Must fumble through the unknown.
The world of…
Of what?
Drugs?
Drink?
Drugs and drink and death?
No, Life.
Living large.
Volunteering in Laos.
With orphans. Building schools.
Enviro-friendly, life-changing
schools.
Or maybe staying out all night
Under Amsterdam's red lights.
Get lost in Paris. Find myself in Berlin.
Stop wearing shoes.
I'm actually excited.
There's a world out there
And I want to know it.
I know it'll be…
I know it won't be easy.
But I'm ready.
I think.
Tina's party's tonight.
Everyone's going,
Including me.
Lead the way, world.
Mitch
When she walks in
It's with this…
Weight. This moment
Where we all know she's there.
Golden Molly.
Dux of the year slash frigid bitch…
But it's only a moment, after which
We all move on.
The music still jumps around us,
Blur and buzz still reign supreme.
Guys brush chicks' arses
‘Accidental’
As chicks make cross-room glances
Incidental.
Sharp moments hold and snap
Pot smoke in a photograph
Before fading back to
Technicolor grey.
Marty shouts ‘Shots!’
A few fickle chicks and their easy
eager blokes surround
The kitchen bench makeshift bar
One, two, three!
Ten heads slam back in unified abandon
Chased swiftly by moans and screeches
As the fire scorches throats,
Sets hearts alight.
Molly, Golden Molly
Walks into this as spectator
only. It's a wonder she's here at all.
We thought after school she'd finally let loose.
Marty and I had egged her on.
‘Come on Molly, come get maggot!’
A polite smile.
‘Oh, don't be such a bitch, Molly, holy fuck!’
As she walks away,
School bag slung low over one shoulder.
But here she is.
The night wears on.
Marty shouts ‘Shots!’
And more and more of us
Throw back more and more.
Tracy dances on the bench
Marty shouts ‘Shots!’
Sally grabs Andy
A door slams Marty shouts ‘Shots!’
Some chick chunders,
Marty passes out on the bench,
Everyone cheers at everything.
And in among the now-teeming crowd
Preparing for this next round
Is Molly.
Golden Molly beaming,
Big eyes gleaming
In uncertain determination.
Golden, goldy-locks Molly.
And when the crowd realises that
She's among them
Of course they cheer!
Stan lines up the glasses,
And when I drizzle the liquor
Til all are overfull, it's for her.
I've got my most seductive smile on.
I can't miss this one, not this one.
This'd be one for the books.
Ignored, she might turn back
But I've got her now.
She sees my private smile
And smiles back,
Sheepish, brief
But it's a smile.
I've kind of always wanted her.
It's not, like, love.
She's just pretty hot, that's all,
And no-one's ever had her.
Not like that, anyway.
We all line up, and she lines up.
Lines up her drink.
Holds it unsteady, turns to me.
I hold my smile.
One, two, three.
Tina
My cracking party's
Only just got started.
Parents'll kill me.
Worth it!
Molly,
Golden, golden fucking Molly
And Mitch started shots two hours ago
And we've all lost count of the rounds!
Each by each she gets looser
About fucking time frigid bitch.
She cheers with the rest
As Sally (sheepish) and Andy (victorious)
Finally emerge from my bedroom (gross),
She joins in with the prodding of Marty's
Booze-soaked body lying on the counter.
She's the queen of this teen speakeasy,
And Mitch, of course, is king.
Me and Heather head outside
For a puff of who-cares-what
When from inside we hear
Molly: ‘I was thinking I should cut my hair!
Mitch…what do YOU think?'
And he: ‘Babe! That would be…Babe-y
babe babe-licious, bitch!’
And a third voice, indistinguishable: ‘Let's do it now!’
The house cheers.
We run inside as the shearers go to work.
Mitch, and the miraculously-revived Marty
Use safety scissors to hack
At her thick-blonde-curl-bound thicket
‘Woooooooooooo!’ she cries
As ringlets fall to the floor,
Spring once,
Then lie limp.
Her red-raw face contorts from hair-yanking pain
To insane, gleaming wonderment.
Soon there's nothing left of her
Golden princess head.
Mitch and Marty step back,
Admire their handiwork.
‘Well?’ she demands.
‘BAAAAAAAAAABE!!!’ Mitch bellows.
She giggles.
Then they kiss.
We bellow.
They keep kissing.
He grabs at her and she at him
and we their hungry spectators
Spectate.
Eventually they come up for air.
We cheer once more and leave them be.
Of course they head for my room
Five minutes later.
A few boys look kind of wounded.
She's pretty hot, so they'd all thought about her.
I declare that she's ‘No longer fucking golden, eh?’
And the pack howls.
I look around. Parents'll kill me. Worth it?
I start to clean.
The floor is wet.
Wet, dirty, smooth.
Cool.
Soft, soft, soft and
Screams?
Door crashing open and golden Molly's
Golden skin spinning through some crowd.
Molly. No top. No bra. Skirt
Half-on, half-off.
She's flying from my room
And the crowd gathers round.
Must be done with Mitch then, hey?
She coughs,
Splutters chunks of Oh God! vomit
On her lips,
Down her front.
Then comes Mitch still hopping into
Too-tight jeans.
I try to see past legs from my floor-bed
But nothing.
I rise in time for Mitch's cry: ‘Fucking BITCH!’
He's on her, grabs her naked-neck-nape skin
Pulls her up—'What the FUCK!?'—
and throws her down.
Then Marty shoving through: ‘Mate, mate,
take it easy.’
Mitch stumbles back and wipes
His upper lip of sweat.
Stares around…at eyes staring back and pronounces,
Blameful and shameful in equal measure,
‘Mate, she chundered on my junk.’
‘Ooooo!’ we cooo.
Marty grabs Mitch.
The thought of cleaning grips and splits my head.
And in the middle of it all is Molly.
So-not-fucking-golden-anymore-Molly.
Pale, goose-pimple skin (mainly naked).
Eyes rolling.
Groping
For my lounge-room carpet's corners to use
As improvised cover.
She finds her way under the rug and just
Lies there.
I guess someone should help her…
Morning.
Morning reeks of fucking everything
But nothing fucking good.
My head fucking hurts.
Looks like everyone cleared out.
I crawl up onto hind haunches
Room spins, bile rises.
Rest, rest, rest.
Breathe…
And there's Molly
No longer golden.
I must have woken her.
Or frightened her.
Her sideways eyes are open wide
Poor thing.
Stuck up bitches get fucked up too I guess.
‘Hey, honey,’ I whisper. Crawl to her. ‘Big night.’
Her wide eyes grow wider and begin to flood.
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ I say. Lie down beside her.
She opens her mouth and
Closes it.
‘At least you got a nice haircut,’ I offer.
Her hand flies to her head.
‘Yeah. Remember?’
She gropes her way to standing, taking
The heavy rug with her.
‘Mirror,’ she mumbles.
‘Over there.’ I wave my arm at
Over there.
She turns, turns, finds the mirror.
I rise to sit and
See her see herself.
Hand buried in her new hairdo.
Short.
Sharp.
Showing off that face.
She sees this.
Not the bare skin.
Not the liquor soaked rug.
Not the tear-streaked face.
She just sees this.
There's this newness
In her eyes, and the corners of her mouth
Are creased
Upwards.
I was with you the day it began. We were two young men, eighteen years old, seated on a wooden bench on the side of a small oval. There was a short Irishman in front of us. He was covered in illogically placed tattoos, the way only old, short Irishmen seem to be. He yelled at us for being lazy. He told us that when he was our age he could run round a soccer pitch for six hours at a time. It was true that I was lazy. I had been that way since the day I failed to make the professional league. You weren't lazy. You complained of a headache and your girlfriend stood dutifully behind you. Not close enough to infringe on our uniformed masculinity, but close enough to make herself known without looking awkward. It was obvious this was natural to her.
I didn't worry about you or your headache over the next 72 hours. Assuming you had a cold or flu or something like that, I called you three days later when I figured it would be sweet to go for a surf. Your mum answered and told me that you probably wouldn't be able to surf today. I became a little worried when she said that I should come round tomorrow morning to see you. It had been quite a while since your mum organised times for us to hang out.
The next day when I came round, no-one was home. I called you on your mobile phone and your mum answered again. She said that you would be home shortly. The thought crossed my mind that maybe your mum was trying to seduce me. I stood in your front yard and wondered how to fill the time til you got back. I walked over to the tyre that hung from the decrepit paperbark in your front yard. The tyre, like the tree, had seen better days and was covered in cracks and insects. I decided it was still strong enough to hold my weight and sat in it cross-legged like I had all those times before. I swung around a little and watched to see if your neighbour with the weird telescope fetish was looking down on me.
When your green Land Rover rolled in, I was initially relieved. Then I saw you in the front looking blankly at the dash while tears rolled down your mum's face. I worried that she had found another joint in your room and was going to call my mum. I said a quick little prayer promising that we would no longer do drugs if your mum decided not to tell my mum. But as much as I believed in God, I knew that not even He could stop the mouths of concerned mothers at Bible study.
Your mum just smiled half-heartedly at me as she walked into your house with a bundle of papers and pamphlets. You were not quite smiling. Both of your arms hung straight down your sides, which was weird because they normally hid your face in a blur of excited gestures. I asked you what was going on and you said not much. It was obvious that wasn't true. You were not wearing your favourite black bowler hat. Your dreadlocks hung loose and I admired them. You were the only white person I had ever seen who looked good with dreadlocks.
After you told me your news I tried to imagine you without hair. I thought of all the times I had had headaches and how they had never turned into anything worse. I felt guilty. This wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. I had always felt guilty about the stupidest things. Like how your dad and my dad had the same first name and both looked like Steve Martin but mine was a CEO and yours was a bus driver. That was one of the few things we had never talked about.
I was unsure whether to touch you or not. I asked if you wanted a hug but it came out weird and your eyes looked at me strangely like you had never seen me before. Your feet didn't move but your body leaned away and we were trapped in two different pockets of energy. I felt like an absolute creep. You broke the silence and awkwardness by saying that you wanted me to organise all the boys together so we could tell them the news and they would understand. You said you needed me for that. This was the first time I cried and it made me feel even creepier. I told you that I could definitely do that but it was likely my dad would intervene and it would end up in some weird group prayer scenario. This would freak out our friends because we would have to hold hands and close our eyes. You said you knew that. You put your black bowler hat on and I stopped imagining you without hair as we left to go skating.
The dull grey cement cracked into life as we rode over it. The whirring rhythm filled our heads. It felt like the two of us skating was all that existed in the world at that point in time. You took off your shirt and rode around wearing only your old faded jeans and your bowler. I sat on a metal railing and watched as you placed your board above the skate bowl, ready to drop in. The board hovered mid-air but your body did not linger, defying laws of logic to fall into the arc. You crouched down low and grabbed the rail of the board, harnessing speed in order to make the turn over the entry stairs which were used by people less capable, like me. To finish the manoeuvre, you stopped and tipped your hat towards me. Your arms couldn't contain the excitement. You put the hat back on your head and punched the air. You smiled, knowing you had achieved something you had been dreaming of for years. I smiled, knowing I would never have the guts to do it.
The day continued in such a fashion. My legs ached from the hours of arching and tensing my feet, and my head hurt from the giddiness of adrenaline. And that is how we left the skate park that day, victorious over the man-made environment, wind in our hair and large Cokes in hand. I had grazes all over my palms and elbows. Your body remained clean. The autumn air made us feel like kings and I basked in the regal feeling of it all.
That night you said you felt like burgers and chips so we went back to my house and swiped twenty dollars from my mum's wallet. She didn't notice us take the money and we snuck out the back door so we wouldn't have to talk to my family. You sat in the plastic booth at the chicken place while I ordered us each a bur
ger and chips. It was dark outside. As the restaurant was below ground level, we watched the legs of office workers go by. They had just got the bus back from the city and were rushing home to finish the day's cycle, to remove their suits and become themselves. You ate half your burger and began to feel sick, so you moved on to the chips and I bought you water. The water did nothing to counter the sliminess of the salt and oil of a deep fryer that had probably never been washed. We longed for days past when we could eat anything and not think of it. You grew pale and your cheeks widened as if you were gargling vomit, so I drove you home.
The walls of the car felt like they were compacting and retracting at the same time. I was claustrophobic and confused but I knew it was just you and me next to each other in the dark. The streetlights near your house were burned out and it reminded me of the darkness of a small country town. The last time we had been in a small country town was for a church youth camp that we had used as an excuse for a surf trip. The surf was flat and we grew restless. Somehow the restlessness ended up with you running naked down the main strip of shops at nine on a Friday night. I ran ten metres behind you, also naked. Our youth leader, Paul, drove an old red Toyota Corolla. He followed us with his lights on high beam and honked his horn wildly. It was only two years ago, but these days Paul would be arrested for doing something like that. I hoped he wasn't a paedophile. He was our friend and we looked up to him because he was cool and Christian. It is always nice to believe in contradictions.
Getting out of the car, you reminded me that I had promised to convene all our friends. When I got home three minutes later, I called everyone and told them to meet at my house at eight the next night. I figured you and I could surf during the day. I spent the rest of the night on the internet researching things I never thought I would need to know. My dad walked in and asked me what we had done today. I said not much and he peered over my shoulder at the computer screen, probably suspecting I had been looking up pictures of topless female celebrities. He explained that it was times like this that you would need your best friend the most. I was unsure whether he meant me or Jesus. I excused myself to get a glass of milk before bed. On my way out I told him about tomorrow night and he said that he would be home from work. I didn't ask him to stay away.
The Life You Choose and That Chose You Page 13