The Enumerations

by Máire Fisher

  But he does. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s reading from his slip of paper.

  ‘If I could go back in time, I would. Back to before the day I broke Kyle Blake’s arm.’

  As he finishes the last sentence, Juliet erupts.

  ‘Oh, come on! Seriously? You’d go back to before, when jerks like him were bullying you? Pushing you, shoving you.’

  ‘I’m with J-J-Juliet,’ Wandile says.

  At first Noah thought Wandile (Wordless Wandile, Juliet calls him) and he were alike, scared to use words in case something catastrophic happens, but that’s not the case. He’s heard him speak almost normally when they’re in the dining room, or watching TV. Stuttered Speech Syndome. That’s Wandile’s label – sort out his Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD, something he and Simon share) and hopefully that will help with his stutter. Noah’s watched him trying to talk to his parents out on the lawn. His mom and dad are always on the way from somewhere or to somewhere important. ‘Pots of money,’ Sadie says one day. ‘My dad says Wandile’s father could buy and sell us all.’

  Wandile’s their only child. Heir to all that fame and fortune. Quite something to have to take on.

  ‘W-w-w-we h-h-h-h-have to st-st-stand-up-to bullies.’ The last words come out in a rush of air and Wandile hangs his head.

  ‘Oh, wow.’ Juliet’s eyes are wide. She leans over and punches him gently on the arm. ‘So many words, Wandile.’

  ‘What about you, Juliet?’ says Ms Turner. ‘Do you have a bully in your life?’

  Juliet looks around the circle. Even Sloppy Sadie is paying attention.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I guess I have.’

  The attention has swung away from Noah, and that’s a relief. It’s one thing to write his lists of 5 or his answers to Ms Turner’s exercises, quite another to expose them to the group. But then again … those words: ‘The sooner you give them what they want, the sooner you’ll get out of here.’

  You are stepping beyond the bounds. This has to—

  Noah raises the shield of Juliet’s words, dented and scorched, but still whole, and the Dark retreats with a hiss.

  It’s a 3-month programme with 6 weeks, 2 days gone. If he wants to get out, he has to give them what they want. The more, the better.

  Noah’s hands are shaking, but his head is quiet.

  144.

  ‘Do you have a bully in your life?’

  Ms Turner’s question took her completely by surprise. Juliet knew she should always be on the alert, armoured against intrusion. Instead, she’s been drawn in by Noah’s story, saddened by Wandile’s stuttered outburst. She’s doing what she promised herself she never would. She’s becoming involved.

  She looks out through her window, to the mountain in the distance. Maybe it’s time to practise what she’s been preaching to Noah, start telling the truth. That’s all Ms Turner wants for her. That’s what she said the other day. ‘It’s all you need, Juliet. To tell yourself the truth. It’s hard, I know.’

  Thin clouds are crawling down the mountain now, joining heaven to earth in a gauzy band. They never last, never gather enough to let rain fall. All they do is waft, then fade away in the glare of the sun.

  There’s no one on the lawn, no one sitting on the benches. No one to smile and wave at and distract her by thinking about their sorry lives instead of her own.

  Juliet’s journal is open on the table and she thinks about filling the blank pages with thoughts about her father, her mother, her life. Writing down the truth of it. She closes her eyes and sees her father, his bald head sliding past her room, his ruined face looking in on her. Never saying a word to her. Just looking.

  Juliet picks up her pen.

  145.

  Day 46 / 07:10

  ‘My name is Noah Groome and I have been a resident at Greenhills for 6 weeks and 4 days.’

  This is something he can say in group, then Ms Turner can say, ‘How do you feel about that, Noah?’ He can use a few words to tell her. ‘Fine,’ he can say. ‘I feel fine.’ He can even say he’s getting used to being here. And if she asks him what that means, he can add, ‘I’m getting used to the routine and the sometimes-lack-of-routine, which is a challenge.’

  ‘A special challenge for you,’ Ms Turner will probably say and then tell him he’s doing well.

  So yes, 6 weeks, 4 days, and counting – and a few things to say in group which show he’s willing to participate, even willing to use some of his words.

  But what he won’t say in group is how he feels when he opens his eyes for the 46th time.

  He still expects to hear Maddie’s voice, Spot barking, and his mother calling, ‘Dominic, breakfast is ready.’ The walls should be pale blue, there should be cream curtains at the window and from his bed he should see the tangled green of his father’s fynbos garden, the part where he says plants must be allowed to look after themselves.

  When he gets out of bed, his feet should hit wide wooden floorboards, warmish, even in winter.

  Checking his room should be quick and easy because everything—

  The door flies open and he’s there again, the boy from last night.

  Noah had seen him arrive, with his mother close behind, her hand floating forward, just about touching the boy’s shoulder and then falling to her side. Behind them, almost the full length of the corridor, Noah had also seen a big man, burly in a dark suit, his face red, his mouth open to speak, but any words had been drowned out by the new arrival, who having reached his room, had shrieked, ‘Oh, Mumsie, I love it! I love what you’ve done with it.’

  The mother had glided forward on high heels and rested her hand on the boy’s arm.

  ‘Do you, Willa? Do you really? I’m so sorry, I would have done more. It’s just we didn’t have much time.’

  The boy had glanced down at her hand, and she’d removed it quickly.

  ‘I do, Mums, I really do. You’ve done absolute wonders.’

  And now, here he is, the boy, in Noah’s room, just inside the doorway. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night, baggy pyjamas in some sort of silky material, splashed in big circles of red, green and yellow. The sleeves are wide with a deep cuff, and they reach right to the tips of his fingers.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Just been to the loo. Not my room. Sorry.’

  His voice is high, like it’s waiting to break, but he’s about Noah’s age.

  ‘No problem.’

  He’s interrupted Noah’s room check and now he’s advanced to the desk. He’s turning slowly like a skinny traffic light, his shiny pyjamas flashing red, yellow, green.

  ‘Very utilitarian,’ he’s saying. ‘Minimalist. I have to say I like it.’

  Noah’s sitting on the edge of his bed staring at him when he pivots and takes two long strides towards him.

  ‘Oops,’ he says, ‘Manners. I’m so, so sorry. I’m Willa. I go by the pronoun “they”. He laughs lightly. ‘I’m in the room next door.’

  ‘They?’ Noah says. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t—’

  ‘You don’t understand?’ said Willa. ‘Don’t worry, quite a few people don’t get it at first. But if you try, you’ll get used to it. It’s easy enough. Don’t think of me as a him, or a he, or a her, or a she. Just as Willa.’

  ‘Hello. I’m Noah.’

  Willa holds out their hand. They brush their fingers across Noah’s, then wipe them on a green circle. Their right-hand sleeve falls back slightly and Noah sees a thick white bandage. Willa smiles wryly, lifting their arms so that both wrists are exposed. ‘My badges of dishonour,’ they say. ‘Hence my rushed arrival. Poor Mumsie, she’s been running around like crazy trying to get my room sorted out. Seems I’m going to be here a while.’

  146.

  Day 47 / 14:06

  ‘Man,’ says Morné, slouched in his chair. ‘Those boots.’

  Willa whips a cloth from their pocket, wipes the wooden seat of their chair, pulls a thin plastic bag from the same pocket, places the cloth in it a
nd then puts it away. They sink gracefully to their seat, cross their legs and flash a broad high heel at them. ‘You mean these?’ they say.

  Morné nods.

  ‘These boots,’ says Willa, ‘have walked with me through agony and pain.’

  ‘What’s with this Willa thing?’ Sadie interrupts. ‘Anyone with two eyes can see your name should be William.’

  ‘Sadie—’ Ms Turner’s quick to respond, but Willa’s already speaking.

  ‘Thank you for asking. Sadie, is it?’

  She nods.

  ‘Well, Sadie, now’s as good a time as any for introductions.’ Willa extends a hand to Sadie, much as they had done to Noah that morning. ‘Willa,’ they say. ‘Also known as William Forsythe when Daddy’s around, but I’m working on that. But otherwise, please call me Willa. My pgps are they, them, their, theirs and themself.’

  Sadie can’t contain herself. ‘What’s a pgp? Some sort of golf thing?’ She catches Morné’s eye and he grins.

  Willa continues regardless. ‘My preferred gender pronouns,’ they say quietly. ‘Rather than he or—’ they glance at Sadie and smile ‘— she.’

  ‘What sort of kak—’ Morné sounds amazed, but Ms Turner steps in before he can finish his sentence.

  ‘Right everyone. Willa has told us how they would like to be addressed. It’ll take a bit of time, but I’d like you all to try. Willa, would you like to continue?’

  ‘Thank you.’ Willa smiles at the group. ‘Okay, so you were asking about my boots, my little beauties.’

  Willa’s not scared to use words; they fling them out extravagantly, as much of a challenge as their clothing – This is me, Noah can imagine them saying. Full-on, no-holds-barred, like-it-or-lump-it, me. He envies them; he wouldn’t mind being given a few of Willa’s words to see him through each day.

  ‘They tilt me off balance you see, so I have to hold myself back to hold myself up.’ Willa pushes their legs out straight. ‘But they are so worth it,’ they say. ‘Daddy hates them, of course. He hates all my clothes. “But Mumsie,” I say, “Fuckit. If he can’t love me for who I am, he’s never going to love me, no matter what I wear.”’

  They smile. ‘Guess how many sessions it took me with my therapist to be able to deliver that line so flawlessly?’

  It looks like Willa has just walked off the set of a fantasy movie, their skinny legs in silver leather, their glossy black boots reaching just over their knees, their shirt white and frilled to death, the sleeves caught at the cuff, drooping over their hands, just touching the deep navy tips of their varnished nails.

  ‘So now,’ they continue, ‘when we go shopping, Mums and I, the first question I ask, before I even take something off the rack is, “What would Daddy think?”’ They pat a silver thigh for emphasis.

  ‘He hates me calling him Daddy. He hates my wardrobe, and most of all, he hates these.’

  They look down at their boots fondly. ‘Maybe it’s the platforms, or the height of the heels.’ They angle the platform heels towards the middle of the circle and Noah wonders what it must be like to walk 10 centimetres above the ground.

  ‘You know what? These boots have walked past his door so many times. I practise you see, I have to. How to walk without tripping, staircases, how to stay upright. Upright in front of my uptight dad.

  ‘The best place is our passage at home, it’s long and tiled. Slippery. If I can do the passage, I can do anywhere. And if I can pass by Daddy’s door, over and over again, feel his hot eyes hating me, then I can walk anywhere, let anyone look at me. Daddy’s useful that way.’ Willa swivels a leg, admiring the shiny length of their pointy-toed boot.

  ‘I’ve had these a long time. They’re one of my favourite pairs. It’s so hard to find shoes to fit you know, when you’re size ten heading for eleven. Whenever Mums and I go overseas, we hit all the specialist shoe shops. Here it’s not so easy.’

  Sadie whispers something to Morné and he laughs. Ms Turner frowns and Willa goes blithely on. There’s no stopping them. Even Juliet looks stunned.

  ‘They cost a fortune, but the moment I put them on, I just knew I had to have them. Daddy exploded at the dinner table. You can imagine. “If you want to spend thousands of rands on shoes, spend your own fucking money.” Then all Mums does is raise an eyebrow because we all know who holds the purse strings in our house. Mums is the one with the real money. Daddy’s the one who wears the suits and goes to work, but his salary doesn’t even touch sides when it’s tipped into the family coffers. “We’re not supporting your lifestyle,” Daddy says, and he looks at Mums as if he expects her to reply but he looks at me as if he wished I was dead.’

  They’re all looking at the boots now – polished to a high gloss, catching the hot sun in the Rec Room and making it flare.

  Sadie opens her mouth, but Willa isn’t finished. She sits back and scowls.

  ‘They got scuffed, though. See, just here.’ They turn their left foot, and there, at the back, just above the heel is a mark. ‘I like to think of it as their badge of honour.’

  Willa looks at Noah and smiles.

  ‘What does he mean? I mean, they. What do they mean?’ Juliet whispers, but Willa’s still talking.

  ‘The mark, that was from being thrown in the bin,’ they say. ‘Luckily, I found them just before the rubbish truck arrived. Mumsie and I, we hunted high and low, every cupboard, under all the beds, and then, when I was looking under one of the sofas in the sitting room and Daddy was sitting reading his paper – I was in tears by then, floods of tears – I caught him glancing out the window.

  ‘I flew. I literally flew down the path and there they were. In the bin. I rescued them. Though it took every last reserve of strength I had to even touch them. Daddy knew that. He knew how it killed me to pick them up after they had been lying there next to all sorts of God-knowswhat, but if it was the last thing I ever did, I was going to pull them out with my bare hands and walk past him, holding them and looking him straight in the eye. I rescued these little babies and I cleaned them. Mums wanted to help me, but I said, “No, Mums, I have to do this on my own.” I polished them and polished them and then I put them straight back on. Killer heels.’ Willa laughs. ‘But I was so happy to see them. The pain was pure joy.’

  They smile. ‘So anyway, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this?’

  They’re all looking a bit dazed.

  Juliet laughs. ‘Wow. tmi, Willa?’

  ‘Well,’ they smile again, ‘with someone like me, you probably need quite a bit of info. Anyway, Ms Turner said we had to fill in these sheets – these ‘5 Things About Me’ thingies?’

  They all groan.

  ‘So last night I thought, “Willa, what can I tell them about you; how can I introduce myself? And then I saw my boots, standing tall and exquisite in the corner and I thought, Well! If nothing else is up to the task, my beauties certainly are.”’

  They stand then and walk the length of the room.

  Then they turn around, perfectly balanced, perfectly poised, and blow a kiss at Morné.

  147.

  Kate and Monica never say, ‘See you tomorrow,’ but it actually happens quite often now. Kate drops Maddie at school and then heads to the same café where Monica and she bumped into each other. She knows that Monica can’t get it together to ask after Juliet, let alone visit her, so she slips in a small comment now and then, about how Juliet’s looking, or to share one of Juliet’s quick comebacks. Monica soaks them up, grateful for the smallest drop of information about her daughter. And now, this morning, she has something to give Kate in return.

  She’s waiting when Kate gets there. Kate’s never seen her looking this awake.

  ‘Kate!’ Monica’s clutching her cell phone. ‘Have you seen it?’

  Kate puts up both hands to stem the flow of questions. ‘Whoa, Mon. What is it?’

  ‘Lily showed me this morning. “All the kids at school are talking about it, Mom.” That’s what she said, so I asked her to copy the
link for me.’

  She’s fumbling with her phone. ‘I’m no good with these things.’

  Kate catches a waitress’s eye. ‘Two cappuccinos,’ she mouths.

  As the young woman nods and turns away, a voice fills the space between Kate and Monica.

  ‘Hang on. Is that—’

  ‘Maddie? Yes, and she’s amazing.’

  Monica turns the phone so that Kate can see the screen properly. And there’s her daughter, arms waving, looking up at a tall skinny boy, saying, It’s easy isn’t it? Easy to pick on the little kids, or people who are different, like my brother …

  ‘Who— What—’

  The video runs on. My brother wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s o … c … d, Kyle. Do you even know what that means?

  ‘I don’t understand, Maddie never said—’

  Monica couldn’t grin any more widely if she tried. ‘It’s on YouTube, Kate,’ she says. ‘Someone filmed Kyle Blake and Maddie. They put it up last night. And look.’ She points to a number. ‘Fifteen thousand views already. Your daughter’s going viral, Kate.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Kate smiles properly for the first time in months. ‘Leonie won’t like this.’

  ‘No,’ says Monica solemnly. ‘She most certainly won’t.’

  148.

  Day 47 / 19:23

  Viral.

  A 5-letter word.

  Everyone’s saying Noah’s little sister has gone ‘viral’. The video filmed of her at school taking down a bully has spread. 21k views, Juliet tells him after Lily calls her. And counting. The comments are almost as good as the clip, Juliet says.

  Noah reads as many of them as he can before going to group.

  Comments from kids who’ve been bullied, from teachers who don’t know how to put a stop to it, from parents who watch their children being diminished every day.

  According to a guy called Kevin Nalty on YouTube, ‘viral’ means getting 5 000 000 views in a 3- to 7-day period. He said that in 2011, so it’s probably even more now. Mads isn’t remotely close to that. But people have seen her confronting Kyle Blake. Most importantly, all the kids at school who Kyle has picked on. They’ll have seen Maddie – tiny, bristling – challenging Kyle Blake. And all he had to fight back with were his tired insults.