How Hard Can Love Be?

by Holly Bourne

  Don’t wake Mum and Kevin don’t wake Mum and Kevin.

  I listened. Silence.

  And then a snore from Bumface Kevin.

  If Mum were still a drunk, I could’ve relied on her staying asleep too. But she’d never slept well since she got dry. I’d just have to hope she was tired out from making me feel guilty.

  I tapped my fingers impatiently as I waited for everything to load.

  “Come on, come on…”

  Just as the computer was figuring itself out, all It’s almost 1 a.m., what are you doing to me? a little sign popped up in the right-hand corner.

  Lottie would like to talk with you.

  I double-clicked on the icon and then…there they were.

  “HI, AMBER!” They both waved at the camera, big smiles on their make-up-free morning faces. The light of tomorrow’s morning hitting them from the side, making them look like the saviour angels they were.

  It was too much. I burst into tears.

  “Christ,” Lottie grumbled. “I’m not THAT scary without eyeliner on, am I?”

  “Sorry, guys, I just…” I burst into a fresh heap of tears. They erupted from the very pit of my stomach, my ribs actually hurting from the effort of contracting out such physical grief. I missed them so much. I missed everything so much. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have thought it would make things good, that my mum would want to see me, not really. I should be with them, without Kyle and Whinnie and Russ and Melody and all the other random Americans I’d never see again.

  Evie – always the better of the two for emotional support – pushed herself closer to the camera.

  “Amber? What’s wrong?”

  Another sob. I practically had to shove my fist into my mouth to stop myself from waking Mum and Kevin.

  “Is it your mum? What’s happened?”

  I nodded. “It’s sort of my mum, but also…also…”

  Lottie pushed into the camera lens, shoving Evie to one side with her face.

  “But also what…?”

  The whole weekend flashed past me, seeping out of my brain and gushing confusion into my veins, pumping it around every part of me.

  “Well…it’s that boy…”

  They made me go and get a glass of milk. Lottie did a wiggle dance to distract me out of crying and accidentally blocked the camera with her bottom. Within ten minutes, I was stuffing down cookies while they ate bowls of Cheerios, and we were laughing quietly.

  I told them everything.

  “Let’s get this straight.” Lottie’s voice warped on the last word from the bad internet connection. “You’re crying because a boy you really like, likes you back?”

  I nodded, and crammed another Oreo into my mouth.

  Evie nodded while Lottie shook her head.

  “I don’t get it. I mean, I’ve seen this boy with my own eyeballs. He is fit as. And you say he’s a nice guy?”

  “Of course he’s nice,” Evie butted in. “He looked after her when she was sick, and then took her to a dreamland full of rainbows…but that’s not what it’s about, is it, Amber?”

  I swallowed – both the chewed-up black gunk of my cookie, and another lump that had wedged itself in my throat.

  “Yes, no. I don’t know what it is.”

  “Is it just because he kissed that Melody chauvinist pig girl?” Lottie asked. “Because if you’re waiting for a guy to share all your firsts with, you really better pick someone less good-looking. He is bound to have kissed a lot of people. I mean, it’s a waste of a sexual resource if he hasn’t.”

  Evie turned to Lottie. “Are we referring to men as sexual resources now?”

  “Blimey. No, you’re right.” Lottie slapped her own hand. “Sometimes I worry I’m a sexual predator.”

  “We all have that worry about you, Lottie,” I said. And we all laughed.

  “The Melody situation did wreck things a bit,” I said. “Like, he was saying all this weird stuff about how he just does things because that’s what’s expected of him. And at first I thought I wasn’t kissing him because I actually don’t know him and I was scared I just liked him because he’s so good-looking. But, then I got to know him better. And…well, he’s a really interesting and nice guy. And he really seems to like me. God knows why…”

  “AMBER,” they both warned.

  “Sorry… But, well, look at him, and look at me.”

  “I have,” Evie said. “And you’re being an idiot.”

  “I know.” More tears threatened, and I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “I don’t know, girls. This summer, it’s just been…hard. My mum has been…well…her. And I just feel a bit broken. And, what if I do get with him? Then what? I leave soon. I’ll only get hurt. We’re, like, only young, we wouldn’t do long distance. And…I don’t think I can get hurt… I feel, like, made of glass anyway. Why should I do something that will ultimately make me unhappy?” My voice broke on the last word.

  Evie was nodding. But Lottie was determinedly shaking her head.

  “Amber, you can’t live your life like that,” she said, all serious for a moment.

  “I’m just being practical.”

  “When did being practical get anyone anywhere?” Lottie loomed at the webcam, her eyes all wide.

  “So, what? I should just fall head first into situations that I know are destined to fail?”

  “Yes!” Lottie said, just as Evie shook her head and said, “No!” Evie put her hand up.

  “Eves, you don’t need to put your hand up to talk, you know?”

  She gave Lottie a look. “Don’t I?”

  Lottie waved her hands. “Okay okay okay, I’ll be less forceful in my delivery.”

  “Thank you,” Evie said.

  She pushed Lottie out the way to make more room for her face. “As someone who has been clinically diagnosed with a condition that makes you not want to put yourself at risk, I can kind of see where Amber’s coming from. Why do something you know will end up hurting you?”

  Lottie looked like she was going to explode. “Because it’s the right thing to do! Because it’s living. Because it’s the only way you grow and change!”

  Evie and I exchanged looks over Lottie’s shoulder.

  “I sense a lecture,” I said.

  “Too right,” Lottie replied.

  She began pacing in front of the camera, and if it wasn’t for the distortion of the sound, or the occasional break-up in the picture, I could’ve been there with them, in Evie’s super-clean bedroom, eating Cheerios and having another Spinster Meeting.

  “What is this obsession with happiness?” Lottie threw her head back like she was surrendering to the gods.

  “Umm, isn’t happiness kind of the reason to be alive?”

  “Is it? Look, I was reading this book…”

  “Here we go again,” Evie muttered, smiling.

  “And in this book, they were analysing happiness levels in women – comparing them from now, back to when they sampled it in the seventies.”

  “And?” I prompted, wishing, sometimes, just sometimes, I could have a problem and it not have to lead into a Lottie TED talk.

  “And, guess what? According to the sample, women were HAPPIER way back in the seventies. Back when their main purpose was usually to be a wife and squeeze out children. When the only career aspiration fed to them was to be a secretary and they’d get their arses grabbed by their drunken boss. It had only been legal to vote for fifty years, and the Equal Pay Act had only JUST been passed. So, of course, when this research came out, all the anti-feminist buttheads got massive men’s rights boners. Loads of them came out saying, ‘Well this just proves us right. Feminism makes women unhappy. Look at what you’ve achieved, you silly little things, and look how unhappy it’s made you’.”

  “That is really weird,” Evie said. “It also has nothing to do with Amber…”

  “Can you just, for once, let me build to a crescendo? This is good advice, I promise!”

  I stuck my t
ongue out.

  “So, we could go down the road of why this research is totally flawed in the first place. Which I will, a bit, but quickly. Firstly, why do girls and women need to be happy anyway? Why does society deem it utterly unacceptable for girls to be pissed off, or sad? No, we have to be meek little contented things with a bonny air of grace about us, otherwise we’re labelled unhinged, or a bitch, or ‘She’s obviously not getting enough, is she?’ or ‘Is it that time of the month again, darling?’ Whereas boys can behave like utter miserable arsewipes and it’s all fine and cool like, I dunno, cool miserable people like Morrissey or whatever. ANYWAY…also, maybe just maybe, women in that first survey just…I dunno…LIED. Because women’s lib was still pretty…new, and it takes a while for ideas to sink in… Ideas like, You don’t have to put up with this crap, and, did you know you can use your brain AND love your children, it could be better, you know? And—”

  “Shh,” I whispered hard.

  There was a cough from Kevin and Mum’s room. I held my breath, and on the computer screen Lottie and Evie did the same thing…waiting… Another cough…then a long, long silence.

  “I think they’re still asleep,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt your flow, Lottie.”

  She beamed at me. “We’re getting to the point soon, I promise.”

  “Well, I look forward to it.”

  “Anyways, here’s what I think… When you get your eyes opened up to what’s wrong with the world, it does make you angrier. More bitter. More discontent. More, well, sad! Sometimes I think it would be so much easier if I wasn’t a feminist. I could just concentrate on looking pretty, and turn on the TV and not feel sick with rage that there’s hardly any female MPs on the news channel, and all the other women on TV don’t have any clothes on. I could pick a boyfriend who’s just such a macho douche, and think he’s the bee’s knees, and shower him with blowjobs and bake him cookies and think how lucky I am that he chose me… It could be nice. But it’s not the right thing to do!” Lottie’s face was red, and she punched the air. “It won’t make the world change for the better! It won’t make me change for the better. I won’t grow, if I just accept what’s what. The world won’t grow. The same unfair shit will just keep happening, and yes it’s easier to roll over and say, ‘That’s too hard and annoying, I just want to eat some pie’ but it’s not the right thing…”

  Evie smiled slowly. “So you gotta fight for your right to be ruddy miserable?”

  Lottie patted her shoulder. “Yes! Exactly. Because because because IT’S THE RIGHT THING TO DO.”

  It always took me a few more minutes to digest Lottie’s lectures. I ate another cookie and watched them discuss it on the webcam, mulling it all over.

  “So…?” I said quietly. “I’m still not sure how this relates to me and what to do about Kyle?”

  Lottie turned her attention to me again.

  “Do you like him?”

  “Yes.” I did. I really, really, did.

  “I’ve seen him. So you obviously fancy him, because why wouldn’t anyone?”

  I nodded. “I confirm I fancy him.”

  “And he likes you?”

  For some reason, just that thought made me want to cry.

  “That’s what he says.”

  “But you don’t want to do anything about this serendipitous good fortune because you think geographically-wise, it’s destined to fail, and you’ll get hurt?”

  “Umm…yeah, I guess.”

  “And yet you choose to be a feminist, even though it makes you angrier and sadder and feeling more helpless? God, do you remember last term at college, Amber? When the rugby lads fought against our jukebox rape song ban and everyone at college hated us?”

  I could see where this was leading. My heart warmed up a bit. More than a bit.

  “Yep, that’s what I choose.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the right thing… But how is snogging Kyle the same as getting a rape song banned from college?”

  And it was Evie who answered, cottoning on to Lottie’s point just about the same time as me.

  “Because, Amber,” she said. “Life doesn’t always have to be about changing the world. Sometimes it’s about living your life for you… Trying to find some happiness, completely selfishly, but just for you… And you should adopt the same lack of fear you have in your feminism to your search for happiness.”

  “But I won’t be happy with Kyle! I mean, I’ll be back on your side of the sea soon.”

  “Ocean,” Lottie corrected. “But, think about it. Would you rather have everything stay the same, like those housewives in the seventies, feeling safe – but also stifled and numb? Or would you rather take a risk, fight for something, even though it may make you more unhappy in the end, but you’ll grow, Amber. You’ll be changing. You’ll be living…”

  I really did start to cry then.

  “Lottie, you’ve made her cry again,” I heard Evie say through the speakers.

  “It’s good crying though.”

  I sat up, showing them my red, tear-stained face. “Yeah, it’s good crying.” I cried harder.

  My friends were right. I’m sure some expensive psychiatrist could say smart things about my drinking habits, and the fact I’m always angry, and that I tend to be sarcastic and nasty to new people as a way of pushing them away, and not wanting to get with Kyle, and they could easily pinpoint everything down to the shit with my mum, and abandonment issues, blah blah blah. And I could just roll over, and accept that’s who I am, or I could fight…I could fight to change myself…to grow…even if it hurt, I would grow.

  I kicked my chair back and stood up.

  “Girls, I have to go somewhere,” I said.

  They began applauding.

  “Go snog his face off!” Lottie saluted me.

  Evie peered at the camera. “You have a booger on your cheek you may want to wipe off first.”

  “You know I love you girls?”

  “We know.”

  “I miss you so much!”

  “We miss you too,” they chorused.

  “Thank you. Honestly, thank you.” I almost started crying again.

  “Stop blubbing and go do the right thing,” Lottie said. “And then, of course, tell us every single detail the moment you can.”

  I ran out into the darkness, my flip-flops kicking up scratchy pine needles. I could hardly remember where his cabin was, but something led me there. It was so dark. Probably so dangerous. There could be bears, or hyenas, or maybe not hyenas because this wasn’t Africa, but other eaty type things.

  What if I was too late? What if I’d missed my chance? What if this made my heart explode into so many pieces it was essentially vapour rather than a rather important organ needed for survival?

  But I had to try… I might get hurt, but I had to try.

  Scratched and scared, I flung myself out into the moonlight. I was here. In the clearing where his cabin was. Everything was so still. So stunning when lit by the moon. Two little cabins – one Russ’s and one Kyle’s. Full of sleeping kids, and maybe, just maybe, full of my future.

  I paused.

  I wasn’t sure where Kyle would be sleeping. The weekenders were here until tomorrow, would they sleep in Kyle’s bed? Was he sleeping elsewhere? Also, if I got caught, I would be in unimaginable trouble…

  I tiptoed through the clearing. My heart thunk-thunking so noisily that I could actually feel it hitting my ribs. I got to the cabin door, stopping to take a deep breath. I was doing this. I was going to do this…

  The door creaked open and I winced, waiting for stirring…but I was greeted with snores. Twelve humps of bodies dozed peacefully under their camp blankets – gentle grunting snore sounds echoed around the wooden walls. It smelled a bit, but I wasn’t going to let something like that ruin my romantic moment. Kyle’s bed was right next to the door. I crept up to it. Seeing his face, all covered in sleep, silenced any nerves. Instead I just felt light, giddy almost. And relieved that I�
�d found him.

  This boy likes me. This sleeping boy actually likes me.

  And…

  … You better wake him up now otherwise this will quickly feel creepy.

  I reached out and shook his shoulder, the warmth from his sleeping body seeping up my hand.

  Kyle stirred.

  Kyle opened his eyes.

  “Am…?” And I covered his mouth with my finger, and said, “Shh!”

  Oh, my heart, it was going bonkers. Every inch of my skin was covered in goosebumps.

  “Is everything okay?” he whispered, his eyes all wide. He was panicking. He thought something was wrong. Of course he thought something was wrong. You only break into a cabin full of sleeping children in the middle of the woods and shake someone awake at 1 a.m. if somebody is sick or dead. I nodded frantically, as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes and sat up.

  “Hang on… Why the hell are you here?”

  I shushed him again, and pointed to the door.

  “Outside.” I tiptoed out before anyone else woke up.

  It was a whole new level of dark outside – the moonlight had dipped behind a cloud and it was only just bright enough so I didn’t trip over the log. I stood in the middle of the clearing, my arms wrapped around myself to keep warm in the night-time breeze, still in my pyjamas, waiting for him.

  Kyle stumbled out into the night. He didn’t have a top on, which made my stomach lurch. He wore pyjama bottoms though – chequered blue childlike ones.

  “Amber?” He looked at me, in all my pyjamaed pale ginger-skin glory. “What’s going on?”

  I stepped forward – knowing that this was the stopping point, and I wasn’t going to stop. I was ready to step over my imaginary line. I was ready to live. And get hurt. And maybe he wouldn’t kiss me back. I mean, why would he kiss me back? I’d totally rejected him, and he was probably over it already, or had thought about the whole long distance thing and realized what a stupid idea it was.

  “Amber?” he asked again, looking confused. Maybe worried. I’d still not reassured him no one was dying. “Is it your mum?”