Yearning (6 page)

The words leapt out at him like a siren song, bringing a disturbing rush of heat with them. The prose was so passionate it was difficult to believe she’d written it herself. She must have copied it from somewhere.

He read it through again. He‘d been right. She did fantasise about him. Eros and love all tangled up together in her naive young mind. It was sort of cute. Because, really, what would she know about it? He had no doubt she was a virgin. All her knowledge would be from textbooks or the back of dunny doors. God knows what she thought love was – some fanciful idea cooked up after reading too many romance novels. Solomon remembered believing in love once, a very long time ago, but not anymore. It was a fantasy. He’d learned this early on – probably too early – but it had saved him from the pointless heartache the rest of the population tortured itself with. He knew Eros was the main deal and love was an illusion that Eros created. His best bet was to get in, get his kicks and get out before anyone started contemplating anything too serious.

He placed the note down gently on the desk in front of him and rolled a cigarette. He wondered what she was doing as she watched him read her loving declaration. He flicked off his desk light and looked up. Her bedroom window was lit up like a television screen and she peered down at him through familiar owl eyes. He raised his
eyebrows. Usually she kept the room dim, was more careful to hide among the shadows under the light. He lifted his cigarette to his lips as he observed her.

She peered down into his darkness for a few minutes longer, then put the binoculars down and sat staring out of her window. Her face was a pale blur far above him. She got up and turned out her bedroom light. The window became a dark bruise reflecting the light of the moon.

Smiling to himself he folded the note back into its envelope and tossed it into the bin under his desk. His lips and tongue were still sticky from Tracey’s juices and he could smell her on his moustache and beard. He took a moment to finish his cigarette and revel in the memory of her hungry lips. Closing his eyes, he breathed in her fragrance. In moments he was hard again and longing to quench his lust. His memory and his hand would have to do. He took hold of his cock with deft expertise and groaned. When he finally came, he came hard, pumping like a piston against his sweating palm.

Afterwards, in the quiet, his thoughts returned to the love note. Pretty words. Passionate words. Words that reached to him from a realm that seemed far beyond the thin pixie-faced girl who’d written them. The rank scent of the paper was filling the room. Reaching into the bin, he retrieved the letter and took it to his bedroom where he lay naked on his sheets to read it again. It was too charming to throw away. He opened the top drawer of his bedside table and slipped it into the back corner where its quiet longing could lie remembered but unnoticed.

*

The following day Solomon felt the absence of his next-door neighbour. He’d become used to her filling all the hollow spaces around him and now she had gone, vanishing into the misty spring light. A light shame passed through him when he realised it was probably because of his careless exhibitionism with Tracey. That had been stupid. She could well rat on him and then he’d be in more trouble than Tracey was worth. He moved through his day, edgy and watchful, hoping she’d keep his secret to herself.

Two days later Tracey was on his doorstep again, looking for more. They wrestled in his bedroom for a while before he guided her to his desk to make a half-hearted attempt at tutoring. Tracey was a lazy and disinterested student, more concerned with hanging out with him than learning anything. Solomon recognised a lot of himself in Tracey. She only cared about the conquest. He could see she’d get bored with him, and that suited him fine. Her mouth was a welcome distraction, and while he kept it busy in his bedroom there was no need to listen to her droning on at him.

A week later, Tracey arrived for their tutoring session fifteen minutes late. Not interested in talking or touching, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into his bedroom.

‘Fuck me. Quick,’ she growled, and pushed him backwards onto the bed. He lost his balance and toppled over the side and onto his back on the floor. Tracey started to laugh and yanked off her skirt and underwear and sat astride him, grinning like a maniac. She pressed one hand against his chest and tore his jeans open with the other, tugging furiously at him before forcing him inside her.
Within minutes she was bouncing around on top of him like a ball in a pinball machine. Solomon did his best to keep up with her, but she’d caught him off guard, leaving him breathless and confused. When she was done she rolled off him and, stroking his still-stiff cock, announced that she’d had it with the bullshit of school. She’d met a guy from the cannery. She’d fucked him and he’d organised a job for her. Her real life was about to take off.

She leaned over and kissed Solomon roughly on the mouth. ‘Thanks, you’re a great fuck, but you’re boring as shit.’

She pulled on her clothes and, with a parting wink and flick of her hip, she left. Solomon, still struggling to catch up, waited for the sound of the door closing before pushing himself up onto the bed. ‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he muttered as relief surged through him.

*

She was coming home from Amanda’s house as Tracey strode down Solomon’s driveway. Her shoulders sagged when she recognised the older girl’s confident swagger. She was the last person in the world she wanted to talk to. Tracey stood blocking the entrance to her driveway, waiting for her approach.

‘Give them binoculars back, moron.’

‘Don’t have them.’ She looked at the ground, then the fence – everywhere but at Tracey’s face.

‘Sure you do.’ Tracey’s voice was saccharine sweet as she held out her hand. ‘I’m finished with him. Hand them over.’

‘They’re in my room,’ she mumbled.

‘Off you go then.’ Tracey stood aside to let her pass. She shuffled past her, flinching, half expecting a punch in the arm. ‘Hurry up. Pete’ll be here to pick me up in a sec.’

Her brow furrowed as she made her way inside. Pete? Who the hell was Pete? She went straight to her bedroom and dug the binoculars out of her toybox. God she hated them. At least she could finally get rid of them for good. She snuck back downstairs, hoping her mother wouldn’t catch her. Tracey was waiting at the bottom of the drive. A brown Torana was grumbling beside her, its passenger door flung open. A baby-faced man in a flannel shirt sat in the driver’s seat, smoking. She took one look at him and realised that Pete was more than Tracey’s friend.

‘Took your time.’ Tracey snatched the binoculars from her hands. ‘Hey Pete, this is the moron who stole my binoculars. Dirty bitch’s been spying on the bloke next door – haven’t ya?’

‘What? On that wanky poofter teacher?’ Pete smirked.

‘Yeah, the one I told ya is up himself. Thinks he’s God’s gift. Doesn’t he, moron?’

She stared at Tracey, at the claws that passed for hands, at the gunshot holes that passed for eyes, and wished she were older, smarter, stronger. This was unbearable. Tracey telling more stupid lies. She’d been the one who’d asked her to spy on him. And now she was talking about Solomon like he was a piece of shit. How could she say those things after what they’d been doing together?

‘You’re lying. You know none of that’s true.’ Her voice wavered with emotion and she hated herself for it.

Tracey and Pete looked at each other. A shrill sound filled the air. It was Tracey’s laughter. Pete joined in. Hard
shards of it shattered in her ears. This was too much. Not only had Tracey taken Solomon from her, now she’d left him for this flat-headed idiot. She couldn’t stand it. Her heart was broken. Now Solomon’s would be as well.

‘What’s happening, girls?’

Solomon’s voice drifted across from his porch. Tracey shut her mouth and glanced at him. She held up the binoculars, a knowing smile passing across her face.

‘Just saying goodbye to my mate.’

Solomon looked confused. She held her breath, watching Tracey wave the binoculars up and down like a flag in front of Solomon. Terror pinned her to the spot. What the hell was Tracey doing? Was she going to tell Solomon she’d been spying on him? Her breath left her as she watched Tracey hesitating at the car door, looking from her to Solomon and back again.

‘Get in, will ya?’ Pete was getting impatient.

Tracey grinned, tossed the binoculars into the back seat and blew her an elaborate kiss before climbing in. The engine revved, the wheels spun and kicked up stones from the gravel.

‘Everything okay?’

Solomon called out to her across the jagged teeth of the fence but she couldn’t answer him, couldn’t even look at him. She ducked her head and scurried up the driveway, as far away from his heartbreaking face as she could possibly get.

It took a couple of red wines for Solomon to gain his equilibrium after Tracey had left. The undignified topple over the bed, Tracey’s rampant animal rutting and her harsh words had thrown him off centre. He wasn’t used to women being so rough. And usually it was him ending things – he made sure he did it compassionately, not with the dismissal Tracey had delivered him. He was grateful she’d taken the initiative though. He’d satisfied his curiosity about her and was glad to be rid of her.

As dusk descended, Solomon retreated to his study. He loved that room. The space itself wasn’t anything much, a plain cream box with a wide window framed in mission brown. An old couch scattered with cushions leaned against one wall, the upholstery at one end worn smooth with use. He stood in the centre of the room and surveyed the wide leather-topped desk of gleaming walnut, and the two vast bookcases, their soothing shelves lined with orderly rows of literature, poetry, philosophy, political essays and esoteric wisdom.

In the presence of all those inspiring words he felt part of a larger world, a world of ideas and knowledge and possibility. He was a part of a community of great thinkers and great believers. Plato, Marx, Siddhartha, Mahatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Gloria Steinhem, Germaine Greer, Charlie Perkins, Kevin Gilbert; ancient, postmodern and contemporary words and images from people with a passion for human dignity and change flowing through their veins. This was a community he understood, who understood him.

He pulled a beaten paperback on Buddhism from one of the shelves and lay it beside him as he sat on the couch rolling a cigarette. He lounged back to gaze out of the window over his overgrown garden. He should get it cleaned up, he thought. Turn it into something worth looking at. Next holidays, he decided. It’ll give him something to do during the week.

As he sat musing, a pocket of light stretched across his back lawn. He got up and leaned across his desk. The girl was back at her window, her face a thumb-print smudge looking down at him, no binoculars this time. It had been a shock to see those things pass from her hands to Tracey’s. He’d been worrying about it ever since. He wouldn’t put it past Tracey to try to set him up with the Department, although to what end he couldn’t guess. He’d done nothing to her, save giving her what she wanted.

He had no choice but to wait and hope there would be no phone call, no letter, no embarrassing ‘please explain’ meeting with the Principal. While he doubted his little observer would betray him – given the letter she sent him – he couldn’t help being anxious. Her window had been
blank for weeks now; in class, her eyes stared listlessly past him to the blackboard. She seemed suddenly immune to him. Her lack of interest had been gnawing at him. Would she back Tracey up if Tracey blew the whistle on him? He had no way of knowing.

He’d tried to rise above it, the guilt that slipped through his veins as he’d watched her sitting mute in his classroom. The absence of her watchful gaze had made him sorry for his mistake. Now, as he settled again under her familiar gaze, he realised he’d missed her.

He picked the book up from the couch and sat at his desk, trying to focus on the pages in front of him, but he couldn’t concentrate. The words couldn’t hold his attention. So he just sat, his eyes downcast, the book open, allowing himself to be observed under her caring, young gaze.

*

At school the next day she seemed to be everywhere. She followed him around the school yard and materialised when he left the staff-room at lunch. As he strolled towards his car at the end of the day he caught her ducking behind a nearby tree. When he sat at his desk in his study that evening she was already in place at her bedroom window, waiting for him.

Intrigue settled into his marrow. He wondered about her. He was sure there was more to her than just awkward silence. Something deeper must beat behind the small breasts budding through her uniform. But every time he approached her he was met with silent gaping. While other girls warbled and gushed at him, she just stammered
and stared at his feet. He couldn’t even get her to look at his face.

As end of term three drew near he decided to try and connect with her, to uncover and discover the young woman beneath the awkward teenager. While on yard duty he roamed the school grounds, searching her out in the giggling groups of girls that gathered like sparrows in the shady corners of the school. She was unlike her skittish peers. He sensed a suppressed maturity in her that was crying out to be recognised. He attempted to engage her in conversation, yet, no matter what he said, she remained distant from him, standing apart while the other girls crowded around him. Her strange combination of intensity and aloofness drove him mad with curiosity. He’d never met a female he couldn’t charm and he was damned if this chit of a kid would be the first.

Solomon stood among a cluster of eager girls, all of them yammering for his attention. His gaze constantly slid to where she sat quietly finishing her lunch. She behaved as though he was invisible, but he knew she must be acutely aware of his presence. He was careful not to stand too close, or to make his interest obvious. He didn’t want her to become the subject of stupid school ground rumours.

‘Solomon, are you coming on school camp next term?’