Almost a Mirror

by Kirsten Krauth

  It’s beating for the both of them.

  People are starting to look at her.

  She tries to move away.

  I need to go to the toilet.

  Nah, you don’t need to go.

  Just stay here.

  You’re high.

  Just stay here and dance with me.

  I’ll look after you.

  I’m going to be sick.

  Help me.

  He swims her from the dance floor.

  Like they’re doing life-saving lessons.

  She can’t see the people now.

  It’s dark and the people have gone.

  All she can see are small flashes of light down low.

  Emergency lights leading to plane door exits.

  He leads her to the toilet.

  The lights flicker as she looks in the mirror.

  Her face is not hers.

  She’s become a wild thing.

  She’s lost the green in her eyes.

  Just black holes.

  Too deep.

  Her eyes are stuck in her head.

  In the toilet she sits in the dark.

  Until she turns around and kneels on the floor.

  Resting her cheek on the cool tiles.

  Where are you, Jimmy?

  That’s when the bright lights come on again.

  They were there all along.

  I’m right here.

  Waiting outside.

  She sits and goes down the rabbit hole.

  She can hear people out there.

  But she can’t tell where they’re speaking from.

  Life is out of sync.

  She cocks her head to the side at the noise.

  Trying to tune her body radio in.

  She hears a loud banging.

  Someone yelling.

  Mon-a. Mon-a.

  She nods her head and shuts her eyes.

  She opens them and there’s Jimmy.

  Stuck under the toilet door.

  He hauls himself through.

  He hands her a Fanta.

  Come out and dance with me!

  She searches for words but her mouth is messy.

  Her eyes are flickering on and off like windscreen wipers.

  The car in the rain.

  Look, I’m shaking.

  She points to her jaw.

  It’s shuddering so much she can’t close it.

  It’s okay. So am I.

  Jimmy brings her hand to his chin.

  His mouth is closed.

  But there’s a tremor.

  You can’t really see yours.

  Look, you’re talking okay now.

  Come out and dance with me.

  I want to go home, Jimmy.

  Nah, you don’t want to go home.

  You’re high.

  You don’t want to be at home when you’re high.

  You’ll feel better if you come out and dance with us.

  I’ll just sit here.

  I’m happy here.

  I think I should stay with you.

  I don’t want to spoil your night.

  She wades in and out.

  Of the dark and the rain.

  Jimmy holds her head in his hands.

  As if it’s a raw egg.

  Voices come and go.

  Hang on, I’ll be back in a tick.

  Heads like meerkats bob up and down.

  Little eyes sparkling.

  Desperate calls for toilet paper.

  She reaches down to give them a few squares.

  But when she hands them over the women are gone.

  Time is curious.

  Elastic.

  She is out of the loop.

  There is no call-and-response.

  She is not vision.

  She is only sound.

  She likes nodding in and out.

  It’s comforting in here.

  But every now and then she thinks.

  What if this is it?

  What if Kaz has to come and get my body?

  Someone bangs on the door again.

  It’s Michelle.

  This time she connects the voice with the body.

  She wonders why Jimmy had to crawl under the door.

  We need to get you home.

  Why don’t you come out and have a final dance?

  I’m happy in here.

  Nah, you’re not happy in here.

  You’re in the toilets, Mona!

  It absolutely stinks!

  Come out, Mona!

  I don’t want to ruin your night.

  I can’t smell anything.

  It’s midnight.

  Nearly everyone’s gone.

  How long have I been in here?

  I thought it was just a few songs.

  A few hours at least.

  Come on!

  Michelle straddles the toilet seat behind her.

  Wraps Mona up like she’s doing the Heimlich.

  She drags her onto her feet.

  But Mona’s arms and legs won’t respond.

  Look, just hold onto me and we’ll take a few steps.

  Let’s see if we can get you somewhere comfortable.

  Where you can sit until you’re feeling better.

  Is my lipstick all over my face?

  Amazingly, your make-up is perfect.

  I can’t even remember my address.

  That’s okay. Jimmy will walk us all home.

  Don’t tell Mum.

  Cross my heart. Your mum’s the best.

  Mona laughs.

  I can’t believe I sat in here for two hours.

  It never once occurred to me.

  That people would need to go to the toilet.

  Look, we’ve all been there.

  How much did you have?

  Two tablets.

  It’s Michelle’s turn to put her head in her hands.

  Way, way too much of a good thing.

  We only had one.

  The first one didn’t work.

  It didn’t work – until it did.

  Let’s try and stand up again.

  Jimmy’s waiting outside.

  Why was he gone so long?

  He was in here pretty much the whole night.

  They had to come in.

  Tell him to get out of the ladies’ toilets.

  I thought he’d gone already.

  It’s okay, he’s waiting to take you home.

  Jimmy wakes her with a cup of tea and a plate of pizza toast. He’s made it every day since Saturday night. Tomato paste, melted cheese, olives, mushrooms, capsicum. Grilled.

  It looks delicious but her stomach still won’t let her have it.

  You’ve got to get to school today. You’ve missed the whole week, Jimmy says.

  She turns to trace the cracks in the wall with her fingers.

  I can’t face it.

  I can walk with you.

  I’m having a grey day.

  Jimmy’s worked out colours for their moods so they can code them.

  You know, sometimes you feel low the days after. Nearly everyone does.

  It’s not just that.

  Kaz has been asking questions, he says.

  He opens the window and she wants it shut and him out.

  I just want to lie here and watch Ray Martin and Days of Our Lives.

  See ya.

  He takes half the pizza toast off the plate as he leaves for tech.

  When he’s gone she goes into the house and makes herself vegemite toast instead.

  Kaz’s radio is on, which usually means she’s not here.

  She goes into her mum’s room and lies down on the made bed, the soft green patchwork quilt, and puts her feet in the sun. She closes her eyes.

  What’s going on, Mona?

  Kaz is standing in the doorway, hanging her beanie on the coat rack. Her hair springs out like a slinky.

  I thought you’d gone to Melbourne, Mona says.

  I just walked up to the shops to get
milk. Do you want porridge?

  I can’t eat.

  Mona rolls over and Kaz lies down behind her and pats her on the back.

  Is it Jimmy?

  The wet salt on Mona’s face tastes warm. It’s going to come out now. But she’s not ready.

  I had an abortion.

  The shock of it sends Kaz onto her back.

  Mona rolls back too, doesn’t look at her mum. Just cries.

  There were no other options, Mona says.

  Kaz reaches out and holds her hand. Firm.

  You could have spoken to me. I could have helped you with options.

  Mona looks at the ceiling.

  There is no way Jimmy could have done it. You know that. It was easier not talking.

  Your hormones will be all out of whack.

  Kaz leans over her.

  You know, parents might seem hard to reach sometimes but we’ve lived too. My first boyfriend. We used the rhythm method. That was before the pill. Having abortions was much more dangerous then.

  You had a steady boyfriend? I thought you liked women.

  Kaz laughs.

  It took me a while to figure myself out. As you know, I still see myself as a free spirit.

  Mona lets go of her mum’s hand.

  I can’t seem to get out of bed.

  There’s a grieving process. Your body needs to do this even if you’re not thinking about it.

  I can’t stop crying.

  How about I cook you a steak?

  You hate the smell of meat.

  You look like you really need it.

  Mona nods and moves so her face is in the sun.

  Are you still going to the peace march? Mona asks.

  I’m getting the train. You used to love rallies. I’d piggyback you and we’d chant together. Remember Save the Franklin?

  I remember Redgum and Goanna and Bob Hawke coming on and saying that we’d won and you started hugging total strangers.

  Why don’t you come with me today?

  I’d miss Days of Our Lives.

  Kaz points to the hallway. STOP THE BOMBS! written in Jimmy’s shaky red writing, like blood on a banner.

  It’s for a good cause. You could help me carry the signs.

  Mona wipes her nose on her mum’s sleeve.

  I need to have a shower first. Can I get a cheeseburger at McDonald’s?

  OUR HOUSE

  Castlemaine, 1983

  Kaz sees a flash of BMX zip past her window.

  A boy jumps off and stands patting the Buddha outside the front door. His long thin arms sprout from a high school T-shirt, too big. She remembers him from art class. He’s interested. He stands out.

  His pants have holes at the knees.

  Mona opens the door and then hides around the corner.

  Hi, Jimmy!

  Jimmy swaggers into the lounge room, swirls his satchel around his head like a lasso.

  I like this house! Here you go.

  He opens his hands and offers Kaz a sweaty bouquet of flowers. She can tell they’re from her own garden.

  How did you get here, Jimmy?

  I rode my bike.

  Where from?

  Etty Street.

  That’s a long way.

  The first hill is fun because it’s all down.

  He touches the things on the shelves one at a time. A stack of Uno cards. A small flute. A silver photo frame.

  Where’s this?

  That’s in Spain. A friend of mine, Dodge, took that photo.

  What are they doing?

  It’s a competition. Each team has to build a tower of people as high as they can and a kid climbs up to the top to win. They fall down a lot!

  Jimmy tests out a bright voice. Is it okay if I hang out with Mona?

  It’s getting dark. Does your mum know you’re here?

  My mum’s been asleep all day.

  What do you mean?

  When I left for school she was tired in the lounge room and she was still there when I got home.

  Did you wake her up?

  She was still asleep and she wouldn’t talk to me.

  Kaz sends Mona out the back to the bungalow to watch a video.

  Do you want to show me where your house is and we can go and see your mum?

  Jimmy stares at Kaz with bold dark eyes.

  She doesn’t like people in the house.

  I don’t have to come in. I’ll just knock on the door.

  Jimmy is so thin the seatbelt slips off him. Kaz slows down. He’d slide right under in an accident.

  He sits in the front touching all the cassettes. He winds the window up and down.

  ‘Beat It’ blares out into the twilight. He sings along.

  It’s this one. Number twenty-two.

  The house sits remote from the footpath, with space for another one to be planted in front of it. A skateboard lies jilted at the front door, an old tricycle against the fence, upside down.

  Do you ride on it? The skateboard?

  I try on the cement but it’s all uneven and I trip over. Sometimes I go on the road.

  Kaz gets out of the car but Jimmy keeps his belt on, turning away.

  You want me to go check on her first?

  Jimmy nods and doesn’t look at Kaz.

  What’s your mum’s name?

  Amy.

  All of the house’s windows are covered with sheets, blocking the light from the road. The street lamps have just clicked on.

  Kaz knocks and waits. She can hear shuffling.

  Hello? Amy?

  She tests the door and it’s not locked.

  She glances back at Jimmy but she can’t see him in the dark now.

  She pushes against the door but something’s jammed up against it. She gives it a hard shove and hears a yelp.

  Inside, it’s darker than outside. None of the light switches work and she wonders about the electricity.

  A wet smell. Shit and litter trays and food, the sweetness of sweat and decay, everything on the turn.

  An animal is panting somewhere down the hallway.

  Little walking tracks trail through the piles of stuff.

  She opens one of the broken venetian blinds to let the streetlights shine in.

  Towers of paper climb to the roof, layered like an excavated dig with dishes, food scraps, dog shit, discarded books.

  She puts her hand over her nose and mouth.

  The floor wobbles with doonas and old blankets and shredded cardboard and rusty dog food cans and glass bottles that clink when she walks.

  A yoyo the only sign of Jimmy.

  She shuffles along a hallway carpeted with paper covered in bound-tight handwriting. She picks one up.

  I have lined up my priorities but still I sit. I have written at length what I can do. Still I sit.

  She moves through the kitchen. Each footstep brings a mad scurry. And another note.

  I must use my eyes and remember all the time what I truly see …

  I must practise a beat where I look around and notice who and what I am and what is happening …

  I must recite good words and feel them come into my life.

  I must make pages of them.

  They are like breadcrumbs leading her through the house.

  I’m up at night and I haven’t scrubbed yet. My teeth haven’t been done. My hair is unruly. I haven’t washed clothes. I don’t have any pads.

  When Kaz gets to the bedroom she can’t open the door, but she can smell petrol.

  I haven’t patched myself to give up smoking and I haven’t checked the puppies or bought calcium. I’ve let myself crack up. I’ve fallen to bits.

  She gets down on her hands and knees and crawls into the bedroom, feeling her way through the debris.

  Buried under the mattresses, doonas, clothes, packets of brand-new sheets and old dog beds, she unearths a lawnmower.

  Cigarette butts everywhere.

  A matter of time.

  I fear falling over and seclusion.

&nb
sp; I fear pain that won’t stop improving – that won’t stop.

  I fear an empty stomach and a chill I can’t warm up.

  I fear no colour.

  I fear not moving and not having an activity.

  I fear not being able to write.

  She can hear the dogs but she can’t find them.

  Kaz didn’t know it was possible to die standing up.

  Amy is still on her feet. She is wedged between the sofa and a table, her body bent, crouched.

  She can’t move to fall over.

  Like a junkie caught between the aim and the act – a cigarette halfway to the lips – she is captured midway.

  Kaz imagines being stuck there, caught between life and death for a brief moment. There’s something restful about dying lying down, approaching the stillness of sleep.

  Standing up, her death seems violent, as if her body is clinging to the world. Not ready, not yet.

  Kaz breathes through her mouth, tempted to help the stiff body lie down.

  Amy’s dressing gown has fallen off one shoulder, revealing a large breast hanging, dark nipple pointing down. Kaz reaches to cover her up before the ambulance arrives and the pocket of the gown rustles.

  She feels fat fur as a rat runs over her fingers and falls to the floor.

  Kaz scrambles for a quick way to get out, a path in the dark.

  Kaz looks forward to the sound of Jimmy’s bike tyres swooshing through the gravel of the driveway that arches around the front.

  An escapee from foster care.

  He’d wanted to go to his nanna in the mountains. Too frail. He could recite their phone conversations word for word.

  Sometimes he brings his skateboard and races Mona around the verandah.

  Time trials.

  Kaz makes him Ovaltine and hummingbird cake and introduces him to the fruit and vegetables in the fridge.

  He will try anything. Starved. Of everything.

  He never misses a day of school.

  Jimmy’s freckles bounce off the sheen on his face, the sweat from the trampoline damp as he jumps with Mona.

  Kaz watches him trying to do flips.

  When he talks to Kaz, he does ‘Incy Wincy Spider’ with his fingers.

  Mum used to move her hands all the time like this. Her fingers were like spiders. She was scared of spiders, he says.

  I’m scared of spiders too.

  How come?

  When I see one I have to run out of the room but Mona uses the broom and dustpan to help them outside.

  Don’t they jump off?

  She shakes the dustpan so they can’t escape.

  This lady in Bendigo told me my mum believed that what she said was the truth but those things didn’t really happen, Jimmy says.

  Is that what you think?

  Sometimes what she said was the truth. Sometimes she talked really fast and sometimes she didn’t talk at all. When she talked really fast it wasn’t true.