Indigo Girls

by Penni Russon

  Lochie paid no attention to them, or to me either. He revved the engine and pulled sharply away from the kerb.

  ‘Hey, watch it,’ Dante said. Rio giggled. I looked out the window. As Lochie veered violently to one side, then wrested the car back into his control, I felt nothing. I was thinking about nothing.

  Out of the corner of my eye, in the shadows of the dunes just off the path, I saw Tilly and Sawyer. I stopped running. Tilly had her arms crossed over her body, she was looking down at her feet. Sawyer was walking behind her, his arms down by his side. They were walking back towards the golf club.

  ‘Tilly!’ I called. She looked up.

  ‘Zara, are you leaving? Have you been running? What’s going on?’

  ‘I just met a really nice friend of yours,’ I said savagely to Sawyer.

  ‘Who?’

  I looked up the path. Witness Protection guy was on the stairs on his way back to the golf club.

  ‘Him.’ I pointed.

  Sawyer looked. ‘Bundy? He’s no friend of mine.’

  ‘That’s not what he said. Reckons you’re a real top bloke.’

  Tilly looked at Sawyer, confused, before asking me gently, ‘Did he hurt you?’

  I said, ‘He was piss-weak.’ My voice was cold, it was harsh, like splinters.

  ‘Do you want me to walk you girls back to the campsite?’ Sawyer asked.

  ‘No,’ said Tilly, quickly. ‘We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Zara?’ She reached out and clasped my hand tightly.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, looking down numbly at her hand in mine. It should feel warm, I thought. But it didn’t. It felt cool. Maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn’t feeling things the way I was supposed to.

  I couldn’t work out what had happened between Sawyer and Tilly. Had he tried it on with her too? Was this a town of drunks and date-rapists? Is that what they considered romance around here?

  ‘Come on,’ Sawyer said to Tilly. ‘Just let me walk you some of the way. I only want to . . .’

  ‘You heard her, Cowboy,’ I snapped. I just wanted him to go away. ‘I hear you’ve got a real eye for the ladies. Well, there’s plenty more inside. I’m sure you can find someone just your type.’

  Tilly flinched. She wouldn’t look at Sawyer. But she let go of my hand.

  ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ he said coolly, but I had a feeling he was actually talking to Tilly. ‘Good night, Tilly.’

  ‘See you,’ she said, without feeling. As he walked up the path she called after him, ‘And hey, tell your mate Bundy, Zara’s dad is a cop.’

  ‘I already told you,’ Sawyer called back, ‘he’s not my mate.’

  ‘Well,’ I muttered, ‘he’s certainly not mine.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Tilly

  Okay, I admit it. I felt terrible as I watched Sawyer walk away.

  On the dancefloor, Sawyer leaned in close and hollered over the pumping music, ‘It’s getting pretty loud in here. Want to go for a walk?’

  I nodded, dazed. First he’d wanted to dance and now this? He steered me towards the door, his hand on my arm. No boy had ever guided me like that. It made me feel two things: like I was kind of enclosed, his body curving around my body – it was nice. But it also made me feel like I was giving myself over to him too easily, giving up my selfcontrol. I was so confused. I wanted to melt into him, to be Princess to his Charming, but it went against everything I believed in about women being strong, not giving up all their power to the first sexy guy who comes along.

  Out on the deck he said, ‘Shall we go somewhere more private?’

  I looked out at the sea, and remembered Zara the night before, her pale form, surfing ghost-waves. Suddenly I wanted to be out there, I wanted to be a ghost, to give up being a human girl. I wanted to run from Sawyer and hide in the ocean. The cold air reminded me how much of me was exposed. I shivered as I felt it prickle my shoulders and chest, like fingertips, like the lightest, faintest touch. But then I looked at Sawyer. And I knew I wanted him. I wanted to be here beside him, I wanted to be touched. It was making me dizzy, veering so wildly from one complete set of feelings to another entirely contradictory set.

  We went down the path, off into the shadowy dunes. We sat on the edge of the velvety green of the golf course. I took off my shoes and curled my toes into the soft grass. I had nothing to say to him. Words dried up in my throat. I was acutely aware of him beside me, sitting close enough that I could feel heat coming off him, although we weren’t quite touching. I don’t know how long we sat like that, not talking. Probably only a minute or two, but it felt like eons passed, like whole civilisations could have risen out of the dunes and collapsed back into the sand in that time. I guess part of me was still being Zara – cool and aloof. But my body was far from aloof. I wanted to feel his hands on me, but I didn’t know how to cross the space between us and make it happen. I could feel an energy coming off him. I knew he wanted to touch me. So why wasn’t he?

  ‘You’re quiet tonight,’ he said. ‘You seem . . . different.’

  Different from what? But I nodded, not looking at him. He was right. Everything about me was different. Being shy – painfully, mutely shy – was a new feeling for me. I actually felt physical discomfort, my inner cheeks felt raw and swollen, and I had to keep swallowing down excess saliva. Occasionally I had this lurching sensation in my stomach, like going down in a lift.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  I shook my head.

  He edged closer. He looked at me curiously, as if he genuinely wasn’t sure what I was thinking.

  ‘Shall we warm up with . . .’ He leaned closer. I closed my eyes. This was it. I couldn’t breathe. I felt the warmth of his breath when he finished with, ‘a game of golf?’

  My eyelids sprung open. ‘What?’

  ‘She speaks! Come on.’ He leapt up. ‘I’ll tee off.’ He swiped at the air with an imaginary golf club. ‘Fore!’ he called.

  ‘I don’t know how to play,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve been coming to the golf club all these years and you’ve never played a game of golf before? Stand up.’ I stood up. ‘Now, since you’re a beginner I suggest a nine iron for you.’

  His miming was quite convincing. I almost forgot that there was no actual nine iron, and that it was the middle of the night and that I was alone with Sawyer. I took the nine iron and tentatively tried a practice swing. It was kind of fun. The tension eased a bit; I stopped feeling so vulnerable. I placed my invisible ball on an imaginary tee and swung my club up high.

  ‘What are you trying to do, chop wood?’ said Sawyer.

  ‘Excuse me!’ I put a hand on one hip. ‘ It is my first time. Bit of space, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Here. Let me show you.’

  Sawyer stepped up behind me. I inhaled and forgot to exhale as he wrapped his arms around me, putting his hands on my hands.

  ‘Now, swing it up, and follow through with your body. It’s not from your wrists or your elbow, it comes from here . . .’ he put his hands on my diaphragm, a strong, firm pressure. Man’s hands. ‘Try again,’ he said in my ear. I raised my arms and strangely I could feel what he meant about a golf swing coming from the torso rather than the arms. ‘That’s better. And follow through.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ I said.

  Sawyer’s voice raised tiny hairs in my ear. ‘Only this one,’ he said. ‘I’ve never played pretend golf at midnight before.’

  My guard was well and truly down. I turned my face to look up at his. He still had his arms around me. Our noses were almost touching, I realised he was closing in. He bit his lip gently. I looked at his perfect teeth and imagined him biting my lip like that.

  I pressed myself against him, raising my mouth towards his. It was my first kiss, but I bet it wasn’t Zara’s first kiss. Or Sawyer’s either. It was clumsy at first and I started to pull back, embarrassed. But Sawyer put his hand on the back of my head and kissed me again. I did feel his tooth gently press down on my lower lip
, which sent a rush of what felt like pure bliss travel right down from my lip to the tips of my naked toes.

  But it wasn’t my lip he was biting, was it? Tonight, it was Zara’s. It was Zara he was out here with. Zara in the revealing tight black top, who cuts her hair fashionably short, who dances alone, and goes outside with boys onto deserted golf greens. But Zara was experienced, she knew what she was doing. Tilly knew nothing about this at all. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have what it took to be Zara.

  I pushed him away and stepped back. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I have to go.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not . . . this isn’t me. I don’t do this.’ I was babbling, backing away from him, looking for my shoes. He stood there watching me, looking half amused and half annoyed. He seemed so sure of himself. I envied him.

  ‘What isn’t you?’

  ‘This. Any of this.’ I gestured wildly towards myself.

  Suddenly I thought I might cry. No, please no. Where were my freaking shoes?

  ‘Tilly, what’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. I have to . . .’ I stood on my sandal. I tried to jam my foot into it without undoing the buckle but I couldn’t, so I sat down on the grass, feeling like a little kid as I pushed the thick leather strap through the buckle and fumbled around trying to get the pin through the hole.

  ‘I didn’t mean to rush you,’ Sawyer said. ‘You seemed so different tonight, the way you’re dressed, the way you . . . I thought you wanted to kiss me.’

  Well, of course I wanted to. I wanted to kiss him and more. I wanted to throw myself into him, to lose myself completely. I wanted to so badly it scared me. It scared me to think how far, how fast I wanted to go. This wasn’t me. I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

  But I’m not stupid. For the first time in my life, a guy gets me alone on a deserted golf course in the middle of the night, teaches me how to play imaginary golf and then tries to kiss me . . . Of course I know what he wanted. He wanted Zara. Even if that night I was Zara, that was the girl he wanted – with the hair and the boobs and the dancing and the non-verbal. He didn’t want Tilly. He didn’t even know Tilly.

  Sawyer followed me out of the dunes. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or pissed off. I was so relieved to see Zara. At least it meant I didn’t have to deal with my feelings. Or his.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ I asked Zara. ‘What were you doing out here with him anyway?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I can handle myself.’ I didn’t doubt it. ‘I was more worried about you, going off with Sawyer.’

  ‘You don’t trust him either, huh?’ I said wryly.

  Zara looked at me apologetically. ‘Men are scum?’ she offered.

  ‘Actually, he was really nice. He was really nice,’ I admitted. ‘But this isn’t me. It’s just an outfit and a haircut. And, you know.’ I adjusted my top. ‘Two really scary boobs.’

  ‘I don’t think he thought they were scary,’ Zara said.

  ‘I think he probably thought they were nice.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? I mean, I hardly said anything tonight. He knows nothing about me, besides what my boobs look like. Frankly,’ I tugged at my top. ‘I’m kind of looking forward to putting them away again.’

  ‘For what it’s worth, Till, you really do look beautiful tonight.’ Zara’s voice softened. ‘Maybe he just really likes you.’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe. So . . .’ I looked at Zara. ‘Not an unmitigated success then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The whole identity swap thing. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I had a massive existential crisis.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Zara. ‘Except I don’t know what that means.

  But I think I did too.’

  ‘It wasn’t all bad, being you. I liked the dancing. I liked the boys. But –’ ‘Boy-s?’ said Zara. ‘More than one?’

  ‘Oh well . . .’ I’d been thinking of Ivan. ‘No. Um, boy. I liked the boy. I liked the idea of the boy.’

  ‘I didn’t like the boy,’ said Zara. ‘But I didn’t hate being Tilly.’

  ‘That’s kind of you to say. But I think when it comes down to it, I’m just not very good at being you,’ I said. ‘I mean, I’m still me. I just don’t think a Tilly can be a Zara. Or a Zara can be a Tilly.’

  ‘Me either,’ said Zara, but she sounded even more regretful than I did. I glanced sideways at her closed face and wondered again why on earth Zara would want to be me.

  We walked out of the dunes and onto the open beach. We both stopped and looked at the lit-up waves. I felt a desperate longing to be out there, to swim towards the inky line of the horizon.

  ‘You still up for it?’ Zara asked.

  I nodded. I couldn’t speak. No words could express how up for it I was, without me sounding like . . . like Tilly, and even though being Zara hadn’t been as successful as I’d hoped, I realised I wasn’t ready to go back to being Tilly. Not yet.

  I was almost sick with excitement and nervousness as, silently, we entered the water, pushing our surfboards ahead of us, hearing the water gently slosh over the fibre-glass boards. The golf club floodlights lit up the surface of the water; even so, visibility was minimal. I couldn’t see below the dark surface. I couldn’t see the horizon. There was a waxing half moon in the sky, but clouds drifted over it; it was faint and far away. There were stars too. That was one of the things I loved about Indigo. Living in inner city Melbourne, it was never really dark. All the light from the city meant the sky stayed a faint grey-blue colour, and the stars scattered across the sky were diminished by house and streetlights. But in Indigo, the stars crowded in, close together, as though they were peering at you in little gossipy conversational clusters. You could even see the Milky Way, white painterly streaks in the sky, like cappuccino froth smeared on a table.

  I felt as if I was paddling out towards the stars, as if it was the night sky I was heading for. Ivan’s board felt big and boatish underneath me and there was too much sway behind me, like being in the back seat of a station wagon. My own board was back at the campground, still strapped to the roof of our car. Zara had offered me hers, but I felt like I was intruding as it was. When we couldn’t find a second legrope, I’d bravely volunteered to go without. As far as bravado went, it was pretty much false, but now, heading out towards the inky night sky, I had a sudden flash of feeling free. I felt like the real thing. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, in fact my stomach was churning more than the waves. It wasn’t a familiar feeling either. Was this what it was like to be Zara, free-falling through life, no safety net in sight?

  We got out beyond the break and straddled our boards, looking out towards the invisible horizon, waiting for a wave. I was panting, breathing the salty air deep into my lungs. Zara was quiet. I could make her out, the shape of her, though I couldn’t see her face. Suddenly I knew I was intruding. Of course Zara didn’t want me here. I’d pushed in to something private, stomped around on it with typical Tilly indelicacy.

  I shivered and rubbed my arms. My legs dangling in the water were all right, but out of the water it was cold. I was ready to get moving. Silently and obligingly a wave began to form under me. I lay down on my board and turned into it, paddling my guts out.

  ‘Tilly,’ Zara called. ‘Close your eyes!’

  But it was too late, the floodlights had blinded me. Droplets of light scattered all around me. I closed my eyes to get rid of the glare. I should have pulled out of the wave but I kept going. I knew I was disoriented, but I thought if I stood up, the board would lead me where I needed to go. Of course it didn’t. Surfboards aren’t that tame. It bucked me off like a wild horse and I went in. The water slammed against me like a cold, hard, shattering mirror and I lost my breath for a moment. I hit the sandy bottom, landing on the soft part of my arm. I drifted underneath, dazed, waiting for my ankle cord to snap tight, but then I remembered, I wasn’t att
ached to the board. I swam up quickly, panicking, my heart stuttering, my lungs bursting. Clawing blindly, my hands struck Ivan’s board. I grabbed it before I lost it to the waves, hanging on as I spat out saltwater, coughing it out of my lungs.

  Zara called out, ‘Hey, Tilly, are you okay?’

  I gasped. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ I laughed, weakly. I hauled myself back on the board.

  ‘You sure.’

  ‘Yeah!’ I said. ‘Bring it on.’ Could Zara tell I was faking? The truth was I was losing heart. I was wet and cold, it was dark, and I was spooked. But I couldn’t admit it to Zara. Besides, I’d come out here for a reason. I’d been looking for something. Would I forgive myself if I just gave up? I’d already done that once tonight, with Sawyer. I sat on the board nervously, watching the waves roll in.

  The waves weren’t huge, but to me, in the darkness, they felt like the fifty-year storm in Point Break. I listened to Zara as she told me how to feel my way, not relying on my sight. And I tried. I really did. I wanted to trust that my body would know what to do, that my other heightened senses would guide me. But as I attempted to mount each wave, I couldn’t help but squint into the brightness. I pulled out of every wave at the last minute.

  I decided to go back in, admit defeat. Let’s face it, I totally sucked. I felt heavy and cumbersome, trapped in the uselessness of my body. I couldn’t let myself go, I couldn’t match the rhythm of the waves with my body. I had no instincts, no intuition. I was trying to use my brain, but out here my brain made me clumsy. I was no Zara.

  I called out to Zara that I was going in. But just as I struck out towards the shore, I felt a wave building beneath me and the board lifted out of the water. What the hell, I thought. One last time. As I paddled furiously to the top of the wave I closed my eyes tight. I stood up and found my balance. I opened my eyes. I was skimming along the water, parallel to the shore, and though the lights were shining straight at me, I didn’t look at them, I looked down at the board slicing through the wave. I got it. Suddenly, for this brief, illuminating flash, I understood everything, how the whole world connected up. I saw with Zara’s eyes. It was like, for one moment, I was truly inside her skin. The tempo of the waves passed up from the sea and into me, as if I was conducting the sea’s energy, a powerful force rushing through me. It made me think of Sawyer’s tooth on my lip, Sawyer’s salty kiss.