The Boy/Friend

by R. M. Corbet

  Jill looked different from the last time I’d seen her. She had new purple streaks in her hair, and her clothes weren’t so tight. Instead of her clean jeans, she wore shabby overalls. Clearly, she was dressing down on purpose – a cheap act that Lou would be the first to see through, I hoped.

  The other girl in the band was nothing like Jill. She was tall and slender, in leggings and a black vinyl jacket. With her pale face and Courtney Love sulky red mouth, she was punk rock for real, almost grouchy. Jill looked so fake beside her, with her sweet smile, her blonde hair and shiny white teeth. Besides, her overalls were too loose. They were clearly not hers.

  I could tell they were borrowed.

  That was because they were Lou’s!

  I was pressed up against the glass, peering in at them, when Lou looked up and suddenly saw me there. Our eyes met, and in that moment I felt ashamed. Blushing madly, I backed away hastily from the window, slipped, and found myself on my arse . . . in the fish pond.

  It was cold. It was green. It was slimy.

  Stifling a strong urge to shriek like a baby, I scrambled and squelched my way out of there. I was wringing out my wet socks when Lou appeared from the studio.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Your pond needs a clean. It’s disgusting.’

  He picked up my shoes and poured the water out.

  ‘Why did you come here? You’re not in the band.’

  ‘Miles said to drop by whenever I wanted.’

  ‘So why did you look like I’d caught you red-handed? Did you come to listen or to spy on us?’

  ‘To spy, of course. I’m stealing your musical secrets to sell on the black market.’

  Lou looked me up and down with a half-smile, half-frown. ‘So what did you think?’

  ‘It sounded quite good, actually.’

  He looked pleased. ‘Do you need me to lend you some dry clothes?’

  ‘I think you’ve lent out enough clothes, don’t you?’

  Lou knew right away what I was talking about.

  ‘Just because somebody borrows my clothes . . .’

  ‘. . . doesn’t mean they want to get into your pants?’

  ‘Oh come on, Maude! Why do you even care?’

  ‘I don’t care!’ I snapped. ‘But I’d much rather go and ask Ella.’

  Ella was practising for her driver’s licence. She was seated on a chair in the centre of her room, with three bricks for the pedals, a baseball bat for a gearstick, and a big china plate as the steering wheel. Not exactly a high-tech vehicle simulator, but her imagination more than made up for it. Ella was turning eighteen in two weeks. She had already booked in for her test.

  ‘It’s all about freedom,’ she said, as she put the bat into top gear.

  ‘The freedom to choose where you’re going,’ I agreed, as she dodged round an oncoming truck.

  ‘It’s not about the destination,’ she said, as she swerved to avoid a parked car. ‘It’s all about the journey.’

  ‘It’s about making your own way at your own pace,’ I said, as she screeched to a halt at a red light.

  ‘And learning to change your own tyres . . . Are you wet?’

  Ella was happy to give me some clothes, so I chose from the pile on her couch. Purple trackie daks, covered in cat hair. ‘Keep them,’ she told me. ‘They’re truly obscene!’

  I changed out of my damp jeans while she parked her imaginary vehicle in an imaginary two-hour zone. She locked it, then put an imaginary coin in the imaginary meter.

  ‘What you need now is a hot drink,’ she said.

  I followed her out to the kitchen, where she put on a kettle and washed out two cups. There was one tea bag left, so the two of us shared it. Green tea – it smelled like cut grass. With our steaming hot drinks in hand, we sat down by the back door to bask in the sunshine and warm our cold toes. Meanwhile, the mad muffled noise of the junk orchestra continued, like a wild thrashing monster at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘What do you think of the new band?’ I asked.

  ‘A bit scrappy, maybe. But okay, I guess.’

  ‘Musicians.’ I smiled.

  Ella smiled back. ‘It’s nice being out in the sunshine.’

  The green tea tasted as bad as it smelled, but it did have a calming effect. ‘What is this stuff, anyway?’

  ‘Japanese green tea. Samurai warriors used to drink it before going into battle,’ said Ella.

  ‘Can tea give you strength?’

  ‘It can give you caffeine.’

  After two or three sips I was starting to feel my old self again.

  ‘My name means brave in battle, I think.’

  ‘I bet your folks never figured that when they named you.’

  ‘I was named after my great-grandmother or something.’

  ‘Some feisty old lady, no doubt,’ Ella laughed. ‘How are your folks, anyway?’

  ‘They’re okay.’

  She took a sip from her cup of green tea. ‘Tell them I said hi.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Remember that time when you ran away from home? How you climbed up and hid in our big tree?’

  ‘I was, what, seven?’

  ‘Lou had to climb up and talk you back down.’ Ella smiled. ‘What was that all about, anyway?’

  ‘I was pushing my boundaries. Learning to fend for myself. Maybe I was sick of tidying my room? Or I wanted to be in a bigger family?’

  ‘After that, you and Lou built the tree house.’

  ‘So that there’d be a place ready and waiting, if I ever decided to do it again.’

  From where we were sitting, we could see the old tree house. It had been an impressive construction in its time, but no one had been up there in years.

  ‘Did you ever think about running away again?’ said Ella.

  ‘Every time I visited here,’ I sighed.

  I wondered whether the Funky Junk Orkestra was improving with their practice or not. The bangs and clangs, the booms and crashes, the clatter and clamour, the thuds and thumps – it may not have sounded like progress, but with a post-punk industrial art-noise ensemble, who could say?

  I sat by the fish pond and waited until the rehearsal was over. Lou gathered the group in a circle at the studio’s entrance for a quick pep talk. I heard him explain about wave modulation, diatonic intervals and ‘the vertical texture of sound’.

  Musicians. They never know when to shut up.

  After the debriefing, he and the others exited the barn and wandered out the front to the street. All except Jill, who was still packing up. I’d been hoping for some time alone with Lou, but she always seemed to be hanging around. It looked like I would need to be patient.

  Or, better still, talk to Jill first.

  I went in. She smiled. I tried to smile back. We said ‘Hi’ in that uncertain way you do. I didn’t know Jill. She didn’t know me. She seemed like a sweet girl, but not right for Lou. She was too nice. Too pretty. Too smiley. Too cute.

  Lou’s overalls didn’t look right on her.

  ‘The band sounded good,’ I said, breaking the ice.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Lou’s done a great job.’

  ‘He’s so awesome!’ she sighed.

  Enough small talk. I hadn’t come here to bask in Lou’s awesomeness.

  ‘Is he okay, do you think?’

  Jill frowned. ‘He looks okay.’

  ‘He hides it well,’ I agreed.

  ‘He hides what well?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Is Lou in trouble?’

  ‘There was a girl.’

  ‘He never mentioned anything about a girl.’

  ‘He doesn’t like to talk about it. He had a crush, but the girl wasn’t interested. It caused other issues. They got their wires crossed. Lou got hurt. He said things he shouldn’t have said. He did things he shouldn’t have done. It was all a big misunderstanding.’

  ‘It does sound complicated.’

  ‘
Complicated, but quite simple. The fact is that Lou’s not available right now.’

  ‘Is she pretty?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess so. It hardly matters, does it?’

  Jill looked heartbroken. ‘I guess not, if he’s in love.’

  ‘Deeply, utterly, profoundly in love. And yes, I think she is quite nice-looking, come to think of it.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Jenny. Or Kirsten. It might have been Meg. The point is, she’s charming and perfect and gorgeous. Everything Lou was ever looking for. Which explains why he’s not available to anyone else.’

  Jill looked suspicious. ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Lou told me. He tells me everything. I’m his oldest friend, after all. It’s meant to be a secret. I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I didn’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘Lou never mentioned anyone called Meg.’

  ‘Or Jenny. Or possibly Kirsten.’

  Wiping a tear from her eye, Jill got up and ran out of the barn. Lou was walking back from the street. When she pushed past him, he turned and followed her. She kept running, but he caught her in time. I watched with a strange mixture of relief and guilt as she swung round and told him to leave her alone.

  I had created a monster.

  Or maybe the monster was me.

  Lou found me up in the tree house. He climbed the ladder and there I was, hiding. It felt like that day when I’d run away from home, only this time I’d run away from him.

  ‘Who the hell is Meg?’

  ‘The drummer from the White Stripes?’

  ‘Don’t play dumb, Maude. What did you—’ ‘— tell Jill? I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.’

  ‘Well, whatever you said, it upset her.’

  ‘I didn’t expect her to snap like that.’

  ‘Jill is—’

  ‘—a sweet girl? She’s not your type, Lou.’

  ‘Really? And who is my type?’

  ‘Someone less smiley, for starters.’

  ‘Leave Jill alone, Maude. If you’ve got a problem, tell me about it.’

  ‘How can I when she’s always around?’

  ‘She’s not around now.’

  Lou climbed the last rung and sat down beside me. Together, we gazed out the little window, across the rooftops to the distant blue hills.

  ‘Remember how you and I made this place?’ he said.

  ‘It took months. Of course I remember.’

  ‘That stack of old floorboards . . .’

  ‘. . . we found by the house.’

  ‘Those pieces of tin.’

  ‘All those nails that we bent.’

  ‘All those nails that you bent.’

  I smiled. ‘It looked like it might fall down with the first gust of wind. But here it is, six years later and still going strong.’

  ‘A bit rusty and rickety, maybe.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take too much to fix it all up. A few more nails. A few extra supports here and there. We could repaint it and make it look great.’

  He frowned. ‘It’s a tree house, Maude. It’s for kids.’

  ‘It’s our tree house, Lou. We built it.’

  ‘We had fun, sure. But that was a long time ago.’

  ‘Sometimes it feels like only yesterday.’

  ‘We grew up, Maude. We’ve moved on. That’s what happens. We need to let go to move forward, remember? I thought that’s what you said at my window?’

  When I gazed across the rooftops to those distant blue hills again, they somehow seemed smaller and more distant this time.

  ‘We’ve moved on.’ I nodded.

  Moved on – with JILL!

  ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’ said Lou.

  ‘I’ve got a date with a boy,’ I said.

  destiny

  IT’S CALLED A DATE BECAUSE it’s there on your calendar. You wrote it down so you wouldn’t forget it. As if you could ever forget it. Every time you look, it’s a little bit closer. You make the mistake of counting down the days. There are no other dates in the future beyond it. It feels like destiny. It feels like forever.

  Then the day comes and the end of the world is nigh.

  Choosing the right fragrance was crucial. I didn’t want to send Simon the wrong message. French cologne might drive him wild with desire. Antiperspirant would say ‘let’s go rowing again’. I needed a scent with an air of mystery. The trouble was, all Mum’s perfumes smelt middle-aged. Dad’s smelt like half-time at the football.

  Baby powder was not an option.

  In the end, Ella had lent me her essential oil collection: rosewood, sandalwood, patchouli, ylang-ylang. I’d spent the week whiffing and dabbing away, until I’d worked out the right combination.

  The message was, ‘Let’s see what happens.’

  It was 6.22 p.m., Eastern Standard Time. The clocks in our house were all synchronised. Simon wasn’t picking me up until 7.00. I had nothing to do for the next thirty-eight minutes. I kicked off my heels, which were starting to hurt, but I couldn’t sit down for fear of ruining my dress. A red velvet gown from the House of Ella. (‘A girl needs to stay warm. No sense getting frostbite.’) Hair by Lady Remington curling wand and blow dryer. (Girls rhymes with curls so why fight it?)

  Thirty-seven minutes, and counting.

  I looked out the window to check on the weather. (There was no weather out there, as far as I could tell.) I watched the grass grow on the front lawn, then I put my shoes back on to practise my posture. I pulled back my shoulders. I let my arms dangle. Ladylike.

  I took a deep breath then I looked at my watch.

  6.29.

  Be brave, Maude McNaughton.

  At 6.35 I thought I heard a car, but it turned out to be someone else. At 6.41 Mum asked if I’d cleaned my ears and we had a fight about it. What did she imagine was going to happen to my ears? At 6.45 I went upstairs just in case I’d forgotten something, came back down, then went back up again. At 6.49 Dad asked if I was nervous, and I told him I was perfectly fine and that I wished he would mind his own business. At 6.52 I was sure I heard footsteps, but when I looked outside there was nobody there. At 6.54 I found some cotton buds, but discovered my ears were already clean and ladylike. At 6.57 nothing happened, all the way through until 6.59.

  At 7.00, nothing continued to happened.

  Don’t be alarmed, Maude McNaughton.

  At 7.05 it occurred to me that Simon wasn’t coming. He had changed his mind. I had been stood up.

  Be afraid, Maude McNaughton. Be very afraid.

  At 7.07 I vowed to shave my head and live out the rest of my life in a monastery.

  Sister McNaughton of the Immaculate Virgin.

  At 7.08 the doorbell rang.

  I was in the hallway so I sneaked off to the lounge room. I counted to three slowly, then went back and casually opened the door.

  ‘Simon!’

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’

  ‘You’re not late, are you?’

  ‘My dad stopped for petrol. But, hey, you look awesome!’

  Simon looked good in a suit and bow tie. He gave me a red rose, which I pinned to my red velvet dress. He had combed his hair straight and he smelt clean and fresh. Not too straight. Not too clean. Not too fresh. Just right.

  It was my first date. I was going with a boy I’d just met. A boy who was handsome and combed his hair straight. I was keeping my options open. I was a girl with a future. A girl without a past.

  I had never been told I looked awesome before.

  The boys’ school gymnasium was lit up with floodlights. It hovered above the lawn like a B-grade UFO. Simon and I got out of the car and walked arm-in-arm up the steps. It was our red-carpet moment: I felt like Brangelina. We walked through the double doors into the foyer, which was chock-a-block full of glamorous couples. Andy, the dweeb from the rowboat, was there, with a girl who looked strangely like he did, poor thing. Maybe she was his cousin or something. Maybe they did that where Andy was from. />
  Further on, I saw them – Bianca and Alison. With their make-up and big hair they looked ten years older, which made their dates look babyish by comparison. I braced myself for the icy encounter, but it never came. No frosty silence. No hail, sleet or snow. The boys all made crude jokes and punched each other, while we girls did our best to make small talk.

  ‘Who did your hair?’

  ‘That is such a nice dress.’

  ‘What is that perfume? It’s truly divine!’

  The band started up, so we all drifted in. They were playing loud covers of hits from the charts; dressed sharply and trying to make eyes with the crowd. I liked their guitars and their harmony vocals. I was pretty sure Lou would have hated them, though.

  Lou the musical snob.

  Due to the volume, talking was hard. This meant getting closer to Simon. It meant feeling his warm breath in my ear. It meant shouting short sentences and being misheard.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘They’re a bit loud.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ve got punch.’

  ‘Especially the drummer.’

  ‘The trouble is, there’s no alcohol.’

  ‘What? On stage?’

  ‘Wait here. I’ll go check.’

  He left me on the dance floor, entirely surrounded: there were couples dancing, couples hugging. A few couples were already kissing. I tried to dance, but my high heels were wobbly. I felt a bit silly. My dress was too tight. From across the crowd, Andy the inbred caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back and looked away quickly.

  Simon returned, grinning like a naughty school boy.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, handing me a glass of punch.

  I took a quick sip then I stuck out my tongue. It tasted like budget-brand mouthwash.

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Vodka.’

  ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ I gave it back to him.

  Either Simon hadn’t heard right or else he chose to ignore me. He was holding the cup halfway between us. All I had to do was reach out and take it again.

  Then our eyes met and I shook my head.

  He smiled and said something I couldn’t quite hear. I smiled back and tried not to stare as he finished the drink. We stood around watching the band after that. I was glad they were loud and distracting.