Am I Normal Yet?

by Holly Bourne

  “Oooh, better stay away, Ms Thomas, I’ve got a horrid cold.” I smiled sweetly and sniffed a hammy sniff.

  “Oh, poor thing. Yes, your eyes do look a bit red. Do you want me to make you an echinacea tea? Amber is already upstairs. I can bring it up for you?”

  “Oh, thanks, but I’m fine really.”

  I smiled again, and pushed through the beaded curtain leading to the staircase. Before I stepped into Lottie’s room I took a moment to calm myself. My face didn’t look too cry-ey any more, not after I’d walked twice around the block till my sobs ran out. And my hands had stopped shaking quite so much. I needed this, I needed the girls. I needed to be normal and laugh with my friends and talk to people close to me without making them cry about how screwed up I am.

  Lottie had stubble rash.

  “Teddy’s fur is a bit rougher than an actual teddy bear’s?” I asked, announcing my arrival by clapping her on the back. Amber gave me a small anxious smile and made room for me on the beanbag. I didn’t want any bad feelings, so I sat right next to her and gave her a warm smile.

  Lottie, however, rolled her eyes. “There are no teddy jokes left! Amber made them all before you arrived.”

  I nudged her with my foot. “So…?”

  Lottie whipped out a hand mirror, sighed, and rummaged on her bedside table for a tube of moisturizer. “So…I think my period of mourning for mine and Tim’s imaginary relationship is officially over.”

  “And yours and Teddy’s relationship is beginning?”

  She grinned. “Maybe. Anyway…what’s this I hear about you and Guy? And Ethan? Did you go completely mad last night or are you just stupid?”

  I wasn’t sure if I was stupid or not yet. I was definitely completely mad – but outwardly suppressing that was working okay. He still hadn’t messaged – but then, he never said he would.

  “Yeah, well, last night was sort of dramatic, I guess.” And this morning, but I wasn’t going to tell them about that.

  Lottie rubbed some cream into a particularly rashy bit of her cheek. “Sort of dramatic? Getting off with two guys in one night? Even I’ve never accomplished such a feat. Were you wearing that illegal pheromone perfume I read about online, that makes all men want you?”

  “Oi, rashy.” I chucked a bit of exploded beanbag at her. “Maybe it’s my natural wonderfulness, charm and sex appeal?”

  Lottie checked herself in her compact again. “Or one guy’s a self-confessed sex addict and the other has some weird sadomasochistic obsession with you. Anyway, have you and Amber made up yet?”

  Amber stiffened next to me. I turned slowly to her. “I, I guess.”

  To my surprise, a tear slid down Amber’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Evie. Please don’t stay mad at me. I’m sorry I told you what to do about Guy. I just don’t like him but I’ll stop telling you that.” More guilt trickled into my belly and I played with my hands. Why was I making everyone cry? Was I evil? Was I one of those bitches who doesn’t realize I am a bitch? I was just trying to get a normal life together – I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. But people wouldn’t leave me alone.

  “It’s okay,” I said awkwardly. “Don’t cry.”

  I wanted to hug her.

  BAD THOUGHT

  You can’t hug her, that would mean touching her. And you’ve seen the state of her room.

  I patted her lightly on the back instead and made a mental note to wash my hands as soon as I could. Lottie smiled at us.

  “Well this is awkward, isn’t it? Just as well I’ve got the world’s most appropriate agenda for today’s meeting.” She stood up and rummaged in a discarded pile of clothes. “Hang on.” After a bit more rummaging she yanked out a clipboard. “Here it is. Right…” She cleared her throat. “Today’s topic of discussion for the Spinster Club is…drum roll, please… Feminism and Dating.”

  Amber and I gave each other what-the-hell? looks – our first conspiratorial glances of friendship since last night. It already made things better.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Me neither,” said Amber. “This sounds like a huge excuse for you and Evelyn to share snogging stories from last night.”

  Lottie pointed at her. “But this is precisely the point! You were the one who gave me the idea. You get so mad at us for moaning about boys, and so mad at Jane for hanging around Joel like a determined virus. When, actually, Evie is the one who should be most upset – they’re the ones who were best friends.” Lottie waved her hands about like a university lecturer. “There is something going on here – and I reckon it’s something to do with feminism. Because when women hate each other and judge each other’s choices, it’s usually inequality’s fault.”

  “I thought women were supposed to be the victims of inequality?” I said – not quite sure where Lottie was going with this one.

  “We are,” said Lottie wisely. “But we are also one of inequality’s biggest bad guys too. Our own worst enemies. Here, let me explain.” She flipped over a page of her clipboard. “Have you guys ever heard of the phrase ‘benevolent sexism’?”

  “Stop it with your long words already, Miss Cambridge,” Amber said. “I do art, not linguistics.”

  “I’m going to explain.”

  “Make it simple.”

  “Okay.” Lottie pushed a bit of hair off her face. “So we all know about blatant sexism. It’s stuff like when boys say, ‘girls should stay in the home’ or ‘you can’t play football’ or ‘you’re a dirty whore who has to let me do all this weird sex stuff on you because I watch too much porn and please don’t tell me about your thoughts because you exist only as a sex object’. That’s blatant sexism, isn’t it? It’s obvious. Okay?”

  “Oooookay,” I said, smiling.

  “But I was reading about this thing on my phone called ‘benevolent sexism’. It’s like Undercover Sexism, Hidden Sexism – and both boys and girls are guilty of it. The thing is we don’t think we’re being sexist when we do it, which makes it even more dangerous.”

  “Sexist how?” Amber asked. “What sexist thoughts and actions do we all unknowingly do?”

  “It’s how we think about the sexes that’s wrong,” Lottie said, turning another page of her clipboard. “We believe that men and women are inherently different. So, like, women are meeker and need a bit more looking after than blokes. And we’re kinder and more fragile – and that’s our biology and we can’t help it. Lots of us think that but…that’s benevolent sexism because, actually, those kinds of attitudes can really pull us down. Just say we all get high-flying jobs when we grow up. If Evie’s boss openly said in a meeting, ‘Oh, Evie, you can’t get that promotion because you’re not as smart as men.’ Well then you could sue his arse for sexism and everyone would agree with you.” Lottie took a deep breath. “But, if you were up for promotion, but the process involved being really pushy and…well, if you were too embarrassed to do that in case they thought you were ‘butch’ or a ‘bitch’ or ‘unfeminine’, so you just smiled nicely instead and then didn’t get the promotion… That’s benevolent sexism holding you back. You thought, because you’re female, you shouldn’t behave a certain ‘male’ way. See, it’s hidden! And women are just as sexist – even though it makes their lives worse.”

  BAD THOUGHT

  If you don’t get a job, Evie, it’s because you’re a screwed-up nut job who can’t leave the house. It will be nothing to do with benevolent sexism.

  “I think I get it,” I said, mulling it over. Envious – once more – of Lottie’s superior brainpower.

  “I do too,” said Amber. “But I don’t see what it’s got to do with boyfriends or dating.”

  “Well this is what I’ve been thinking about. What if we’re all actually benevolent sexists? Without realizing it?” Lottie said. “You know how much I fancied Tim? Well, that’s because he was all manly and loaded and I felt protected. I felt men should be that way. It was sexy. So reading this thing, I thought, ‘Oh God, I’m a benevolent sexist!’ Well, my sex dri
ve is anyway. And it got me to thinking, ‘How can you be a feminist if you’re going out with someone? Is it possible?’ Because we all have screwed-up ideas of how boys and girls are ‘supposed’ to be and it affects who we fancy and how we behave in relationships.”

  Amber crossed her arms. “It’s definitely possible. I would never let myself fall for an alpha dickhead. Not after I got stood up by that football idiot.”

  I tilted my head. “Yes, Amber, you say that. But, no offence, have you ever been in love?”

  Amber’s mouth dropped open. “What’s that got to do with anything?” she snapped.

  “I’m not saying that to be mean,” I backtracked. “But, like, it’s easy to have morals before you’ve got a boy you really fancy making you compromise them without you even realizing.”

  Lottie nodded excitedly. “Exactly, this is what I mean. Our need to be loved, fanciable, desirable – whatever. It messes up our judgement. Take Evelyn for example…”

  “I’m not sure I want to be an example.”

  “Well, I’m using you as one. Look at her – she’s helped us form this club. You’re a feminist, right?”

  It was my turn to nod. “Of course. A feminist and a fellow spinster.” I gave Amber a little grin, nervous I’d upset her again with my comment.

  Lottie continued. “But then look how you behave around Guy…”

  “Huh?” I said, suddenly flustered. “What do you mean ‘how I behave’?”

  “No offence, Eves, and I’ve not heard yet what happened last night but I can probably guess. He treats you like crap. He’s controlling and all alpha…and you can’t help but fancy him more because of it. Because you’re a benevolent sexist too. You find his arrogance and his alphaness sexy – because you’ve been conditioned into thinking that’s how boys should be. If he started crying and getting all soppy and feminine over you – like that Oli bloke – you’d go off him.”

  If Guy’s lack-of-message was a scratch in my already-dented sense of self, hearing that was like a stab wound. And any reminder of Oli hurt too much right now. He’d still not come back to college.

  “Hey!” I wailed. “That’s so unfair.”

  Lottie shrugged. “Look, I’m the same! I’m just as broken. This is what I wanted us to talk about today. How can we fix it? How can we keep Amber’s determination to be true to ourselves, when being distracted by sexy boys with bad values who, despite ourselves, we really really fancy?”

  “I know how,” Amber said. “Grow to be five foot eleven and die your hair ginger. Then none of those sexy boys try to distract you.”

  “Ahh,” I said, laughing, though her pain was quite sad. “So you’re just a perfect feminist by default?”

  She looked miserable. “Probably.”

  Lottie’s eyes were shining, her smile massive. “This is great guys, great!”

  “I don’t feel very great right now,” I said.

  “Me neither,” said Amber.

  “But that’s the point. It’s hard to realize unpleasant truths about ourselves. But it’s the first step towards making things better.”

  “So, what do we do?” I asked.

  “First things first, we eat the biscuits I’ve got in the kitchen downstairs. Second, we all come up with a rule we think we can incorporate into the way we date. Then we put it all together into a manifesto. Then we try our best to follow it…even when the guy has floppy hair and sexy eyes and does that cupping-your-face-in-his-manly-hands thing.”

  “That was what Guy did to me last night,” I admitted.

  “See!” Lottie looked so proud of herself I almost wanted to kick her. “I promise you, Evie, by the end of this meeting, you’ll never want to see Guy ever again.”

  But that’s not what I want, I thought.

  Amber and I walked a bit of the way home together. I dawdled, not wanting to face my parents. I’d also have to redo the whole route later when Amber left – but this time touching each lamp post six times.

  “So,” Amber said, pulling her beret further down to keep out the harsh cold air. “What did happen with you and Guy last night?”

  My cracked phone still lay dormant in my coat pocket. “I told you guys already.”

  “You told us you kissed. But you kept adding aggressive rules to our dating manifesto.”

  I pulled our makeshift rules out of my pocket.

  The Spinster Club rules of feminist dating

  1) If we expect all men to have six-packs and biceps, we can’t get mad when they expect us to be stick-figures with DD boobs. Try and fancy decent men with decent HEARTS, rather than pricks with abs.

  2) Do not be afraid of being any of the following in a relationship because you want boys to like you: bolshy, naggy, opinionated, ambitious, intolerant and independent. Don’t be a bitch, but don’t pretend to be a passive cupcake-baking robot either.

  3) Do NOT drop your friends/life once you’re loved-up.

  4) Do not pretend to like the following because you think you should: football, rugby, action films, anal sex (Lottie added that one), metal music… Like what you like.

  5) If a boy kisses you then doesn’t message, you’re allowed to puncture his face with a compass. (Amber and Lottie wouldn’t let that one of mine in.)

  “I still stand by that last one,” I said, stubbornly.

  “So, what? You kissed and now he’s ignoring you?”

  My eyes welled up, with the frustration, as well as confusion and hurt. “Yes. I’m such an idiot. You’re allowed to tell me I’m an idiot. I know you’ve been dying to.”

  Amber took my hand – which would’ve been nice but I knew she didn’t wash her hands with soap. I’d have to scrub mine when I got home. I didn’t know what to do first – the lamp posts or the washing. The lamp posts, I guessed. My parents wouldn’t let me out after the Big Talking To I’d no doubt be getting. My phone had been going off all through the meeting and I’d ignored it.

  “You’re not an idiot,” Amber reassured. “And, anyway, remember the bit of the manifesto we let through… Girls must try not to let blokes pee all over their hearts – but matters of the heart are complicated, so you should always be there for each other.”

  I gave her a sad smile. “That won’t fit on a bumper sticker.”

  “Good. I hate bumper stickers. They’re always so bloody patronizing.”

  I squeezed her hand and let go promptly. “You’re right. We kissed, I thought it was wonderful. Now he’s not messaged. I really am an idiot.” The rejection stung so much and it didn’t make any sense. I’d been so normal around him – apart from that blip at the party I’d been utterly usual. Was me freaking out at the party enough to put him off? And, if so, why did he kiss me?

  “Oh, Evie.” She put her arm around me and I let her because our coats were thick and therefore no skin was touching. “He’s the idiot, not you. I wish you could see that.”

  “It’s because he thinks I’m crazy. And he doesn’t want to go out with a crazy idiot.”

  She laughed through her aww-noise. “What are you talking about? You’re not crazy! Yes, you watch weird films I’ve never heard of, and sometimes you talk like my grandma, but you’re fine. Perfectly normal otherwise. Why would you say that?”

  I started to cry and she hugged me, looking confused. Not knowing anything.

  “Evie, hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

  It would’ve been the perfect time to tell her. To tell anyone. To say, “I’m drowning and I need someone, anyone, to be my life raft.” To say, “I thought it had gone, and it hasn’t and I’m so scared by what that means.” To say, “I just want to be normal, why won’t my head let me be normal?”

  But I couldn’t. It would be confirmation I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t better. I’d failed at boring everyday existing that everyone else finds so easy.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said into her bustle of hair, wondering when I could wash it off my face. “I just really liked him.”

  My hands wer
e filthy by the time I got in. Filthy from a mile of street light touching, and freezing from cold.

  BAD THOUGHT

  You must wash them. Whatever goes down with your family, you must wash them.

  BAD THOUGHT

  URGENT THOUGHT

  And you really need to finish the shower too.

  URGENT THOUGHT

  Are you sure you touched every single street light? Maybe you should go back and do it again, just in case?

  I hesitated on the doorstep, unsure of what to do first. My hands were so dirty…but I wouldn’t get a chance to go back to the street lights again. Maybe if I touched twelve times, rather than six, that would make Guy message? Or at least make me better? But my heart beat so fast about my hands…

  …The front door opened, making my decision for me. Mum’s face appeared through the threshold – her face grim.

  “Evelyn, get inside.”

  “But…”

  “No arguments. Get inside. Now.”

  She yanked me into the house, getting her germs all over my arm.

  “Oww, Mum! There’s no need for that.”

  “We’re having a family meeting in the kitchen.”

  URGENT THOUGHT

  YOU HAVE TO WASH YOUR HANDS NOW, EVIE.

  “Okay, great,” I said, as breezily as I could. “I just need to go to the bathroom…”

  “No. I’m not letting you lock yourself in there and make your hands bleed again.”

  NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO, I screamed inside.

  “I need a wee! You’re not going to let me wee?” My voice broke.

  “No. Because you don’t need to. You’re just trying to ritualize.”

  “Fine then. I’ll piss myself. Let your own child piss herself.”

  “That’s okay. The kitchen has lino.”

  “This is child abuse.”

  “No, Evie. This is called ‘caring about you’.”

  I was sobbing before I even got to the kitchen. When I saw Rose sitting at the table, finally but tragically let in on my pathetic non-secret, I wailed. Dad’s tie was loosened, his hair standing on end from running his hands through it. Only my dad would wear a tie on a Sunday.