by PJ Mayhem
A dog barks from the deck of a house as I run across the road. With my highly attuned ears I’d bet my own life that when I look up I’ll see a sausage dog. I admit my life isn’t feeling worth a whole lot of prayer beads right now so I don’t have much to lose, but still, I’m pretty sure I’ll see a sausage dog.
There’s a miniature red short-haired dachshund up on the balcony, and the fabric of Amethyst’s wisdom strengthens again.
Two triple-shot lattes later, the thirteen pages of my list sit on the café table, untouched and unread. My mind has been darting around like a ball bearing on a washing machine with thoughts of Frankie, from him forgetting my name to the inexplicable feelings I have around him, including the trip to Planet Swoon while watching him with the old lady and those moments when I’d really felt I’d connected to him, not to mention the things that happened to me when I was appreciating his physicality. I’d even started a mental list of Endearing Things About Frankie after the old lady incident.
Before I realise it we’ve crossed the threshold of midday and I still haven’t picked up my list. It’s time for me to head to Lulu’s party. As un-party as I feel, I have to go. I’m the only adult she’s invited, plus she made Bing text me to check the date before she set it so she could be certain I’d be there. I refuse to disappoint her. It’ll be fun, playing with them all, chatting in Mandarin and being able to switch off the geyser of Frankie thoughts.
When I get to the station and discover there’s trackwork I want to cry. It’s quite a trip to World of Bounce where Lulu’s having her birthday party. Of all the people I could end up standing beside in the crowd waiting for the rail replacement bus I end up next to a couple who look like unattractive rabbits—which I could live with but then they start to kiss.
Gross. Get a room. Or a hutch.
I want to hit them with the energetic equivalent of a dose of myxomatosis, throwing the full strength of my current life crisis behind it. It’s only karma that stops me. Being irresponsible with the force of universal energy isn’t going to get me anywhere. Still, I doubt I’ll be able to contain it. Those two slurping away at each other is more than I can take—I have to move away. I appreciate that it’s not their fault they’re unattractive, they can’t help it. I do try to think, Oh, isn’t it lovely, there’s someone for everyone. When you’re ready for love you draw it to you. I’m just not in the best space to carry it off at the moment.
An hour and a half later, Lulu has my hand and is taking me to meet her friends. This place is amazing—there’s a jumping castle, big blow-up slides, some spongy rock-climbing contraption, huge blow-up gorillas (I’m not sure what they’re about) and loads of squealing. The kids are having a ball. I take off my shoes and prepare to bounce.
I’m breathless and wishing I’d worn ear plugs by the time I flop down in a chair next to where Bing, his wife Bibby and a couple of other parents sit, chatting. ‘Da Ge, why didn’t you come bounce? You’re no fun.’ Bibby is excused from bouncing—she’s about to pop with their third child. But Bibby wouldn’t be a bouncer even if she wasn’t pregnant. She’s so quiet and shy—totally the opposite to Bing.
Later, when everyone but Bing, Bibby, Lulu, Jie—her elder sister—and I have gone, Lulu runs up to me. ‘Ayi, will you come back to our place?’ I love that Lulu calls me ‘aunty’.
‘Come on, Mei Mei,’ Bing says, when I hesitate. ‘We can have an early dinner—I’ll make your favourite pork and beans then drive you home. Don’t be boring. What are you going to do home alone?’
Some cleaning, washing, drive myself insane thinking about Frankie forgetting my name—thoughts that my mind had been clear of for the afternoon.
‘We’d love you to come. Don’t worry for me—Bing will do everything.’ Bibby seems to intuit that part of my hesitancy is because I imagine she’s exhausted.
‘That’d be great,’ I say.
‘Yay—I can show you my best-ever birthday present.’
Back at their place we pile out of the car. I can barely keep up with Lulu and Jie as they run into the backyard where a grey, floppy-eared fluff-ball of a bunny that Lulu tells me is named Minky is hopping around in a cage.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were getting Lulu a bunny,’ I say to Bing once we’re inside.
‘I didn’t know. No one ask me—I just make money, pay bills …’ The words ‘reactive’ and ‘excitable’ are an understatement when it comes to Bing. Even in English it’s hard to understand him when he’s off on one of his rants.
‘Maybe it was pregnancy brain.’ Bibby winks at me. ‘But Lao Tou, I think maybe you should start dinner now.’
‘How do you live with him?’ I shake my head as Bing carries on and heads into the kitchen.
‘No one’s perfect but he’s perfect for me.’ Bibby’s so sweet. ‘Besides I didn’t ask him—I knew he’d say no and he still would have reacted like that.’
Ha. Bibby had Bing worked out, which was no mean feat, but neither was working out what all this rabbit and bunny energy around me was about. After the candles and Ugly Rabbit People, Minky’s presence didn’t feel like a coincidence.
21
‘He forgot my freaking name!’ The words I’ve been holding in rush out before Lionel’s even closed the door. I only just managed to keep it in for our initial pleasantries.
‘How did you react?’
‘I said sorry,’ I wince. I’m perched on the edge of my seat, thumbnail in my mouth.
Lionel thumps his palm against his forehead. ‘You what?’
‘Isaidsorry.’ I suck my words in on a breath so they join together, barely audible.
Lionel looks as though I’ve sworn at him—very badly.
‘It’s that English background thing.’ I try to explain: ‘“Oh, you’ve just axe murdered my entire family—I’m sorry.” I told you I’m of English stock, right?’
‘No, but that’s not really that relevant right now. It’s about acceptable behaviour and the patterns you set up,’ Lionel says in a manner that suggests he’s about to launch into some Super Nanny tactics and I’ll spend the session in the naughty corner having a good hard think about what I’ve done.
I admit a sorry from Frankie would have softened the blow a little. It certainly wouldn’t have gone astray.
‘Look at the positives.’ I try to lighten Lionel’s mood, because his face is all crumpled and disappointed. ‘It’s a good thing that he just came right out and said it. It shows he’s honest and it also gave me a chance to clear up the whole Fiona/Kismet thing.’ I’d been calling on these lifebuoys quite regularly to get me through the week.
‘That is one way to look at it.’ Lionel raises an eyebrow. ‘But how do you feel?’
‘Obviously I wasn’t happy. Upset, humiliated, mortified—to be honest devastation may have been fluttering in the mix too. But now … well, it’s sort of funny, don’t you think?’ I screw up my face up in a strange little smile that I worry makes me look like a cross between a hyena and a pig but it’s what I need to do to keep the smile firmly in place. It’s part bravado, part trying not to snort. I don’t want to topple too far either way.
‘You quite like a challenge, don’t you? I think you’d be bored without it,’ Lionel observes, kind enough not to ask why I’m pulling a hyena-pig face if he does notice it.
‘Maybe.’ I shrug, but he’s right. Honestly, without some playfulness, flirtation, teasing, fun and a challenge with a guy, I’m bored in five minutes. Nothing worse than someone fawning all over me—turns me off them immediately.
‘And you’re quite competitive in your own subtle way. You certainly don’t like not getting what you set out to achieve, but is the prize worth the effort?’
‘You don’t know till you get it,’ I say, finding my stride. ‘Besides, it’s like Frankie has some spell, or maybe curse, over me. I just can’t quite manage my normal reactions around him. I know it makes no sense when there’s Jack. Jack is far sweeter and in theory he’s more attractive
than Frankie and probably more suited to me. I haven’t ever heard him mention sport.’
‘One thing at a time. Let’s just pop Jack aside for now. Tell me about this spell.’
‘Normally I’d be able to at least have a rational level of upsettedness over something. I know that’s probably not a word, but you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I like your made-up words. But the question is, do you ever act on being upset? Tell people how you feel, say what you want, rather than just make allowances and accommodate them? Not just with Frankie, but anyone? At work, for example.’
‘That makes me sound like a doormat, Lionel.’ I’m quite affronted. Sure, Catherine might have got all the stand-up-for-yourself genes in our family but I’m hardly a martyr.
‘I wouldn’t say that, Kismet, however, you didn’t answer the question.’
‘I just think “appropriate behaviour”, “don’t let people treat you as though you’re less than you’re worth” is a bit … not so much clichéd, as concealing.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Everyone’s so focussed on boundaries and “people will treat you how you let them” that they don’t realise that if you don’t focus on that, you get to see who someone really is, get an insight into their own moral compass, whether they do unto others as they’d have them do unto them.’
‘Interesting, I’d never thought of it that way.’
‘Most people don’t.’
‘While that idea may have some merit, I’m not sure it’s the best approach.’ He pauses. ‘You look tired, as though trying to keep things so together and riding everyone else’s waves is taking its toll.’
‘It’s the rats.’
‘You haven’t mentioned the rats to me before. Do they come to you in your dreams? They could be very significant.’
‘No, they’re in my ceiling, not my dreams. Don’t be offended, I haven’t mentioned them to anyone.’
‘So, it’s not being upset over Frankie, work and trying to figure out what to do that’s keeping you awake?’
He’s right of course, but I really don’t want to go down that path today—it’s too heavy. And the rats aren’t helping.
‘No, it’s just the rats. Riverdancing rodents that have taken up residence in the ceiling space right above my bedroom, I fear a decent sleep and I may not ever meet again!’
‘Riverdancing rodents! Kismet, you crack me up. Tell me more.’
‘This family—or maybe it’s a colony—of rats are making so much noise at terribly unenlightened hours. I’m sure they’re morbidly obese too.’ I create quite the scenario, imagining rats on tour through ceilings across the city but then realise I’m paying Lionel eighty dollars an hour to tell him a story about rats. ‘Perhaps I should move across to the recliner for some hypnosis now.’
‘I want you to do something for me, Kismet,’ Lionel says once the buzzer has ended our session.
‘Sure,’ I say, still a little hazy.
‘Perhaps it’s time to be kinder to yourself, try an easier path.’
An easier path—that homework’s going to be painless.
‘I want you to ask Jack out. Just see what happens.’
What Lionel doesn’t understand is that I have never asked a man out in my life. Not that I don’t think women should, I’m just not an ask-a-man-out sort of girl. I’ve never had the need.
And is asking him out worth the risk of making coffee complicated and ruining one of the highlights of my day? And what if ‘it may be fated but I can’t be bothered to remember your name Frankie’ finds out? What of the lack of zing factor with Jack? I guess sometimes sizzle just has to build up from a low, slow simmer—so low, maybe you can’t even feel it’s there at first. So many questions.
I’m not at all happy that Amethyst has cancelled my session today. Having my Spiritual Support Pit Crew appointments is very comforting, reassuring. Although with the timing of her call, just when I’d got out from Lionel yesterday, I can’t help wonder if maybe this isn’t something I’m meant to figure out for myself.
Time for Ms Middle-of-the-Road to embrace being a mature, in-control woman, driving her own destiny. However, I’m not planning on getting caught speeding; I need to work up to it.
And then Jack’s busy when I go in anyway. Saturday mornings are always like that. I do make a point of not letting Frankie reaching up to get some spices divert me too far from the centre lines as I pass PGGG. Dharma him, it’s as though he senses when I’m ebbing towards Jack and does something to tempt me.
Maybe I’ll come back down to Jack’s later and ask him out—mornings not being my forté and all.
That afternoon I take a walk around the park and phone Stephanie.
‘Mum’s pretty much the same, maybe a bit worse,’ she tells me.
‘Would you like me to mind the kids so you can do something special, spend some time just the two of you?’
‘No, that’s—I want to keep it all as normal as possible. Thanks.’ Her voice is tight, strained, her words stilted rather than just efficient. She immediately changes the subject and for the remainder of the conversation we talk about the most insignificant of things. The sorts of things you talk about when you’re facing an abyss of pain so deep you don’t know how you’ll ever get over it, so you just have to pretend it’s not there.
It’s not intentional that I don’t go back to Jack’s, somehow the afternoon disappears. Besides after Stephanie, my mood wasn’t upbeat enough to contemplate asking a guy out. I wanted to wrap her up, make her tea, feed her brownies, hug her and tell her everything would be OK—even when it so obviously wouldn’t.
‘How was your night? Did you get up to anything exciting?’ I ask Jack, testing the waters. I’m not getting anywhere with Frankie so why not give Lionel’s crazy idea a try? I’m a little later than usual, even for a Sunday morning. Not that I’ve been fussing around with my hair and make-up any more than normal, I just had to imbibe a plunger coffee from my emergency stash at home. Asking a man out was definitely not a feat one should approach entirely uncaffeinated.
‘Quiet, I had to be up early. But I’ll be having Sundays off from next week.’
‘That’s good, you’ll be able to go out on Saturday nights.’ It’s the perfect cue to ask him out. I could so easily slip straight into it.
‘Next time I go to a party we can go together,’ Jack says, saving me the trouble.
‘Perfect!’
We look at each other, our eyes as wide as shocked owls’.
Jack keeps talking but I’m too busy assimilating what I’ve just done to focus on our interaction now. It seems to have happened too quickly, too easily. Do I even really want to go out with Jack?
I talk myself down: It’s attending a party, Kismet, not necessarily a date. Amethyst’s always told me if something comes to you seamlessly, it’s meant to be happening.
22
Monday morning it’s business as usual in at Jack’s—no mention of parties. I’m not going to push it.
I wait so long for a bus I almost forget where I’m going—wishful thinking. I make good use of the time to clean out my wallet. I’m throwing a handful of receipts into the bin when I see Frankie environmentally inappropriately ripping cardboard into the matching rubbish receptacle fifteen steps away outside the store. Surely simultaneous bin usage must signify a deep, karmic, soul connection. If we were recycling I’d put the connection down to a past life.
Frankie notices me noticing him. We hold our look for a nanosecond, so short it’s even shorter than those stubby little eyebrows that aren’t long enough for the tweezers to grab yet that drive a girl crazy. Frankie is just as frustrating.
I look away first.
At the station I have to jostle for space. The platform is a seething mass of grey auras, drowning in ‘How can the weekend be over already?’ energy. Mine is the same.
I’m quite late so when the train does finally arrive, I visualise myself holding my space to make sure I get on board.
Twenty minutes later I’m trudging into work.
I’ve not even sat down before Broomstick begins boring me half to death. ‘The directors have commended my new approach. Multiple strategic projects that are all offshoots of the bigger picture of a robust and comprehensive realigned compliance framework.’ Her lips pull away from her teeth in a quarter-smile. ‘We’re about to enter a very, very exciting time, Fiona.’
Exciting, my aura—which I can feel is now greyer than it’s ever been.
If I had been planning on going into PGGG, which I wasn’t, I would have missed them. Dharmaed Broomstick and her never-ending amendments. What’s worse, she’d headed off to yet another ‘meeting’ with Professor Emeritus Bartholomew, so again my mind was filled with images of them that I really didn’t want to be having.
They’re nothing compared to the dream I have that night. Between midnight and 4.30am, my delta brainwaves dance around in a direction that I won’t ever be able to admit to anyone.
‘Have you been a good girl?’ Frankie asks.
‘No.’
‘Do you need to be spanked?’ In the dream his voice is deeper, husky.
‘Have you got the shallots?’ I say in a way I wouldn’t ever be able to carry off in reality.
He looks at me, his seagull eyes narrowing with curiosity.
‘To spank me with, Frankie.’
In the convenient world of dreams, it just so happened that there are some snake beans next to us, so right there, on the dream-space of the shop floor, Frankie picks a bunch up and starts whipping my behind with them, saying, ‘These are better, they’ll sting more,’ as he sings along to Billy Idol’s ‘Rebel Yell’.
I was happy with my subconscious for having come up with something still in the Retro FM bracket, but beyond the obvious—The Divinyls’ ‘Pleasure and Pain’.
