Sarah's Education (23 page)

Donna shrugged. ‘I’ll probably go clubbing.’

Mrs Meadows clucked her tongue impatiently. And spend the first day of the new year in bed with a hangover,’ she said sharply.

‘Yeah,’ Donna replied cheerfully. ‘Probably.’

Sarah sipped her wine. She’d been playing peacemaker between her menopausal mother and her self-proclaimed Asperger’s sister ever since her arrival in St Paul. It was getting tiresome. She glanced at her father. He grinned good-naturedly and gestured to the box of wine on the table. Sarah shook her head. Much as she agreed with his unspoken suggestion that alcohol always helped, she was too much of a snob to drink any more boxed wine than was necessary to be polite.

‘What schools have you applied to for graduate work, lovey?’ Mrs Meadows was speaking to Sarah, but her eyes were on Donna.

‘I haven’t decided what I want to do next year. I have a new part-time job, with a catering company that I like a lot. It pays really well. So I might take some time off school and concentrate on making money.’

She saw the glances exchanged between her parents. Was that relief? Why had it never occurred to her, until now, that the cost of her education, even with her student loan, was a weight on them?

‘Anyway, Professor Braun’s final exam was way out there. There was only one question on it. “Write everything you know about the meaning of life.” A friend of mine, Christopher, wrote, “I know nothing about the meaning of life,” and walked out.’

‘Brilliant!’ Mr Meadows laughed heartily.

‘We’ll see. I think he’d like to fail us all, in which case we won’t have the credits to take his second semester class on ethics. It’s a problem for all the Phil. Honours students.’

‘Braun. He’s the professor you think is losing his mind?’ Mr Meadows tapped his forehead with his fork, leaving a little mashed potato at his brow.

‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘So all I can tell you, Mom, is that right now I’m considering staying in Toledo.’

‘Wonderful!’ Mrs Meadows clapped her hands. ‘David must be thrilled. I’m so glad you’re taking my advice. Stand by your man, Sarah, that’s what I say.’

Donna choked on a mouthful of wine. ‘What happened to, “Never get married, never have children”? God, Mom, you’ve really changed your tune.’

‘Well, Germaine Greer says –’

‘Germaine Greer is a traitor to feminism,’ said Donna. She waved her glass impatiently under her father’s nose. He took it and busied himself filling it from the box.

Mrs Meadows glared at her youngest daughter. ‘It astounds me that a high-school dropout imagines herself so well-informed on every single issue that –’

‘I don’t need a piece of paper to be informed. Or to have an opinion.’

‘Pass the peas!’ Mr Meadows bellowed. He handed Donna her glass, full almost to the brim, and gave her a glowering frown.

Christ. In an instant Donna and Mrs Meadows could and would veer from chit-chat to attack. Sarah was weary of it. She could only imagine how much it exhausted her dad. She handed him the peas.

‘What are you two doing for New Year’s Eve?’ Sarah glanced from her dad to her mom.

‘Nothing much,’ muttered Mr Meadows.

‘If you were staying over New Year’s we’d likely have a dinner party,’ said Mrs Meadows. ‘Invite all your old school chums.’

Donna snorted. ‘Sarah only has one, and Alice didn’t come home for Christmas.’

‘Don’t be cruel,’ said Mrs Meadows.

‘She can’t help being a loner. That’s the way Asperger’s people are,’ said Donna.

‘Here we go,’ sighed Mrs Meadows. ‘Doctor Meadows and her internet diagnoses.’

‘She fits the profile. Brilliant, strange, lousy communicator. She’s even a picky eater.’

Sarah quit toying with her food.

‘Oh, you’re just jealous of your sister, always have been,’ grumbled Mrs Meadows.

‘I am not! Jesus fucking Christ, Mom –’

‘Quiet, you.’ Mr Meadows pointed his fork at Donna. Turning his head, he asked, ‘What do you think, Sarah?’

‘About being high-functioning autistic? I … I think I’d like more wine, please, Dad.’

Sarah retired to the room she shared with her sister as soon as she could. She lay in her twin bed, in the flannel pyjamas she’d received from Santa that morning, and yearned for sleep. She’d been in St Paul for four days and four nights. After this one, there’d be only one more day and night before she flew back to Toledo. If only she could will herself to fall asleep, right now. But of course the harder she tried, the wider awake she became. Her fingers drifted to the waistband of her pyjama
bottoms
. Masturbation was one way to find relaxation, but she didn’t think she could do it, not with her family, her dysfunctional family, lurking about the house.

Donna flounced into the room. She switched on the bedside lamp. ‘I fucking hate her.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sarah wearily. She didn’t know how much more peacekeeping she’d be able to do without a break. ‘She’s just Mom.’

‘Easy for you to say. You’re the good one.’ Donna stripped off and started pulling on her new pyjamas. ‘What the fuck are these things supposed to be?’ She gestured to the pattern on the pyjama bottoms.

Sarah peered at Donna. Come closer,’ she ordered. Donna complied, bending over so her bum was inches from her sister’s face. ‘I think they’re kitties,’ Sarah said. She threw back her covers. ‘What’re mine?’

Donna perched on Sarah’s bed and scrutinised Sarah’s flannel-clad body. ‘Some weird sort of bunnies?’

They giggled.

‘Space bunnies?’ Sarah asked, giving her sister an exaggerated look of confusion.

‘Kitties from hell?’ Donna bit her lip quizzically.

They erupted in a full-blown fit of laughter.

‘Shut up. They’ll hear us,’ said Sarah. She slapped her hand over her sister’s mouth.

‘Mmph,’ mumbled Donna. She clapped her hand over Sarah’s mouth.

They’d almost stopped laughing when they heard their parents’ footsteps in the hallway. Sarah and Donna gave each other identical horrified looks and the hysteria bubbled up again.

Once they heard the door to their parents’ room close they finally collapsed, weak from silliness. Donna crawled under Sarah’s covers.

‘I miss you sometimes,’ whispered Donna, even though you’re a pain in the ass.’

‘Thanks,’ whispered Sarah. ‘Ditto, I’m sure.’

‘It totally sucks here.’

‘I know,’ Sarah whispered back.

Donna sat up. ‘Wanna go clubbing?’

‘Now? Here? Christmas Day in St Paul? You’re kidding.’

‘I know a “speak” that’s always open. Want to? You might just like a taste of the underworld.’

‘I’m not as much of a goody-goody as everyone thinks,’ said Sarah.

‘Prove it,’ challenged Donna. She jumped out of bed. We’ll go like this.’

‘In our pyjamas?’

‘Yeah. It’ll be fun. C’mon, Sarah.’

Sarah paused for a moment, remembering all the nights she’d lain in her bed, half envious, half pitying, and listened to her little sister quietly escaping this buttoned-down suburban house. What was out there, she’d wondered, that was so enticing it beckoned Donna away from warmth and safety, propelling her into darkness and danger? She jumped out of bed. ‘I’m in.’

The streets of St Paul were silent; even downtown seemed deserted. Once they were on the other side of the core, Donna drove slowly, peering intently through the windshield. ‘It’s here somewhere,’ she muttered. ‘I haven’t been in a while.’

Sarah sat in the passenger seat, holding a shoe bag with their fuzzy slippers in it.

They’d donned their coats and boots over pyjamas and bare feet and had silently left the house. Once they were strapped in, Donna had released the parking break and put the car in neutral. The driveway was on an incline, so the car simply rolled backwards onto the street. Only then did she turn the key in the ignition and flick on the lights.

‘So that’s how you always got away with stealing the car. I never could figure it out.’

‘I’m an evil genius,’ Donna had replied.

‘There it is!’ Donna’s expression was triumphant.

Sarah peered through the windshield. She saw nothing but dark, seemingly abandoned warehouses. ‘Are you sure?’

Donna parked the car. ‘Trust me. Things are not always what they seem.’

Sure enough, Donna’s knock at an alleyway door was answered by a big man in black leather. ‘Sweetie!’ he cried in a surprisingly shrill voice. ‘Long time no see!’

He and Donna air-kissed.

‘Come in, come in. How’s my favourite fag hag?’

‘Peachy,’ said Donna.

The sisters climbed a seemingly endless flight of steel stairs.

‘Fag hag?’ Sarah whispered to her sister’s back. ‘Is this a gay bar?’

‘Yeah. You got a problem with that?’

‘Well, no, not exactly. I was hoping for a little action is all.’

Donna paused on the stairs to glance back at Sarah. Really? My, how you’ve changed.’

Sarah shrugged.

‘I gotta meet this David guy some day. I want to meet the man who deflowered my big sister.’ Donna resumed climbing.

Sarah chuckled. Let Donna think what she liked. Sarah thought about all the men she’d been with. Except for three – David, Christopher and Luigi – they’d all paid for the pleasure of her company. She allowed her thoughts to linger on her last assignation, the weekend she’d spent with John, then resolutely pushed him from her thoughts. Just another john, albeit one who had touched her in a way no one had since Jack, the man who had really taken her virginity. In between the two she’d had, she realised, a lot of men.

As they approached the top floor they could hear the boom boom boom of synthesised dance music. Two big guys swung open the double steel doors and the girls were assaulted with such a noise that Sarah felt she might be pushed back down the stairs by it.

They entered a dark cavernous space, alive with the writhing bodies of men in heat and lit with swirling coloured spotlights. Donna grinned at her sister as she shucked off her coat and boots. She grabbed her slippers from Sarah and slid them on
her
feet. ‘Come on!’ She dragged Sarah through a packed crowd of mostly male bodies, towards the bar.

Sarah had never seen anything like it. The place was vibrating with the combined energy of music and dancing men. Everywhere she looked she saw men pressed against other men, dancing or making out or both at once. The bar was crowded but Donna managed to worm her way to the front and returned with two plastic cups of beer. Sarah took one and tipped it to her sister. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she mouthed, and took a long draught.

They danced. Sometimes together, sometimes with guys, sometimes alone. They danced for hours, until the flannel stuck to their skin and their hair was slick with sweat. They danced with guys in jeans and shirts and guys in nothing more than thongs and running shoes. They danced until the music stopped and the floor show began.

Two men, one at each end of the stage, danced solo in a spotlight. One was young, fit but skinny, with a flop of black hair. The other, big and bald, was incredibly muscular. His body gleamed with oil. Both wore thongs and nothing else.

There were a few catcalls from the audience, which had gathered on the dance floor to watch. But when the bald man raised his head, as if from a trance, and stared menacingly into the crowd, the heckling ended. He spotted the other man, apparently oblivious to everything but the music, writhing sensuously. The bald man approached, his spotlight following him, until he was behind the young man. He paused, then pounced.

The young man feigned shock. He struggled to break the iron grip the bald man had on him, and was rewarded with a slap across the face. He fell to his knees and his well-oiled aggressor raised his fists in triumph, like some hairless King Kong.

‘I don’t know about this,’ Sarah muttered to her sister.

‘Silly. It’s all for show.’

‘Yes but –’

On the stage, the young man’s head was pushed down and his hips tugged up. He was being arranged by his aggressor,
handled
like he was nothing more than a bendable sex toy. He glanced up at the audience. His eyes were wild, full of fear. The bald man put his foot to the younger man’s shaggy head and pushed it back down.

‘He’s afraid, Donna!’

‘Shh. Don’t be silly. They’re lovers.’

‘In real life?’

‘Yes. This is what they do. Don’t you study drama?’

‘Yeah.’ Sarah wanted to look away, but she couldn’t, she was riveted by the passion play taking place on the stage.

‘So. It’s a play. A sex play. OK?’

Sarah nodded. She realised she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled, just as the bald man bent to tear the string of his victim’s thong apart with his teeth. The young man raised his head. Sarah caught a glimpse of his cock. She was gratified to see that it was hard. God, he liked being on display like this. Again the bigger man put his foot to the back of his prey’s head and pushed it down.

Sarah could only imagine what it must feel like to be the focus of such a powerful man’s abuse. A foot to the head like that must make the submissive feel like the lowest of the low. She was tingling all over. She glanced at her sister. Donna’s cheeks were bright with colour. Her own face felt hot, too. Her blood was rushing, her pulse pounding. She wanted it, just like that, her nose to the floor and John’s foot on the back of her head. Depraved. She was hopelessly depraved. Fuck.

Now the muscular, oiled man spit into his hand and rubbed it carelessly up the crack of the other man’s bum. He pointed to his bulging thong and grinned at the crowd.

‘Take if off!’ The cry was quickly taken up by the mesmerised crowd. ‘Take it off!’

‘He won’t,’ muttered Donna, not taking her eyes from the stage.

But he did. His cock was massive, by far the biggest Sarah had ever seen. Her mouth fell open in amazement. Was it even real?

The muscleman thrust out his hips, showing off his meat. It
rose
from his hairless pelvis like a great one-eyed monster, a heat-seeking beast of prey. He strode back and forth across the front of the stage, his wagging cock leading the way.

Any doubts Sarah had about the authenticity of it were dispelled. She’d like to try that thing. She couldn’t take it in her mouth and wouldn’t take it up her ass but what would it feel like, a cock that size, shoved deep inside her pussy? She moaned.