by Sandy McKay
That day I ate two double cheeseburgers and then asked Dad for a giant ice cream sundae with double chocolate sauce. That day Aunty Kay said, ‘You’ve got a real sweet tooth, Jo, just like your mum.’ I remember her saying it ‘just like your mum’. She probably meant it as a compliment.
But that night, after everyone went to bed, I nicked a packet of TimTams from the cupboard and a family-sized block of Caramellow chocolate that Dad got for his birthday and half a packet of corn chips we were saving for nachos. Then I shut myself in my bedroom and ate the lot.
Then I spewed it all up again.
Group Therapy Homework:
Throwing up – Why do I do it?
Because I can’t stop.
Why shouldn’t I do it?
Because I can’t stop.
Dear Jo,
You asked for all the gory details so here they are.
I am lying in bed and the Cameron College Formal is now officially over. The digital clock says 4:37 but I haven’t been to sleep yet because I keep going over the night in my mind, trying to figure out what happened. You were right about the blind date thing, Jo, and I should have listened. I mean, what was I thinking? Going to a dance with some complete stranger. What kind of a nutso idea was that?
This is what happened: Mike Maxwell arrived to pick me up at 6:30, and guess what – he was totally drop dead gorgeous. I’m not kidding, Jo – when he walked in I nearly died. Olive skin, jet-black hair – the works! Meredith’s eyes were on stalks, Kate was grinning like a moron and even Mum was tipped off balance a little.
Of course Dad had to go and make some embarrassing comment about me being the Belle of the Ball. ‘Is-a-belle of the ball – ha, ha, ha.’
I almost chickened out there and then, Jo. Because suddenly I realised what a bad idea this blind date thing was and what the heck was I going to say to him and well, you know. Major nerve attack in progress.
Anyway, he had a flower to pin on my dress and when he leaned forward my heart was going bang-bang-bang and if he couldn’t hear it then he must be deaf. But I knew exactly what he was thinking. Like, ‘Hmmnnn … this is different from what I expected … fat, with freckles and glasses, eh. Wonder if it’s too late to swap?’ He didn’t say that of course. Oh no, he was the model of cool, charming the pants off everyone in sight.
His friend Rodney was waiting outside, with the car engine running, so there was no time for idle chitchat. Unfortunately, this didn’t stop Mum delivering her usual lecture on the evils of drink-driving and the reasons why I was the only chick in school who had to be home by twelve-thirty. (I’ve told her a thousand times that no one else gets home before daylight but she can’t seem to grasp it.)
So then we were off to Kathy’s. Her Mum turns out to be really cool with a nose stud and long red hair like Nicole Kidman. Her partner is a sculptor and there were all these incredible carvings everywhere. Like, in the corner of the lounge, there was a statue of a naked woman with ginormous breasts. Of course the guys couldn’t stop gawping.
And Kathy’s boobs aren’t exactly pint-sized, either. She had on a skin-tight halter-neck top with no bra. I felt like a bit of a drongo in my purple number and if I could have ripped those silly bells off, honest to God, I would have.
Luckily there was a heap of food and I managed to plough my way through a whole slab of brie cheese single-handedly because no one else seemed interested. The boys skulled a can of beer each while Kathy and I had a glass of sparkling grape juice in a fancy wine-glass. The conversation wasn’t exactly riveting but thankfully Kathy’s mum stayed and we managed to waffle on about what we did in the holidays or something.
So, it was a relief to get to the hall, which looked fantastic, by the way. The whole ceiling was covered in streamers – orange, blues and reds – with a huge mirror ball in the centre and yucca plants everywhere. The theme was Mexican and Mr Tafea had one of those big sombrero hats. I felt more comfortable in familiar territory.
Mike got us a glass of punch and we sat at a table near the stage. When Gemma and Zoe arrived you could tell something was wrong as soon as they walked in because instead of making their usual grand entrance they were huddled together and it looked like Gemma was crying because Zoe had her arm around her – all drama-queen like.
Anyway, Kathy went to the loo and came back with the goss. Apparently, Luke McAnally (Gemma’s partner) had been refused entry on account of not being able to stand up properly and getting stroppy with Mr Hopkins, after drinking a whole bottle of wine at the Japanese restaurant that Gemma’s Dad shouted them to. Ha! Served him right. I couldn’t help having a grin about it, but everyone else was rushing round making a fuss and finding Gemma a seat (at the table next to us!) and looking all serious and concerned. You can imagine.
The music finally started and I had the first dance with Mike before he rushed off to the loo. It wasn’t easy getting the steps right, especially in the dress, and I was starting to wish I’d paid a bit more attention to Miss Rainer during PE. Mark wasn’t back in time for the next dance so I decided to take some photographs for the paper while I was waiting. (Nice shot of the drummer and also one of Mr and Mrs Hopkins who looked really sweet in matching tuxedos.) Anyway, I must have been away too long because when I got back guess who’d nicked my seat?
Little Miss feel-sorry-for-me-because-my-boyfriend-got-drunk-and-wasn’t-allowed-in Scott was moving into my blind date. No prizes for guessing what happened next.
I’ll spare you the gory details because it was all too humiliating. But, to cut a long story short, Gemma Scott and Mike Maxwell practically danced the night away with him all over her like a rash and her being only too happy to oblige. So embarrassing! And when it came time for the last dance I was so hanging out to leave. I don’t know what Mike’s intentions were about giving me a lift home but if I was going to have any dignity I needed to get in first. So I made up some story about getting a ride with a friend and, surprise, surprise, he didn’t argue.
So there I was, walking home by myself. Everyone else off to the after-party at Jessie Hilton’s and me walking home in the rain on my lonesome. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that bit. It was pissing down! Can you imagine a sadder sight in the world than that?!
Well, I was heading along Ralston Street when a car slowed down beside me. At first I thought it was a stalker and my heart was going like the clappers trying to remember that stuff we learned in self-defence last year. (Is it the eyeballs or the other balls you’re supposed to go for?) Anyway, I started to take off my shoes so I could make a run for it.
But then a voice said, ‘Hey, what’s a nice girl like you doing walking home in the rain by herself?’ And I recognised the voice so I stopped – and it was Tim, that Year Twelve guy from the newspaper. He asked would I like a ride and I said where to and he said wherever I want and I said oh, yes please, that’d be great (but I hope not sounding too desperate or anything). Turned out his partner went home early because she didn’t feel well and apparently, she’s not exactly his partner but just a cousin and … well, I won’t bore you with ALL the details, except for the last bit.
Which is this – Tim pulled up outside my house and we talked for a bit about the newspaper story and stuff. Then I said thanks for the ride and he said that’s okay and, well, when he looked at me, Jo, I went all soggy inside. Hard to explain. Sort of squirmy: my stomach felt like it was going up ten flights in the elevator or something. And I had this feeling that he wanted to kiss me but I didn’t know if I was imagining it or not. It all seemed a bit surreal, especially after the fiasco with Mike Maxwell. And that’s why I can’t go to sleep. Because I keep seeing his face and feeling my stomach go up like in an elevator.
Hmmnnnnn…
Missing you heaps,
Issy
Dear Issy,
Do you know what I think?
I think you’ve had a lucky escape. That Mike Maxwell character sounds like a total moron with the personality of a school desk and the manners to match. Cer
tainly not in the least deserving of you. I hope you got some good photos for the paper.
Take care.
Luv,
Jo
P.S. Tell me more about Tim.
Dear Jo,
Cute smile. Interesting ears. He gave me a bite of his Jellytip ice cream at a newspaper meeting yesterday.
Luv,
Issy
Dear Issy,
A bite of his Jellytip??!! Wow! Sounds serious!
Luv,
Jo
D,
I got a letter from Issy today. She’s gone all gooey over some guy from the newspaper.
P.S. It’s happened. I am turning into Hairy Maclary. And it’s not only my legs! This morning I discovered I am growing facial hair! Dot said that’s what happens when your body weight gets low. (She also said you lose your sex hormones. I said I didn’t know I had any.)
Message from Occupational Therapist
Please bring along magazines, fabric scraps etc. on Wednesday. We are doing collage.
Dear Jo,
It’s me. Dad. The hospital phoned yesterday to say you had lost more weight. I am so worried. The doctor has organised a meeting at the hospital and it would be great if we could get together. Please telephone and let me know.
Luv,
Dad
Dear Mum,
Do you remember that time when our fridge broke down – only it wasn’t actually the fridge, just a blown fuse? But we ended up getting a new one anyway.
What a laugh that was, eh.
Issy,
Have you ever had a row with your Mum and told her you hated her?
Jo,
Hell no. She’d kill me if I told her that.
Issy,
Kill you?!
Things your parents tell you:
If the wind changes your face will stay like that.
Eat your crusts and your hair will go curly.
Carrots help you see in the dark.
Only the good die young.
Sticks and stones may break your bones but names will never hurt you.
D,
Sticks and stones may break your bones but names will never hurt you. Yeah, right!
But some words are even sharper than swords.
Issy and I had been going to Brownies since we were seven. And now we were both ‘Sixers’, which meant that we each had a group of younger girls to look after. Usually Issy’s mum took us to Brownies and back on a Monday night. It was easier that way because she did a lot of helping out and besides, Mum had Matt to look after.
It was going to be our second ever camp and we were really excited. The camp was at some place near the beach and you got to stay for three nights in bunkrooms. Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Three of the mothers, including Issy’s, stayed on to cook and help out. We did all sorts of things at camp. Like, we went for walks and made cards with dried flowers and we toasted marshmallows at night and played housie and charades and stuff. Nine-year-old stuff. At the end of the camp Issy and I had six new badges. We were stoked! Issy’s mum was great. She knew how to get people organised, that’s for sure. Issy said it was a pain having her mum there but I think she really quite liked it. The other girls thought she was cool too.
They needed two volunteers to come and help clean up on Monday before we went home. That’s what Mum was going to do. She arrived after breakfast. The camp helpers were all having a laugh in the kitchen and I could see Mum from the window. She’d parked the car miles down the road like she always did, even at the supermarket, because she was such a nervous driver. As soon as I saw her I got a sinking feeling. She always looked worse when I hadn’t seen her for a while – with those slumped shoulders and flat hair. Her pants were all baggy and I watched her trudge up the driveway dragging her feet like blocks of concrete. Matt raced on ahead, happy as Larry. He must have been about four then.
I saw Mum arrive but I didn’t rush up to meet her. Instead, I stood back and waited for her to come to me. She gave me this weak smile and a quick hug before Brown Owl shoved a broom in her hand. She looked relieved to have something to do. Poor Mum – she was never good at small talk.
A while later we were all sitting round together getting our new badges and stuff. We’d made ‘thank you’ cards for the helpers and we were practising a new song. Everyone was having a good time until suddenly Brown Owl appeared at the door with my brother Matt. ‘This young man is in need of a mother,’ she said grimly. She looked so serious that everyone stopped talking and Mum dropped her broom and raced over. Matt looked upset, like he’d been crying.
I’ll never forget the look on Mum’s face. Or how everyone stared while Brown Owl explained how Matt was found wandering down the road on his own, near the railway line. Brown Owl said everything was all right now – but you could tell what she was thinking. You could tell what everyone was thinking.
I can still see the look of horror on Mum’s face when she realised what’d happened. She’d obviously forgotten about Matt completely. Gone off into one of her trances. And he’d wandered off and could have been killed. Then Mum let out this groan and collapsed onto a chair.
‘No harm done then,’ said Brown Owl, trying to lighten things up a bit. I stayed in the circle trying to ignore everything but my face was getting hotter and hotter. I suppose I was embarrassed. (Or ashamed.) And Mum just sat there holding Matt and stroking his hair and looking about as miserable as I’d ever seen her – as if life was some puzzle she couldn’t quite work out. And then she started to cry and someone went and sat with her but it wasn’t me. All I wanted to do was crawl under a rock.
I can’t quite remember what happened next. We had lunch and then a farewell ceremony in the garden, I think. But I remember getting in the car and looking over at Mum with her bloodshot eyes, and I just felt so angry. I couldn’t help it. Why can’t you be like everyone else, I thought. Why do you always have to be like this? It’s not fair!
And then I said it.
‘I HATE YOU.’
I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t. I’d never said it before but I couldn’t help myself. ‘I WISH YOU WERE DEAD.’ It just slipped out. And I couldn’t take it back. And maybe I didn’t want to. But then I felt sick.
That day something inside me turned mean and hard. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing.
And it’s still there now, hard as rock. Like a closed fist in my gut. And nothing I do can ever make it go away.
Except, perhaps … throwing up.
D,
We did collage with the new OT today. We sat there with magazines and scissors cutting stuff out. It was supposed to be a kind of self-portrait. Veronica said to make an image of something that had meaning for us, which was quite a fun idea and it was interesting to see what the others came up with. Like, Kara spent such a long time getting everything cut straight that she didn’t get much glued on at all. (And then of course there was the inevitable hand washing routine to follow.)
Leon’s portrait was very musical, with a border of black and white stripes that looked like the keyboard on a piano and lots of semi-quaver shapes in the middle. Ingrid’s was lovely – very flowery and sweet. Tegan managed to find a couple of horses to focus on, surprise, surprise, and I farted around for ages before putting mine together. In the end I did two. For the first one I cut out two tennis racquets from an old Rebel Sports catalogue – I stuck them in the middle of the paper and made a background out of all sorts of other stuff. The racquets were supposed to represent Issy and me. Then I noticed a ball of black wool in the materials box and I had another idea. This time I got a new piece of paper and I made a pattern on the paper using the wool. I cut the wool into lengths and strung it across the page and before I knew it I’d made a spider’s web.
When we got home from the Brownie camp Mum and I kept out of each other’s way. We pretended like nothing had happened in the car. Like no one had said anything wrong at all. Sticks and stones may break my bones … and all that…
> I remember Mum making a special effort with tea. We had roast chicken, which was Dad’s favourite. And hokey pokey ice cream for pudding, which was mine. Then I had a bath. But I felt bad. And that night in bed I lay there working out how to say sorry. There was no easy way. Sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean it. I … Look, about that … Maybe I’d wait until Dad went to work.
But by then it was too late. Because when I woke up that morning Mum was gone. She’d taken the car and gone. Vanished. Dad thought she’d gone to the loo in the night and stayed up for a while because she couldn’t sleep. She did that sometimes. Sometimes she made tea and put the tele on at four in the morning. Except that this time she didn’t make it back to bed. And she’d taken a suitcase as well.
I don’t remember much about that day but I do remember Pop coming over and screaming at Dad, like it was all his fault. Dad was actually quite calm, considering. He kept saying that everything was going to be okay. Mum had taken the car and her wallet, which meant she also had her credit card. And if she was going to do anything stupid she’d hardly have taken her credit card, Dad said. It wasn’t until ages after that I realised what he meant by ‘anything stupid’. ‘Anything stupid’ meant ‘do yourself in’ or ‘jump off a cliff’. Anything stupid meant suicide. Because that’s what people like Mum did. Not that I knew that then.
