy the sanctuary I have created for myself in my room. I pull my homework from my bag, grateful for the distraction from the craziness of life. Mathematical equations fill the next hour, the radio on in the background.
My stomach starts to gurgle. With alarm I notice the time on my wrist watch. It’s nearing dinner time and my mum will be home from her job as a Paediatric nurse at the local hospital. Jim, mum’s new squeeze shouldn’t be too far either. He’s the foreman of a huge construction company which operates out of the Sydney CBD area. I like him well enough; he’s just not dad.
Slamming my algebra book shut, I race down to the kitchen and pull a plate of food out of the fridge that has last night’s leftovers on it. Taking a knife and fork out of the drawer is all part of the charade. Walking with the plate out the back door, as per my routine, I head to the furthest part of the garden that is fenced with timber planks. Calling softly for the neighbour’s dog, he whines in response. He knows our little routine, and comes running obediently. He’s a beautiful chocolate Labrador, although he’s become a little round of late.
Peeking over the fence he’s sitting patiently, wagging his tail and smiling his doggy smile. His eyes glisten brightly, knowing a treat is in store. To be honest, I think he’s rather fond of me.
‘Hey Max, are you hungry boy?’
‘Woof!’ he assures me. I’m sure he’s lying.
‘I thought so.’ I scrape the food off the plate, pot roast and veggies dripping with gravy onto his side of the fence. He’s all over it, no graces as he scoffs every last bit like it’s his last meal, although we both know he’d eat again in a heartbeat. When I’m certain he’s got every last bit, he stands on his hind legs so that his paws reach the top of the wood planks where my face is peering over at him. Balancing the plate and utensils in one hand, I scratch behind his ears. He pants, utterly content, gravy doggy breath reaching my nostrils.
‘Same time tomorrow, Max.’
‘Woof!’ he assures me.
‘Good dog! Bye Max.’
He whines as I leave, but I’ve got not time to pat him. In the kitchen I place the plate in the sink, but do not wash it properly, merely allowing just a drizzle of water to run over it. The leftover gravy sauce mingles with it. The cutlery is dumped on top. Keeping up appearances is very important. It keeps her off my back.
My stomach rumbles again, but I barely notice it. Coffee is what I need, with sugar and lots of milk. The kettle boils away merrily while I fix the mug with instant, freeze-dried coffee and full cream milk. I know it sounds funny that I would allow myself the indulgence of sugar and fatty milk, but when that’s all that’s going into my stomach ‘til tomorrow morning, it’s not that big of a deal.
Full cup in hand, I’m just about to leave the kitchen when I hear the garage go up. Perfect timing. Mum’s home, and judging by her late arrival, I’m assuming she’s picked up greasy takeaway on her way. The door that connects the garage opens and she emerges with plastic shopping bags in tow. She’s wearing her nurses uniform and looks haggard for a woman of forty-five. Wispy bits of hair have come free from the bun on her head, her dyed auburn hair in desperate need of a colour job. She walks towards me, unaware that I have been watching her so intently. I try to appear nonchalant as she enters the kitchen.
‘Hey mum.’ She looks up, surprised to see me.
‘Hey baby, how was your day?’ The groceries are relegated to the tiled kitchen floor, except for the bag that contains a barbecue chicken with chicken salted fries. I can see the takeaway logo glaring from the side of the plastic bag.
‘It was okay, I guess. A new boy started today.’
‘That’s nice dear. It would be good for you to have a few friends.’
‘I suppose.’ Taking a sip of my coffee, I watch her like a hawk as she takes three plates out of the cupboard.
‘Jim will be home in a minute, how about you set the table so we can eat when he gets here.’
‘Sure, but I’ll just set it for you and him. I was hungry so I just ate leftovers from last night.’
She stops what she’s doing and eyes me suspiciously. Seeing her distrust, she proves me right when she goes to inspect the rubbish bin, searching for any sign that I have tipped the food in favour of continuing my destructive path of self-deprivation. Satisfied that there is nothing out of place, she nods her head.
‘Fine, Mackenzie. At least
you’re eating, so I won’t complain about the fact that we haven’t had a meal together in ages.’ Didn’t she realise that just by mentioning that we haven’t had a meal together means she was intentionally doing just that? Go figure.
‘Sorry mum, maybe next time.’
‘That would be nice.’ Her smile reaches the crinkles at the sides of her eyes. A stab of guilt niggles at me as I realise she trusts me enough to buy into my deception. The sound of a car door slamming shut on the front driveway alerts us to Jim’s arrival.
‘I’m just gonna go and finish the rest of my homework, okay?’
‘Alright, honey.’ I leave her while she dishes out helpings of chicken and fries onto plates. Heading to my room, I’m stopped at the bottom of the stairs when Jim comes through the front door.
‘Hey Kiddo! How you doing?’
‘I’m good, Jim.’ He kisses my forehead lightly, the smell of his tobacco lingering around his beard. He’s a kind man – gentle. His eyes are warm and brown but behind them there’s a mischievous side. Dark hair that needed cutting months ago is tucked scruffily under a trucker’s cap. His temples are peppered with a few grey strands of hair, but he still looks youthful enough. Like Max the dog, he also looks like he’s put on a bit of pudding around the middle since mum and I have come to live with him. Jim’s work clothes look dirty for a change, grease smeared across the fluorescent safety material.