by Naomi Kramer
“Huh. Guess so.”
“Women's lib - can't stop girls doing what they want, but boys are part of the ruling class, it's OK to repress them, you see.”
“Ummm...”
“Am I preaching again?”
“Just a bit.”
“Sorry.”
****
Once upon a time, buying condoms was hard. Pharmacists demanded wedding rings, notes from priests, all sorts of bizarre crap. But in this day and age, it's simple. That's why I'm skulking near the fresh fruit, trying to get up the courage to take a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant up to the checkout.
“Are you alright there, dear?”
Crap, it's Mrs Catrick. I hide the basket behind me and smile blandly. Maybe if she notices, I can tell her they're for my mother. No, ick.
“Hi, Mrs Catrick! How are you today?”
“Can't complain, dear, just my arthritis playing up a little,” she says, patting her hip carefully.
Umm, great.
“Well, have a good day!” I say brightly and flee, probably leaving a very confused Mrs Catrick behind me. I hope so, because the last thing I need is her understanding exactly what I'm doing.
And all of a sudden, in comparison, the checkout doesn't look so scary. The guy leers at me as he scans my purchases, and I scowl at him. Then I wonder if I imagined the skeezy look. God, I'm turning paranoid. What's happening to me?
****
“You bought what??” Mark almost yells.
“Condoms?”
“SHHHHHH!!”
“Whaddya mean, shh?”
“Someone might - hear!”
“You mean, the same people who were listening to us mess around?”
“There were people listening?”
“NO! Calm down! There's no-one here, ya mork!”
“Oh.”
“I don't see why you're freaking about this.”
“Because - it's the final frontier, isn't it? Before that, it's all grey territory, right? But sex is - it's sex! It's... freakworthy!”
“Huh?”
“You - what, you don't think so?”
“No!”
“How the hell do you get that?”
“Well... all this stuff we've been doing, right? It's all sex, it's just not - procreation, is it? And that's where the difference is - having a baby with someone, or not. Nowadays penetration and babies aren't automatically connected like they were, so the boundaries between foreplay and sex are artificial.”
“That's...”
“Logical?”
“Horribly logical. Don't you have a romantic streak anywhere?”
“Sure. Buy me flowers and I might even have sex with you!” I say, grinning.
“That's not funny!”
I thought it was.
****
I'm not going to fill you in on all the juicy details of Mark giving in to the inevitable. I know, it's ridiculously coy after sharing every moan of previous stuff, right? Well, deal. This is staying private. Although - I wonder if it's always that disappointing for the girl? Mark seemed pretty happy, but it was a lot more anticlimactic ('scuse the pun) than I expected. Maybe it was the condom.
Chapter 14: Barbie
The car show is on in Bathurst again, and I'm stoked. Pretty cars, the occasional pretty man smelling of engine oil... bliss! First thing Saturday morning I'm showered and dressed and breakfasted before Mum's managed her first cup of coffee.
“Bye!” I yell as I almost-run out the front door and slam it behind me.
Once I get inside the car show, I take a deep breath. Oh, that smell of oil and new leather and polish! I walk along the rows of gleaming, polished cars and try to keep drool off my chin. There are antique boxy creatures, old American-style Chevvies, and the hotted-up 80s cars, almost all Fords and Holdens. These babies are gorgeous. So much love and care has been put into them that it almost radiates from each one. Their owners are mostly nearby, polishing a mirror here or fixing a line there, intent on their preciouses.
Then I get to the bright pink one with fluffy pink seat covers, steering wheel cover, fluffy dice... everything. Even a fake pink fox's tail hanging from the aerial. Pink crystals along the dashboard and adorning the steering wheel. And holy crap, the engine is spray-painted pink too! Only someone truly disturbed would do that to a beautiful old Holden. It looks like Barbie went into classic cars after a severe head injury.
Barbie herself appears in front of me, like magic. Seriously, she's a Barbie-clone down to the huge boobs and high heels and the big blonde hair. I jump, because the apparition scares the crap out of me.
“Hi, little girl!” she coos.
Oh god, kill me now.
“Hi,” I say, and start walking to the next car in the line.
“Oh, she's a beauty, isn't she?” she says, looking at her car and completely ignoring my hint that I'm leaving.
“Umm, yeah... not really my colour, though,” I say, trying to be tactful.
Her face falls. Tact fail. I sigh. What the hell can I say about this poor mistreated monstrosity?
“You've obviously put a lot of woman-hours into her,” I say, finally.
“Oh, yes, she's my pride and joy!” ... and she's off, nattering about eBay and trade shows and how hard it was to get the exact right shade of pink in a fluffy seat cover, not to mention finding someone to paint the engine just right.
“I'm sorry,” I say, interrupting a tale about the fluffy dice, “I need to meet my boyfriend - I think he's over there,” pointing to the opposite corner of the car show.
I take off, ignoring the invitation to bring him back to see the car and have some nibbles. God, the woman's certifiable. Are we complete strangers or long-time buddies? Even I'm starting to wonder. As I'm shaking my head over the general weirdness, I bump into someone.
“Oh, sorry!” I say, and look up. Mark. Oh, goody, I didn't lie to the crazy lady. Hey, just wait - Mark at a car show?
“Hey, you!” he says, grinning, “Fancy seeing you here!”
I snort. Me at a car show's like a toy mouse at a cat show.
“You have a mission,” I say, looking as serious as possible, “Keep me away from Barbie and her uberfreaky BarbieMobile, k?”
He frowns, obviously trying to figure if I'm taking the piss.
“Seriously, there's a nutcase over there who wants to be my best friend, and she's PINK.”
“Oh.”
He's confused. Fine. He'd understand if he saw her.
“Maisy!”
I turn around. Gav's standing behind me, grinning from ear to ear.
“Is this the fella?”
Oh lordy. Is this going to be one of those male bonding-and-abuse sessions? Is this a city ritual too, or is Bathurst about to freak Mark yet again?
“Yup, this is Mark... Mark, Gav. Gav's a mechanic I hang with sometimes.”
“Nice to meet ya, mate,” Gav says, holding out a hand, “Maisy's a top chick, hope you're treating her good, eh?”
“Umm... yeah,” says Mark, looking confused but shaking Gav's hand, “She's awesome, isn't she?”
“Good stuff, we'd hate ta hafta beat ya up, y'know?” Gav says, grinning.
Mark's looking a bit green around the gills, so I laugh loudly and hustle Gav off in the opposite direction.
“Where's that new Baby you keep rabbiting on about, boy? Got her roadworthy yet?”
Gav takes the bait and forgets all about having fun with threats.
“Roadworthy!! Purrin' like a kitten and fuckin' gorgeous, mate! Check 'er out!” he says, pointing to a black beast with a serpent's head almost rearing out of the bonnet, it's been painted so well. If I squint, I can recognise the old crappy-looking Baby under the killer paint job.
“Wow! Who did the artwork?” I ask, almost gobsmacked.
“Cousin o' mine from Sydney - wicked, eh?” he says.
“It's better than wicked, it's... indescribable!” I say, in awe.
I want to do THAT.
>
****
Mark and I wander through the show, and I tell him about the cars as we go. He's quiet most of the time, but asks enough questions that I know he's not completely bored to death.
“Uh - nope, not that way!” I say, stopping dead and turning around.
“Huh?”
“Crazy Barbie lady,” I tell him, and start walking back the way we came.
“But - come on, she can't be that scary!”
“Fine,” I say, shrugging as I turn and walk backwards, still away from him, “go that way. Talk to her. Ask her about her dice. I'll see you at the pie cart, k?”
He frowns, shakes his head and walks toward Barbie woman. Whatevz. He can't claim he wasn't warned.
Twenty minutes later, he walks up and sits beside me, shaking his head in disbelief.
“She really was crazy Barbie lady,” he says.
“Uh huh.”
“You weren't exaggerating.”
“Nope.”
“She's - bonkers!”
“Uh huh. Told you so.”
He grunts. What, now he's annoyed I was right? Men.
****
Sex isn't the disappointment I worried it was. Seems stupid now, but I was kinda freaking that full-on sex was this big bust that women just did so the men would keep ponying up with the foreplay. It's not like you don't get that impression from watching TV sometimes, huh? I was getting a bit of a buzz, but nothing thrilling - but Mark kept having these moments where it looked like the top of his head was about to explode. Umm, in a good way.
So Mark and I mucked around, experimented, and with some oh-so-tactful advice from me about thinking of unsexy things, we got it lasting a decent amount of time and having a decent effect on me. Thank God for Cosmo, which is so much more socially acceptable for a young chick to read in public than the Kama Sutra. Why don't men's magazines explain this stuff to men?
We're lying on a blanket in our spot by the river, and trying to be quiet. We're trying a simple woman-on-top position and it's really working, you know? And then just as I'm about to hit that point of no return, we get out of sync, completely lose our rhythm, and I start laughing. And Mark starts pouting, because - apparently - no man can stand to be laughed at during sex. Geez, sensitive much?
Chapter 15: Good Mood
I bounce out of bed and out to the kitchen, grabbing Mum from behind for a hug. She squeals, surprised, then laughs.
“And what's got you in such a good mood?” she asks.
I shrug and chuck a piece of bread into the toaster.
“Life's good, I feel happy, thought I should just go with it.” I say, grinning.
She raises an eyebrow and looks as though she's about to question me more, then shrugs.
“Who'm I to complain that my teen's happy?” she asks. “Like anyone'd give me sympathy!”
I nod and flip my toast onto a plate for buttering and Vegemite-ing.
Not sure why the good mood, I'm just feeling incredibly good, physically. It's like my body's suddenly in perfect balance, without the yoga or tai chi or liver cleansing diet. Every bit of me feels bursting with energy.
Whatever. Embrace the awesome, right? I don't think there's anything in the bible against that.
****
“Crud.”
The awesome mood disappears as I sit on a school loo and realise that my period's about 3 weeks late.
“Crap, crap, crap!”
“You alright in there?” a voice comes through from the cubicle next door.
“Yeah, sorry, just remembered some homework I didn't do.”
Whoever it is puts themselves back together and leaves, while I sit in shock, staring at the floor tiles.
I am SO dead.
****
“Crap!”
The pregnancy test has two obvious blue lines on it.
I'm preggers.
I'm a school student.
I'm a Christian.
Darn, this is not gonna be pretty.
****
“PREGNANT!!” Mark shouts.
“SHHHH!” I hiss loudly. Lucky I got him out in the middle of nowhere to drop this bombshell.
“But - we used condoms and stuff!” he says, shaking his head.
“Remember those two that came off?”
“Shit.”
“Shit indeed.”
“What're we gonna do?”
I shrug. I have no idea. I don't want an abortion. It's too close to murder, I couldn't live with myself. But am I ready to do the mum thing? Hell, Mum managed to raise me while high as a kite - maybe it's not really that hard. Maybe I could adopt the kid out, like Juno. But then I'd have a kid out there that I wouldn't know, who'd wonder why I didn't love it...
I burst into tears. It's all too hard. Mark still looks shell-shocked, but he puts an arm around me and gives me a shoulder to cry all over. As soon as I stop weeping, though, he makes his excuses and disappears fast. And I'm left sitting by myself on the bank of the river, feeling like absolute crap.
****
“You're WHAT?”
I sigh. This is getting old fast.
“Mum... I'm pregnant, OK?”
She clenches her fists and goes quiet. I have a horrible feeling she's trying to calm down and failing miserably.
“Mum?”
She sighs.
“Well, I never did set a fantastic example, did I?” she asks, grimacing, “Anything else? Drugs, booze, STDs? Failed an exam?”
I almost smile, but bite my lip to stop it.
“Nope. Although I suppose I have to get tested for the STDs, just in case, huh?”
“Yep. If you can be pregnant, you could be crudded up too.”
“Thanks, Mum. Needed that imagery.”
“You obviously could've done with it earlier!”
Funnily enough, she hasn't asked me who the father is. Does she think I did her trick with too many men, or has it just not occurred to her to care?
“Well,” she says, putting the kettle on the stove, “at least you're not a lesbian, hey?”
I laugh. Knew she'd see the bright side eventually.
“You know you're grounded, right?”
Or not.
“Isn't that a bit like locking the barn after the horse was nicked?”
She snorts.
“Go to your room, chick, and behave for a few minutes!”
I go, and lie on my bed. Crap, this whole thing is so big and confusing. I don't know what the heck to do, or think, or want. I have no idea what I want. Except that I want this all to've never happened. My stomach flip-flops, and I clap a hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom, Mum yelling something after me. Perfect time for morning sickness to show up.
A couple minutes later, my stomach hurts from so many heaves, my throat hurts, and my mouth tastes really, really bad. Mum walks into the bathroom and strokes my hair, then fills a glass from the sink.
“Pregnancy sickness?”
“Nah, I'm still hungover,” I quip. Somehow it's really important to me to pretend this isn't a big deal.
“Monster!”
I get up and wash my mouth out, then she gives me a long hug.
“You'll be OK,” she whispers.
God, I hope so. Can't say I can see how, right now.
****
Eventually, it occurs to me that praying might be an idea. Yeah, yeah, I know - I'm a crap Christian. As if the whole pregnancy thing hasn't made that abundantly clear! So I get up out of bed, kneel down, and start talking quietly to this God who's supposed to be all-knowing and all-forgiving.
“God? I'm sorry. I know I've screwed this all up. I know I've let you down. And now I'm confused, and I don't know what the right thing to do is, and I'm scared. This pregnancy thing - I didn't expect it to be this freaky. I can't do it. I can't not do it either. Please help. I don't know what I'm expecting you to do. I don't want this to be happening to me, that's all. It's too much. People are going to hate me, you know? I'm scared, God. Help me?�
��
I stop. I feel like I'm just going around in circles and I'm sure I'm not framing the whole thing properly.
“Amen!” I say, and sigh. I do feel a bit better. I'm not sure if it's the praying or the mind-dump that's helped, but I don't care. Now to go back to bed and pretend this whole mess never happened.
As soon as I get comfy in bed, there's a knock at the door. Oh great, another guilt-inducing Mum-talk.
“Come in,” I call.
Mark walks in. Well, that's a surprise. Not really a pleasant one, either. I'm not feeling up to more emotion.
“Hey,” he says, looking shy.
God, I never would've thought something could happen that'd make us scared of each other. Umm, apart from getting into the sex thing in the first place, I guess.
“Hey,” I say.
“I'm sorry,”
“For what, getting me up the duff?”
He winces. It makes me feel a tiny bit better, for some reason. At least I'm not the only one suffering.
“For freaking when you told me.”
“Oh.”
“Maisy, I... dunno what to do, or say...”
“That makes two of us, boyo.”
He sighs, and looks at the wall.
“You told your mum?”
“Yeah.”
“I figured. She said, 'go right up, you can't do any more damage, can you?'”
Even though I'm feeling like crap, I can't help but laugh. Darn, that is so Mum.
“You haven't said anything to anyone?”
“Nah. Aunt Rosie'd freak, Dad'd go ballistic, Mum... she'd collapse into tears. It's not too inviting, I guess. I'm a coward, aren't I?”
I shrug. I can see where he's coming from. Heck, I knew Mum would react relatively well, and I was still terrified of telling her. Must suck to be expecting so much worse.
“It's OK,” I say, and sit up.
He just looks at me, obviously completely clueless what to do next.
“Oh, for God's sake sit down!” I say, grinning.
He blushes and sits down next to me on the bed, kissing me on the forehead. As he does, the mattress springs sway me slightly and my stomach turns again.
“Crap - get up, now!” I demand.
He just looks at me, confused.
“NOW!”
He jumps up, and I clamber out of bed and race to the toilet.
“Pregnancy sickness,” I explain when I get back, “sucks donkey balls!”
He boggles. Guess they didn't teach that in his Sex Ed classes either.
Chapter 16: Outed
We're at youth group, and Ben's pumped.
“Guys n gals, the church council met and... there's a new youth service in the morning once a month!”