‘Whoa, sorry.’
‘It’s okay, sort of. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. To get away from all that stuff going on in Adelaide.’
‘Bad break-up, huh?’
I nod. I want to say more but the words still stick.
‘Well, I’ve never had a girlfriend so I don’t know. Maybe that’s another reason they think I’m gay. It’s like you have to have a report card that says you scored A-grades in binge-drinking, drink-driving, doing drugs and having sex with random girls! And if you don’t pass, you’re a loser-fag and no one wants to know you.’ He shrugs, does the L sign with his thumb and forefinger on his forehead. ‘But that’s over. I’m in Melbourne now, out of my little school. I just want to be me.’
‘I know about the sex part,’ I say quietly. ‘Don’t do it till you really want to.’ What’s going on here? Who ever thought I, at sixteen, would be giving sex advice to an eighteen-year-old male?
‘Bad trip, huh?’ he asks gently.
And then the last thing I expect to happen, happens. A ‘Dear Dolly’ Share Your Story! I’m telling a guy about my bad sex with another guy. Not all the details, but more than just enough I’m sure.
But Andrew seems unfazed, and yes, understanding. No smirk, no sneer, no yobbo one-liner to relieve his own embarrassment. When I finally take a moment to breathe and to cover my flushed cheeks with my hands, he reaches out to me. His warm fingers rest lightly, just for a second, on my forearm. ‘Hey, Pina, it’s over, and in the long run you’ll be cool. You won’t let it happen again. But he does sound like an arsehole.’
‘Well, yeah, but I didn’t want to see that. And no, it’s not happening again.’ That’s why even though I’m really attracted to you, and I’m having these fantasies about your hand stroking up my arm to caress my breast, I’m staying cool here.
We keep chatting, and I realise it’s the first time I’ve had such a great chat with a guy. We’re both startled when we hear Zi Don call for me that it’s time to go. We stare at each other a little frantically, as if we’re not ready to call it quits yet. Then we get up, silently and awkwardly, colliding into each other like giant magnets as we try to get through the door. We step back from each other as if we’ve been sprayed with repellent, fumble over our thanking each other for the chat, and do the ‘it’s been really nice’ and ‘good luck’ and ‘see you again some time’.
Next, we’ve somehow made it out of the room and find ourselves saying goodbye with the ‘adults’. Dennis takes my hand and does these jerky slaps that are meant to be pats. I reach down and hug him, and feel those hands still slap-patting uncontrollably on my back. Then I feel Andrew’s hand come down and take his so that when I move away, Andrew’s gently steadying his grandpa’s hand in both of his. I realise I can’t remember the last time I held my own nonni’s hands so warmly, so lovingly.
I’m out the front door, still bothered by the chasm between my nonni and me, when I realise I’ve left my sunglasses on the kitchen table. I go back in to get them and Andrew’s behind me all of a sudden. So I’m about to say goodbye again when he hurriedly asks, ‘Are you doing anything tomorrow night?’
‘No,’ I answer just as quickly.
‘Would you like to see Southbank and the Crown Complex at night, the Yarra when it’s shiny and not muddy brown in daylight?’ He looks embarrassed and awkward at the end of this wordy gush.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘That last one will take seeing to believe.’ I sound like I got it together, but I give away my flusters when I almost trip over as I walk past him. He must be thinking I’m going to end up in the Yarra tomorrow night.
Wei Lee and Zi Don are getting into the car as we head towards the front gate.
‘Pick you up at seven,’ he says.
‘Okay,’ I reply, and then hit my head on the car door as I scramble to get in, dropping my sunglasses in the gutter. Our heads knock together as we both dive to rescue them. Andrew manages to get them first and wipes them with the leg of his shorts, while I’m checking out the hint of tanned thigh that’s just been revealed.
Thankfully, Wei Lee and Zi Don remain oblivious to our Charlie Chaplin slapstick as they’re doing up their seatbelts and revving the car. Either that or they’re in the running for the Academy Awards.
I wave at Andrew once and then sit back, nervous, exhilarated, embarrassed, head still throbbing, but I’m also stressing out that I’m heading into another disaster with a boy. Yet something tells me I’m way past that. Anyway, Andrew’s made it very clear he doesn’t want to go down that track either.
‘You out with Andrew tomorrow night?’ Zi Don asks when we’re on the long road called High Street, and I realise they’ve heard all right. Wei Lee gives him an amused glare as if to warn him not to interfere.
‘Yeah,’ I say.
A pause. Then, ‘Had a good day?’ This time Wei Lee’s fingers land on his thigh, pale sticks on a thatch of black fur, and give him a warning squeeze.
‘Yeah.’ I can’t help smiling at that squeeze, and at Zi Don trying to suss me out. I switch the topic. ‘Dennis is cool.’
‘You hardly saw him,’ Zi Don teases.
‘Andrew told me all about him, Dad,’ I retort.
‘So that’s what you two were yakking about for almost two hours.’
‘Right, Sir Don, legal eagle that you think you are, quit the interrogation.’ Wei Lee playfully slaps his arm.
I giggle. For the first time in ages I’m feeling kind of carefree. It’s coming from way down deep. My grin’s not a front, and it’s not a shallow feeble attempt to smile more. It’s about feeling excited and happy, feeling attractive and sexy, knowing that there’s a future of love out there for me somewhere.
17
‘I have a name!’
THAT NIGHT, I’M BUZZING. I laugh and joke with Wei Lee and Zi Don, who exchange pleased little looks. Yeah, they’ll make gushy parents one day.
Then the phone rings. ‘Hey Elena!’ Zi Don exclaims happily. I freeze. I can’t even follow the conversation until Zi Don looks at me and says into the phone, ‘Yeah, she’s right here, looking gorgeous and feeling better!’ He pauses. ‘I’ll ask her.’ He points the phone to me and smiles encouragingly.
It’s Zi Elena: sane and sweet, sounding like my mother but not my mother. I can do this. ‘Hi Zia,’ I say quietly.
‘Bella, how are you? How lucky are you being over there with such interesting people. Bet I’m no longer your favourite rellie.’
‘Well, you’re both my favourites, I’ve realised.’
Zi Elena laughs. ‘In very different ways I’m sure! You can love us both and we won’t get jealous.’ A pause as she and I both wait. ‘Pina, did you want to talk about anything with me?’
I start getting that panicky feeling. ‘No, I can’t. Not yet.’
‘Fair enough. Just know Zi Rocco, Stella and I are here for you. Remember who your mum is – all she’s done and been – and that we may not understand everything about her, but remember she hasn’t abused anyone, or done anything with the intention of hurting you. In fact, I think she’s tried hard to keep everyone else happy and protected, and now she’s paying for it big time. She feels like she may lose one of the most precious things in her life: her daughter.’ She stops and waits again.
‘Well, it’s just hard you know? So confusing. I got no words,’ I splutter.
‘Yes, I know, believe me. Let’s leave it for now. I’m just glad you agreed to speak to me. Stella sends her hugs and is missing you. But not as much as your parents and Leo are missing you. But take your time, bella. They love you and they’ll be here when you’re ready.’
‘What if I’m never ready, Zia? What if I can’t …’
Zi Elena sighs. ‘They’ll be here anyway, bellissima. Try to think of all the years before and what will come all the years after this short time in your life. Can I say goodbye to Don?’
I hand the phone back and wander off to my bedroom. I want to stop thinking about all that and get back
to something good and normal that’s happened. So I plan tomorrow night’s clothes from the meagre few I stuffed into my sports bag. I might even be brave enough to wear the slinky blue number Wei Lee bought me in Chapel Street. But I’ll wait to see if I’ve got the bloats tomorrow night.
As I shower before bed, I can’t stop going back to Zi Elena’s call, and I think about Mum, and what Andrew had said and Mum had written in her book: ‘the love that dare not speak its name’.
I’m in my nightshirt and about to get into bed when Zi Don knocks, comes in and gives me his goodnight bear hug. At the door, he turns again. ‘Have I told you your mum came to Melbourne to see me in my Narnia? But by the time she got here she’d figured some things out about herself. She had a magazine that she said she almost tore out of the hands of another woman on the plane.’
As soon as he’s gone, I dive for my mum’s writing book. I’m sure I know the time he’s talking about. I flick through the pages and find it.
‘I have a name!’
I remember the day I found myself a name. One day, on a flight to Melbourne to see Don, I was sitting next to a woman reading a current affairs magazine.
I happened to glance across and suddenly I had to restrain myself from pulling the magazine out of her hands. For there was a two-page article simply and clearly – oh, so beautifully simply and clearly – labelled ‘Polyamory: people who love more than one person’. The shining phrases I read spoke about me, told of groups for people like me, of literature, history, websites, a whole world of knowledge and people out there like me!
The plane would be landing in ten minutes. I feverishly memorised the name of the magazine. The woman turned the page and kept reading, with much more interest in other articles that seemed so meaningless to me.
Finally, as the plane prepared to touch down, the woman folded the magazine and was about to place it in her bag. ‘Excuse me,’ I heard my own voice jump out. ‘Do you mind if I just quickly look at the article on, um, new planets being discovered?’
The woman looked intently into my eyes. The stewards were strolling by checking seatbelts. ‘Here, you have it. I’ve finished with it.’ She smiled. Had she noticed my interest in the article?
I took the magazine. I couldn’t wait to show Don. He wasn’t waiting for me at the baggage collection. I figured Melbourne traffic had got the better of him. But I didn’t mind sitting there by myself for a while. I read and re-read and re-read the article. When I finished, I was crying and exhilarated. Now I knew of people just a phone call away, of books and internet groups that could be found and these would lead to more, and to more.
I don’t know what Don must’ve thought as he hurried towards me, worrying that I’d been fretting about him. There I was, sitting near the baggage conveyor belts, this big smile on my face.
I’d come to see Don on his way to his new life. But I was now on my way. I had a guide, I had signposts, I had glimpses of off-the-beaten paths of this off-the-beaten-path.
I don’t know how Don drove without swerving off the Tullamarine as I brandished the magazine in front of his face.
I have a name. I am not alone!
Now I remember a rather harried mother leaving for Melbourne to see her brother. I thought it was my whingeing at the airport that was tiring her. ‘I want to come too! I want to come too!’
‘Not this time, Pina, I need to help Zi Don. Next time.’
I remember as Dad, Leo and I waited for her to come through Arrivals on her return to Adelaide a week later. I was all sulky, arms folded over my chest, pouting, scowling, hoping to give her a mega maternal-guilt trip. But the woman who swept through that gate, who, embarrassingly, was almost skipping, who swung me around in a kissing spin, didn’t even notice my efforts at making her feel bad.
18
Silver Volvo dating
NEXT MORNING, THE THOUGHT of seeing Andrew has me all nervy. It’s that feeling of being way too trippy and excited, when it’s been a while since you’ve felt that way and you’re not sure you even deserve to feel that way anyway. I mean, I’m leaving soon to go back to another state and a drastically changed life. Plus, I still have Year Twelve to hassle through and he’s out in the big wide world, full of smart, cool lawyer-chicks at Melbourne Uni.
With this internal monologue irritating me like a badly tuned radio, I somehow manage to get through the day Christmas shopping for the Adelaidians with Zi Don and Wei Lee. It’s soon early evening and time to get ready.
My hair looks lank even after being freshly washed, my hips and bum want to announce themselves no matter what boring top and skirt I try to squeeze them into, my zits are reddening like stop signs all over my chin and forehead, my stomach’s decided this is the evening I’m going to get a heavy case of pre-menstrual bloat and fart-rumbles, and my freshly razored underarms feel damp even after using Wei Lee’s tried and true antiperspirant. But I still go ahead and put on that slinky blue thing and, even more of a shock, Andrew still tells me I look great and seems to mean it.
I’ve never been out with a guy where all those pathetic pre-date symptoms have faded so fast and so effortlessly, and where I find myself just savouring the harmonious ease of no hidden agendas or ‘what ifs’.
In his grandpa’s old silver Volvo, we zoom across the Westgate Bridge to Williamstown and stroll along the foreshore as the sun sets. Traffic is swarming on the bridge in both directions under its two triangles, which rise up almost pink against the sunset sky. In the distance, reflected lights dance on the glassed walls and windows of the city skyscrapers. In our hearts, too soft to be steel but strong enough to hold us up like concrete, we’re straddling other triangles, distances and bridges.
‘What you thinking?’ Andrew asks me with a gentle smile.
‘About people I’ve met here, and the families and friends in Adelaide.’
‘You’re almost done with high school. Then you can pick and choose who you hang around with.’
‘You can’t choose your family.’
‘Dramas with your folks?’
‘Well, no, they’re great parents, my friends love them, but … dramas ’cos they’re not normal.’
Andrew laughs. ‘Ah, normal. So my grandpa is …?’ And he looks at me quizzically.
‘No, sorry, that’s different. He’s the kind of grandpa I’d choose.’
‘So if you could choose your family, what would you want?’
‘A family like my aunty’s. Like lots of the other kids at school. Happily ordinary. Normal. Like your mum and dad.’
‘Yes, they’re great. We’re lucky. But what about the other “normal” parents?’ He makes me laugh as he lists them on his fingers. ‘Divorcing parents, boring parents, cheating parents, strict parents, peer-group pressured parents, absent parents, zombie parents who only come alive with drinks or drugs, and only then to abuse each other. See?’ Andrew concludes. ‘We got what we got and sounds to me we both got lucky with our families.’ He seems to be searching my eyes.
I look past him to the skyline as we walk back to the car. What does he know? Would he understand? Will I always have to look away, or look impenetrable when I meet people who may or may not know about my mother, who may or may not understand or accept her? The moment-by-moment assessment of what it’s safe to say, or what needs to remain unsaid, or said differently. I’ll no longer be able to just assume my family’s acceptable, likeable, and easily brought in to a conversation.
Back over the Westgate Bridge, we stroll to the Kings Way end of the casino complex. I love the feel of my cheeks roasting with the fires from the concrete volcanos outside the complex. We sip iced chocolates and lick melting gelatis as we sit outside, watching the neon colours of the buildings reflected in the water of the Yarra. We giggle at the kids trying to run through the fountains without getting wet. We wander in and out of the shops, trying to say Versace, Gucci and the rest of that woggy lot (yet so unlike the woggy lot I know), in posh ways. We talk to each other and to wary and weary salespeople
as if we could actually afford something in there. ‘Oh yes, I would buy that $700 skirt but the way the designer’s name is written in that diagonal line clashes with my colouring.’ ‘Well, I could really do with a few more $100 ties and $200 white shirts for my legal career but I don’t want to look better than my lecturers. You know what older men can be like.’
Then we drop the posh accents and go crazy in the chocolate shop, eating chocolate bullets and Turkish delight as we walk some more.
Don’t ask me about my weight worries. For some reason, despite the skin-tight feel of the dress, I don’t even go there. Andrew actually compliments me on how it’s a relief to be with a girl who doesn’t ‘get all boring over calories and kilos’.
As the evening moves on, it gets cooler. I love it – we seem to be huddling into each other more and more until Andrew’s arm slips warmly around my waist and instead of cringing as I was afraid I would, I snuggle in and feel comfortable.
We’ve walked back to the Princes Bridge and we’re leaning over it, looking back at the Southgate walkway, when I feel his fingers tenderly lift strands of my hair away from my face. I pull away a little.
‘Sorry,’ Andrew whispers. ‘You thinking of him?’
I nod.
‘Pina, I really like you. Like there’s no reason to hide or be anyone I’m not with you. I hope you’re feeling like that with me.’
‘I am, and that scares me. What if I start liking you too much?’
‘Let’s see, hey? I know we’ve just met, and you’re going into Year Twelve and I’m pretty sure I’m getting into law school. But we can make a start now, just like this, and see where we go. If you like, I’d love to come and spend a week with you in Adelaide, if your family will let me stay over. Or I can stay at a backpackers’ or something.’
‘I’d love you to come to Adelaide. But, there’s one more thing about me. About my family.’
Love You Two Page 20