Reality Bytes

by Jane Frances

  But there had been nothing rare or well considered about Julie’s conversations over the course of the last few days. Whatever topic they turned to, whether art or history, music, television, politics or religion, Julie had an opinion, and a theory to accompany it. She had no recollection of how they had gotten onto such topics, but Toni learned that Julie lay in the “man never really made it to the moon” camp. She was also adamant that while Elvis may or may not have died at the time, he surely must be dead by now, and even if he wasn’t he surely wouldn’t be wandering around in his white jumpsuit and cape. And—this was a theory Toni had pondered while lying awake just the night before—that hell was not fire and brimstone, it was right here, right now, and everyone would keep dying and coming back as “earthlings” until they got it right. Once they did get it right they’d tootle off to some planetary paradise reserved for the higher beings. Last night, lying as still as possible so as not to knock her lesions, Toni could not discount Julie’s “hell on earth” theory. In fact, with stabs of pain shooting through her skull and her fever leaving her at one moment burning hot and the next shivering with cold, Toni believed every word of it. Last night had been her worst since falling ill. She rose often from her bed, pacing the house until sheer exhaustion drew her back to her mattress. Then, miserable, feverish and in pain, tears rolled down her cheeks and she’d prayed for dawn to sweep away the darkness.

  Thankfully, morning brought a turning point and Toni woke from her broken sleep, tired but without the headache that had plagued her for days. She slipped from under the covers and opened the curtains, blinking at the not-yet-too-bright early morning sunlight. Outside birds trilled, a light breeze rustled the leaves of the peppermint trees that lined the street, and a neighborhood child was playing on his front lawn, making the most of a sunny morning before being bundled off to school. Toni found herself smiling as she turned from the window. She was already formulating her argument to debunk Julie’s theory, hell on earth no longer seeming an apt description.

  Debunking theories was soon put to the bottom of Toni’s list of priorities. Relieving the itch was put to the top. Mary Lucas, Toni’s doctor, warned of the itch during her last home visit. Mary pressed her fingers to a couple of lesions on Toni’s face, noted they were not getting infected and announced they would soon begin to dry up, turn brown, then black, then fall off. It was at that stage they would really begin to annoy, and that was when Toni had to be careful not to scratch. It may provide temporary relief, but it would also leave scars. Toni had nodded in agreement. A little itch was not worth it.

  But right now Toni was one big itch, just begging to be scratched.

  Toni soon decided she had to keep her hands occupied. She tried sitting on them. That didn’t work, fingers giving into the temptation to pick at a particularly annoying spot on her right bottom cheek. She tried petting Virgil, but Virgil went to petting heaven and began kneading Toni’s thighs, claws exposed and biting into already tender skin. Toni yelped in pain and shooed Virgil from her lap. Since then Virgil had again refused to acknowledge Toni’s existence, so Toni retreated from the lounge room, scouring the house for something to keep her hands busy. At the very back of her bottom bedside drawer she found a battery-operated depilling machine she had completely forgotten she owned. The next hour was spent in a de-pilling flurry. Every jumper Toni owned got the treatment, then she moved onto her stack of T-shirts. T-shirt number four was just about to have all the nasty little balls of fluff whisked away when the machine began to splutter and slow.

  “Bugger,” Toni cursed as the machine’s teeny blades stopped altogether halfway down the left arm of the T-shirt. The batteries had gone flat. A search through her kitchen drawers revealed an unopened packet of D batteries, but no spare AAs. “Bugger,” she repeated, her thoughts turning to Julie. Maybe she could ring and ask her to pick up some spares?

  Toni checked her watch as she contemplated making the call. It was only ten-fifteen a.m.—hours before Julie could deliver some batteries, even if she made a special lunchtime visit. Toni put her big ideas of de-pilling her entire wardrobe aside and thought hard for something else to do. She tugged open the doors of her pantry and peered inside. Maybe cooking something would take her mind off her itchy skin. She plucked a can of chickpeas from the shelf, screwed up her nose and nearly put it back. Thoughts of her non-liver-friendly eating habits and total lack of exercise in the last week stopped her. She hefted the can in her hand, gauging its weight. Satisfied, she sifted through the shelf, found a second can of chickpeas and took them both into the lounge room.

  “Watch out, Virg,” Toni warned as she stood in front of the television, arms extended, a can in each hand. “It’s been a while. I might drop them.”

  Later, her chickpea exercises long over and a long cool bath in pine tar solution leaving her less itchy and in clean pajamas—this time white with black cat paws all over them—Toni checked her watch again. It was now past midday and still Julie hadn’t called. Usually by this time she had rung, Toni had answered the latest query, Julie would apologize for the interruption and then ask if Toni needed anything picked up before she came over. So usually by this time Toni had argued that Julie didn’t need to come over again, Julie would say it was no trouble, and Toni would hang up the phone secure in the fact she’d have some company that evening.

  As yet that hadn’t happened. Toni shifted position on the couch. While feeling terribly unwell, her only marker of time was whatever program happened to be on the television. Even then, occasionally she would find the program had changed without her being consciously being aware of it. Mornings slipped into afternoons in some pain-fuzzied blur, and as a result, her solitude also went largely unnoticed. Now that she was on the mend the lack of social contact was beginning to wear at her. Toni may have lived alone ever since moving to Perth five years ago, but she was still a highly social being.

  She mentally skipped through the pages of her address book, trying to think of someone who may be free for a visit. Unfortunately, what was usually a plus now worked against her, the majority of her friends working the nine-to-five. The exceptions either worked the night shift and wouldn’t take kindly to a call at this time of day or, as in the case of Becky, had pre-school-aged children in tow, and just going to the store for bread and milk was a major operation.

  Toni thought she might ring her mum, but even with the two-hour time difference between Perth and Melbourne, it was still a good hour before her shift finished at the lunch bar she had worked in since her “bastard of a husband” left her and Toni to fend for themselves when Toni was seven.

  I’ll just ring to see how everything’s going at the office. As Toni dialed she remembered her dead de-pilling machine. She chuckled as she wondered how Julie would react to a request for some batteries to replace the ones she had run flat in a small, vibrating appliance.

  The call was diverted to reception.

  “Hi, Sue. It’s Toni.”

  “Toni!” Sue was her usual exuberant self and immediately full of questions. Was Toni feeling better, when was she likely to be back, how was Virgil? It took a good five minutes before Toni could state the reason for her call.

  “Is Julie available?”

  “She’s with someone at the moment. Do you want me to get her to ring you?”

  Toni thought quickly. Sue was the biggest gossip she had ever met, her life revolving around who was with whom, who was no longer with whom, who had said this or done that. So, although Sue was very much aware Toni and Julie were required to communicate with each other for business purposes, if Toni announced a desire just to speak to Julie about nothing in particular, it would send Sue’s gossip antennae twitching. Especially given Sue’s knowledge of the infatuation Julie had developed for Toni in early autumn last year. Although the crush was old news and over—Julie’s girlfriend of six months would likely attest to that fact—she could only imagine the reaction if she asked Sue to pass on the message about flat batteries and a vibr
ating appliance. The line from reception to the outside world would run so hot it would likely melt. Toni made up some work-related message that seemed to satisfy Sue and hung up the phone.

  Sudden guilt swept through Toni. Here she was, thinking only of her own needs. Julie probably hadn’t called because she wanted to spend some time with her girlfriend instead of attending to an invalid colleague. Toni had actually voiced that exact thought on Tuesday night, right after Mary Lucas left with the prognosis she would survive her illness. Julie had shrugged off Toni’s protest, explaining she never saw much of Anna during the week, her job as a primary school teacher dominating her days and her position on the state water polo team keeping her busy by night. At the moment Anna was full swing into training for competition with one of the other state teams, so, if anything, visiting Toni was more a pleasure than a chore.

  But Toni doubted Anna would train every night of the week. She probably got at least Friday and Saturday nights off. Toni decided that when Julie did return her call, she would make it quite clear she wasn’t expecting her to visit, that she was actually capable of rustling up something to eat and no, she didn’t need anything brought over.

  That thought sorted, Toni discovered she had absently been scratching at the back of her neck. Her head was itchy too. She let herself scratch at her scalp as she walked to the bathroom, figuring a few pocks wouldn’t show through her short, but thick, dark hair. Toni shed her pajamas, dotted a fresh layer of Calamine lotion over all the body parts she could reach and studied her reflection.

  At five foot six she wasn’t overly tall, and combined with a medium build, she was never going to grace the catwalks. Not that she had any desire to be a wafer-thin clothes hanger. She was just being realistic. Despite not meeting the ridiculous ideals of a body-obsessed society, she was usually pretty happy with the way she looked. Third-generation Australian, but born of parents of Macedonian extraction, she inherited the olive skin tones and dark hair synonymous with the people of her heritage. She was lucky enough to have inherited her maternal grandmother’s Irish-Australian green eyes. She also inherited her grandmother’s tendency to gain weight easily, but regular exercise and a reasonably healthy diet kept that in check.

  What the bathroom mirror currently revealed was depressing. Her skin had assumed a grayish, yellowish pallor. That is, the skin that could be seen beneath the lumps and bumps, blisters and layer of Calamine lotion. Toni lifted her arms so they formed a right angle at the elbow. The tone she had acquired through her months of Pump was already on the decline. If she wasn’t careful, her upper arms would soon resemble a bat’s wingspan. Her eyes, while still green, looked tired, the whites, instead of clear and bright, shot with red. Toni bared her teeth. At least they hadn’t changed. Her mum had scrimped and saved to get her the braces she needed as a teenager, so her teeth, naturally very white, were now also very straight. Toni considered them her best asset and was meticulous about keeping them that way. Toni poked out her tongue. Yep, still coated…and yep—she smacked her lips together and tasted her mouth—it was still gross. Bereft of the thought she would ever look or feel like a normal person again, she donned her pajamas, cleaned her teeth and headed to her home office.

  Going online would satisfy two objectives. The typing would keep her hands busy and she’d enjoy the banter, no matter how inane the chat topic. There was also the added advantage of physical anonymity, so no one could see just how bad she currently looked.

  Toni had switched to broadband Internet access at the beginning of the year so there was no need to dial in to the server. The monthly charge was a lot higher than a regular dial-up account, but she figured the extra cost worthwhile. The connection was exponentially faster than dial-up and her account allowed unlimited downloads, both of which made expanding her MP3 music collection a breeze. Plus, because broadband utilized a different part of her phone line than the phone itself, she could still make and take calls while connected to the Internet. A very useful feature, especially since she didn’t have to explain to disgruntled friends why her phone line was always engaged. These days she spent a reasonable—although she didn’t consider it an excessive—amount of her spare time in online chat. While she enjoyed it, she also knew of the stigma attached to the activity, and broadband allowed her to indulge her habit without appearing to be a loser to those who never entered the virtual world.

  Toni woke her computer from sleep mode, opened her browser and went straight to her favorite chat site. It was a dedicated gay and lesbian site, with two “floors,” one for the men and one for the women. Toni entered her user name and password, navigated to the women’s floor and scrolled down the list of “rooms.” She occasionally clicked on a room name in the drop-down list, the action bringing up a list of the people currently inside. Minxy, the everpresent New York Art student, was in the “New York” room with FairBriar, a dog breeder from Kentucky. A month or so ago, Toni and FairBriar had had a heated argument in relation to tail-docking. Toni thought that the practice of either shortening or completely amputating a dog’s tail was both cruel and unnecessary, a thought doubly reaffirmed by Virgil’s recent tail accident. FairBriar argued back it was necessary to remain true to the breed. They had not ended on friendly terms, so Toni clicked away from the New York room and continued her search. Two other rooms Toni frequented, the “Australian” room and the “Professional Women” room were completely empty. The “Spa” room was full to bursting, it being a favorite with many members, especially the younger set. It was notorious for those looking to flirt, or for a little bit more, and the conversations held in there varied from deadly dull to covertly suggestive to outlandishly bawdy. Toni considered “hopping into the spa” but decided against it. She wasn’t feeling particularly flirtatious or bawdy. She continued scrolling.

  TracieQ and Maddox were in the “Secret Garden.” Toni liked the Secret Garden, it tended to be populated with the thirty-somethings, the age bracket Toni had entered the year prior. She also liked TracieQ and Maddox, both women hailing from different ends of Britain, and both with careers in fields relating to Toni’s own. TracieQ worked as a bank teller; Maddox was a financial advisor. It had just gone six a.m. in England so they had apparently logged on for a prework breakfast chat. Toni double-clicked on the room and immediately a new window spawned, along with her username, Pookie.

  TracieQ: hi pookie

  Maddox: hi pookie. early for u?

  Pookie: not at work 2day

  Maddox: mental health day?

  Pookie: no. genuine. on the mend tho. how r u?

  Maddox: cant complain. weathers bad, as usual

  TracieQ: i’m fabulous

  Pookie: TQ—g/f back?

  TracieQ: 2nite. wont b speaking 2 any of u 4 a while lol

  TracieQ was full of the news of her girlfriend’s return from Newcastle. She was first to log off, begging the need to shower and dress for work. Maddox logged off soon after, but by then two others had joined the room. Toni settled in her chair, happy to interject as the newcomers dominated the conversation. Three more women entered and soon a number of different threads of conversation were flowing. Toni sipped from a glass of water as lines of text appeared in quick succession on the screen.

  It wasn’t exactly enthralling stuff, but it was a way to pass the time.

  Chapter Nine

  It was around midday when Emma turned the key in her front door. As expected, a cold nose pressed into her leg.

  “Hi, Kai.” Emma hunkered down to doggie level and ran her hands the length of Kayisha’s ears. “How’s your Friday been so far?”

  Kayisha’s response was gratefully received both for its enthusiasm and for the normalcy the ritual offered on this very non-normal day.

  The long, floppy ears were tugged gently. “Let’s go for a run, eh, girl.”

  That suggestion was greeted with more wild doggie enthusiasm so Emma quickly changed into her running gear and they headed out. Thoughts of opportunistic thieves got the better of
her before they reached the end of the street and Emma turned back, spending a few minutes carting the contents of her station wagon into the house. Kayisha lay on the grass next to the driveway, snout between her paws, giving Emma doleful “we were supposed to be going out” glances each time she passed by, arms laden.

  “This is the last of it, I promise.” Emma said as she struggled under the weight of a box of veterinary reference books. It was placed on her bedroom floor next to the box containing her coffee mug, toiletries and other personal items used during her eight years at what was now Colleen’s veterinary practice. Turning her back on the boxes, Emma trotted down the hallway and closed the front door behind her. “Come on, Kai.” She ran past her best friend. “What are you waiting for?”

  Emma started out hard but soon slowed to a more heart-friendly pace, her body settling into a pleasant rhythm. Once in her stride she was aware of her forward motion and of likely obstacles—other runners, cyclists, tree roots and fallen pine cones—but there was no effort to her movement, no pain in her limbs or gasping for breath. It was at these times, with the endorphins having kicked in and Kayisha trotting happily by her side, that Emma seemed to melt through the landscape, often finding herself finished with the lake circuit, or even back at her front gate, without consciously realizing where her feet had carried her.

  Today her feet had carried her most of the way around the lake when a single word entered her thoughts and jerked her back to reality. Colleen.

  Immediately Emma became aware of her feet pounding against the footpath and of her position in the universe. The water fountain that marked the point where Emma would veer from the lake and begin her return journey was a mere fifty meters ahead.

  The thought reappeared. Colleen. Emma frowned and a drop of perspiration fell into her left eye, making her squint. She swiped the sweat from her forehead with her hand, then wiped the sweat from her hand to the side of her shorts. Bloody Colleen. Emma picked up speed as she mentally reviewed her week.