The Weight of Water

by Sarah Crossan

  Means something.

  Before we leave, Clair,

  Watching me over his shoulder,

  Kisses him on the side of his mouth.

  I am speechless:

  I am so jealous I want to hurt William.

  Even though he didn’t do the kissing

  I want to pinch him. Or worse.

  I hug myself so I will not harm him

  And so I do not have to hold his hand

  As we walk back

  Across the playground.

  Then he says, ‘So, are we meeting tomorrow?’

  And I forgive him for the kiss.

  Because even if Clair wants him,

  I think

  He wants

  Me.

  Oh, to be Musical

  I wish I knew how to play a complicated musical instrument,

  Like a clarinet maybe,

  Or a flute,

  So I’d have practice using my mouth

  And fingers,

  And taking long breaths,

  All at once

  To create something

  Sweet.

  I have never kissed a boy,

  And even though

  I’ve seen it done

  Day after day

  On television

  And in films,

  So it shouldn’t be too difficult,

  Because the movements are natural

  And smooth,

  I am not a naturally smooth person,

  So how will I know what to do

  When –

  If he leans in with his head slightly tilted?

  Should I tilt too?

  And my mouth.

  Should I open my mouth?

  And my tongue.

  Oh.

  It is too much to think about.

  It will be like playing a clarinet with no lessons;

  It will take me years to learn this –

  How to kiss.

  Floating

  William is at the swimming pool.

  He is standing far away from me

  In the shallow end,

  Ripples sloshing his sides.

  And he is watching me

  As I cast aside my green towel

  And pour myself into the

  Safety of the water.

  We swim to the middle

  To meet each other,

  Then lie on our backs

  The water supporting our weight.

  Sometimes our wrinkled toes touch

  Accidentally.

  Sometimes on purpose.

  And for a moment I think it might be

  The happiest I’ve ever been

  Until Clair surfaces from the deep end,

  Like a serpent from a swamp,

  And wipes away my smile

  By smirking herself.

  Rumours

  Clair sent a text message to Marie,

  And now Marie is

  forwarding it

  to everyone else in Year Eight.

  Except me,

  Because I don’t

  Have a phone.

  Arlene shows me the message:

  Guess what Cassie woz

  doin with Will at the

  swimming pool?!

  SLAG!!!

  Now I’m scared to talk to William,

  Or even look at him,

  In case they think

  It’s true.

  When I go into the cloakroom,

  All the girls from my class

  Stop talking and

  Stand with their

  Arms folded,

  Glaring.

  Clair is there,

  Of course.

  In the middle.

  And she is simply smiling.

  ‘Why won’t you talk to me?’

  William asks at lunch.

  He is frowning

  At the floor.

  I can’t answer.

  I am ashamed

  Of the rumours;

  I want them to stop.

  I want them to stop

  More than I want him

  To kiss me.

  When Boys Fight

  A drove of spectators circles them

  Baying for bruises and blood

  And chanting

  Like football fans

  Or football hooligans –

  Fight. Fight. Fight.

  And no one stops this easy entertainment –

  They just sell more tickets.

  When two boys fight they are like

  Warring walruses:

  They plough into each other

  Thumping and cracking,

  Faces tight, fists curled,

  And they do not stop

  Until there is a winner,

  Until there is no more need to fight.

  Sometimes it cannot end this way.

  If a teacher shows up it ends when they are

  Forced

  apart

  And taken, in all their bloody glory,

  To the headteacher

  Where they are spoken to

  About fighting,

  About using their fists

  To settle squabbles.

  And either way, it seems a better fix

  Than whispers and giggles.

  So maybe what I should do is

  Hit Clair –

  Knock her down

  And we could brawl in the playground too,

  With everyone watching.

  Then people would know

  I’d been in a battle.

  Late Nights

  There is a flu epidemic –

  Old people are sick with feverish coughing,

  So Mama works late; she helps nurses

  Change beds, mop vomit,

  Deliver meals around the wards.

  For a few glorious days

  We don’t search the streets,

  And I am grateful.

  Mama asks Kanoro to watch me.

  We sit on the floor in his room

  Eating meat rolled in flat bread,

  Guzzling tall glasses of cold milk.

  Kanoro remembers stories

  Of elephants and tribal chiefs.

  They are myths and histories

  Meant to entertain,

  They are not his own truths,

  not for me.

  Yet I tell him about William.

  I tell him all about William and the

  Tumblings in my tummy,

  And he nods with a knowing

  That makes me blush.

  And then I speak about Tata,

  Destroy the sugary fiction

  Mama has tried to turn into truth.

  I tell him,

  ‘In Poland there is a saying:

  Running away makes you guilty.

  I am afraid of what we will find,

  Kanoro, if we ever find Tata.’

  And he says,

  ‘I told Ola, I told your mother,

  Do not follow a person

  Who is running away,

  But she will not listen.

  She does not understand.

  She loves your Tata,

  I think.’

  Kanoro shakes his head

  And offers me more peppery lamb

  Which I take and eat,

  Chewing on the gristle

  And swallowing it.

  Life Saver

  We are in an empty swimming pool.

  The water is warm and for some reason

  There is sun on my face.

  I am in the deep end wearing arm bands

  To stop me going under.

  William is there too.

  But he isn’t in the pool.

  He’s in the lifeguard’s chair

  Watching as I struggle to stay afloat.

  Finally he jumps into the pool

  Straight from the chair.

  I’m kicking, sinking, but

  He drags me to the side,

  Up on to the pool’s edge

&nb
sp; And gives me mouth to mouth.

  His lips and mine are wet

  As they press together and

  His breath fills me up.

  I don’t need resuscitation

  But he has his hands on my chest

  Between my breasts,

  And he’s pushing and pushing

  Trying to jump-start my heart.

  When I awake I am gasping.

  Then I roll over and see Mama watching.

  She’s bleary-eyed and half asleep

  But even so, I do not want to

  Have dreams like this

  Lying next to my mother.

  Higher

  We are in the park

  On the swings

  But I don’t feel like a little kid

  Because we are not swinging,

  Just swaying.

  William takes out his cigarettes

  And offers me one.

  This time I shake my head – no –

  And he doesn’t care.

  He puts the cigarettes back into the recess

  Of his blazer

  And sways –

  Not forward and back

  But side to side

  On the swing

  So as he comes close

  I can smell him,

  I can smell his chewing gum.

  Then he gets off his swing and starts to push me

  So I am swinging

  Higher and

  Higher.

  And I am laughing because,

  Actually,

  I do feel like a little kid

  After all.

  And I like it.

  Dear William

  I don’t want you to write a poem for me

  But it would be nice if you did.

  And if you bought a rose for me

  It would be OK too

  But I don’t want you to buy flowers

  Necessarily.

  I don’t want you to carry my book bag

  But if you feel like doing that

  Spontaneously

  I wouldn’t stop you.

  I wouldn’t stop you being romantic

  If that’s what you wanted.

  First Kiss

  Oh God.

  Oh God.

  It is so embarrassing

  When he tries to kiss me

  And our faces collide like cars

  In a traffic accident.

  As he leans in

  I open my mouth

  Too

  Wide

  Like a yawn

  And his pursed lips disappear into

  The hollow of my mouth

  So I feel like I am swallowing

  Him.

  He pulls away.

  He looks at me like he

  Is trying to figure out an algebra problem.

  I am too difficult for him.

  When he turns away,

  Because he is embarrassed too,

  I still have my mouth open

  Yawn

  Wide

  But now it’s because I am in shock

  From the accident

  And I can’t close it.

  Assembly

  Why would Clair

  Steal a pair of scissors from the art room

  And then,

  Sitting behind me in assembly,

  Listening to the Head of Year

  Make announcements,

  Cut chunks from my hair?

  I was trying to grow it.

  I was trying to get it right.

  Her stunt makes the others girls

  Tee-hee-hee.

  At least she got some tee-hee

  Titters from it.

  Later Clair apologises,

  Hands back my hair and,

  With big eyes and a sticky pout says,

  ‘Don’t be like that, Cassie,

  Was just a joke. Innit?’

  What kind of joke is this?

  Maybe it’s an English joke

  I can’t yet understand.

  But I suspect I understand

  Perfectly.

  No Offence, But . . .

  I shouldn’t take things the wrong way

  Because they are ‘just joking’

  And they mean ‘no offence’

  And they laugh – ha ha ha –

  Because ‘not really’

  Makes everything they do

  Mean nothing

  At all.

  Wrath

  I will find a way

  To take revenge

  On Clair,

  For the hair –

  And on her whispering friends too.

  I will find a way

  To watch with glee

  As Clair

  Feels despair

  Along with her

  Cheerleaders.

  I can be angry.

  Not always

  Good Kasienka,

  As Mama thinks.

  Teachers

  Why can’t they see what’s happening?

  Why don’t they notice the looks,

  The smirks, the eye-rolling?

  And why don’t they ask if I’m OK?

  I’ll tell them I’m not.

  I’m not a liar.

  Or a slag.

  Why do they always ask Clair

  to pass out the books

  And Marie to read her homework aloud?

  They see what they want

  Because if they didn’t it would be a lot of work,

  And they don’t have time for this;

  They have to mark, and teach, and stop the

  Boys from killing one another

  With their teeth and fists.

  This is more important than spotting snickers.

  But why can’t they just ask if I’m OK?

  Misread

  I don’t want to be secretive.

  Mama and I share a bed.

  Every night it’s her and me together.

  There are just some things

  I can’t say.

  Mama isn’t a good listener.

  Sometimes, when I speak,

  And think I’ve said something,

  Mama hears something else

  Completely.

  And the reaction is unexpected.

  Like last week – I asked for money

  To buy a tube of mascara.

  She raised an eyebrow

  And tapped her tummy.

  I didn’t understand.

  ‘Vulgar girls – always having babies –

  Don’t be one of those, Kasienka.

  Be a good girl.’

  Now someone tell me –

  How can mascara make me pregnant?

  So when I come home with fresh-chopped hair

  I don’t tell her it was Clair in assembly

  Sitting behind me with blunt scissors.

  I tell her the teacher did it.

  I tell her I got gum in it.

  Because Mama won’t understand –

  And she will find a way to blame me.

  The story makes Mama laugh:

  ‘I told you that habit was disgusting.

  But you never listen to Mama!’

  Talking

  Kanoro listens without saying,

  Just ignore it (which I can’t),

  Or, They’re jealous (which isn’t true).

  Instead he nods and says:

  ‘There is no hyena without a friend.’

  And then: ‘What will you do?’

  I like this question. He believes

  I can do

  Something.

  So I tell him about my empty plan

  To get revenge

  On the hyena.

  Kanoro looks sad and says:

  ‘Happiness should be your revenge, Kasienka.

  Happiness.’

  And though he is right,

  It makes me feel worse

  Because I do not know

  How to be happy.

  Part 2

  Gummy B
ears

  When he tries to kiss me

  I do not open my mouth at all

  And neither does he.

  We kiss,

  Dry lips on dry lips,

  And it is nice.

  But it is not enough

  And I feel my mouth open

  And his too.

  And something that is not my mouth

  Is inside my mouth.

  And it is easy:

  Kissing William is like

  having a Haribo

  In my mouth.

  It is easy.

  Kissing William

  is just like sucking on a gummy bear.

  Partners

  William corrects my English.

  Gently.

  And smiles when I mispronounce things

  Because he thinks the mistakes are cute.

  And for the first time

  Ever

  I can be wrong

  And it’s OK.

  Better than that –

  It’s cute.

  And he thinks I’m clever too,

  And asks for help with his

  Simultaneous equations.

  And when he gets something muddled

  I smile

  Because it’s cute.