by Michael Earp
The creature lowers itself down and sits across from the person, slowly and gently. They look at each other, one into exhausted, sunken eyes; the other into empty eye sockets. Their breathing steadies. The other beings pause, as if waiting to see what will happen.
Do you ever cross the road to walk in front of shop windows so you can check yourself out in the reflection? I crossed the road to avoid them. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of my reflection in soup spoons or black tablet screens. Often when that happened I couldn’t even recognise myself. My own face looked like that of a stranger. I can’t really describe what that feels like. It’s scary and confusing, and I guess for me it felt dangerous, like I couldn’t even feel safe when alone. In fact, sometimes I felt least safe on my own. I didn’t want to see myself.
My brain was suffocating. The voices inside it were shouting at me constantly. I wanted to think about something else, focus on something else other than myself. But I just couldn’t escape it. The voices fed on my reflection; they picked apart every inch of my flesh and dined on it.
I did what I could to evade the feast. Every time I went to public restrooms I looked down or closed my eyes, so as to avoid the huge mirrors. The only thing worse than seeing my reflection was having strangers ask if I was okay.
I could never predict what people would see when they looked at me. It felt like there were so many trivial variables. I’d wear a green jumper and become a boy, then a blue one and become a girl. Cross my legs = girl, spread them out = boy. I didn’t know what I was doing to make this happen. I was treated differently everywhere I went. I wanted to be treated like me, to be asked what I was looking for as a person and not as a gender. I wanted to scream at everyone. There was a part of me that wanted to tear the flesh off my bones and burst through my ribcage and fly away, into the horizon, ready for a migration elsewhere.
I started holding it in. I stopped peeing in public. I couldn’t choose a toilet, couldn’t avoid the mirrors, couldn’t stop myself from crying. So I just held it in.
I wanted to break every mirror I saw. I couldn’t stand to look in them. They were liars.
I plunged deep into a pool of my own misery and I wasn’t sure how I would ever get out. I’m sorry, Dad … I didn’t mean to make your life so difficult.
The figure reaches forwards with a dripping dark appendage and the person flinches. The thing caresses their pasted hair, pushing it out of their face. It traces the curve of their jaw and leaves a strand of gelatinous goop. The person is no longer sure if they need to be afraid, or whether they were just used to being afraid. They had been running away from it for so long. They look up at it, maintaining a strong gaze as their breathing slows. There is a sort of tenderness to the creature’s movements. It coats the person now, covering them in a warm layer of dark fluid. Running along their injured arms, bruised body, down their stomach and legs, all the way to the tips of their rotting toenails. The liquid is refreshing and relieving, it feels like aloe vera on sunburn.
The person leans forwards and rests their forehead against what could only be described as the being’s head. They begin to cry. It is a deep, weighty cry. The creature holds them and weeps as well. It is under this layer of heavy gel that they feel safe, hidden and covered. They lie down, allowing the liquid to press them into the floorboards. Enjoying the weight over their body, they stretch out their arms and legs, fingers and toes, letting the thick ink fall through all the gaps, spreading out over them.
They pull their legs into their chest and lie on their side in a fetal position. The creature lies in front of them and they wrap their arms around it, spooning it. They cry into stickiness and allow it to swallow their sorrow.
The door opens and brightness spills into the room. A man switches on the light.
“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing in the dark? I thought you grew out of that. Dinner is almost ready, so come down soon.”
“Okay, Dad.”
The door closes as quickly as it opened, taking with it the light and air.
How could he not have seen it?
The door opens again; this time the smell of lentil bolognaise wafts into the room. My favourite.
“You’re not okay, are you?”
They shake their head. Dad comes in, switches the light off and lies down behind them, holding them tight. They don’t say anything, but they know that he can see it now; he has learned how to see it. Their father holds them, as they hold the being in front of them.
They wake shortly after, realising they had fallen asleep. They blink, wide-eyed and lucid. They look around the empty room for the dark presences. Light seeps in from the opened wooden blinds and door. A bowl of food lies on the floor with a note that says, I love you and your darkness. Now eat your dinner.
“Please, Audrey, put this on.” Vanessa shoves her jumper into my arms, her eyes darting around the crowd of people at Southern Cross station.
“Why?” I ask. It’s twenty-four degrees and we just got off a packed train. I’m already sweating.
“Because,” she says with a huff, “people are looking at you weird.”
I glance around, but don’t see anyone paying even a sliver of attention to me. Exactly the way I like it.
She makes a point of nodding at my T-shirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn it; I ordered it online specifically to wear today. It’s a comic-book-style drawing of Stephanie Beatriz, aka Rosa Diaz in Brooklyn Nine-Nine, in Wonder Woman pose with the word “BICON” exploding underneath her. She’s my bisexual hero, and she’s scheduled to be at PrideCon today.
“Come on,” Vanessa says. “Just put it on until we get into the convention centre, please?”
I open my mouth to argue, and Vanessa gives me The Look. I get it a lot. Her big, brown eyes glare with an intensity that makes me drop my gaze to the floor. She’s not someone people would typically describe as intimidating. Her thin frame stands at about five feet, shorter than me, her white skin is covered in freckles, and her features are almost fey-like. People often mistake her for a twelve or thirteen year old, rather than sixteen – which she hates. Still, when she looks at me like that, I shrink before her.
“Fine,” I mumble, then pull her thick woollen jumper over my head. The way it scratches against my arms makes me squirm, but it’s easier than arguing with her.
She texts her boyfriend, Sully – short for his surname, O’Sullivan – while we walk through the city. It’s around 8 am on a Saturday morning. The only people out are joggers and partygoers heading home from a big night. And people like me: queer geeks on their way to the convention.
“Okay,” Vanessa says, flipping her mop of curly brown hair. “So, we need to be at Flinders Street by five. Sully is gonna meet us there, then we’ll catch the train. Mum thinks I’m staying at your place again tonight. Don’t forget that. I don’t need you messing up my alibi again.”
“I know,” I say. “I’ll remember.”
She’s my best friend. Well, my only friend, really. We sat next to each other in English class last year. She had recently moved to the school and didn’t know anyone, so we kind of just stuck together. She met Sully when they started working together at Hoyts about six months ago, and now she mostly sticks with him. I’m excited to have a day for the two of us today.
By the time we reach the convention centre, the line is stretching all the way around the corner of the building.
“Whoa,” Vanessa says when she sees it. “I didn’t realise how popular this thing is.”
“It’s huge!” I say, grinning. “Look at all these cool people!”
Vanessa snorts. “Yeah.”
We stand at the back of the line, and soon others join the line behind us.
Vanessa’s phone buzzes, and she answers it. I can tell by the way her voice rises an octave that she’s talking to Sully.
I busy myself by admiring the colourful patches and buttons on the backpack of the girl in front of me. Rainbows, doughnuts, cats and unicorns make up most of them, but
my faves are the Golden Girls patch and an acrylic button of Dean and Castiel from the show Supernatural, with the word “Destiel” underneath it. She’s a shipper. I like her already.
Vanessa ends the call with Sully, then nudges me with her elbow. “I need to pee. Be right back.”
I nod, and she steps out of the line to look for a bathroom. While I wait for her to come back, I grab my phone and do the rounds on social media, checking my apps for the latest updates. And then I check them a few more times, just because I have nothing better to do. If I don’t keep my mind busy by scrolling through Instagram or doing BuzzFeed quizzes, I’ll grow restless and fidgety.
After an hour, Vanessa still hasn’t returned, so I text her: you good?
yeah! Doing some shopping at Crown. Are you still in line?
yeah. Hasn’t moved yet. Are you coming back soon?
I don’t really want to stand in the sun all day. Let me know when the line moves.
You’re not coming back?
are you so insecure that you can’t stand in a line without me?
I frown at my phone. I don’t want to be insecure. But the whole reason I wanted her to come with me was to hang out with her. It’s been months since we had a day to ourselves without Sully. Besides, she knows I get anxious in crowds. I could really use my friend right now.
I text, sorry. I just wanted to hang with you. I’ll let you know when we’re moving.
She doesn’t reply, so I open up Instagram and scroll mindlessly again to calm my anxiety.
Just then, Destiel girl’s phone slides out of her pocket and onto the ground at my feet. I step back slightly, waiting for her to realise and pick it up – she doesn’t. She’s so wrapped up in talking to her friends that she hasn’t noticed her phone falling. I stare down at it for a second, then pick it up and tap the girl on the shoulder.
“Hi!” Her blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight and her reddish-brown hair flicks back as she turns to me. She’s wearing pink matte lipstick that brings out the rosy hues in her cheeks. I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before. I remember her smile.
I lift her phone up. “You dropped this.”
“Oh!” She takes it and rubs her jacket sleeve over the cover. “I didn’t even know. Thank you!” The screen lights up as she moves it, and I can’t help but notice a near-perfect drawing of Stephanie Beatriz on her lock screen. I desperately want to ask her where she got the picture from, but before I get the chance, she’s turned back to her friends. The moment has passed.
Dammit. I return to scrolling Instagram, wishing I had the guts to talk to her.
“She drew that, you know?” a voice says. I look up to see one of Destiel girl’s friends, and I think she’s talking to me. She’s tall, like six foot, pale and has long, blonde hair that’s straight as an arrow.
I take a subtle glance over my shoulder to be sure she’s not talking to someone behind me, then answer. “Really?”
The tall girl smiles and nods. “Isn’t it awesome?”
Obviously realising we’re talking about her, Destiel girl turns to us. “What’s awesome?”
“The drawing on your phone,” her friend says.
“I wasn’t snooping,” I stutter. “I just noticed it. I love Stephanie Beatriz too.” I lift Vanessa’s jumper to show them my BICON shirt. “See?”
The girls start laughing, and for a terrifying second, I think I’ve lifted my T-shirt up accidentally. Then Destiel girl says, “Oh my god, that’s my shirt!”
“You have this too?” I ask, excited.
“No,” she says. “I mean, I made that shirt. I drew it. It’s from my Etsy store.”
I smooth the jumper back down. “You’re DisasterBi02?”
She beams at me. “That’s me!”
“I’ve bought, like, ten things from your store,” I say.
She clasps her hands together over her chest. “Thank you! I used that money to get a ticket for today!”
Then an amazing thing happens. She steps aside so that her friendship circle opens up to include me. In a matter of seconds, I’ve gone from being an outsider to one of the gang.
“I’m Josie,” she says, then gestures to the tall, pale white girl. “This is Kirstie.”
“I’m Luna,” a short person with brown skin and glasses says. I notice an acrylic badge on their shirt that says “they/them”.
“Kathy,” the final girl says. She’s chubby, with rosy skin and short pixie hair, and she’s wearing a silver pentagram necklace and a T-shirt that says #ActuallyAutistic on it. I gasp.
“I’m autistic!” I point to her shirt.
Kathy reacts with just as much excitement. “Oh, yay! It’s always awesome to find another autistic person in the wild.”
We laugh, and I wonder if I should tone down my glee. But looking around this small group of different people, I don’t feel like I need to hide. I can be me, and somehow, I know they won’t judge me for it. “I’m Audrey, by the way.”
“You look familiar,” Luna says. “What school do you go to?”
“St Columba’s,” I say. “You?”
They gesture to the group around them. “We all go to Strathmore. I must’ve seen you at the station.”
“Probably,” I say. “I walk through there to catch the tram.”
Josie nods. “Yes! I’ve seen you on the tram!”
Kirstie giggles. “Trust Josie to remember random tram people.”
She shrugs. “Only the cute ones.”
I must look surprised, because she laughs. “I’m very gay,” she says.
My gaze drops to my shoes and my cheeks flush. “Cool. I’m very bi.” I knew Josie looked familiar. My chest warms at the thought of her recognising me … and thinking I’m cute.
“We’re all incredibly queer here,” Kirstie says as she looks up and down the line. “I reckon most of the babes in this line are queer as hell.”
I glance around, realising I’ve never been in such a queer-friendly space before, and suddenly I feel like I can relax.
“This is amazing,” I say.
Josie winks at me. “Wait till we get inside. It’s gonna be like nerd Pride in there.”
“Audrey!” Vanessa snaps, right in my ear. I jump out of my skin. “I’ve been texting you.” I didn’t even hear her coming up behind me.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, my heart beating out of my chest from the fright. “I’ve been chatting.” I introduce her to everyone, feeling proud to have made such cool new friends.
“Hey,” she says as she drags her gaze over the group, then raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you want to see what I bought?”
I shrug my shoulders, knowing she’s going to show me anyway. “Sure.”
I spend the next ten minutes crafting enthusiastic compliments about her new clothes and gadgets. Every now and then I catch some of Josie’s conversation with her friends, and all I want to do is join them. It’s not often I’m surrounded by people who love to talk about movies and TV and queer culture, and I don’t want to miss out.
“I love that shirt,” Josie chimes in, eyeing a black-and-white striped button-down in Vanessa’s hand.
“Thanks!” Vanessa says.
“Are you a Steph Beatz superfan like Audrey?” Josie asks.
I bounce on my heels nervously, hoping they get along so we can hang out.
Vanessa smirks. “No one is a Steph Beatz fan like Audrey. She’s, like, scary obsessed. It’s embarrassing. I had to force her to wear that jumper to cover up how much of a fan she is.”
Josie’s smile falters. My heart stops. I lean in to Vanessa and whisper, “Josie is the designer of the shirt.”
Vanessa’s jaw drops. “Oh, no offence.”
Josie waves it off, but she doesn’t make eye contact. “It’s fine.”
We stand in unbearably awkward silence for what feels like an eternity. Then Vanessa tugs my elbow.
“Oh, I forgot,” she says, loud enough for the group to hear. “I need to show you something.” She turns
me around until my back is facing the group and we’re a couple steps away, yet still in line.
“What is it?” I ask.
She pulls her phone out and huddles close to me like she’s going to show me a photo. “Nothing, I just wanted to get away from them. They clearly hate me.”
My eyes widen. “No, they don’t. They’re super nice. I like them a lot.”
She presses her lips into a hard line. “Mmhmm.”
“What?”
“I think they were being nice to you because you were alone,” she says quietly. “But I’m back now, and I got up at the arse crack of dawn to come here with you. Don’t you think you should be hanging with me instead of rando nerds?”
I have whiplash from all the passive-aggressive swipes she just took at me in one breath. I think about arguing with her, I really do, but I’ll never win.
“Okay,” I say, reluctantly.
She gives me a wide, happy smile. “So, you really liked the stuff I bought? Which was your favourite?”
“Um …” I’m trying to remember when she gets a text, and her eyes light up. It must be from Sully. “I like the black one.” She nods, but she’s texting so I’m not sure if she really heard me. I let myself shift slightly, half facing Vanessa and half facing Josie.
We make eye contact, and Josie dips her head to the side so that her hair falls over her shoulder. A slow smile spreads across her face, and I smile back. As I’m working up the courage to sidle back to Josie, Vanessa looks up from her phone, beaming.
“Sully’s coming!”
My stomach flips anxiously. “Huh?”
“He’s going to the footy later, so I convinced him to come to the city early and meet up with us. He’s on the train now.”
Ugh. My skin prickles. “Cool,” I say, because I could never tell her that I secretly loathe her mean, insensitive jerk of a boyfriend.
The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, and suddenly everything is hot and much too bright. I fish around my backpack for my hat and sunglasses – essential tools in my sensory overload kit – and put them on.
