by Anne Thomas
What did he fill his life with? I remember feeling a burning curiosity to find out. The second time his eyes hadn't taken me by surprise. They still disgusted me a little - I couldn't help feeling like this, I just did. Human nature is, after all, inherently repulsed on instinct by things that are different. I would learn not to be, though. In the following weeks I was consumed by an obsessive curiosity which compelled me to find him and tell him that I didn't pity him. It would be a lie, but I wanted to ask him how he'd known who I was, that second time around. Maybe my voice had given me away, but we'd barely spoken on that first meeting! The questions were burning holes in my mind. Even Lena noticed my distraction and she's the sort of person who gets surprised when people she sees every day suddenly show up six months pregnant.
After twenty minutes of lying in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about not much I got a text message;
im coming over. dont pretend 2 b asleep or not home. pene told me ur practically a hermit these days.
I groaned. Lena - always with the tact. It was strange; I could go weeks without hearing from her and then she'd show up on my doorstep with a potty mouth and a bottle of gin raving on about a mad party we had to go to. Unpredictable is possibly her second name. Possibly. She is also a lady of mystery.
I got up and lugged myself into the shower. When I got out there was another message waiting;
lena is coming over to yours. dont you run away now :) thought you might like some notice since normally she takes you by surprise something chronic.
I replied a quick thanks to Penelope for the warning and made my way to the front of the house in time to open the door for whirlwind Lena.
"Hey girl! I have something that'll distract you from whatever you're obsessing over!" I eyed the supersize bottle of champagne poking out the top of her purse and wondered if it were the sort of distraction I needed at ten on a Saturday morning. Then I shrugged and got out some glasses. Lena grinned, "Honey, I wasn't talking about this but go ahead!" I blushed,
"Oh, sorry. What were you talking about?" Wow. That was awkward. We headed outside and flopped on the lawn, staring up through the patchy leaves of a tree at the blue sky which was only slightly marred by clouds. The light was yellow and happy, it weighed less than a feather and the heat was just enough to make your skin damp but not slick with sweat. It was shorts and singlet weather. I reached out blindly with my hand and plucked some overgrown grass, twisting the strands around my fingers.
"You know when we went out for your birthday and you helped that blind dude who was a bit of an asshole to you?" Lena prompted.
"Yeah?" I said, a little too enthusiastically. I think she noticed so I repeated it in more of a monotone. I don't think she was fooled but she didn't say anything, instead she readjusted her huge, white-framed sunnies and continued,
"Well, he's moved into that house across the road from my friend Bill! I was there babysitting his kid-" Lena babysat? Who knew! "-and I saw the guy in the front yard tossing a ball around for his dog." She propped herself up on her elbows and eyed me. I think she looks a little like a manic grasshopper in those glasses but apparently they are the height of fashion so I never say anything.
"Weird." I mutter.
"I know, right? Crazy coincidences." Lena flopped back down onto the grass and started talking about the guy she met at the nightclub last night. The one whom she also met in her bedroom straight afterwards. The girl is a loose cannon; you wouldn't think it from what she looks like - a bit of a science geek in Prada is what most people think at first, but they soon discover their mistake. At that point I got another message. I glared at my phone. I hate texting!
gawd.
What? What is that? Zeke is an idiot - who sends a message consisting of one, misspelt word?
sry rong persn. wat r u doin 2day? wanna hang out?
I hate message talk. All those abbreviations give me a headache and Zeke was a master of them. I messaged him back, telling him to come over and hang out with Lena and I. He declined like I knew he would; he and Lena don't get on so well. And it's not that 'hate' where it turns out that they actually have the hots for each other but are busy disguising it from everyone, I'm fairly certain it's full on hate. I ignore the phone ringing inside.
"Aren't you popular today." Lena comments when the phone rings again.
I grunt, "It's my mum. She keeps ringing to bitch me out over not handing some healthcare form to HBF."
"Are you psychic?" Lena asked aggressively. I felt like I was under attack. That girl can spit words like a machine gun.
"No. Are you?"
"No. How do you know it's your mum?"
"She's the only one who has that number, bar the video store and the library and I don't have any books or films out." There was a brief silence.
"Okay. Your superior logic wins out." Thank god. I sat up and shoved my glasses back up the bridge of my nose. Lena stretched out an arm and flicked a dry leaf away.
"So," I began innocently, "Is that the Bill who lives in Bayswater - the one whose house I picked you up from that time when you were dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow and got really trashed at his party?" Lena grinned. She loved fancy dress parties and she loved alcohol. All those memories were good memories for her.
"Yeah, that's the one. Why do you ask?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously behind her mirror-lensed glasses. While I couldn't actually see her eyes, I could see her eyebrows knitting together and the funny pursed lip look she gets when she does actually squint suspiciously.
I blink at her, "Just curious. You bought it up." That's right, shift the blame.
A while later, I think I fell asleep in the warm morning sun, Lena and I go to the shops, "Retail therapy," Lena informs me, "Can cure any ill."
I agree but add an exception, "Leprosy."
"What?"
"I seriously doubt retail therapy can improve anyone with leprosy, not with body parts falling off between racks and all." I shrug.
She looks at me as if I'm crazy. "Honey, you are crazy." She says before picking up a pair of fluoro pink tights. "Man, who designed these? I wouldn't even subject a colour blind war criminal to this shit."
Not sure if I agree with the example but I definitely agree with the verdict, "Yeah, that's fifty shades of shit right there." I nod and drift over to a display dummy with its hand in a questionable place. "Do you think the shop assistants have seen this yet?"
Lena grins and takes a picture with her phone. She then unscrews the hand and walks out of the store with it.
"Lena! What the hell? You just stole that mannequin hand!" What a felon she is!
"Yeah." She says smugly, "I've always wanted one of these things." She takes it out of her purse and admires it. "Cool huh?"
Okay, so it is kind of cool. "You stole it." I say again.
"It's only a hand. I'm going to a Body-Parts Party next week - guess what I'm going as?"
I grimace and think the worst, "A giant penis."
"Wrong. I'm going as a hand."
"Since when?"
"Since just now when I stole this here hand." She eyes the surrounding shops, "How many more do you think I can get?"
I groan, "I will not outlaw myself for a few plastic hands. Besides, have you looked at those things properly? No one has fingers that long. It's bloody outrageous."
Lena rolls her eyes, "Go have a coffee at Dome then, cry baby. I'm going hand hunting! See you in a bit!"
Turns out dummy hands are pretty easy to nick if you've got an ass as nice as Lena's. One security guard even unscrewed it for her. Admittedly she told him she was a shop assistant and couldn't redress the dummy with it on, then she wiggled her ass a little at him and pulled down her top so her cleavage was all up in his eyeballs. I don't know how she did it. Normally that stuff only works in the movies. I tell her so and she huffs, tosses her head flounces off to get a coffee calling back that she invented Hollywood. I swear to god; no one can keep up with that girl.
– – – * * * – �
� –
::CaseSpace, penELOPE and ZEKEophile have joined the conversation::
ZEKEophile says: I think Anthony is in love with KayT.
penELOPE says: How so? I know he's obsessed something cruel but in love? I don't know about that...
ZEKEophile says: Yeah, I know but he couldn't take his eyes off her at the Sunday Sesh last week. You know how he is with girls.
CaseSpace says: Desperate?
penELOPE says: Horny?
ZEKEophile says: Well, both. Anyway, she's all freaked out. Reckons if I let him get anywhere near her she'll pop a cap in my ass.
CaseSpace says: She said that?
ZEKEophile says: Not exactly. But what am I supposed to do? He's my best mate and she's, well, my other best mate. I can't help it if she's smoking hot and he's a horny little troll.
penELOPE says: Tell him she's gay.
CaseSpace says: Oooh good call! That'll work!
ZEKEophile says: No it won't.
penELOPE says: Why not? It'd turn me off if I were a dude.
ZEKEophile says: Clearly you aren't a dude. Besides, she IS gay.
CaseSpace says: No way! I never would have thunk it! She's so...
penELOPE says: Flirty with guys?
CaseSpace says: Yeah. That's what I was getting at.
ZEKEophile says: Well she's gay alright. A right flamer. I can't believe you guys haven't noticed yet... hold up now- she was making out with a girl last week at The Court. You saw!
penELOPE says: Oh come on. We thought she was experimenting. Kissing girls is all the rage right now. Ask Katy Perry.
CaseSpace says: Mention that name one more time and I'm gonna reach through this computer and knock you out.
penELOPE says: Sorry.
ZEKEophile says: Sorry.
::CaseSpace has left the conversation at 5:28pm::
ZEKEophile says: Man. How does she do it? That girl completely dominates these conversations - knows exactly when to leave to create the right atmosphere of mystery and supreme irritation.
penELOPE says: Everyone has a special talent.
ZEKEophile says: I guess so. Casey sure knows how to have the last laugh on IM. That's the sort of thing I'd like to be good at.
penELOPE says: Screw med-school huh?
ZEKEophile says: Damn skippy.
::ZEKEophile has left the conversation at 5:30pm::
::penELOPE has left the conversation at 5:30pm::
That night I go to work in a good mood. Things are happening. I know where Levi lives and even though that might sound creepy, it reassures me. Somehow, my weird obsession is more in reach than it was before. I don't know if I'll go to his house, if I'll ask him the questions I want to, but I know I can and this makes me happy. Anthony hums quietly to the song playing softly in the background, his mind is somewhere else. I know where.
"She's gay." I say to Anthony as we polish glasses when the bar quietens down.
"What? Who's gay? What are you on about?"
"KayT is gay."
He looks at me aghast. "She is not!"
"Is too. Zeke says she is. And he also says you freak her out."
"I don't try to."
I look down at him, amused. "You don't need to." I say. Anthony freaks most people out. He's about 5-foot-tall and built like a brick shithouse. He is of Islander decent and has tribal tattoos all over him. Probably on his ass as well, but I'm too scared to ask. He'd probably show me. Zeke describing him as a troll is not far off - he isn't the prettiest colour in the crayon box. He's had his nose broken more than once and it's now flat and wonky, kind of squished against his left cheek. He as a scar running over his right cheek up through his eyebrow and although he commented once that it makes him look roguishly handsome, I respectfully disagree. I think it makes him look like he's half an operation away from being Chucky. He's almost short enough. But we don't talk about the height thing - he's not a big fan of it being brought up. Haw haw.
"But Zeke... Zeke's always teasing me when we all go somewhere..." Anthony sputters at me.
I shrug, "Zeke's an ass." Anthony grunted and shoved the glasses into a fridge roughly. They clattered and I winced. Mark the yardie had just finished cleaning a bunch of glass off the floor - he didn't need another lot to do.
"Calm down, mate. It's no biggie, there're other fish in the sea."
He eyed me prospectively, "Fish with names starting with C?"
"No. All fish with names starting with C are off the market." I look apologetically at him, "Sorry, man, I like you, but I don't like you... if you know what I mean." He sulks for a bit but has calmed down by the time we have our staffies. He spends most of the half hour flirting laboriously with a French backpacker who doesn't speak English very well and who looks distinctly uncomfortable. I distract him for a bit by mentioning that The Presets are touring soon and Anthony, a fan of all things Preset, went off into a tirade about how they are the best band in the universe. He then sings their entire back catalogue to Marie, the French girl. She looks unimpressed despite the effort he's putting in.
The next morning Lena messages and says, by a happy miscommunication, it turns out she's housesitting for her cousin for two months starting from today. She'd told me it was next week but apparently she has some trouble concentrating while people are talking about things other than fashion, men or, for some odd reason, whales. She's got a weird obsession with whales - knows everything there is to know about them and always wants more. She's studying marine biology at uni and can't get enough of it.
Anyway, turns out this is the cousin who lives Bayswater, and, happily for me, Lena needs someone to help her haul ass over there. I send her an enthusiastic message back and am at her house with two coffees and a bag of Subway cookies before she's even finished her shower. I think she's a little suspect about my motives. I tell her that I live to move house. She backs away from me slowly, with the cookies, and orders me to load my car with her thirty-three thousand pairs of shoes. I begrudgingly do so over the proffered choc-chip cookie. She forgets I bought them.
Halfway through the morning I get a message from Penelope;
hey girl! u good 4 2morrow morning? celebration breakfast remember? tell lena too please.
I reply with a quick yes, it's fine for me and told her that I'd drag Lena there by her toenails if I had to.
We stand in front of the Bayswater house and survey the street, feet apart and arms akimbo. I feel kind of like Wonder Woman in this pose.
"I think this is a nice street." I say, nodding in approval.
Lena, who thinks that anything which isn't Paris or a whale watching cruise is a slum, screws up her nose and snorts delicately, "It'll do. I figure not paying rent for a few months will really boost my savings."
It's my turn to snort; Lena couldn't save money if she were lost in the Sahara Desert. "Yeah, sure."
"No really, I'm turning over a new leaf... and there's this gorgeous Versace bag I really, really like in a store in the city."
"Let me guess - it's a wee bit expensive?"
"You could say that. You could also say it's an investment." She then starts listing all the 'investments' she's made so far in life. I don't listen - Levi just got out of a taxi across the road.
He's taller than I remember and his dog looks smaller than when I last saw her growling and snarling at the bullying kids, crouched protectively over her master's body. I watch as he walks surely up the front path and onto the porch. If I didn't know, I would never have guessed he's blind from the way he walks. I grimace slightly at his outfit choice - bright green board shorts and a weird blue and pink pattern t-shirt. The boy knew how to pick them, that's for sure. Lena makes a comment about the garden which I don't really pay attention to and then marches inside. I trail after her when Levi's door closes behind him. The brief sighting has not lessened my desire to see him. To look into those milky eyes and ask if he remembers the colours he so desperately wanted to.
We sit and drink in Lena's new living room.
Bill also gave her a free run of their liquor cabinet. He knew not to expect too much. For the next few hours Lena invents cocktails and we make up stupid names for them while unpacking her stuff like 'Call Me Harvey' which is a cross between a Harvey Wallbanger and something with Kaluha and 'Sir Smurfalot', I'm not sure what is in that one - Lena wouldn't tell me but I suspect tobasco, blue curacao, Malibu and tequila. I serve up some Squashed Frog shots and Caprioskas and by this stage, we are dead drunk. I navigate the house with a strong bout of sea-legs but I manage not to smear chocolate sauce fingerprints along the crisp white walls. I'm giggling like a nutter and I can hear Lena swearing at Leonardo di Caprio who keeps dying in slow motion in Blood Diamond. Apparently although the house is lovely, the DVD player could use a sledge hammer or two. Plus, I'm not too impressed with the couches - they're lumpy as heck.
– – – * * * – – –
I wake the next morning draped over said lumpy couch to my phone beeping and the world spinning. Lena is asleep on the carpet halfway down the hall. I ignore my phone and focus on getting the world all straightened out, as it is I can see three television sets to my left and the pot plant next to the couch looks suspiciously like a Triffid. That shit is weird. I groan and bitch when my phone goes off again but luckily I possess a liver with superpowers because I never get hangovers. Like never. Seriously - I never get sick and I never get headaches. The worst is a little spinning and sometimes the inability to function in an academic sense but no sickness which is, I think, possibly the most awesome thing since sliced bread.
where r u?
"Oh shit." I scroll to the next message.
im sitting here alone feeling like a twat. get down here now.
"Lena." I shriek, ignoring the fact that my head feels like a Simpsons rerun at the moment.