The Obstruction of Emma Goldsworthy

by Sean Kennedy

  But after a while Emma realised it was a hopeless task. Mal could be dressed as anybody or any thing this time around, if she was here at all. She could even be the weirdo dressed completely in white latex trying to be the Human Being from Community, although the protrusion from their nether regions seemed to demonstrate that it was more than just packing—and totally defying the genderless construction of the Human Being, although it wasn’t their fault, thanks to Mother Nature.

  Carl had disappeared into one of the smaller lecture theatres to hear a panel about “real science” in science fiction—which Emma felt contradicted itself and decided to content herself with wandering the booths until she would meet him later for “Heroines of the Small Screen.” If Mal was here today, she would probably be at that panel, along with every other lesbian in the vicinity. And token ally Carl.

  Emma felt a little at odds, which was strange. She normally didn’t care about being by herself at events—after all, she was a thoroughly modern young woman who thrived on independence and all that stuff. Maybe it was because she was dressed as a superhero. If she had been in her own clothes, she probably wouldn’t have been uncomfortable. Emma Goldsworthy was completely comfortable in her own skin. Still, it was odd—it wasn’t like she was standing out in the rest of the crowd, as she was literally surrounded by Supermen, Green Lanterns, Scooby Doos and Wonder Women—including one hairy guy who wore the costume surprisingly well and actually strode along the floor as if he was a reincarnated Amazon himself. Emma asked him to take a selfie with her and was rewarded with one of her most favourite ever pictures. Wow, those red knee-high boots were even more vivid on camera. She wanted to adopt him so they could be friends forever. But he twisted spectacularly in his cape and walked off. He was a superhero.

  However, she was chuffed when a couple of kids wanted to pose with her and said she could easily beat up Batman if she wanted to. Emma told them they were usually on the same side, but yes, Batwoman would be able to do it quite easily. After all, Kate Kane had been in the military. Batman was just a rich playboy who worked out a lot.

  Emma really didn’t know exactly how it happened, but when Carl found her later on, she was pashing Dana Scully. Of course, not the real one. Dreams never come true. But Emma supposed it was the next best thing.

  From what she could vaguely remember, flushed with the explosion of endorphins that coursed through her body with the hugging and the kissing in a dark corner, they had accidentally touched hands while reaching for the same Ms. Marvel comic. It was a total movie moment. Shy laughter, tucking back of errant hairs behind ears, etc. etc. Scully had complimented Emma’s costume. She returned the compliment. Then they complimented each other’s mouths.

  Which led them to this moment.

  “IS THIS Malcolm?” Carl asked, a little excited at the belief Emma had achieved her mission.

  Before Emma could answer, Scully spoke up. “No, I’m Dana Scully. Haven’t you ever seen The X-Files?”

  Carl shot Emma an “Is she for real?” look. “Yeah, your hair’s a little too red, if you know what I mean,” he told her.

  Scully looked confused, even though it was a much-loved description of the character within the show itself. “I don’t get it.”

  “This is—” Emma stopped, remembering she didn’t actually know Scully’s real name. Names were unnecessary for supposedly anonymous kissing sessions.

  “Is this your boyfriend?” Scully asked Emma.

  “Yes,” Carl said before Emma could open her mouth.

  “Bloody second-year uni lesbians!” Scully scowled.

  “Hey!” Emma yelled after her as Scully stormed off, her FBI badge caught up in her hair. “Good one, dickhead. Now she thinks I’m like some kind of Katy Perry. And I hate Katy Perry.”

  “What are you doing, kissing girls you’re not meant to be kissing? And don’t tell me it was the taste of her cherry ChapStick.”

  Emma shrugged. “I just wanted to.”

  “And what would Malcolm say?”

  “Nothing.” Emma kicked over her bag of purchases, and the Ms. Marvel comic slid across the floor. Kamala Kahn stared up at her. Emma would like to think Ms. Marvel’s expression was one of neutral nonjudgement, but truth be told she did look a little judgy. It was all right for Ms. Marvel. She had boys chasing around after her, even ones that didn’t know she was a superhero. Emma couldn’t even hold on to a cosplayer. “Malcolm would say nothing. Because Malcolm isn’t real. She’s just a dream, a stupid fantasy I’ve been holding on to. She could be an arsehole in real life for all I know. So maybe that’s why I kissed Scully. Because at least she was there.”

  “Wow. I’m sure she’d feel really special if she’d heard that speech.”

  “Give me a break. Guys kiss all the time, and they never get shat on for it.”

  “Only if they ask,” Carl said, and Emma had to laugh.

  “Seriously,” she told him. “I just wanted to feel something.”

  “You’re lonely,” Carl said. Statement. Not a question.

  Emma couldn’t answer straightaway. But this was her cousin, who was also one of her best friends. She hadn’t ever known life without him; even her first memories included him.

  “Emma?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Yes, I am lonely. It’s not stopping me from living my life, and I know it’s probably just a phase and I’ll pass through it soon enough, but I’m lonely. What about you? Are you happy right now?”

  “No.” He picked up the comic and placed it in the bag. “Not as long as you’re not.”

  She hugged him and tried not to cry. “I really hope you move here.”

  “Because you can’t live without me?” He was muffled against her shoulder.

  “If I had to, I could,” Emma said. “But I wouldn’t want to.”

  “Okay, your sappiness is scaring me now.”

  She leaned back and adjusted her mask. “Let’s go fight crime.”

  Chapter 4

  JUST AS quickly as he had arrived, Carl was gone, and life continued on as if he had never been in Canberra. Emma might have told him she was over Mal, but a fantasy was nice to cling to, as she discovered when she had more free time to dwell on her thoughts again.

  So Emma was feeling sorry for herself. But she continued going to classes and training. Being on the field was the only time she really felt good. Then she became Emma Goldsworthy, hockey player. All she was focused on was the ball, and uniting with her teammates to get it into their goal and keep it away from the opposing team.

  But that Emma disappeared as soon as she was reminded that Trish was returning. Suddenly it was only a week until she arrived, the prodigal daughter who made good in America and returned to share her brilliance. Emma couldn’t even guess at what to do when their paths eventually crossed. Campus wasn’t that big, and holy shit, what if she ended up in the same dormitory as Emma? Even the same building would be bad enough.

  Soon Emma was in the midst of the blues. Alya, meanwhile, was starting to climb out of hers and rediscover life. Unfortunately, she was trying to drag Emma into it with her; Emma really wasn’t feeling it.

  So when her phone rang and Micah’s face stared up at her from the screen, she wasn’t in the mood for talking to anybody, especially friends who might have been able to pick up on her mood. But then, it was Micah. He usually was too distracted by his own problems to worry about anybody else’s. This time Emma would be relying upon it.

  “What do you want?” Emma asked upon answering the call.

  “Hey, grumpy.”

  Yeah, so much for fooling him. Maybe Emma should have put a little more effort into her greeting. “Good morning, Micah,” she said, much spritelier.

  “That’s better. So what’s up with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, sounds like nothing.”

  “You’re sounding pretty chipper,” Emma said. “What’s up with you?”

  “What? I can’t be happy? The sun’s shining here, as
it always does in Perth. The ocean is blue, the sand is warm, and I’m stripped down to my jocks getting a tan.”

  “Eww, gross.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What a life you lead, Micah Johnson.”

  “Work hard, play hard, that’s my motto.”

  His bluster could be exhausting. Emma was exhausted. Training had kicked her arse that morning. Plus, everybody was talking about the return of Trish Webber, Patron Saint of Lesbians in Lesbian-Populated Sports. Emma would rather have even listened to them talk about The Bachelor, and that felt worse than death.

  “Well, I wish I played hard like you sometimes.”

  “Yeah, the one thing I can say about Perth is that it has great beaches. That’s one thing we have over landlocked Canberra.”

  “Hey, we have the freezing waters of Lake Burley Griffin, a well-planned system of roundabouts, and a city full of politicians and public servants.”

  “Sounds like heaven. How I wish Canberra had an AFL team so I could join you.”

  “Not that I don’t love talking to you, Mike—”

  Emma heard his teeth grit through the speaker. He hated his name being shortened, and she didn’t use it very often to torment him. Now he could really tell she was in a mood.

  “—but I can tell you’re calling for a reason. You have that officious tone. All business. Very Donald Trump—”

  “How dare you!” he hissed. “I’m nothing like that reality TV Oompa Loompa!”

  “And possible future president of the United States of America.”

  “You’re going to jinx everything! Stop it! If he gets in, it’s all your fault!”

  “Okay, okay.” Emma calmed him down. “You’re not an Oompa Loompa.”

  “Thank you,” he said, mollified. “Fuck, you’re going to wish you had been nicer to me when I tell you why I’m calling.”

  “Now that you’re earning big money, you finally bought me a pony?” She squealed like she was six years old and had just been given her first Sparklehorse. At the time, her parents couldn’t afford My Little Pony, so she got the Reject Warehouse Chinese knockoffs. Emma still loved them.

  “Yes. Her name is Princess Prettypants, and she has a plaited tail.”

  She sounded perfect. How Emma wished she was real. “Okay, what’s up?”

  “You don’t want to talk more about Princess Prettypants?”

  “Micah, are you wearing those jocks with the extra padding?” How low to go for a man’s greatest insecurity, whether it was based in truth or not.

  It worked, though. “Fine. I’ve been asked to appear on the cover of the Australian Sports Illustrated.”

  That was it? He was calling for bragging rights? News like that couldn’t help but burn Emma. Was it institutional sexism or just because he was popular? Or was he popular because of institutional sexism? Chicken or egg? Emma decided both of the motherfuckers should be cooked.

  “Of course, I don’t mean just me,” he continued cheerily, either ignoring or being oblivious to Emma’s lack of response. “A whole lot of kids who are openly gay in sport, coming up through the ranks.”

  “Sounds great,” Emma finally managed to get out. “Congratulations.”

  “And they asked me if I knew of any others who could be part of the cover and article—”

  She could feel sweat break out at her temple. “An article too?”

  “Well, duh, they’re not going to put people on the cover unless there’s an article about them too. So I told them about you and Kyle—”

  Another way for him and Kyle to spend more time together. But Emma didn’t highlight the lack of subtlety there. “You really told them about me?”

  “Of course I told them about my friends. What do you take me for?”

  She felt terrible for every bad word she had ever said about Micah Johnson. Sure, he could be an obnoxious shit, and he could get her angry like no other person on earth, but she loved him, and he loved her because he sometimes came through for her in the most extraordinary of ways.

  He must have sensed she was pretty dumbstruck. “Are you still alive?”

  “Barely,” Emma replied. “And you think they’re interested in us?”

  “Well, I gave them all your details, and they said they’d be getting in contact. The photo shoot is probably going to be in Canberra, as that’s where a lot of you guys are based, and I’ll come up midweek so it doesn’t clash with any games.”

  “This… this is brilliant, Micah. Thank you so much.”

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  “You’re not going to start singing, are you?”

  Unfortunately, he did. Micah Johnson might be a great football player, but he was lucky he didn’t have to rely on singing for his day job.

  EMMA WAS unable to sit still through her tutorial—all she could think about was the fact she could be in a photo shoot and article. Sure, the GetOut kids had been featured in some newspaper pieces before, but they tended to focus on Declan because—well, he was the famous one. They’d rather have a story on Declan Tyler that would help sell papers than some nobody kids who were trying to reach his lofty heights. Or as Micah called it, Dec’s eagle nest. The man was a tough act to follow.

  “Remember that old ad that used to be on TV?” Alya asked Emma as they filed out the door afterwards.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more specific there, mate,” Emma replied.

  “You know, the one with the really hot model in the white underpants and singlet.”

  “Male or female?” Those qualifiers hadn’t cleared it up for Emma at all.

  Alya rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Like I would care about a male model in underpants and singlet? I mean, eww, just thinking of the bulge makes my gorge rise.”

  “Steady on there, misandrist!”

  “Oh my God, not even in jest should you go there.”

  Emma relented. “Okay, female model, hot—”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “You did say that.”

  “Oh yeah, I did. And there were like ants crawling up her legs towards her—”

  “I remember!” Emma interrupted her before her next word would invite strange looks from the people thronging around us. “There was an anteater.”

  “Yeah, and she said—”

  “Sic ’em, Rex!” they cried in unison.

  “Antz Pantz,” Alya said. “That was the name of them. I’m pretty sure that ad turned me into a lesbian when I saw it on Naughtiest Ads Ever Made.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty old, isn’t it? Anyway, I thought you said you were pretty sure Veronica Mars turned you gay,” Emma reminded her.

  “Well, both of them.” Alya shrugged. “I mean, just that expression on the girl’s face, and you could imagine what that anteater was doing to her.”

  “Bestiality on mainstream television,” Emma remarked. “Man, TV was so different back then.” She remembered loving Beauty and the Beast and being disappointed when the Beast turned into a rather insipid-looking prince. Or maybe that was just young lesbianism rearing its head, because she was always more interested in Belle anyway.

  “I wish I was that anteater,” Alya said with a tone that suggested her mind was on vacation and she didn’t realise she was speaking aloud.

  Emma was kind and didn’t point it out to her. But her Mona Lisa smile was slightly disturbing, although she snapped back to normal only a few seconds later.

  “Anyway,” Alya said, as if there had never been a pause in the conversation, “that’s who you were in class just then.”

  “A superhot model in white knickers who let an anteater go down on her?”

  Emma then realised she was the one who was being loud enough to shame them in public. Alya giggled, glad it wasn’t her.

  “No, I just meant it was like you had ants in your pants for the whole hour.”

  “I think that was the longest exp
lanation of a behaviour I’ve ever heard in my life,” Emma told her.

  “What got you so fidgety, anyway?”

  Emma didn’t think it was a secret, so she told her about Micah’s call. At first Alya seemed happy for her, but Emma noticed the longer she talked the more withdrawn Alya became. It dawned on Emma that this was an opportunity anybody who was queer in their hockey league would kill for (well, the out ones at least). It could be seen as Emma not getting ahead because of her supposed talents—she was getting in because a friend had put the hard sell about her to the people who were doing the article.

  “You know if I could get you on, I would,” Emma said, rather feebly. After all, Alya was her best friend in Canberra and she didn’t like disappointing her. “It’s just that I don’t have any clout—Micah was the one who got me on. I wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t for him.”

  Alya nodded, as if something had been confirmed for her. “Well, I guess nepotism is alive and well.”

  That burned. “Maybe. It’s not right if it is, but fuck it, Alya, wouldn’t you do the same if you were offered it?”

  She considered this for a moment. “I guess.”

  Emma felt a momentary relief as the obvious was said—anybody in the Institute would do it. It was just Emma who was the lucky one.

  But Alya’s face hardened again. “I wasn’t offered it, though, was I?”

  She walked off and left Emma there, despite her protestations. Emma felt like she should never have told Alya, but how much worse would it have been if she only found out when the magazine appeared online and on newsstands and Emma hadn’t said anything at all to her? She was still raw over Kerri’s betrayal, so she didn’t need a friend’s as well.