just_a_girl (8 page)

It’s the long weekend and I’m working. I’m saving up for a dress and shoes. For my year 9 social. I’m thinking of inviting Mr C. But he’ll probably be a chaperone anyway. He’s got connections. I’ll have to settle for Davo. Who doesn’t want to hang around with year 9s any more.

I’ve got what mum calls
gallery legs.
From standing in one place for too long.

I’m unloading long green chillies. When Danny’s raw mince smell catches up with me. And he might be ugly but he’s not stupid. He’s picked the right time of day. The afternoon slump. Vanessa’s on her coffee break. I’m wilting with the salad leaves and he knows it.

He stands right behind me and reaches around. His large hand hunts for mine. It closes rock hard like a coconut skin. He pushes my fingers into a fist around the green chilli’s base. Until my knuckles feel like they’re cracking. He releases slightly and moves my hand with his slowly. Down to the tip and up to the knob-end. Up, down, up,
down. Along the crunchy green membrane. I’m as stiff as I know he is.

All I have to do is turn around. And raise my arms but I can’t do it. So much for self-defence.

—These are the best chillies to eat. Very hot.

He rubs his white apron pocket against my waist now. I know he’s watching me hard. Concentrating but I can’t look. With his free hand he’s undone his pants under his apron.

—You can tell a good ripe chilli by its shape. Hard at the top, harder at the bottom. Can you feel? I think you can feel.

He keeps my hand moving fast. Along the banana bend of the chilli. He’s massaging so hard my fingers clench. The metal display price tag cuts into my belly. We are both rigid. Enemies cradled together immobile. He breathes into my neck. He almost breaks my hand. Before he points and shoots from behind.

My face is so puffed from crying. I look like The Joker in
Batman.
Even the toilet mirror wants to turn away. And for once foundation isn’t going to fix it. I put my sunglasses on. Hoping to get to the bus stop. I push open the toilet door. And he’s right there. As if he’s been waiting all this time. It’s too late to turn around.

—Hey Layla, what’s up?

Marco looks at my mouth as he talks. The way people do when they can’t see your eyes. I push the sunnies firmly back on my nose. Of all the times to see him. I want to crawl out of here like a turtle. Where’s my shell. Where’s my shell. Where’s my shell.

I try to form the words. But for once I can’t even begin. I have to get out of this light. Anywhere but here. Before Marco sees it. My beating heart burning through.

—Hey, are you okay? Do you want a coffee?

I start walking. Head to the exit fast. Alert to the presence of Danny. But he’s a coward. Hiding up the back. Fuckadoodle, way to accept a first date. He keeps up alongside me easily. He doesn’t give up or fall behind. He’s got a huge stride but I can tell he’s walking slowly.

We get out onto the street.

—Hey, I saw on Facebook that you’re going to the Mud Festival up in Byron. I’ve got some tickets too. Perhaps we could hook up there. Some great bands this year. I’m heading up with some mates and we’re going to camp.

There’s nothing I can do to stop him. He stoops down to talk to me. He waits for an answer. A boy who actually knows. The rules of conversation.

—Yeah, I’m going with my dad. Pretty tragic. He wants to see the Beach Boys.

—Does your dad live up there?

—Yeah, he lives in Surfers.

—How long have you been going up there?

—Since I was a little kid. We do lots of stuff together. Movie World and cafes and shopping and movies.

—Does he get along with your mum?

There’s a pause as we wait for the traffic lights. When the green man flickers I decide on truth.

—Yeah, they don’t really talk at all. Haven’t really since he left.

—My mum and dad don’t either. And they’re still together! Hey, that’s my train coming! Gotta run, Byeeeeeeeeee.

Marco smiles goodbye and sprints. Springs over the fence with the style. That only long legs can bring. I wave, hoping my sunnies will stay on. He squeezes through as the doors are closing. The guard blows her whistle. And I wonder.

I wonder whether his father touches him. The way he just touched me.

I like hooking up with guys online. There are no boys at my high school I’m into. Davo’s starting to wear thin. Even though he’s 18 now. I need more brainpower. And I get to test them out on the net. I like the conversation. You can reveal more. When there’s a screen between you and them.

Marco has got potential. But it’s complicated. Always complicated. I’d have to work around his dad. And his school is way up the mountain.

Anyway. I don’t believe in just one boyfriend. The more you try out the better. I’m not going to be like mum. Spending my whole life. Pining for just one guy. But when the tables are turned. Nobody likes being dumped. Being played. But you have to go through the motions. It’s better to shoot them before they shoot you.

You can tell a lot from chatting. Mum lets me have the laptop in my room for homework. She has no idea of what I really get up to. The internet means I can play with myself. In all kinds of ways. Become another version of Layla. I love the first chats with a stranger. You never know what you’re gonna get. Like there’s this guy I really like. He’s been messaging me for over a year now.
youami33.
Fuckadoodle, how he makes me laugh. When I hear the
bling
of an incoming message my heart stumbles and swoops. He reckons he’s a music producer. Has worked with some bands like Wolfmother. But I have my doubts. For starters he lives in Newcastle.

But he’s hilarious. When we first chatted he pretended to be a girl. But he’s got no idea. I checked out his profile. His photo is of a naked girl. Wrapped up in the slippery slopes of a boa constrictor. Now, no girl my age would choose that pic. Mine is of me from the side. In a big stetson and yellow sunnies. You can’t really see me and that’s the point. But he sends me some great demo music for my iPod. And he’s not into all that boring chatroom sex. If anything I play around with him more. I want to know what makes him tick.

just_a_girl: cum on tell me what do u look like

youami33: I’m average build, average height, mousy brown hair, blue eyes, you know, average. I like to play chess on my computer and watch men throwing balls around on the weekend.

just_a_girl: so u r basically a nerd+ur gay:-)

youami33: Yes I guess to the former, no to the latter. Why would I be chatting to you every night? How old are you anyway?

just_a_girl: only ever tell u that in person a girls got 2 have some secrets

youami33: Does your mum know that you come into my bedroom every night?

just_a_girl: she thinks im doing my homework but shes at church now she even goes on wednesdays i had to talk her out of getting a babysitter i think i must be adopted:-)

youami33: LOL How is your doggie going?

just_a_girl: he just sits on my feet+doesn’t move much hes 84 in dog years doesnt want 2 go 4 walks any more

youami33: Yeah, I’m more a cat person myself. I have two Burmese that my ex left behind when she ran off with the milkman – Jolie and Pitt.

just_a_girl: LOL u called yr cats after Brangelina u must be gay! i didnt no milkmen even existed

youami33: No, either did I. His name was Mike and he was a very good salsa dancer.

just_a_girl: o cum on ur kidding me i guess that means u dont like to dance:-) i luv 2 dance

youami33: Yeah? What kind of dancing?

just_a_girl: ive tried heaps hip-hop and funk salsa bellydancing but salsa is my fave

youami33: Maybe you could teach me some moves one day and I can get my ex back with my incredible new talent!

just_a_girl: ha! poor boy that’ll work not have you seen dirty dancing what was ur ex like

youami33: She was cute, funny and smart. I miss her. She was a bit like you actually.

just_a_girl: how u mean

youami33: She asked a lot of questions! Challenged everything, didn’t take things too seriously. Pretty headstrong. And she was amazing in bed:-)

just_a_girl: so ur not a virgin then i am shocked

youami33: Somehow I doubt that. No seriously, being a virgin when you are heading towards 30 is not a good look.

just_a_girl: mmm well obviously i wouldn’t know would i LOL

just_a_girl: btw coming up to newc in couple of weeks perhaps we could hook up r u in town

Most of my life I’m on trains. Five days a week. To Penrith and back. Every month up at granny’s. To Newcastle and back. But the thing is, I’m a freak magnet. If there’s a crazy on the train they’ll find me. It’s not even that I have a kind face. I try to ignore them. But it’s like they feed off the life in me. Can see something under my skin that attracts them. Sniff me out. And it’s always when I’m on my own. No Sarah or Davo to scream out for.

The train pulls in at Glenbrook. I see him out the corner of my eye. As he runs to get my carriage. I think,
Fuckadoodle, here’s trouble.
Because he’s got the look. It’s always about energy. Crazies move around a lot. They can’t seem to control their limbs. They’re easier to spot if they’re talking to themselves. But it’s hard to tell sometimes. Because with mobile phones sometimes you think it’s a crazy. But then you see they have an earpiece in. So it’s actually a two-way conversation. So you start to feel safe again.

But with this guy he’s roaming around. He’s looking at the floor at people’s shoes. I start to pant on the inside. Oh god please don’t see me. Please leave me alone. I act cool and calm. Head down. Rummage through my bag for a book. Homework or textbook or anything. Murakami, help me now!

Open. Book. Eyes. On. Page. Follow. Words. On. Page. Read. Again. And again. Here. He. Comes.

The train pulls away and there he is. Of course there’s a spare seat next to me. There’s
never
a spare seat next to me. He swings into it. At first he looks away. But it’s only a matter of time. Breathe in.

Breathe out. His long curly hair reaches down his back. Jesus on speed. Crucified eyes find me. As we work through the flat landscape. He won’t look at anyone else now. We’re magnetised. And then he starts getting down on his knees. Oh my god here we go. I’m frozen solid. The whole train has become covered in ice. I have bare legs and have taken my school shoes off. I like to tuck them under when I read. He starts to stroke my feet. They are thin and boney and white. He mumbles in another language. He rests my little toe in his palm. I want to kick him but I can’t believe this is happening.

My fellow cabin-dwellers refuse to see him. They continue to breathe and sigh. Read and sway and move carriages. A few adjust their socks and sandals. Desperately trying to hide their feet. He tries to stand up but is drawn back. Won’t let go of my big toes. My face is as red as his socks. His hands are cool on my arches. I can no longer look into his eyes.

The train turns a corner and starts to slow.
Sorry.
The word rushes out of me. I grab my shoes and socks. Stomp over him in the commuter rush. I get off at Emu Plains. Not my stop. I get detention because I’m late for school.