You’re the Kind of Girl I Write Songs About

by Daniel Herborn

  ‘The only time I can remember getting in trouble was when we were in primary school. We had these exercise books called “mistake journals” and if we misspelled a word we had to write it out ten times correctly so we’d learn how to spell it properly. After we’d had the books for a couple of weeks, I still didn’t have anything to write in there, so I made a mistake on purpose so I’d have something to put in there so I could be like all the other kids.’

  ‘You bad-ass. What was the word you misspelled?’

  ‘Horse. I spelled it H-A-W-S-E.’

  ‘Ha, it wasn’t even a difficult word.’

  ‘After I wrote it out ten times, I got a sticker with an echidna on it saying You’re Improving! That made it all worthwhile.’

  ‘I would have been traumatised if I had to write out all my mistakes. I would have gone through a ton of mistake journals.’

  ‘You’re just being modest.’

  ‘Nah, I still find spelling quite hard. Sometimes I look at how a word is spelled and think, what the hell? Who decided that was the right spelling?’

  ‘There’s not much logic to spelling. Being good at spelling doesn’t mean that you’re really intelligent.’

  ‘You are, though. Were you the smartest kid in your school?’

  ‘Hardly!’

  ‘But I bet you did well, didn’t you?’

  ‘I was OK at English.’

  ‘What do you mean, OK? Like you got into the top English class?’

  ‘I might have, um, kind of come first in English.’

  ‘What? In what world is that just doing OK?’

  ‘Well, I got lucky, really. I liked the teacher and I liked the books we were reading. We got to do Looking for Alibrandi.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that probably explains it, luck.’

  ‘Nah, I felt embarrassed when I won it. My reports always said I was “conscientious”. That’s what teachers write when you never talk in class.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. I always got Tim is easily distracted.’

  After my shift ends we get a bus to the newsagency, where Tim is meeting Ned to pick up his keys. Then we walk along Glebe Point Road hand in hand, and two little kids on a bus-stop bench laugh at us and make kissy faces when we walk past. We don’t care.

  The sun is setting purple and gold over the terrace houses as we wander with no particular destination in mind. We pass the stray black cat who lives at the shops drinking milk from a saucer, and cross the road into Victoria Park. As we’re walking under the huge old trees, I see Alice leaving the university grounds with a group of girls I don’t know, chatting and laughing as they walk along. They look so amazingly happy and young and bright, they could be in an ad for fizzy drink. Although my first instinct is to run over to her, I don’t. She looks so content with her other friends that I don’t want to disturb her, but it’s an odd feeling: her in her own bubble and me in mine.

  Tim and I sit on the slope leading down to the pond. An old lady comes and sits a few metres away from us, placing an old picnic basket on the grass.

  ‘Oh, we’ve got to move,’ Tim whispers to me.

  ‘Really, what’s going on?’

  ‘Just trust me.’

  We relocate to the other side of the pond, where a gathering of students are trying to tightrope walk across cables they’ve strung up between gum trees a foot from the ground.

  ‘How come we had to move?’ I ask.

  ‘Those ferrets were freaking me out.’

  ‘Ferrets?’

  ‘Yeah, check it out, they’re coming out of the basket.’

  I look across the pond and there are indeed several ferrets scurrying across the grass, some of them attached to pieces of string around their collars.

  ‘My friend Jane was lying in the grass here once, just having a nice nap, and when she opened her eyes this little ferret’s beady eyes were looking right at her. She fully freaked out. I don’t think she’s got over it.’

  ‘Cool ferret story.’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’

  ‘Hey …’

  ‘Hey …’

  He leans in to kiss me just as I lean in to kiss him.

  I close my eyes.

  I feel the cool grass between my fingers.

  I accidentally headbutt him.

  What?

  He reels backwards, clutching his forehead.

  ‘Oh my god, I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Ugh.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. I’m fine. The park is spinning, right? That’s not just me.’

  ‘Oh sorry, sorry! Do you want me to get you an ice pack or something?’

  He says that he’s fine and not to worry about it, but the vibe is dead. Nothing kills the moment like a mild concussion. I wonder if I can dive into the pond and disappear.

  Tim

  I’m walking Spirit one afternoon and, down the quiet end of Glebe Point Road, I come across Alice working in a children’s bookstore. She looks tiny behind the counter, nestled between piles and piles of books, and with her hair up and glasses on she seems kind of exotic, like she’s just arrived here from some other century.

  I stop outside the door and notice a black and brown bulldog sitting on the step. He looks at Spirit mournfully and Spirit shrinks back a bit.

  Alice lights up when she sees Spirit and me and rushes out to us. She puts her open hand out to Spirit and lightly strokes his bony back. Normally he doesn’t really like new people, but she is so gentle with him that he doesn’t seem to mind.

  ‘He’s lovely,’ she says. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Spirit.’

  ‘Spirit, meet Bosley.’

  Bosley looks at Alice like he doesn’t quite approve of the whole thing, glances suspiciously at Spirit, then goes back to lapping from his water bowl.

  ‘Is Bosley your dog?’ I ask.

  ‘I wish; he’s the owner’s. I’m always tempted to kidnap him.’

  ‘He looks like he’s frowning.’

  ‘That’s just how he always looks.’

  ‘He’s like a grumpy little old man.’

  ‘He’s a very gentlemanly dog, but he is old. He has to sit down a lot.’

  Bosley nudges her navy-blue stockings with his wet nose.

  ‘So is it good working here?’ I ask her.

  ‘It’s mostly great. Except for when kids cry when they don’t get the book they want. Sometimes I get to help people pick out a book for their children, which is the best. Plus I get staff discounts. That’s my favourite phrase in the English language — staff discount.’

  ‘So, um, I’ve been hanging out with Mandy a bit. Has she mentioned me?’

  She laughs. ‘Are you serious? You might have come up once or twice.’

  ‘I guess what I mean is … am I doing OK?’

  ‘Are you doing OK? You’re doing fine.’

  As dumb as my question was, I do actually feel relieved. I’ve always been OK at getting girlfriends, not so much at keeping them. Plus this time is different.

  ‘So, I’m trying to get me and Mandy tickets to The Flaming Lips,’ I say.

  ‘Ooh, that would be swell.’

  ‘Are you going?’

  She scrunches up her nose like a rabbit. ‘I don’t think I can make it, I have to write an essay for my Russian history class. Hey, unrelated question: to what extent do you think the decline of Russia was linked with its persistence with a monarchical system of rule?’

  ‘To a … big extent, I think.’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking. Do you think I could just write that, keep the essay short and sweet?’

  ‘You’ll probably have to flesh it out a little bit more.’

  ‘Damn. I think I have a big date night with my textbooks then.’

  ‘How many words is it?’

  ‘One thousand, nine hundred and ninety more.’

  ‘How many have you done?’

  ‘Ten. But I have been thinking about it a lot, and I borrowed a big stack of books
from Fisher Library that I fully intend to look at. I think I deserve some credit for that.’

  ‘Hey, it’s more than I’ve ever done.’

  ‘Is Spirit OK to come inside?’

  ‘Yeah, he’ll behave himself.’

  ‘Cool, I’ll show you around. You can even help me put stickers on all these books if you want.’

  ‘That sounds like work. What’s in it for me?’

  ‘A cup of tea. And my gratitude.’

  Who could say no to this girl?

  We listen to Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love and work at a pace that could charitably be described as leisurely, both of us stickering books and Alice serving the trickle of mums who come in with strollers and prams and kids with grubby faces to buy picture books and wrapping paper and old Goosebumps novels.

  I tell her about my favourite book as a kid, How Spider Saved Christmas. It was about a humble spider who was friends with a lovely ladybird and a vain snarky fly. The ladybird invited them both over for Christmas lunch and then almost burned her house down when she left her cooking in the oven, but the spider rescued the day with his quick thinking. I thought it was a wonderful one-off adventure when I was a kid, but later found out it was part of a series and the spider had also saved baseball games, his school, a flea circus, Halloween, all sorts of things.

  Alice shows me some of her favourite children’s books: The Wind in the Willows with illustrations of all the characters, a Shaun Tan picture book with no words at all, Moomin novels, and a book called Fizzlebang Wonderpops.

  ‘Do you like this one?’ she asks.

  ‘It’s my favourite. Look at this hare in his suit — he’s so proper.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ she says, suddenly bashful.

  I don’t know why she’s so invested in my liking this book, which doesn’t even have a proper cover, but I do genuinely like it, and I like this place, a little air-conditioned oasis where Alice seems to be completely in her element.

  I lose track of time and a pleasant afternoon passes. When I get back outside I check my phone and see a message that someone might have some Flaming Lips tickets they can sell me. The cost of the tickets will reduce my bank balance to a little over ten dollars, but who cares? A good day is about to get even better.

  Mandy

  After completing my gopher application and sending it in a good solid four minutes before the closing deadline, I head out for the show. We’ve agreed to meet at Tim’s friend Matt’s house before we do the two-bus trip to the Hordern.

  Matt’s place is actually a granny flat in a tiny Newtown backyard with a knobbly apple tree with gnarly roots bursting through the grass. The flat is crammed almost to the roof with shelves of amps, cables and old recording equipment, a faded black futon that folds down from one wall and a tiny bar fridge. Underneath the futon is a single book, The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching. I sit sipping a Japanese beer while we wait for Tim to get here.

  Matt’s a wiry dude, with thick glasses, a beard like a swarm of bees, sailor tatts and wild hair. It’s hard to say how old he is, but I’d say he’s probably somewhere in his twenties.

  I try to think of something to say, increasingly aware of the silence. ‘So how do you know Tim?’

  ‘I’m Simon’s brother.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know who Simon is.’

  ‘Nah, you’re right. They used to skate together a bit and practise guitar and stuff.’

  ‘Cool. Is Simon coming tonight as well?’

  ‘No, no, he’s actually backpacking through Europe right now. He’s in Turkey at the moment, I think.’

  ‘Cool.’ I sip my beer, tell myself to stop saying ‘cool’ so much.

  ‘Are you a big Flaming Lips fan?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah, they’re really … good.’ Well, at least I didn’t call them ‘cool’. This feels like progress.

  Matt nods. ‘They’re a phenomenal band. Their live show is totally on another level with all the visuals and everything … So, how do you know Tim?’

  ‘I met him at a band competition.’

  ‘Oh, you play as well?’

  ‘No, not at all, I’m just a fan.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say just a fan.’

  ‘So this is a great little recording studio you’ve got here,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, hopefully it’s getting there. I’d like to get a bigger place at some point and really make it the go-to place for bands who want to record on vintage equipment — well, very small bands who want to do that.’

  ‘Yeah, that would be cool.’

  Oh god, that word is back! Just when I thought I’d vanquished it from my vocabulary.

  ‘Yeah, it’s something to aim for,’ he says.

  ‘Do you do this for a living?’

  ‘I wish. I do IT for a bank, IT security. It’s not that exciting, but it pays for vintage stuff. This is just a hobby at the moment, but there’s a few bands that are interested in this place. Do you know Katie Homeschooled? They’re coming in to record a single next week.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re … great. I’ve seen them a few times.’

  ‘I think it’ll be fun. There’s a few people in the industry I’ve met that I really wouldn’t want to spend time with, but I think it’ll be fun having those guys around.’

  Tim wanders in through the screen door, kisses me on the forehead, and then proceeds to do some kind of elaborate handshake with Matt where they slap the back of each other’s hands, then grip each other on the forearm and rotate their locked arms upside down. I kind of laugh, then wish I’d developed secret handshakes with my friends as well.

  Tim

  We’re at the Hordern, kissing in the half-dark and the crowd is buzzing around us.

  ‘Sorry I was a bit late getting to Matt’s place,’ I say. ‘Punctuality isn’t my strong point.’

  ‘Nah, it wasn’t a problem.’

  ‘I was a bit worried when I saw you already there. Simon never shuts up, but Matt can be very, very quiet.’

  ‘No, he seemed fine. Really lovely actually.’

  ‘He probably just felt comfortable because you’re so nice.’

  ‘I think it was just because I got him talking about amps.’

  ‘Oh yeah, he can talk about amps all day. He can be a really full-on guy. Like, I don’t know if this is true, but I heard a rumour that when the last Deafheaven record came out, he took the Friday off work and just lay on his back listening to it for three days in a row.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him if it’s true?’

  ‘Because it wrecks the story if he didn’t do it, and it’s such a Matt story. Anyway, I’ve been talking to him about maybe helping him out with his studio after I finish school. It’s a really good little studio. He seriously lives on toast so he can buy more vintage amps for the place.’

  ‘That’d be cool.’

  ‘What, living on toast?’

  ‘No, helping him out at the studio.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that makes much more sense. Hey, I just got a text from Bree. They’re in the foyer somewhere with Ben. Let’s go find them.’

  Mandy

  I trail along to find whoever these people are. I can’t even keep track of all his friends I’ve been introduced to. On the way, Tim gets stopped by a guy in a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt.

  ‘Tim! How you been, man? I haven’t seen you out lately. Don’t think I’ve seen you since school.’

  ‘I’m still in school,’ Tim says. ‘I repeated.’

  ‘What? What the hell for?’

  ‘I did terrible last year. I want to do it properly this time and get into an audio engineering course.’

  ‘Sucked in!’

  ‘Cheers,’ Tim says, and we keep moving. He gets another text, then gets distracted.

  ‘Oh, there’s Ricky,’ I say.

  His roly-poly figure stumbles towards us. His eyes are like saucers and his wavy hair is matted with sweat. He wears a black T-shirt that says DIP ME IN HONEY AND THROW ME TO THE LESBIANS. He stops a foot
in front of us and looks at us like he can’t believe we’re here.

  ‘You guys! Tim and … sorry, I can’t …’

  ‘Mandy,’ I say.

  ‘Mandy!’ He gives Tim a bear hug. ‘My brother from another mother,’ he announces, his eyes closed in ecstatic delight.

  To my horror, he decides to involve me in the hug as well. He seems to have just gone for a swim in a pool of sweat and BO. ‘Get in, Mandy, get in. Oh, your hair smells so nice!’ He hugs me in a way that I fear may have broken a rib or two before thankfully letting go.

  ‘Mandy, Tim, you guys are the besssht! This is going to be the besssht! I am off. My. Tits. Guys! I think my friends are over there, I’ve got to go find them!’

  He walks off confidently, then stops a few feet away, apparently confused.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Tim says. ‘He can be a bit … stupid sometimes.’

  A smaller kid comes up, as though he’s followed Ricky’s stench to us. Tim hugs him. Thankfully I get left out of the hug this time.

  ‘Mandy, this is my old friend Ben,’ Tim says. ‘Interesting thing about Ben is that he has girls’ eyelashes.’

  ‘They are very pretty eyelashes,’ I say.

  Ben scowls at Tim. ‘I thought I told you to stop telling people that!’

  ‘You did tell me that. But then I realised how much it annoys you so I kept on doing it.’

  ‘You idiot. Hey, how are your love songs going, Tim? Have you got on Love Song Dedications yet? Ooh, look at me, I’m Tim, all the girls like my sensitive love songs!’

  ‘I haven’t got on there yet, but one day. With a song about your eyelashes.’

  ‘I know I’m a good-looking dude, but you’re obsessed.’

  ‘It’s amazing. Your head looks like Karl Pilkington and then you have eyelashes like Scarlett Johansson.’

  Ben rolls his eyes and turns to me. ‘Let’s ignore this twit. Have you ever seen The Flaming Lips before?’

  ‘No, I can’t wait.’

  ‘Get ready for your head to …’ He mimes his head exploding all over the place.

  ‘That good?’

  ‘Yeah, you’ll lose your shit.’

  ‘Well, that just sounds unpleasant.’

  ‘Nah, in a good way. You’ll be glad you lost your shit. You’ll be like, I didn’t need that shit, I’m glad I lost it. Hey, check out this shirt I just bought.’