I hadn’t considered that Doug would mention my potential photography minor to Sylvia, had he declared such intentions I wouldn’t have let him, but let’s not get to far ahead. Talking about the photography minor with Sylvia made it almost real. Instead of fuelling me with well-intended but fanciful encouragement, Sylvia’s advice was well-reasoned and practicable. You could do the minor at Murdoch; I’d had to research whilst still sitting at the dining table. It would add another $5,000 to my degree but to use Sylvia’s words: “If you enjoy it you really can’t put a price on it”. My common sense made me realise that was a perfectly accurate statement and I even caught Miranda smiling. I’d be lying if I told you that in that moment I was still uncertain about the minor. I was excited and felt the faint glow of my former passion re-illuminated itself; I had the compulsive desire to run all the way back home and drag my camera out from under my bed. In my mind I imagined myself capturing a moment of brilliance, something to equal the exquisite sensation of fleeting joy I felt spreading in my chest. I looked at Doug and like a nervous reflex he smiled, so I smiled back. I tried to make it resplendent, to reveal how happy I felt right now in this moment. I wanted my smile to say “thank you”, thank you for bringing this up. Doug’s smile only widened and I knew he didn’t understand what he’d done, but he didn’t really need to know. All that seemed to matter to Doug was that I was smiling at him. I stayed at Doug’s much longer than I expected. Not that the time was ill-spent, any time with Doug would never be considered that. We managed to complete two practice exam papers in the time it should’ve taken us to complete one, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get Doug’s old cassette player to work. In the end we’d given up and I’d managed to get Sylvia on my side when trying to convince Doug to play me something on the piano. You wouldn’t think Doug was an excellent pianist. It wasn’t that he appeared to be simple, to put that in context, the type of guy to love the nonsensical drivel they played on the radio nowadays. Yet Doug seemed too easy-going to display the amount of passion he had for what many people our age would consider an “embarrassing” and “out-dated” talent. Personally, if I could play as well as Doug I’d be wearing a badge or holding a sign. His complete obliviousness to his astounding ability was perhaps what made it all the more special – never underestimate how attractive modesty can be. When Doug had first told me he played the piano I’d laughed, I hadn’t taken him seriously and may have inadvertently insulted him. It was when we’d only known each other for a week and were sitting in the sun on the courtyard, allowing the itchy grass to irritate our bare legs. I’d laughed because his revelation had been quite sudden; he hadn’t built up to it but rather candidly admitted he’d been playing since the age of six. Music had therefore formed the very foundation of our relationship. I’d never met someone whose appreciation for classical music matched my own, or could understand the gawkiness of growing up a classically trained musician. Doug had been thrilled when I revealed my own musical talent and I think that was the moment we became best friends, or at least knew we would eventually be. Patrick arrived home as I was watching Doug play and, not wanting to distract his youngest son, placed his hand on my shoulder as greeting. I looked up at him to smile and was surprised to see Campbell standing behind him. Campbell, Cam, was two years older than Doug and had graduated from UWA last year. They were very similar but Cam was bigger than his brother; he had filled out while Doug was still waiting. There were also other minute differences: Cam’s eyes were set closer together, his nose slightly less wide and jaw narrower. I feel self-conscious describing such disparities between them. Not because they were incorrect, but because they revealed the close attention I paid. Cam had studied law and despite being the antithesis of a diligent student, he had still managed to get some prestigious clerkship with a big law firm. The job was over on the east coast and he was moving next month. If Doug had any nervousness about living up to Cam’s achievements he didn’t show it, not that I doubted Doug could, but it just amazed me how calm he was. I was constantly comparing myself to Peter and his accomplishments; a useless exercise as all it did was make me feel lazy, worthless and angry. Yet Doug had never indicated any such reservations about Cam; he really was a wonderful person. A mixture of jealousy and inadequacy suddenly washed over me. Why did Doug have to be so fucking amazing, or why did I have to think he was? My life would be so much easier without him in it. I would be miserable all the time but it would be better than the sickening rollercoaster I was currently on; which dipped into the pits of the Blackhole after every high of Doug-induced happiness. My stomach sank heavily and I felt slightly sick. I hated the fact I might detract from Doug’s wonder, that my presence was the smudge on his otherwise perfect radiance and I needed to be away from this house with all its joie de vivre. On the pretence of talking to Cam I stepped away from Doug, as if feeling my exit from his gravitational pull he abruptly ended his unfinished piece. Realising Cam as the reason for my disengagement Doug stood up to join us, and I couldn’t help but let a small, silent cry out from inside me: “Please can you just leave me alone?”
‘Are you going?’ Cam asked me and I nodded.
‘Yeah, sorry, I’d love to stay but I’ve got some study to catch up on.’ Cam smiled an almost identical smile to that of his brother, but his was less beautiful.
‘Not going to rub in the fact I’m out then,’ he teased and I rolled my eyes theatrically.
‘Yeah thanks for that.’
‘I’ll drop you home,’ Doug declared and I shook my head, allowing my eyes to widen to convey to everyone in the room the strangeness of the gesture. Every single time I visited, Doug offered to drive me home and every single time I managed to convince him not to. Now it was just a polite courtesy; we both knew he’d end up relenting and I’d catch the bus home from the stop at the end of his street, though I suppose it was sweet he still offered.
‘Nope, I’ll catch the bus like I always do,’ I replied and Cam laughed.
‘Can’t take a hint, brother?’ he said. I found myself momentarily ignorant to the fact I needed to be away from Doug and instead defensive of him.
‘Is that how you ask girls out, Cam? Offering lifts home? Then no wonder you’re single,’ I quipped.
‘Nah, I’ve got better game than that,’ Cam retorted.
‘Yeah I hope so because, let’s be honest, the only girl you’d get in your shitty Astra would need a bicycle pump.’ Cam looked at me in shock as Doug erupted into laughter. I heard Patrick chuckle from an adjacent room and immediately retreated back into myself; I didn’t know he could hear us.
‘Well, I was going to invite you to my farewell party next weekend but I’m not sure I want you there now,’ Cam threatened, though it was made redundant by the presence of a wide smile. His faux offence warmed me back to the conversation.
‘Now don’t be childish, Cam, what are you going to do when a lawyer does that to you in court?’ I asked and Doug snorted as he tried to regain his breath.
‘What happened to you?’ Cam exclaimed. I felt a single moment of ridiculous panic thinking Cam could see the Blackhole but then remembered that my usual demeanour around Cam was shy and polite, this was a mere harmless departure from script.
‘I’m always this delightful,’ I replied and Cam put his arm around my shoulder, roughly jostling me.
‘I like this new you, you’re kinda funny.’
I smiled, trying to let him know it was okay to let me go and he slowly pulled his arm back. ‘But I really would love to for you to come. Doug, you should actually invite a few of your mates around,’ Cam added, his conversation now turning to his brother and Doug nodded.
‘Yeah I’ll see if Glen’s free.’ He looked at me before adding, ‘I’ll see with Abby too.’
‘Awesome,’ Cam uttered, and I moved towards my bag, which I’d left on the floor near the dining table.
‘I’ll see you next weekend if not before,’ Cam
farewelled before going upstairs.
‘See ya,’ I called after him. I said goodbye to Sylvia and Patrick, thanking them again for having me before walking down the hall and feeling, rather than hearing Doug’s footsteps behind me.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’ I asked as I opened his front door.
‘Yeah, but I’ll walk you to the bus,’ Doug said. Before I could protest he’d shut the door behind us and started walking down the stairs, leaving me to mute my exasperation and follow him whilst trying to convince myself I could survive another few minutes in his company. The thick humidity that the overcast sky had trapped upon the world made the early evening quite warm. Leaving the air-conditioned coolness of Doug’s home and coming outside was like slipping into a warm cocoon of cottonwool. I immediately felt the Blackhole’s tiredness beginning to creep back in through my pores. Doug and I walked in silence to the top of his street, either he too felt lulled by the cushioned air or he had nothing to say. Either way I found myself perfectly content in our condensed silence. Luckily I’d unknowingly timed the bus perfectly so when we reached the stop I saw it turning onto South Street from Murdoch’s western exit.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I repeated and Doug nodded.
‘Yep, tomorrow.’ He stretched out his arms to offer a hug which I pretended not to mind accepting. All I could think was, “Please just let me go”. What made it worse, and all the more incomprehensible was that Doug had no idea how completely inferior he made me fee. I could feel my happiness shrinking down, allowing the emptiness to swell again to make room for the Blackhole. I hastily pulled away and Doug let his arms fall into the back pockets of his jeans as he stepped back to allow me to board. I offered Doug the last of my energy, giving him a smile as I scanned my bus card and took my seat, purposely chosen on the farthest side from the footpath so I wouldn’t be forced to smile again through the window. I saw Doug’s hand stick up through the window and he gave me an energetic wave, I could picture the smile on his face and that small thought made me feel all the more hopeless. I let my face crumple and sighed. I hadn’t noticed how exhausted I felt. The bus was sparsely occupied; apart from a girl dressed in a school uniform and the quintessential pensioner, I was alone. Well not completely alone, there was the Blackhole and it was waiting for me exactly as always. My preoccupation with Doug meant I’d completely forgotten about my grades. It took me until I was walking from the bus stop home to remember. I still wasn’t eager to discover my fate and abided by the student philosophy that grades had a Schrödinger quality: they were both a pass and a fail until you finally turned away from ignorance and glimpsed those one-letter labels that defined your life. Ignorance was fleeting and stupid though. At least that’s what I told myself as I typed my student details into the university database to learn my fate. It really wasn’t all that surprising: I’d passed, but barely. The instinctive swell of anger and frustration rose from my stomach and up my throat, revealing itself as curious hot tears, which felt like hard balls of molten metal as they flooded by eyes. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and my Blackhole where the welcome oblivion would seize me and I’d be able to escape this crushing disappointment. The good thing about being so tired was that strong emotions rarely lasted; they were too exhausting to maintain for long. My body sensed the need to get back to the Blackhole and automatically began moving my leaden legs, one in front of the other in the direction of home while I let my tears dry to sticky ribbons on my cheeks. Walking up the porch stairs I could hear Henry inside playing his violin. He’d taken it up after spending many wide-eyed years watching me practice. It was the only tangible manifestation of Henry’s love that I had but the horrid, irritating noise he was making made me want to shove a pen down my ear and burst my eardrum. All I could imagine was standing there in front of him, with bleeding holes for ears and clutching the sides of my head screaming at him to stop yet Henry would just keep on playing, unable to understand what was wrong.
‘You’re home late,’ my mother greeted as I walked past the kitchen. She was making ravioli; though her definition of “making” involved using pre-prepared pasta, I’ll give her credit for making her own sauce. The smell of cooking pasta reminded me of wet dog and turned my stomach, was it really edible when it smelt like that?
‘We’re having ravioli for tea,’ she clarified. I stood there staring at the bubbling pot, trying to correct my sense of smell.
‘It smells weird,’ I stated, and my mother looked at me.
‘No it doesn’t… what do you mean?’ she looked down at the saucepan in concern.
‘I mean it smells weird, not like it usually does.’
‘Well I wouldn’t know why; it’s exactly the same as I always buy.’ My mother’s tone indicated I’d insulted her; it was funny that she could get insulted over something so ridiculously insignificant. Mother you are so adorably pathetic.
‘It’ll be ready in two minutes,’ she said through gritted teeth and I looked up at her.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I replied and she sighed.
‘You’re not going to lose any weight starving yourself,’ she chided and I felt that flash of anger. My mother was meant to be the adult in this situation and yet she’d reduced herself to hurling insults to sooth her bruised feelings. How very mature of you, Mother.
‘I know, you never shut up about it.’ Though I hadn’t meant my retort to be flippant or even smart, my mother slammed the spoon down on the counter. If I’d been a child her reaction would have caused me to run away but now I just stood there and found that by not moving I’d apparently blocked her flood of anger.
‘Look,’ she spat and I continued to stare at her blankly, ‘I’m only trying to help but if you don’t want my advice or my food then you can go to bed without dinner for all I care.’
So I did. I pissed off and was quite happy to do so. I dumped my bag on my bedroom floor and pulled off my jeans, not even bothering to hang them up. You may think that dumping my clothes on the floor was just to further irritate my mother but I was far too lazy to have considered that. All I wanted to do was climb into bed as quickly as possible and those nine seconds it would take to hang up my jeans were simply too valuable to waste. My bed sheets was creased and decorated by small black balls of fluff while my quilt lay discarded in the corner against the wall where I’d kicked it off. I grabbed it by a random edge and pulled it haphazardly over the top of me as I let my body flop onto the bed. My legs were left bare but rather than twisting the quilt around to cover them I simply curled my legs up against my chest. It took less than the average seven minutes for the Blackhole to suck me in. My last awareness of the outside world was my mother shouting my name, telling me that dinner was ready.
My Bed is a Blackhole Page 10