The Obstruction of Emma Goldsworthy

by Sean Kennedy

  Emma wished she never had.

  “You can go.” Emma didn’t even want to look at her anymore.

  That was that. There weren’t any phone calls or texts from Trish to check up on Emma and make sure she was okay. Sure, Emma had told her that was what she wanted. But she felt Trish could have tried a little harder. Or actually tried. Instead there was nothing.

  Except Emma started seeing Trish mentioned on hockey websites and forums. She was proving herself on the field, and it was paying off for her personally. She was included in an exchange program to go to Los Angeles and train with their hockey team—a coveted position that would only cement her in the big league once she returned home.

  And there was bitter, bitter Emma, resenting Trish’s newfound stature and reputation. She knew she should have been better than that. But at least she could smirk at the occasional interview or article she read about Trish:

  I don’t really have time for relationships at the moment. Boys are the furthest thing from my mind.

  Well, at least that wasn’t a lie.

  I guess it would be hard to put up with me. I’m on my way to LA—long-distance relationships are hard to keep up even between states, let alone putting countries between you.

  Paranoid, Emma felt like that was pointed directly at her. As if to say See? I’m not telling porkies. We had to break up, you young, bitter dickhead.

  Then there was the worst one of all:

  When I found love I couldn’t stay silent anymore. Kelsey and I are very happy together, and I finally feel at peace with myself to be a role model to gay kids who are still in school and, like I was at that time, unable to come out.

  That was from the magazine Emma had dumped in the bin. Now, there were the lies! Trish had never been in the closet from Year Ten onwards. All the media had to do was check her yearbook. But of course they accepted what she said at face value. Part of Emma wanted to go to Trish’s school, rip out the page with the evidence, and post it everywhere online.

  But she was starting to get over being bitter. Seeing Trish’s face in the media didn’t burn her as much as it used to. Now Emma was in Canberra and getting on with life.

  Somewhat of a life.

  Both Micah and Emma would start their first year away from home single and miserable. But at least in Micah’s case he was getting a new start. His relationship had ended amicably, and Kyle wasn’t heading into the closet and pretending their bond had never existed. They were just relenting to the pressure of distance.

  Emma felt like she was a dirty little secret, never to be mentioned again. Until the girlfriend Trish “outed” herself for came along.

  But Emma made friends. Pashed a few single girls. Unfortunately, nothing more than that.

  Maybe it was Emma Goldsworthy who was the excellently neutered silent dyke.

  NOT MANY people knew about Emma’s past with Trish, and she liked it that way. She could count on one hand how many people in Canberra knew, and one of them was Kyle. He only knew by proxy, because Micah had a big mouth and liked to talk about other people’s problems as much as his own. As Kyle didn’t mix in Emma’s circle at all, she didn’t think she had anything to fear about the accidental blurting out of her secrets. The other person in the know was Alya. Kerri hadn’t even known, because Emma had sworn Alya to secrecy, and she was relieved about that now they had broken up and all rules about shared secrets would be null and void. Emma wondered if it made her sound a bit heartless, but she had to protect herself too.

  It’s not like she was ashamed of dating Trish—maybe a little embarrassed at the reasons for their breakup. It was probably her own pride at fault, but Emma really didn’t want people knowing and then feeling they had the right to ask her personal questions and think she was rude if she refused to answer them.

  What could she really say? “Oh, you want to know why Trish and I broke up? It’s because she didn’t love me enough to come out for me, and kind of also because she didn’t want a long-term relationship but wanted to play around. She got herself a great scholarship, headed to America, and then found the woman she would come out for. So there is obviously something very lacking within me because I’m not worth being honest about in your life. Thanks for asking. I feel fantastic reliving that all over again.”

  That wasn’t how to win friends and influence people.

  Deep down it’s not like Emma really believed her fictional little rant. Maybe sometimes at night when she was trying to get to sleep it might cross her mind that maybe she wasn’t good enough to come out for, but she strangled it as soon as it opened its big fat gob. In the end, Emma was human and occasionally had doubts about herself. Who didn’t? She knew Trish coming out for another girl was nothing to do with her as a girlfriend. It was timing, circumstance, and feeling. That moment was right for Trish to do it.

  Emma wasn’t part of her narrative. She didn’t really want to become part of it again, but that was out of her hands. She had gotten used to only hearing about Trish through other sources. She had made her own life here at the AIS, made friends, and was making a name for herself as a good player with even more potential. Trish so far eclipsed her that maybe she’d done Emma a favour by dumping her, or else she would have turned up at the AIS and only be known as “Trish’s girlfriend, who is in no way as good or as talented as her.” All she would need was Bette Midler warbling away on a beach about her tragic existence living within someone else’s shadow to complete the picture.

  But why did Trish have to come back? Why couldn’t things here in good old Canberra just stay the same as they had been from the start?

  Said the girl who moved away from all her friends and family to another state so she could have a crack at a sports career. That was a really good move, Emma, she berated herself. You really like remaining static.

  Well, no longer. Mal was in her sights. Whatever her name was. It’s not like Emma was pining for Trish’s return, so what was she waiting for?

  Anything and everything.

  THE MORNING of the convention was bright but cold. Emma was glad her costume was heavy enough to protect her from Canberra weather, but she shivered when she thought about how all the He-Mans and Slave Princess Leias were going to be feeling when they checked the forecast for the day.

  Even though she had an idea who Carl was dressing as, she still wasn’t prepared for the sight of him when he arrived in costume.

  “Oh, Carl,” she managed to get out before dying with laughter.

  “What?” He was defensive, and rightly so.

  “You’re going to go out in public like that?”

  Emma thought it was the wig that wigged—boom! tish!—her out the most. Bright yellow, sticking out in almost every direction, barely contained under an emerald-green hat that looked like something a classy court jester might wear. A green tunic, brown leggings, and almost knee-high leather boots. A shield was clipped onto the side of his belt, and he brandished a sword. Also tucked within his belt was a small musical instrument.

  “What do you mean, go out in public? How do you think I got here from the hostel?”

  “Hopefully under an invisibility cloak,” Emma said.

  He scowled. “I’m Link from Zelda. Not Harry Potter. Don’t you know anything?”

  “I know who you’re meant to be. But your hair’s all wrong.”

  “It’s too stiff to try and style.”

  “Lucky you came to a girl, then. Nice flute, by the way.”

  “It’s an ocarina,” he corrected sulkily.

  “Oh, so it’s an even nerdier flute. The Sheldon of flutes.”

  “Don’t bring that crappy show into this. It laughs at nerds, not with them. That’s why mainstream audiences lap it up, because they think just as badly about nerds as the show does. It confirms every single stereotype and says it’s the norm and you should make fun of their very existence because it’s different to yours.”

  “Shit, don’t get all political on me.” Emma dragged him into her bathroom
, and he removed the hat. The hair looked even worse without it. She grabbed her brush and started to try to meld the exploded canary into something that had a little more resemblance to Link’s do.

  Carl moaned as she brought the brush back in again.

  “It’s not even your real hair!” Emma yelled.

  “It still hurts.”

  “It’s not attached to your head!”

  “Don’t be mean!”

  Alya appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?” She took one look at Carl and burst out laughing.

  “Hey!” Carl protested.

  “What are you, a hobbit?”

  “Do I look like a hobbit?” he asked.

  “Oh, are you trying to be Ga—what’s her name—oh, you know, the queen of the elves?” She wasn’t fooling around.

  “Get her out of here,” Carl warned Emma.

  She shrugged at Alya, who practically skipped off. “You would make a very pretty Galadriel,” Emma told him.

  “Fuck off,” he growled.

  By now she had the wig looking more like Link’s hairstyle, so she covered it with enough hair spray to hold a house together. “That should do it.”

  Carl placed the hat on a jaunty angle and finally smiled again. “Thank you.”

  “You look very Linkalicious.”

  “Shouldn’t you get ready?”

  “Now I’ve fixed your drama, yes.”

  Emma really wasn’t going out of her way to do anything different. On came the Kate-Kane-as-Batwoman costume again. For reasons.

  Carl frowned at her as she walked back into the common room. “You’re wearing that again?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m cheaparse. You don’t have to say it.”

  But both he and Emma knew why she was doing it. Just in case she came across “Mal” again.

  “What if she’s not as”—Carl made air quotes—“cheaparse as you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She mightn’t be Malcolm Reynolds again. How will you recognise her?”

  “That’s why I’m in the same thing I had on when I met her. She’ll recognise me.”

  “You know there’s probably going to be a few Batwomen there, right?”

  Emma hadn’t even thought about that.

  Carl grinned. “She’s going to have lots of fun kissing them all.”

  Not liking the sound of that, she gave him the finger.

  “But then when she kisses you the Batwoman disguise will melt away and she’ll discover her princess. And you’ll live happily ever after.”

  “Are you done yet?” Emma asked. She was ready to take his shield and whack him over the head with it.

  He seemed to have guessed that by her expression. “Nah, it’s all good. Let’s go.”

  Lucky for him.

  EMMA AND Carl got a lot of strange looks on the train, but as more and more cosplayers started to get on the closer they got to the convention centre, they were soon upstaged by those even weirder and wonderful looking. Cosplayers like checking each other out, and not just in a flirting way. They like to get ideas for costumes and props and ask how you made things or where you bought them. Carl as Link was getting a lot of attention from both sexes. He took it so well Emma was starting to wonder if there was a little more fluidity to him than he had ever let on. It explained a lot about his Kylie Minogue obsession, for a start.

  And even as someone who was blood related to him, Emma had to admit his legs looked pretty good in their green stockings. There was a future in drag performance for him if the whole biologist thing didn’t pan out. Or if he could sing, a stint in Kinky Boots or Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

  But Emma’s boots definitely weren’t made for walking, as she discovered when she began to hobble on her way from the station to the convention centre.

  “Are you okay?” Carl asked, sword at the ready.

  She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re meant to suffer this much for your art.”

  Stumbling slightly, she yanked on him, causing him to cry out in pain. “Get off me!”

  Making it to an outdoor bench, Emma flung herself upon it with relief. “You’re really chivalrous, you know that, Carl?”

  “And I thought lesbians were meant to have sensible shoes. Doesn’t Ellen have a line, or something?”

  “That’s homophobic,” Emma said automatically but couldn’t hide a grin.

  “Yes, I’m such a homophobe.”

  “You said it, not me.” Emma adjusted her mask slightly, as it was digging into her nose.

  “Actually,” he pointed out, “you did say it.”

  Before she could answer they were interrupted.

  “Excuse me, miss, is this man bothering you?” Xena, Warrior Princess, asked on her way through.

  She wasn’t Mal. But she was cute. Carl had perked up too.

  “I’m her cousin,” Carl said. “Carl. And you’re—?”

  “Not interested,” she said immediately. She gave Emma an appraising look, then glared at Carl while handling her chakram. He stepped away nervously.

  Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd.

  “She seemed nice,” Carl said flatly.

  “Carl, Carl, Carl.” Emma shook her head.

  “What?”

  “She was dressed as Xena. Did you really think she liked guys? You couldn’t get more lesbian unless you dressed up as—”

  “Batwoman?” he suggested, his eyebrows raised sarcastically.

  “Ouch,” Emma said. “But true, I guess.”

  “Well, at least you’re going to get lucky,” he muttered.

  “If you were wanting to get lucky, maybe you should have reconsidered your dress code.”

  “Funny.”

  “The boys liked you, though.”

  “There were girls too!”

  “I think you should keep your options open, just in case.” Emma stumbled to her feet, but this time Carl begrudgingly helped her up. He even put his arm through hers so she could lean on him. “Carl, neither of us are going to get lucky if we walk in looking like a hipster couple.”

  He immediately dropped his arm and followed her into the centre.

  XENA WAS milling around one of the booths when they first entered, checking out a phaser from the original Star Trek. She obviously had a lot of interests, but most people there did. When she saw Emma she waved at her, and Emma waved back. If the phaser had been real and without a safety mechanism, Xena probably would have taken out half the floor.

  “Stop it,” Carl said. “You’re meant to be here for Mal, remember?”

  “That’s not the only reason I’m here,” Emma reminded him. “I’m here to have fun with my bestest cousin.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  “And there’s no harm in checking out the talent.”

  He pulled her away. “You should have come as Gabrielle, then. Imagine the story you could tell your grandkids.”

  “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

  “I wouldn’t be dressed as Link if I wasn’t looking for my own Princess Zelda.” It was said without an ounce of irony.

  “Maybe you should go to a convention in your own state, then,” Emma said. “Unless Zelda wants to move to Melbourne.”

  “This one had the better guests.” He stopped, and Emma was glad to drop onto a nearby couch. “About Melbourne….”

  “What?”

  “I’ve put in an application for the ANU to transfer.”

  Emma was pretty sure she appeared like a Funko Pop doll, with her wide eyes and plasticky clothing. “As in the Australian National University? The same Australian National University which is, like, eight kilometres down from me? That Australian National University?”

  “Quick, say ‘Australian National University’ one more time.”

  “Australian National University,” she obliged.

  He nodded. “That’s the one.”

  Emma leapt from the couch, squealing, and wrapped her arms around him. “
You’ve made my year!”

  “Your whole year? I really must be your favourite cousin.”

  “You know you are. Stop fishing for a compliment. This is so cool!”

  “Don’t get your hopes up yet. I don’t know if I’m in or not.”

  “With your brain, of course you’ll get in.”

  “Um, Emma?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you stop hugging me now? People are staring.”

  Emma stepped back from him, and he fussily brushed himself down to get the creases out of his tunic.

  “Why didn’t you just apply for the ANU in the first place?”

  He looked pained. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t think I would get in.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “What, like when you doubted you would get into the AIS?”

  “That’s different.” He always had the brains. Emma knew she had talent in her chosen sport, but she didn’t know if it was good enough to get into national placement.

  “Not to anybody who had ever seen you play,” Carl said. “You kind of inspired me, Emma.”

  “Me?” She couldn’t have been more dumbfounded.

  “Yeah, you, you dumbarse.”

  “How?”

  “Because you applied to get here in the AIS, and you did it. You had the guts to do what I couldn’t last year, which was to apply to the uni I actually wanted to go to.”

  “Well, you’re going to get here. And better late than never.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  Emma linked her arm through his again. “Do you want to, like, sing a song about my awesomeness?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to go and put in a good word for me with Xena?”

  “You’re here for Mal, not for Xena.”

  She sighed. “Okay, but it’s hard being your hero.”

  “You’re not my hero.”

  “Just because you say that, doesn’t mean you believe it.”

  “Shut up,” he said and started moving her towards the lecture hall.

  THERE WERE a number of Malcolm Reynolds scattered amongst the crowd, and a surprising number were female. But none of them were Emma’s Malcolm. She even started to scope out the Kaylees, Zoes, and Inaras in case Mal had decided to come as somebody else from Firefly. Emma figured she better check out the Simons, Shepherd Books, and Washes as well—because if her girl was likely to dress as Malcolm, then she could be any of the men. Except Jayne, because no self-respecting member of the LGBTQ community would want to pay any homage to right-wing nut job Adam Baldwin.