The Dark Part of Me

by Belinda Burns

  ‘Do it again,’ she panted. I picked her up and twirled her around, and she threw her head back and laughed like a little girl, her eyes shining out from beneath the wide brim of her hat, her cherry lip-gloss sparkling in the sun. She took me by the hand and led me towards the cave, the scorched leaves crunching beneath our feet. Our footsteps fell into sync; her kid-leather boots; my stinky sneakers, sweaty-slimy between the toes. There was a rustle of a goanna or a snake in the lantana which grew in tangled clumps along the way. Hollie let go of my hand and charged ahead, all forgiven, as I followed behind her to the cave.

  Danny, Hollie and I discovered the cave by accident one September holidays not long after Mrs Bailey died. We were up in the bush, playing explorers, pretending to be lost and slowly dying of starvation. We had stopped to rest in a small clearing, which was partly shaded by a granite outcrop. The base of the rock face was overhung by ferns growing out of the cracks, and carpeted in soft moss. Exhausted, we leaned back in the dappled light against the cool green fronds, only to fall backwards, all three of us, into the cave. You’d never have known it was there. We scampered inside where we found yellow, orange and white hands stencilled into the rock and, on our third or fourth trip, a babysized human skull. Imagine our delight! This was all we needed to believe that real aborigines had once lived there. We placed the skull on top of an egg-shaped rock, which rose up from the centre of the cave, and there it stayed for years, our sacred talisman. We swore on Mrs Bailey’s grave never to tell anyone else about the cave and it became our secret place.

  Hollie was waiting for me at the entrance, the lace border of her skirt covered in orange dust, her straw hat drooping like a giant sunflower. Over the years, we’d knocked away the hole so that, as we got older, it was always big enough to squeeze through. We crawled in, one after the other. Inside, it was cool, shaded from the sun by the overhanging vines, and still just high enough to stand up in. We’d decorated the interior with satin cushions along the walls and a red velvet curtain which hung from a steel rod wedged between the rocks. In the afternoon, only a small amount of light penetrated the cave, giving the impression of night when outside the day blazed with heat.

  Hollie raced around, lighting the ring of candles. ‘I can’t wait for you to see Danny,’ she said, excitedly.

  I grabbed the pink champagne out of the basket, popped the cork and took a slug.

  ‘No, wait.’ Hollie dashed over to the basket for the flutes. I filled them up, but too quickly, so that the bubbles ran over her wrists. She laughed as I licked the champagne off her skin. Hollie spread a gingham rug over the dirt floor and unpacked the gourmet delights, while I leaned back with a cushion against the egg-shaped rock in the middle of the cave, sculling and watching her dainty movements.

  ‘Actually, I saw Danny last night outside Scott’s,’ I said casually, pouring myself another glass of champagne – it seemed to cure my hangover.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hollie scoffed. ‘He was with me all night.’

  ‘No, it was him. Scott and him spoke. There was this weird vibe between them. It was like Danny was dropping by to let him know he was out.’

  ‘You must have been drunk, imagining things.’

  ‘Look, Hollie, I’m telling you it was Danny,’ I said, exasperated. ‘Ask him yourself.’

  ‘Impossible. Danny and Scott stopped being friends a long time ago. It’s a mystery to me why you keep throwing yourself at him. He’s hardly what we dreamed of for each other.’ She was so bloody irritating. The number of times I’d tried to make her understand that real life wasn’t all pink champagne and floppy-haired gentlemen.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ I said. ‘Aren’t you curious?’

  ‘About what?’ Hollie looked up, flushed.

  ‘You know, about guys and sex and stuff.’

  Hollie glanced at me, a swift, icy flash. She lowered the silver spoon from her mouth and leant across the rug for her Complete Works. She opened it at a book-marked page and started reading.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what it’s like?’ I persisted. ‘You know, all that romantic stuff’s just bullshit. Waiting around forever until your tits get saggy and your teeth fall out. Who’s going to want to do you then, hey?’ My voice echoed around the cave, our shadows shuddering in the candlelight as if under my command. Perhaps I was harsh but sooner or later she had to quit living in her fantasy world. I goaded her with a line from Midsummer: ‘To live a barren sister all your life, / Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless Moon.’

  But Hollie ignored me and continued reading. It was infuriating. I leapt up, snatched the Works off her and flung it away. The book sailed across the cave and slammed with a thud against the back wall, dislodging a miniature avalanche of dust and rock and landing in a puddle of muddy water. Hollie sat mute, her face draining whiter and whiter. She bowed her head and smoothed her skirts over her lap.

  ‘Be gone. Thy heart is tarnished, black as stone, ill-deserved of thy Queen’s purity.’ She sniffed and turned her back on me, fishing her Shakespeare out of the puddle. I watched as she wiped the spine off on her dress, leaving muddy streaks down the front of her white skirt. I felt my heart opening up, flip, flap, with feelings of love, and I wanted to bundle her up and keep her safe and tell her I was sorry for being such a bitch.

  ‘Come here,’ I said, gently. ‘Please.’

  Setting her Shakespeare down on the rug, she came over and laid her head on my lap. I ran nice spider fingers down the inside of her arm.

  ‘Kiss me, Oberon,’ she murmured. ‘Kiss me like we’re lovers.’

  It was our cue. Hollie sat up and I clasped her face between my hands. I leant in, my breasts pressed against the stiff bodice of her dress. I felt her heart beating fast as a newborn kitten’s as we pashed, open-mouthed like lovers, like we’d done a thousand times before, except this time Hollie was more impassioned, more urgent, and when I pulled back, she whispered, ‘I’m not as innocent as you think.’

  Leaning in, she kissed me again.

  ‘Jeez, what a sight for a bloke just released from captivity.’ A dark figure was silhouetted against the bright entrance to the cave.

  ‘Danny!’ Hollie sprang back from me, wiping at her lips, and rushed to embrace him. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Hunting,’ he said, straight-faced.

  Hollie and I laughed as he entered the ring of candlelight. His face was sickly pale with big, black circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days, and he was wearing his thick army trench even though it was nearly forty degrees outside. When he turned around, I caught a glimpse of his body, naked underneath. Hollie saw it, too.

  ‘Where are your clothes?’ she demanded.

  ‘Huh?’ Danny acted dumb.

  ‘The new clothes I bought you.’

  He opened his coat and looked down. I took a quick peek, comparing his to Scott’s, which, as I remembered it, was a fair bit bigger.

  ‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Must’ve forgot to put them on.’ He laughed, whipping off his coat and raising his long, gangly arms up to the ceiling. Naked, he capered about, shrieking and scratching at his armpits like a monkey. He’d always been a bit zany but he’d never acted as weird as this before.

  ‘Danny, please,’ said Hollie, grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him down next to her. ‘Rosie doesn’t want to see your parts.’ She threw his coat over him, but he tossed it off again.

  ‘It’s better naked,’ he said, grinning. ‘Clothes block the flow.’

  ‘The flow of what?’ I asked, genuinely curious. He looked at me for the first time and I wondered if he even remembered picking me up off the road the night before.

  ‘I’ve been communing with the spirits.’ He nodded, emphatically.

  ‘Stop it, Danny,’ Hollie chided. ‘You’re talking nonsense.’

  I turned to Danny. ‘What spirits?’

  He grabbed my fingers and squeezed them so tight I thought he’d crush my bones. ‘The spirits of the ca
ve.’ He glanced at Hollie and lowered his voice to a whisper, drawing me into his confidence. ‘You see, inside, there was this aboriginal guy called Micky. We were in the same cell and late at night, when we couldn’t sleep, he’d tell me about his people and how they used to live, here, on Mount Coot-tha before they all got killed off. Some died of smallpox and other “white-fella” diseases, but the rest got murdered by white farmers who left out gifts of poisoned sheep and flour laced with strychnine, or by the Native Mounted Police who were given open slather to shoot any aborigine they fancied. He told me how his people had lived on this mountain and how their spirits still lived here. So, I told him about the cave. He wanted to know where it was and how we had found it and if anyone else knew about it.’ Hollie jumped up. ‘But we swore on Mother’s grave!’

  ‘I told him it was a secret and he promised not to tell.’ Danny lay down, his head on one of the cushions. He looked exhausted.

  ‘Have you taken your pills?’ asked Hollie, her voice gentler than before. I wondered what he was taking drugs for.

  ‘Yes,’ Danny murmured. ‘I’m a good boy, aren’t I, Hollie?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hollie soothed. ‘You’re a very good boy.’

  I nudged his leg with my foot. ‘What about these spirits, hey, Danny,’ I said. ‘Can you see them?’

  He rolled onto his side, fixing me with his black liquid eyes. ‘No, but I can hear them.’ He cupped one hand against his ear. ‘Listen.’

  I did the same but all I could hear was water plinking at the back of the cave. His eyes were wide and bright, his body rigid.

  ‘They’re coming out of the rocks,’ he whispered. ‘Up through the earth. The young spirits are quick. But the older, wiser ones, they take longer. They have a long way to come.’ Still naked, he lay down flat on the ground, his eyes closed, his legs and arms splayed like a starfish. He was all skin and jutting bones. His lips started moving rapidly but no sound came out.

  Hollie got up and came over. ‘Come on, Danny. We’re going home.’ She stuffed his arms into the coat-sleeves and did up the buttons. Together, we coaxed Danny to his feet. His body was floppy. Despite his skinniness, he leaned heavily on our shoulders as we dragged him down the hill, the red roof of Hollie’s house glinting in the distance below.

  Back in the parlour, we lay Danny on the yellow chaise longue. The room quivered with rainbow prisms of light from the crystals hanging at the top of the window as Hollie stroked Danny’s brow and sang him a lullaby. Before long he was asleep. Somewhere deep inside the house, a clock chimed five times.

  ‘I have to go to work,’ I said.

  Hollie looked at me, eyes bright. ‘Please stay with me a bit longer.’

  I felt bad leaving her with Danny like he was but I was eager to get away.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said, pulling back from her. The afternoon in the cave had left me uneasy. When we’d pashed in the cave it’d felt different, like it wasn’t a game any more. All I wanted was for us to be normal and talk about guys and sex and clothes and music.

  ‘Kiss me,’ Hollie murmured, coming up from behind.

  I turned and kissed her quickly on the lips, then headed out the side door and down the spiral staircase to the garden where I broke into a sprint, my tits bouncing everywhere in my boob-tube.

  8

  It was almost a whole day since Scott’s party and he hadn’t called. I was busting to ask Trish about how I was going to get back with him, but work that night was mental-busy. The pavement tables at Temptations were teeming with stuck-up bitches wearing chunky silver fob-chains and Ray-Bans on their heads. They laughed way too loudly, sucking Corona through lime wedges and smoking 0.1mg Dunhills. Most of them were from law school. Kirstie waved at me from the sea of blonde bobs and orangey fake-tan faces but I snubbed her. She thought she was so cool in her hipster jeans and pink Lacoste with the collar turned up, but everyone knew Bomber screwed around behind her back.

  It was past eleven before the madness died down. Trish called me over for a break. We sat outside, at the other end of the footpath from Kirstie and the law bitches.

  Trish lit a fag. ‘So. Scott. Spill. Did you root?’

  ‘Ummm, sort of.’

  Why not tell her the truth? You chundered then lay down in the middle of the road, pretending to be dead.

  ‘You sort of rooted?’ She exhaled into the mugginess. ‘What kind of root is that?’

  ‘You know, we had to be quick.’

  She flicked ash on the pavement and grinned at me. ‘Was it ultra dirty?’

  ‘Yeah, well, we—’

  ‘Hey, Rosie.’ Kirstie’d come over. ‘You alright, sweetie?’ She touched my arm, acting all chummy like she wanted something.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘Last night, at the party, you seemed pretty upset.’ Kirstie stood, hands on skinny hips.

  ‘I was fine.’ I knocked back the rest of my drink.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure you’re OK, can we get another round?’ She did a cutesy circle hand gesture to show off her French-manicured nails.

  ‘Counter service only,’ I said. ‘Read the sign.’

  ‘But there’s no one at the counter.’ Kirstie smiled down at me and, lowering her voice, said, ‘I would have warned you but I thought you knew.’ Mock-concern creased her perfect brow. ‘He should have told you.’

  ‘Told me what?’

  Trish interrupted. ‘We’re closing soon.’

  ‘What about our drinks?’

  ‘I’ll be over in a sec,’ I snapped.

  ‘Thanks, gorgeous. Same again. Don’t forget the lime.’ Kirstie clicked off in kitten heels.

  ‘How’d you know her?’ Trish scowled.

  ‘Bomber’s squeeze. We did first year together.’

  ‘I’ll sort her out.’ Trish stood up. ‘What does this Bomber guy look like?’

  I filled her in and she went inside to get their beers.

  Back at the table, Kirstie was whispering to the others. I watched them, my skin prickling with intense paranoia. She was slagging me off, telling them all how pathetic I’d been to wait for Scott when he’d been banging some other chick the whole time. Trish came back out with the Coronas on a tray. I followed her over.

  ‘On the pull tonight, girls?’ Trish set the tray down.

  ‘We’ve all got boyfriends,’ said Kirstie, real smug.

  ‘Where’re they now?’ Trish asked.

  ‘Boys’ night out,’ said Kirstie.

  ‘And you think, if some real bad pussy comes up and ask them for a root, they’re gonna say no?’ Trish winked at me. I was catching her drift. ‘Just the other week, I was out in the Valley and there was this guy. Fuck, what was his name? Dark hair. Big pecs. Cheeky grin. You know the type. So, I asked this guy, Bomber, that’s what he called himself, back to my joint.’ Trish paused for maximum effect. I looked across at Kirstie. Her face paled under the fake-tan. The others were glancing at her, sipping on their drinks, acting like they didn’t know Bomber fucked around on her. ‘Anyway,’ Trish continued, ‘we rooted like fucking psychos. He sucked me out like a fucking hoover. It was insane, you know, but then, in the morning, he tells me he’s got a girlfriend. Some blonde bimbo studying law… hey, you girls might know her.’

  Kirstie jumped up and slapped me hard across the face. ‘You pathetic slut.’ She grabbed my arms and dug her acrylics into the skin. Trish pulled her off me, pinning her against the bricks. Kirstie thrashed and screamed and Trish kicked her in the shins. The bimbos looked on horrified. I stood back, wondering whether or not to get the dish-pig out to break it up. Part of me was pumped like I wanted Trish to cream her but I felt bad, too. A pack of long-haired bevans in a yellow Escort, Iron Maiden blaring out of the back-seat speakers, pulled up along the kerb and cheered. Trish let go of Kirstie’s wrist to give them the finger and in that second Kirstie bent down, grabbed an empty Corona bottle and hurled it at Trish. She ducked as the bottle flew through the air, smashing into the café wall. Shards of gla
ss ricocheted across the pavement. The bevans went berko, mooning out the window. The bitches swooped on Kirstie, hugging her as they left the café. The Escort burned off from the lights, horn honking.

  ‘Fucking slags,’ Trish cursed.

  ‘They didn’t pay either,’ I said.

  We sat down at an outside table and were silent for a while. I felt dazed and jittery.

  Trish lit a fag. ‘Don’t you fucking hate working Saturday nights?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s shit.’

  ‘One of these days, when I’ve finishing ripping off the Slob, I’m gunna tell the bastard to shove this job up his slimy arse and I’m gunna piss off to southern India where they have those awesome outdoor raves and I’m gunna to rave my tits off and root heaps of sexy boys.’

  ‘Yeah, cool,’ I said, although fucking scrawny rave-heads wasn’t exactly my idea of heaven. ‘I meant to ask you.’ I leant forward. ‘Scott wants some drugs.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ She grinned. ‘What’s he want?’

  I told her.

  ‘I’ll need the moula up front.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five hundred.’

  ‘No problems.’ I dashed across the road to the ATM.

  ‘Nice,’ she said, counting out the cash. ‘Hey, that reminds me, there’s this rave on in the Valley next Saturday night called Oblivion. It’s at The Arena. We can both swap for day shifts. How ’bout it? I’ll hook us up with some green elephants. Bit smacky but gets you rank as shit.’ Trish had asked me a million times before to go raving but I’d never been that keen. But if Scott was going to the same rave, no way was I missing out.

  ‘Yeah, alright then.’ It was the same night as Hollie’s memorial party for her mum, but I reckoned I could go for a bit then sneak off to the rave.