Snake Bite

by Christie Thompson

  Laura giggled. ‘All my friends in Melbourne dress up.’

  ‘You’re not in Melbourne,’ I spoke slowly, as though talking to a child.

  Laura grimaced and ducked her head under the table to look at my Havaianas. ‘So thongs, then?’

  ‘Thongs in summer, Ugh boots in winter,’ I said dryly. ‘It’s like an unwritten law or something.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘So how’s Lukey?’

  Laura blinked. ‘He’s okay. You haven’t seen him?’

  ‘Not much since you arrived.’

  ‘Have you called him? He’d probably be keen to hang out with you.’

  ‘Been busy.’ I shrugged. ‘Not like we’re joined at the hip, y’know.’

  ‘He makes out like you are.’

  ‘You can’t trust men, can ya? They think with their dicks.’

  ‘That’s what Dana says, too.’ Laura nodded, then she added, playfully, ‘You sure you aren’t a lesbian?’

  ‘Fuck off!’ I scoffed.

  ‘Nothing wrong with lesbianism.’

  ‘If you’re into muff. And I’m not.’

  ‘So you like cock?’ ‘Cock’ sounded wrong coming from her cutesy little round face.

  I shrugged. ‘Not as much as you, obviously.’

  Laura opened her burger and pulled out the pickle and flicked it against the wall of the booth. It stuck on the white plastic surface for a few seconds and then we both watched as it peeled off and fell onto the table.

  ‘Nice,’ I said. ‘Somebody’s gunna have to clean that up, you know.’

  ‘Why are you so cold towards me?’

  I sipped my watery Diet Coke.

  ‘Is it just because of my thing with Lukey?’ she persisted.

  I started examining my fingernails, chipping off little flecks of black polish.

  ‘If I’d known you liked him, I wouldn’t have gone there.’ Laura lowered her voice and I could feel her eyes on the top of my scalp. ‘I’m not out to cut your grass or whatever.’

  ‘Well maybe you just moved in like a big slut before you had a chance to check the situation.’ My stomach flipped a little as I saw the pain register in her eyes, magnified behind her lenses.

  ‘Right.’ Laura shook her fringe out of her eyes. ‘I’m a slut now? Because I have sex with a guy. He wanted it too, you know. He never told me otherwise.’

  ‘Yeah, well he’s a seventeen-year-old guy. If there’s a hole to stick his dick into . . .’ I shrugged.

  ‘But I’m the slut?’ Laura’s pitch raised. ‘Haven’t you ever had sex before?’

  I swallowed. This conversation was really grinding my gears.

  ‘Of course I have,’ I said quickly. ‘Not that it’s your business. But I didn’t meet him, like, that day.’

  ‘So you’ve never had a one-night stand?’

  ‘Look, whatever. I don’t care, okay?’

  ‘You’ve never bothered to get to know me, y’know, Jez —’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ I interrupted.

  ‘I really wanted to be friends with you —’

  ‘I don’t want to be mates with you.’

  ‘— but you just shut me down every time.’

  I stared at her sullenly. ‘Look, nothing against you, but maybe you’re just not my type of person.’

  ‘You haven’t given me a chance. Lukey talks you up all the time, like, ohh, Jez is awesome and funny and so much fun, blah blah blah. But to me you’re just a bitch.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’ve got enough mates.’

  ‘Really?’ Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘Like Casey?’

  ‘She’s one of them.’ I folded my arms, defensive.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Laura said slowly, loading her words with meaning. ‘Casey.’

  ‘Laura!’

  Two slim women in jeans and singlet tops approached our table. The taller of the two had dark-brown curly hair and a tattoo of a sun, done in black ink on her upper arm. The shorter woman had a childlike face, with round blue eyes and short-cropped platinum-blonde hair and studs dotting the length of her ear, all the way up to the cartilage. A pair of Ray-Bans was perched on the top of her head. So these two were Laura’s mums.

  ‘We’re heading off, hon. What’re you up to?’ The shorter one spoke directly to Laura, not even glancing in my direction, which annoyed me.

  ‘Yeah, I’m coming. This is Jez.’ Laura waved a hand in my direction.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ The shorter woman turned her sky-blue eyes to me with a critical interest. ‘I’m Dana, this is Joanie . . . Joan. We’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘Hi, Jez.’ The older-looking woman, Joan, had a whispery soft voice.

  ‘Likewise.’ I tried to sound bold. ‘Likewise, I’ve heard about youse, too.’

  ‘Laura hasn’t met many people since we got here. She said you guys might be able to play some music together?’ Dana continued, her eyes searching my face. ‘We’re busy this afternoon organising for a rally, but maybe you could pop over sometime this week.’

  ‘Maybe Jez would like to help paint some signs for the rally?’ Joan nudged her partner in the ribs. ‘We could always do with extra hands.’

  ‘Jez?’ Dana asked.

  ‘What’s the rally? I mean I’m busy today I think, but —’

  ‘Equal marriage rights. We’re joining a demonstration tomorrow in the city.’

  ‘Marriage for . . .?’ My question trailed off.

  ‘Gay and lesbian couples.’ Dana said it so matter-of-factly that I felt a blush rise in my cheeks.

  ‘I’m not a lesbian or anything.’

  ‘You don’t have to be. I take it demonstrating is not your thing?’

  ‘Demonstrating?’ I couldn’t hide the scepticism in my voice. ‘There’s nothing I want to demonstrate against.’

  ‘Oh, really? So you’re apolitical?’

  I felt flustered because I didn’t know what apolitical meant. I was guessing Dana meant that I didn’t have a fucking clue about politics and she would be right.

  ‘I’m vegetarian,’ I answered lamely. ‘I care about animals.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. I’d love to talk to you more about that. Can you join us for dinner sometime?’ Dana asked.

  ‘C’mon, let’s go home, can we?’ Laura interrupted, squirming out of the booth, her voice pleading. ‘I’m so tired.’

  As we exited Hungry Jacks, Dana pressed me. ‘So when can you pop around?’

  ‘I guess . . . maybe this weekend?’ There were only so many times I could avoid her invitations. Not that I had any intention of actually going.

  I spotted my mother over Dana’s shoulder, waddling towards me with purpose, her figure bent in the middle to accommodate the load at her rear, like a toddler dragging around a full nappy.

  ‘I gotta go,’ I said quickly, hoping to get to Mum before any introductions needed to be made.

  ‘Je-eeez!’ Mum hooted in a yoohoo sing-song tone.

  ‘I gotta go,’ I repeated, edging away.

  Laura, Joan and Dana all turned to look as Mum approached us, breathless, her cheeks flushed.

  ‘You must be Jez’s mum,’ Joan said, winning the ‘State the Obvious’ trophy.

  ‘Yep.’ Mum squeezed me around the waist, as though we were besties. ‘That I am.’ She stuck out her marshmallow paw. ‘I’m Helen, nice to meet you.’

  ‘Joan, and this is my partner, Dana, and daughter, Laura.’

  Dana and Laura nodded their hellos.

  ‘They moved here from Melbourne,’ I said.

  I bit my lip and inwardly pleaded for Mum not to repeat anything I’d told her about Laura or her lesbian mums, but then I remembered that this was my mother, the lady who, countless times throughout primary school, forgot what time school ended and left me waiting in a deserted schoolyard for a lift home. Mum had the memory retention of a stoned goldfish.

  ‘I’ve just invited Jez over to our house for dinner Friday,’ Dana said. ‘I hope you’ll be
able to join us, too, Helen?’

  Mum looked surprised and chuffed. ‘Oh, suuure!’ she gushed to these women she’d known for all of five seconds. ‘That sounds lovely, doesn’t it, Jez? A girls’ night out! I’ll get my shift covered at the club.’ Mum gave me another pinch around the waist.

  All right, that’s it.

  ‘We’ve got to go.’ I pulled Mum in the direction of where we’d parked the car.

  ‘Really? We just got here . . . Have you spent all that money already?’ Mum was grilling me as I tugged on her arm.

  ‘Six o’clock Friday, okay?’ Dana called after us.

  ‘Great, fine!’ I sounded so fake, even to myself. ‘See you then!’

  ‘Why are we going home, Jez?’

  ‘I’m just . . . sick of this place. I want to go home, okay?’

  For some horrible reason my throat started tightening up like I might start to cry. ‘Where’d Jeremy go?’

  ‘Was that the girl you were telling me about? Lukey’s new girlfriend?’

  ‘Yessss,’ I hissed. ‘Well, no. She’s just a girl. Not his girlfriend. Don’t change the subject!’

  ‘Jeremy went home. He’s keen to come for dinner one night. Or we could all have dinner at the club Sunday night?’

  ‘Not a chance, Mum. Seriously. You and him. So gross.’

  ‘Just give him a chance, Jez. That’s all I ask. I knew you’d be this way, that’s why I didn’t tell you about him. Now you know, so please, try to be cool —’

  ‘Cool? Mum, you’re not a teenager!’

  ‘Whatevs, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Whatevs?! Mum, seriously, sometimes I feel like I’m your freaking parent.’

  ‘So tomorrow night, huh? Going to Laura’s for dinner?’

  ‘No, we’re not.’

  ‘Well, we are now, Jez. I just told her mum we are.’

  ‘I’m so not going.’

  ‘Yes, you are. What if I bump into her mum at the shops or at the club? That would be a bit embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Plus they seem like lovely people.’ Mum paused, musing to herself. ‘Wait, which one is her mum?’

  ‘They are both her mums.’

  ‘Both her mums? How does that work?’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ I marched two steps ahead of her, keeping the pace all the way to the car. ‘You don’t understand anything.’

  Mum turned up the radio full blast as she peeled out of the car park, windows wound down, singing Nickelback at the top of her lungs. I sunk way, way down low in my seat in case anybody I knew saw me.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was pissed off right into that night. I felt bored. Restless. I lay on my bed and thought about Cash and Lukey and sex and my dad and then thinking about my dad was killing the thinking about sex buzz so I just tried to think about Cash and the sex. I wanted to do something. I wanted beers and chats and some sort of mad times. I thought about who I could call up. Lukey—no, I was still annoyed about him and Laura. Plus, I wanted him to call me. It was a matter of pride.

  I thought about calling Cash. It had still only been a few days since we had sex in the tent. I feared rejection. Maybe the sex hadn’t been good. How would I know? It was my first time. To me, it had been disappointing. He was really good-looking, hot even. I liked the thought of him. I liked the thought of me and him riding off along the highway to Daylesford, both of us dressed in black denims and leather, me clutching onto him as the wind whipped through my hair. But the sex had been average. It was just . . . something that happened.

  I shut the bedroom door and pulled my dresser in front of the door to block it. I stripped naked and lay on my bed and took out a small compact mirror and held it up to my vagina. It looked sexy to me. I’d shaved. My pubic hair was pretty sparse anyway, but I’d shaved it on both sides and trimmed it back so I had just the ‘landing strip’. I examined the folds of moist skin between my legs and sort of touched myself. It felt good. I felt . . . sexual. And excited. I wanted to fool around with a guy. Not Cash . . . Not Lukey . . . Somebody not so close.

  I rang Martin Carroll.

  ‘Martin?’

  ‘Yeah? Who’s this?’

  ‘Jez.’

  ‘Oh, hey. What’re you doing? How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘What’re you doing tonight?’

  ‘Nothing. My parents went to the coast. I’m looking after my dog.’

  ‘Yeah right. I’ll come over? I’ve got fifty Mum gave me for Christmas, we could get some goon?’

  ‘Yeah, for sure.’ Martin was enthusiastic. I knew he liked me last year and it sounded like he still did. I felt relieved; I really wanted this. ‘Save your money, though. My parents’ liquor cabinet is well stocked.’

  ‘Even better.’

  ‘See you in what, half an hour?’

  ‘About an hour.’

  ‘Sweet.’

  I went into the shower and washed and re-shaved my vagina, suddenly wondering what I was supposed to call my genitals. Genitals sounded too . . . like, doctor-like. Vagina, I’d learned in science class, wasn’t really the outside bit. It was the inside bit. The actual hole. The outside bit was called ‘labia’. But nobody I knew said ‘labia’. They said ‘lips’ or ‘flaps’. Once I heard a couple of guys in my year talking about a girl one of them had rooted. The second guy asked the first guy, ‘What were her flaps like? Wizard’s sleeves or mouse’s ears?’

  Pussy? That sounded like something cooked up by people who made porno films. Oooh yeah, lick my pussy . . . It was weird. I had these bits between my legs that were meant for reproducing, for sex, for pleasure, but I didn’t even know what to call them. I’d heard heaps of stupid words in the classroom. Muff, minge, flange . . .

  Once when we were in science class and watching some sort of sexual education video, this girl named Rachel Jacobson stuck her hand up and went, ‘Can a chick get preggers when she’s having the time of the month in her vajayjay?’ We all laughed. Vajayjay sounded like some sort of energy drink. New! Vajayjay with guarana!

  I got dressed. Black lace undies and bra from Target and my usual black jeans and t-shirt over the top. Then I did my make-up: thick black eyeliner and mascara and hot-pink lipstick. I didn’t bother with my hair. It didn’t take long for me to walk to Martin’s house.

  Martin seemed nervous when he opened the door. He looked freshly showered; the ends of his hair hung wet around the collar of his t-shirt.

  ‘Hey, bitch,’ he said. I knew he was trying too hard to sound cool, but I also knew he was doing that to impress me and I kind of liked that.

  ‘Hey, punk.’ I gave him a quick hug. He smelled of Lynx deodorant and soap.

  I strolled into the lounge room, feeling Martin’s eyes on me. I knew he was already thinking about sex. With me. It made me feel powerful. I had something that he wanted.

  Martin was tall, but not as tall as Lukey, and kind of solid, like you could tell he would get fat when he was older, and had that sort of arrogant swagger that heaps of boys at my school had. Martin was always trying to be funny, but he wasn’t that witty, and always trying to be the loudest and drunkest. I’d gone to the Year 10 formal with him, but it wasn’t really a date. Me and Lukey and Martin and a few other kids went as a group. We didn’t bother hiring cars and all that bullshit. Our formal was held in the school gymnasium, so we walked there, smoking joints and swigging from bottles of Jameson’s. I was drunk and high by the time we arrived, my head was like a helium balloon, bobbing along and pulling the rest of my body with it. The teachers who were chaperoning the dance were eyeing off our group, huddled together in the corner, falling into each other, laughing and sneaking sips from hip flasks. This other friend of ours, Caroline, pulled Lukey onto the dance floor. They spun around like idiots, trying to make each other dizzy. From behind me I felt Martin’s breath in my ear. Come outside for another joint, Jez? I motioned to the others. Martin grabbed my elbow. I’ve only got a bit left. Just me and you.

  We walked out onto the school oval and s
at on the dry, dirt-patch ground near the concrete cricket pitch. There had been a drought that year. It seemed like most years there was a drought. Green grass was something you only saw on the lawns of Parliament House.

  Martin had sat down close to me and straightaway leaned in and started kissing me. I responded. I was drunk and curious. I’d macked on with a few guys before, at parties and stuff. It was always interesting, seeing how guys kissed. Martin was all about the tongue; he pushed his straight past my lips, hard and aggressive, until he was practically licking my tonsils. He tasted liked spearmint Extra. I hated spearmint. It totally made me wanna vom. Looking at him now I hoped he’d got better at kissing.

  Martin opened his parents’ liquor cabinet, which was an actual wood and glass cabinet in the dining room. His house was huge compared to mine, further up the hill in Kambah, even further up than Laura’s house. Martin was an only child, but he lived in a four-bedroom house and his parents had converted one half of the double garage into a den with couches and a telly. We sometimes smoked bongs in there and played PS3, it was a totally sweet hang spot. Martin was the type of kid my mum would call ‘spoiled’. But he was nice enough, and really smart, too, because his dad was a teacher and could help him with his homework.

  ‘You want to sit up here or in the bong lab?’ Martin asked me. ‘PS3 is in the bong lab.’

  ‘Yeah, let’s go to the bong lab, then.’

  He’d nicknamed his garage haunt ‘the bong lab’ because he’d nicked all these beakers and glassware from the science labs at school so that he could construct this epic triple-chamber glass billy. He called it ‘Bongus Maximus’ and drew skulls and crossbones on it with permanent marker.

  ‘Check this out.’ Martin opened a small cupboard to a crawlspace under the house.

  The lights from a heat lamp reflected off a cardboard diorama covered in foil and nearly blinded me. I blinked. There was one three-foot plant, fat and glistening with sticky resin.

  ‘Oh, wow!’ I breathed out.

  ‘Beautiful, huh?’ Martin fingered one of the tightly wound bud heads. ‘So juicy.’

  ‘When’s she due?’