Fragments (18 page)

“What is it, Bea?”

“It’s just …” she muttered. “I’ve always wondered why you call me Bea or Bea-Bea and not Trice. You know I hate my name.” She wrinkled her nose in distain.

I took in a breath slowly, being careful not to hurt my ribs and sighed, tearing the metaphorical Band-Aid off. “It’s stupid. You’ll think I’m an idiot.”

She frowned at me but gestured with her hand for me to continue.

“When your parents say ‘
bella
’, their accent makes it sounds like ‘Bea’ for me, and it makes sense. You are beautiful. You just don’t seem to see it yet.”

She gasped and stared at me, eyes wide and full of surprise.

“Um, I never thought you … um …” Fidgeting with her hands in her lap next to me, she couldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Bea, it’s not a declaration, okay?” I lied, “I like the sound of it. So, uncurl those crazy hands and calm down.”

She nodded, and for good measure applied more acidic lotion to the sores on my face. I hissed in pain and she rushed to get more cotton bud to stop it from dripping down my cheeks. With my good eye, I stared up at her face and marvelled at how beautiful she was. One day she’d find someone and it couldn’t be me.

I reached forward and tickled her hip and she giggled.  As she screwed the lid back on the lotion, I tickled her again, causing her to drop the lid. Her eyes squinted at me as she tried, but failed to hold back a smirk. I winked and she looked to the ceiling shaking her head. She snatched the lid off the floor and pretended to stomp silently to the bathroom.  It was an ideal way to break the tension between us. For me she was perfect, but I was never going to be good enough for her. My battered body was living proof of that.

Sometime later, my face felt as if it was on fire from the lotion, but I felt renewed. Bea threw the bloody buds into the bin and threw out the water in the bathroom sink. Returning to her room, she gestured to the bed.

“No way are you going home. I’ll sleep in the guest room and you stay here.” She began to leave, but I reached out and grabbed her arm.

“Please, Bea, please stay. I just want to lie next to you. I can’t be alone.” My pulse quickened as I gently pulled on her arm. My man card had been shredded, but the idea of being alone where

my thoughts could get to me was more frightening than lying next to Bea.

“Oh, all right. But if you bed hog, I’ll knee you in the nuts.” 

I shrugged, and without thinking, muttered, “It’s probably the only place he didn’t attack me.”

Realising my mistake, I turned from her and gazed out the window, afraid to see the pity back on her face. “I only have three more months, Bea. Then I’m out of here. I don’t have to come back. I can just go.”

She tugged on my sleeve and pointed to her bed.

“Well, let’s start the countdown by having a good sleep. I’m so sorry for what he did, Alex. One day, I hope karma gets him.”

Bea. My fiercely loyal friend.

We lay side by side, and within minutes I was fast asleep. I rose when I felt her gently tapping my shoulder. “Alex, I don’t want to kick you out, but maybe head to the spare room, otherwise my parents will murder you.”

I turned my eyes towards her. The sun was beginning to rise, she was still sleepy as her hair was scattered across her pillow. She looked unbelievably beautiful.

“Alex?” Her brow furrowed as she looked back at me. Blinking, I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll head home. He’ll be passed out so I should be fine. Thanks again.”

I rose and put my boots on as quietly and delicately as I could, my stiffening spine and bruised ribs tearing shards of lightning through my core. It was a wonder I didn’t yelp out loudly in pain. I looked over my shoulder, mouthed
thank you
, and left through her window, ignoring the jabs of pain ricocheting through me as I squirmed out.

*              *              *              *              *

In the days that followed, school was a blur. I had become a pariah. I guess when you broke a guy’s nose and busted a few of his ribs; it could make you seem like the Hulk. Especially when you looked equally as beaten. I used the excuse that I’d flipped over the dirt bike while riding Sunday afternoon, and when Robbie attempted to interrogate me with, “I never heard you start her up, man. What bullshit are you on about?” I quickly snapped a, “Fuckin’ leave it alone,” and was grateful that he did just that. He was a good friend and seemed to realise when to just let sleeping dogs lie. The only positive I could gather from this shitty week was that Stacey and her bitch friends were dealt pretty harsh punishments, and from what Trice had told me when I visited her that night, the vibe at school had changed. She was no longer a victim and was back to her old self—a cool relief to her bitter previous school life. 

              After the beating my father had dished out, he’d attempted to seek forgiveness when he was sober and calm, but I was over being a doormat. I ignored his pleas, and when he turned bitter, I stayed away.  Visiting Bea had opened a need that I never knew existed. In fact, I was embarrassed to say that sadly, that Monday night was not the only time I would come over for comfort. As the months ticked by, I came over often. It wasn’t always because of my father, more so to feel a sense of belonging that no one else could fill.

Escaping to Bea was a much better choice. Her warmth was my shelter.  As the secret sleepovers progressed, so did our closeness. It was not uncommon to go to sleep with her lying on my shoulder with one arm over my abdomen. We would chat about our dreams for the future, but despite getting into the academy, I couldn’t get Bea to talk about her dancing. If anything, she would turn the dialogue to my finals and give encouragement to my future goals.

It was nice being near someone who didn’t think I was worthless.

“You’re so intelligent, Alex.” she’d say. “I want you to kick arse in the exams and leave a trail of dust behind you. Make new memories that aren’t shit.”

We’d laugh about the stupid things Robbie had done that week, all the while keeping ultra-quiet. In the morning, I would rise before she stirred to ensure we weren’t busted, leaving an empty pillow behind. I usually sent her a text message with one simple word—
thanks
. We just existed in our own naïve little comfort bubble.

I only had a short time to go until I left for university, and I couldn’t stay away from Bea if I tried. I knew once I had left that this bubble would burst, and we would go our separate ways. My newfound addiction to her would ache like a burning sun on my flesh, but I needed to leave this shithole town.

“When my soul turned from these appearances

To the things which are true independent of itself,

I recognised my errors, which were not falsehoods”

Purgatory XV
; lines 115–118

Trice

Winter, 2008

“Pick up the pace girls, c’mon! How many times do we need to redo this cover? Boys, you are looking sloppy!”

Huffing the hair out of my face that had fallen from my ponytail, I continued to count the moves in my head.  Stevenson was under pressure as we were nearing the end of our final year. It was that time again where auditions were coming up, and we were planning our routines for the cattle rig, known as ‘dance selections’. Each one of us had a two-minute routine in a room with three judges who would decide if and where we would go. I had my fingers crossed for either Sydney or Melbourne. My family preferred Melbourne so I would be close to Robbie. He was about to move from his residential campus suite to an apartment in the city with a few guys.

“If you think this routine is hard, wait until next year! The big smoke will burn you alive. Now move!”

I wanted desperately to roll my eyes, but if Stevenson saw me, he would stop the music and make a point of openly discussing my ‘attitude’—he was a ball-breaker and rode us pretty hard, but in the end we knew he did it for our own good.

We continued practicing to the song, “Pump it” by the Black Eyed Peas, and it was fast. A

super-quick, lose-your-footing-and-you-could-break-something kind of fast. We were dancing barefoot and my thick-skinned feet were long past being blistered by the burn of the polished wooden dance floor. Our tough soles attempted to grip the floor the way Stevenson wanted, but our tired muscles gave in, which caused many missed steps. The ache continued to pull our sore limbs back and forth as the practice dragged on. Despite wanting to nail this routine, the repetitive stopping and starting added to mess us up. Stevenson pointed the tiny remote he had in his hand towards the stereo and stopped the beat of the zipping guitars. 

“Okay, ladies, timeout! You need it, and I need it before I resort to getting my flask of vodka out!” Huffing, he stormed off towards his office at the back of the studio. He wasn’t joking, either—we knew he had a hip flask in his desk. Heading to the side of the studio, we all gathered around our bags to retrieve our drink bottles. Glancing at the clock, I saw we still had half an hour left and although in normal circumstances it seemed a short time; it certainly wasn’t for us dancers. Stephenson would make us burn up every minute. 

“Man, he is riding our arses tonight!” One of the more petite dancers, Annie, whined. “Can he not see how friggin' fast we’re going?” She pulled her ponytail out in frustration and began twirling it up again while catching the flyaways. “I’m going to have to soak my feet tonight. They aren’t dry enough. It’s going to sting like a bitch.”

Argh. The worst thing about dancers’ feet was making them tough. No pedicures for us. We instead torture ourselves with sea salt to toughen them up and dry them out. Who said dancers had twinkle toes? More like coordinated rocks. I groaned, thinking about having to do it myself. Sticking my right foot out, I inspected the sole and thought better of it. I was too tired to massacre them tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

              Stevenson came back out of his office with a spring in his step, sounding out a few very loud claps. “Okay, ladies and gents, let’s do this!” 

We put our bottles away, and got into position. I was dancing alongside Aiden, who was a really strong dancer. Although there were some boys in our class, there weren’t many, as small towns had small minds. I had noticed, though, that recently more athletic guys were taking up dance classes, and quite a few of them played football or basketball. When I’d quizzed Aiden about the negative comments, he quipped, “I don’t care if they think I’m gay. Besides, I think I’m pretty smart,” waving his hand around, he’d continued, “I’m surrounded by sexy chicks in leotards. Sucks to be those guys with narrow minds and small dicks.” 

Aiden was really attractive, and many girls from class hooked up with him. Somehow, we avoided any awkward tension. He never tried to hit on me. We didn’t have that spark. It was fun teasing him about his next conquest.

We continued busting our butts to get the routine right, and when it came to Aiden lifting me, the whole class was in time.
Finally
.  In the two years of being in the senior class, we had become a pretty disciplined lot. We had four classes a week and one on the weekends, while also maintaining a vigorous fitness regime. I knew my curves would never go away, but my body had shaped and toned well. I still ran, although now it was every morning, not just on Sundays, and I must admit, I still indulged in my chocolate cravings now and then. We were lucky with Stevenson that we weren’t criticized for our bodies, which was a direct contrast to the ballet school. Those girls were put through the wringer if they couldn’t fit into the same stock-standard costume—they had to put up with the whole
one size fits all
ideal. I might be curvy, but this dancer’s body could rock the moves and look like a goddess at the same, minus the guilt of eating a bit of cake. The dance schools we went to had a different range of body types. You just needed to be an outstanding dancer and you were in.

              We wrapped up the class and headed towards our bags. This routine was going to be a killer, but impressive as well. I just needed to put in some garage time and get the moves right. Puffed

from the routine, I waited a moment before approaching Aidan. 

“Hey, Aiden.” I tapped his shoulder; he spun around to face me. “This song is a biatch. Any chance you want to meet up sometime and practice?” His water bottle touched his lips, as he nodded. Taking a huge gulp, he screwed the lid back on and threw it in his bag.

“Yeah, let’s get this shit sorted or we’re going to look like wankers.”

Seeing as it was the end of the week, we made plans to catch up on Sunday afternoon. We already had each other’s numbers, so I texted him my address. Noticing I had a few messages, I quickly checked them. Trinity had written a simple
call me
and I had one from Kyle, seeing if I was going to the markets tomorrow. We had started talking a lot more during the last year, and even hung out at a few local parties. He was really sweet and not as shy as I’d thought. I typed out a few messages to let both of them know that I’d get back to them before putting my phone away.

Feeling a little bit better, I headed outside and was surprised to see Robbie leaning against the car waiting for me. I girly-squealed and ran towards him.