‘Everyone thinks they’re different.’ She waved a wooden spoon at me and then dunked it in a pot. I was lurking and leaning in the doorway, not quite ready to go or stay. To tell you the truth it was beginning to bug me that she kept pointing out how I was just like everybody else.
I stood up straight and said, ‘No, but I really am different. I’m slightly unusual. I’m not in the main swell, I’m in a puddle.’
‘Oh, you mean you feel left out. You feel like you don’t fit in.’
‘No, I feel like I make my own puddle because I like it better there.’
‘I know that feeling.’ She sighed a big earth-moving sigh.
I was suspicious. I felt she was stealing my feelings. My unique feelings. She was flouncing round, tipping spices into a big pot of lentils and stealing my feelings. It was kind of great having her around because she cooked food all the time, and since Mum was always at work and too tired to cook, and Barnaby only knew how to make spaghetti with a can of tomatoes, and I only made cheese and tomato Brevilles, it was exciting to have someone making a big deal about meals. She even made porridge in the morning, with dates in it and grated apple and almonds on top. But, best of all, she was always up for a talk. And I mean a real talk. A chewing and burrowing and blazing-up kind of talk, not just a how-was-your-day kind of talk. She and I got to talking about real things. I’d never met someone who wanted to talk about life as much as I did; about the big stuff like love and difference and hope and lentils and the nervous system and bigotry. And if you don’t know what that means (I didn’t either), you should find out because there’s a lot of it going round and I believe it’s catchy, and if you get it you become very mean spirited, especially towards people who are different.
‘But I’ve always been slightly unusual. Ask anyone. Mrs Duffel said it on my school report.’ Mrs Duffel was my grade four teacher and she had red hair too, and she wore short dresses covered in swirly patterns. She was lovely.
Aunt Squeezy said, ‘Oh Lord, Cedar, we’re all slightly unusual.’ And she giggled.
I bit my lip and sulked for a moment. I plonked myself down at the kitchen table as I could tell we were heading for a session. Sometimes she really got me thinking in ways I didn’t want to have to be thinking.
‘So who is usual then, if everybody is slightly unusual?’ I was quite pleased with that bit of logic. I felt I had laid a very fine trap. In fact I was so pleased with the excellence of my trap that I forgot that my slightly unusual life was under siege, and I sat back and grinned.
Aunt Squeezy stopped moving for a minute.
‘Hmmm. Maybe you can be. Then you’ll be the only usual one and you’ll be special, for your usualness. Imagine that?’ She laughed. ‘Cedar B. Hartley, the only person in the world who is usual.’
‘I’d be an outcast!’ I pronounced.
She laughed again but she didn’t say anything, and I knew I was meant to do the thinking. Just as I got going she butted in.
‘Oh, but really, don’t you think it’s the most perfectly beautiful thing in the world to discover the tiny singularities that are stitched into the seams of our souls?’ She sat down opposite me and her eyes lit up as if she was seized by a great excitement. ‘There’s nothing more necessary and beautiful than the differences between us.’ She gazed through the window and her eyes flickered out. I knew her mind was floating back to something else, something that made her quiet, maybe the same something that had made her stay on with us. When Mum had told her we’d love her to live with us as long as she liked, Aunt Squeezy got tears in her eyes and hugged my mum, and since then it just seemed as if she’d always lived with us, even though it was only a month. I knew it was a month because I was counting the days that I hadn’t heard from Kite. Every time the mail came I was disappointed. I’d even tried to pretend to myself that I wasn’t expecting anything, but that didn’t work.
So Aunt Squeezy was gazing out the window and I was gazing inwards at my tiny singularities when Barnaby and Ada walked in.
‘What’s going on, ladies?’ said Barnaby. He had his arm around Ada, but she didn’t have her arm around him. She leant into him and smiled at us, just a tiny smile.
‘Cedar’s trying to work out how she’s unusual and I’m cooking lentil soup. Are you two in for dinner?’
Barnaby looked at Ada, who shrugged. She never stayed for dinner, so it was hard to read the shrug. Maybe it meant she didn’t care. I liked her long black hair, which went all the way to her elbows and spread out like a curtain over her red jumper. Somehow she always managed to look dramatic, to look like tragedy and glamour.
‘Maybe,’ said Barnaby.‘We’re just going to rehearse a few songs in my room first.’
Typical, I thought. Non-committal. I hardly ever tried to talk to Ada. In some way she scared me. She didn’t appear to love me at all, and that made me feel bad around her, so I didn’t care if they weren’t in for dinner anyway. Well, maybe I did. I liked it when everyone sat down together. It made me feel like we were a gang.
Of course I quizzed Barnaby on what he was talking about with Kite, but he claimed not to remember. I don’t believe him, but I’ve had to give up because if there’s anyone who can match my persistence with resistance it’s Barnaby. I think it actually amuses him to beat me.
He ruffled my hair, even though that also annoys me, and as he was walking out he said, ‘You were just born unusual, Cedy. You came out upside-down.’
‘At least I didn’t come out with a big mouth,’ I yelled after them, and I think I heard Ada let out a little laugh. I was glad about that. I was glad she laughed because she sometimes seems to be made of glass instead of skin. But see, we all have skin and it hurts when you poke it. Even Ada. Even Harold and Marnie. Even that strange family that arrived in the night at the Abutulas. I was thinking about them, when I wasn’t thinking about Kite, that is; when I wasn’t ‘moping’, as Mum said, or limping around lovesick, as Barnaby said. I was thinking about that family and I didn’t even know why. I started to figure that maybe I had to find out who they were and then I’d know why I was thinking about them.
But for once it wasn’t me who worked it out.
Chapter 11
Actually, all of a sudden there was a lot of secret stuff going on around our house. It had something to do with Aunt Squeezy, I could tell that much, but I couldn’t tell if Barnaby was in on it or not because he was also acting a bit weird. Or maybe he was acting a bit normal, which was weird because he’s not normal; he’s half wizard and half zebra. Not really. He’s just like the bit of wood on a fence that juts out. But, lately, even he was quiet or in-place somehow.
All I can say is there was an atmosphere of secret, muffled conversations, puzzled expressions, shut doors and empty late-night wine bottles growing in the recycle box. And there was a letter that arrived for Aunt Squeezy, and it came from Italy; a thin pale blue envelope covered in large stamps and elegant spindly lettering. I found it, of course, in the letterbox, where there should have been a letter from Kite. But there wasn’t, only that exotic-looking thing and a gas bill. I slid it across the table towards Aunt Squeezy, hoping I might get to soak up some of her excitement, but she just opened her eyes in alarm, stared at it as if she didn’t quite believe it was real and then, as if on autopilot, took it into the back garden. She didn’t say a word, didn’t emit one little squeak of excitement, and when she came back she just hovered for a moment with this stiff, thin smile, and then plunged into her bedroom.
After that there was a hushedness. She and Mum would be talking in the kitchen, and whenever I came into the room they’d stop their conversation and Mum would turn to me and say something to change the topic, like, ‘Here’s Cedar.’ And I’d say, ‘Yep, here I am,’ and she’d say, ‘Still moping?’ and I’d say, ‘Yep, still moping,’ and then, after a significant pause, I’d say, ‘What are you two talking about?’ Of course I wanted all the pity I could get, especially now that something else was getting all the attention, but I al
so wanted to find out what was going on.
‘I know how to stop you moping,’ said Aunt Squeezy.
‘Cedar likes moping. She likes the attention,’ said Mum, somewhat cruelly, I thought. Where was all the sympathy going? Certainly not where it was needed. I rolled my eyes at Mum and, in order to prove her wrong, I faced Aunt Squeezy like a puppy, eager and willing. She grinned and leaned forward.
‘Volunteer work. You can come with me tomorrow, after school. They always need some help down at the Learning Network.’
‘What?’ I felt duped. I thought she was going to suggest a night at the movies, or a trip to the beach to try out some surfing, or at the very least a double choc Magnum and a video. I could see Mum was amused.
‘What a great idea. If there’s one way to stop feeling sorry for yourself, it’s to stop thinking about yourself.’
‘It might be more interesting,’ added Aunt Squeezy, and she made a pleading face, as if she knew it was a long shot to convince a devastated, lovelorn teenager that someone else’s troubles might be more interesting than her own. I knew they were trying to tell me that my ‘poor me’ act was worn out and overused and it was time to find a new act. But I can tell you, if I had a choice of new acts to choose from, volunteer wouldn’t even get in on the top fifty.
‘I don’t think I’d make a good volunteer. What can I do? I can’t even tie a knot.’
‘You could just come and see. I bet once you came and met some of the people there you’d think of something you could do.’ Aunt Squeezy shrugged and yawned. Her attention seemed to spiral inwards and she closed her eyes for a moment. Mum got up and patted her on the shoulder.
‘Ginger tea?’ she said. I sighed and slumped dramatically on the table, as I could see I’d already lost their attention and had to resort to desperate measures.
‘All right, I’ll do it, I’ll be a volunteer. I’ll come,’ I declared.
‘Good on you,’ said Aunt Squeezy.‘We’ll go tomorrow.’
Mum now had her attention on bills. She suddenly turned around waving an envelope, looking like a young girl, like a cheerleader.
‘Look, it’s a letter to me. From Ruben.’
‘To you?’ I wailed and leapt up to see. Surely it was a mistake.
‘Yes, to me.’ She blushed and sunk into the chair. I couldn’t help frowning. Couldn’t help thinking that this made it even worse that Kite hadn’t written, even more obvious and inescapable and purposeful. And why would Ruben write to my mum? I couldn’t help wishing it was to ask for permission to let me go and train in the circus too. Suddenly I felt hopeful and watched her as she opened the letter.
A small folded square of paper fell out and landed on her lap. She picked it up and squinted to read the writing, and then a small smile began to dance on her face. She handed it to me.
‘This one’s for you, love.’
‘For me?’ I squealed. My heart started to thud almost instantly. I knew who it was from. I could tell. I took it and ran outside to be private. I sure didn’t feel like anyone watching me read.
‘Well, well. There’re a lot of letters coming in this week,’ said Aunt Squeezy as I left.
Chapter 12
Hi Cedar,
Remember me? Or has some other acrobat swung out of a tree?
I’ve been thinking of you, but I never know what to write and say, but now there’s going to be an audition up here in two months (December 5) and since I reckon you should come up for it, that seems like something to write about.
Anyway, you’d like it here. Maybe not Albury, but the circus, it’s great. You should see the equipment. Dad ’s doing a good job.
I don’t know what to tell you.
Days wear on.
It’s getting warmer.
I’ve got blisters (doing some flying trapeze).
You’d like the trees here. So would Stinky.
How’re Oscar and Caramella?
Are you attracting any attention with your bat pole positions?
Be good and come up.
Love Kite.
I read it through about seven times before I stopped to think about it. I wondered why he set it out like that. So it would take up more room and look longer, probably. I have to admit, I wasn’t happy with how short it was. Not a lot of thought had gone into it…no endless hours lying in bed, pencil in mouth, thinking about how to put this and how to express that. Plus there was no kiss at the end, no I miss you. There was a lot that wasn’t in it, let’s face it. But then again, there are things you have to take into account, like for instance, he’s a boy, and boys don’t give too much away and, as I once said before, it becomes a girl’s job to learn how to read things that aren’t said. The problem with this is that if you happen to be a girl with an overactive imagination you can read a whole lot of extra stuff into everything, because you tend to read things with a certain imaginative vigour and a kind of leap-happy attention that jumps off and runs further and further until you are making quite faraway assumptions and thinking of desperate implications…
Like for instance, just say Marnie is your friend (God help you), and if one day she just happens to not say hello to you (because actually she’s busy focusing her attention on getting Angus Bennett’s attention), you might just decide that means suddenly she hates you (wrong) and you get to wondering what on earth you did to make her hate you (nothing). Was it because you were absolutely committing a glaring and embarrassing fashion blunder by wearing your brother’s hand-me-down King Gees? Because Marnie for sure wouldn’t abide that. (True, but this was not noticed because she was too busy flirting with Angus Bennett.) So then you begin to believe that really you must be a worthless person because you make fashion blunders. (If you’d been thinking, instead of imagining, you’d have known that fashion victims are the ones to be pitied, not us fashion crime-committers.) So you decide the only thing that will redeem you is the purchase of a brand new pink zip-up parka. (What a big waste of money, and lucky for me I don’t even like pink parkas, anyway.)
Fortunately, I’m already disliked by Marnie, and my best friend Caramella is an artist and not a snob, so I haven’t had to go out and buy a pink parka, but still, I do tend to run away with my interpretation of events.
Here’s how I read the letter:
Hi Cedar,
Hopefully he wanted to say, My dear Cedar, but that sounds too much like an old gent from last century, so he opted for a more casual version of greeting.
Remember me?
As if I’d have forgotten him. He knows very well I’ll never forget him even if I don’t hear from him ever again. Obviously he’s sarcastically overcompensating for extreme guilt he feels from not having written sooner.
Or has some other acrobat swung out of a tree?
Hmmm. Can I possibly detect a note of jealousy? Hope so.
I’ve been thinking of you
Obviously not quite enough to make you write sooner.
but I never know what to write and say,
Why not? Is there something you can’t tell me? Do you have a new girlfriend? Is she an absolutely brilliant acrobat with interesting views on life and big boobs?
but now there’s going to be an audition up here in two months (December 5) and since I reckon you should come up for it, that seems like something to write about.
Yes, that’s a safe thing to write about. As if my mum will let me go, anyway.
Anyway, you’d like it here. Maybe not Albury, but the circus, it’s great. You should see the equipment. Dad ’s doing a good job.
Blah blah, boring boring, reveals nothing. Who cares about equipment? What about the other acrobats? Why don’t you tell me about them?
I don’t know what to tell you.
You sure don’t.
Days wear on.
You’re really struggling.
It’s getting warmer.
Obviously. It usually does.
I’ve got blisters (doing some flying trapeze).
Am I meant to fee
l sorry for you?
You’d like the trees here. So would Stinky.
Nice of you to think of us, actually.
How’re Oscar and Caramella?
Being polite now, or are you actually missing the old Acrobrats and their hotchpotch magic?
Are you attracting any attention with your bat pole positions?
Hmmm. Could possibly be a second but well-disguised note of jealousy. But more likely feeling guilty about attracting a bit of attention himself and is trying to deflect guilt.
Be good and come up.
Knows I can’t come, but wants to act like he wants me to anyway.
Love Kite.
If he really meant ‘love’, why didn’t he add a kiss or two?
‘He could be too shy,’ says Aunt Squeezy. ‘Men often are.’
I’ve shown her the letter because she has forced me to. I’d finally returned to the kitchen after my private half hour of interpreting on the back step. I’d considered burying myself in my bedroom but decided a bit of sympathy was in order so I’d gone and sighed loudly in the kitchen instead.
Aunt Squeezy is standing at the bench chopping an onion. She responds appropriately to my sigh by asking me what’s wrong.
‘Kite doesn’t love me,’ I declare and sink into a chair. Aunt Squeezy stops chopping, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and faces me.
‘Did he say that, Cedar? Did he say he didn’t love you?’ She puts the knife down and tries to puff at a red curl that is hanging over her eye, but it just floats up and then lies down again.
‘He didn’t need to, I could just tell by his letter.’ I lift the letter feebly, but I look away from it, as if the sight of the offending piece of evidence is almost too much to bear. She sighs, wipes her hands on her jeans, tucks her hair behind her ear and comes towards me.
‘Let me see, what makes you think that? I’ll bet you’re reading things into it.’
I roll my eyes and thrust the letter at her. She only reads it through once and then immediately tilts her head to one side and stares at me like I’m a dumbo.
The Slightly Bruised Glory of Cedar B. Hartley Page 5