There’s a cupboard with one black and white poster on it; there’s a picture of a man with a huge afro and his name, Gil Scott-Heron, written underneath in big white letters. I’ve never heard of him. There’s a small table that has a record player on it surrounded by square plastic crates of records. Everything has a place. Even me.
I haven’t moved from the same spot on the bed for hours as we’ve talked and listened to music. I couldn’t bear to go home after watching Gideon perform. I had to know more.
He rolls up his sleeves and holds out his arms. Once my eyes adjust to what I’m looking at I can’t help it and I take a quick, sharp breath in and lift my hand to my mouth. His arms are covered in thin scars. Ordered and symmetrical, they run up in line with his veins; they’re all different lengths.
‘How old were you?’ I can’t help it, I grab his right arm and he kind of flinches but he lets me touch them all the same. There’s very little space that the scars don’t cover. There are no new cuts, just all these raised white lines like soldiers standing to attention.
‘Um, five years ago it started.’ Gideon pulls down his sleeve.
I don’t move, I’m so confused. I know he said he’d had some stuff happen but I didn’t realise how bad it was for him. ‘How?’ I ask.
‘I’d do things like “accidentally” break a glass in the kitchen, and then I’d keep shards in my pocket when I cleaned it up.’
‘Did your parents know?’
‘Not for ages.’
‘Cause one of your mums? The poem. Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ He smiles. ‘We went on a holiday. To the Barrier Reef. Lots of snorkelling and that. In the middle of summer. I refused. Just sat. Long sleeves. And yeah, Mum, Susan, walked in on me in the bathroom.’
‘Doing it? Cutting?’
‘No. But I’d just got out of the shower. She saw my arms. I think she suspected when I wouldn’t take my jumper off the whole trip.’
‘You think she did it on purpose?’
‘She said it was an accident—’
I cut him off. ‘But the only accident is that it didn’t happen sooner.’ I repeat the line from the poem. I don’t know how I remembered it, I think I was so enamoured that it locked in my brain.
‘Groupie,’ Gideon laughs.
‘Show me?’ I ask and he exhales loudly and rolls up his sleeves again. ‘Oh. Gideon,’ I sigh. They look so painful.
‘Yeah,’ he says. He doesn’t look at his arms, just at me, looking at his arms. I run my fingers along some of the scars. There are small round ones. Perfectly round.
‘What are these?’
‘Burns.’
‘Burns?’
‘I had a lighter.’
This wash of, I don’t know, shock and sad and bad. I just feel bad for him. Bad that he would do that to himself. I can’t even imagine what that would feel like. I’m the biggest sook out so the idea of doing that to myself just, I don’t get it.
‘It’s okay,’ he says, and he rolls his sleeves down again.
‘It’s just. I feel really—’ I don’t know what to say to him. ‘Why?’
Gideon shrugs. He stands up and walks over to his record player and he flicks the record over, puts the needle down and turns back to me. He waits until old R&B from the sixties plays, before looking at me. ‘Everything felt too big. Too out of my control.’
‘But not that?’
‘No.’ He pauses and comes and sits back next to me. ‘It was pain on the outside that I could see, then watch it heal, you know?’
‘Weren’t you scared?’ I ask.
‘Um, yeah,’ he stumbles, ‘I didn’t want to kill—’ he stops himself and looks at the floor. ‘Do. That.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But I just needed to feel some—yeah. Feel. Something other than. Petrified.’
‘Then what?’
‘When Suse saw. Um. We sat in the bathroom and we talked about it for ages. And her and Mum googled it. And I went and talked to a heap of people until I found someone I liked.’
I have this feeling of gratitude wash over me, feeling grateful that he’s telling me any of this. I’ve never had anyone be this honest with me. Ever.
‘His name is Robbie. He’s how I got into poetry.’
I’ve never met anyone like Gideon, this honest poet with a record player and lesbian mums who’s never got drunk or tried to touch my arse.
‘And have you done it since?’
‘Nuh.’
‘Have you wanted to?’
‘Um,’ he pauses, thinking about it. ‘No. The feeling doesn’t go away. It just. I don’t know. Gets smaller, smaller than me, than the sum of my parts.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask. I feel so dumb sometimes because I don’t know what shit like that means, and because he’s smart. He says things I don’t understand and he thinks before he speaks.
‘It’s small enough to imagine fitting it in a box,’ he says.
‘You do?’
‘Yeah. And I put it in the box and keep it here.’ Gideon puts his hands on my stomach, and I don’t think about sucking in or if he can feel my fat rolls or if he cares because I’m so intrigued by him.
‘Always,’ he adds.
‘It doesn’t go away?’
‘Nah. Just isn’t everything.’
‘Kelly’s was—’ and I stop myself before I go on. I haven’t really talked about her with Gideon before. I haven’t talked about her with anyone who didn’t already know her or who didn’t have some vested interest in my wellbeing. He’s just been so honest to me, and I think I can trust him. ‘I think Kel’s was too big to put in a box.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Bigger than the sum of her parts,’ I say, and he smiles.
‘Yeah.’
That’s all he says. No shitty advice, or Oh Ava, I know how you feel or anything, just yeah, and it’s so… very refreshing.
‘Why haven’t you ever asked me about it?’ I ask him and Gideon shrugs, so I keep rambling. ‘You can. It’s okay. I think. I don’t know. I don’t know.’
Gideon takes a deep breath in. ‘I suppose I didn’t ask because I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to. I suppose I knew that you knew that I knew. That and it’s none of my business. But, if you want me to ask you about it I will.’
I don’t say anything. I try and process everything he’s just said and try and think about what I want to tell him, if I want to tell him. I think I do. I really think I do. Gideon is the first to break the silence.
‘I’d like to know how you are. Don’t you think it’s funny that we’re programmed to always just say okay or fine or great when someone says How are you? We don’t ever sway. I kind of hate that.’ He pauses. ‘So, Ava, how are you?’
‘I’m fine thanks. How are you?’ I reply, smiling. I feel nervous, really nervous, but okay. Gideon laughs so I continue. ‘I don’t even know, really.’ Neither of us says anything for a really, really long time. So, I start at the beginning, because I’ve been told that’s a very good place to start.
‘Her name is Kelly. Kel. She is my best friend.’
‘Forever?’
‘Yeah. Actually.’ I smile.
‘My sister, Annie, she’s my best friend.’
There’s a pause before I speak.
‘I’ve made some shit choices this year.’
‘We’re allowed to make shit choices.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply and now that I’m talking, like really talking, all of these thoughts pop into my head and I find it hard to grab just one to start with, so we sit in silence until finally all of the thoughts come pouring out at once.
‘You know what breaks my heart?’
‘I’ve never had my heart broken.’
‘The idea that she was that sad. That scared. That things were that dark. If she’d been in an accident or something I just think it’d be easier knowing that it was quick, but she made a choice, and she couldn’t make choices at the best of times. But she did.’
‘That’s shit.’ We sit in silence again. I just stare at him and he looks at the wall. I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would hate Gideon. Not one. I put my hand on his arm. The fabric of his shirt is soft, he looks at my hand and I look at him looking at my hand. I’ve never been bullied, or had any reason before this year to feel sad, really. I wonder if that’s why he cut his arms—if it was that bad. These thoughts keep pummelling at me one after the other until another just bursts out.
‘There’s stuff she knows about me that no one knows. That no one ever will now. I have no memories with her not in them.’ I pause and ask, ‘Have you ever been in love?’
He is quick to reply: ‘No.’
I just nod. ‘We sat on a trampoline when we were like, eight, and she told me about sex. And Santa. In one conversation. She was amazing.’ I think this is the first time I’ve talked about her and smiled.
‘How did you become friends?’
‘Preschool. My tooth fell out and she helped me find it. I dropped it under the bag racks. Then she made some boy trade us his cupcake for my apple. I couldn’t eat the apple because of my tooth.’
‘How did she do that?’
‘Dunno. I think she scared him. She was amazing. We shared the cake.’
‘She was scary.’
He catches me off guard. He knew her? He had an opinion about her? It makes me feel weird and defensive and like I should never have told him anything about her. He didn’t know her. He’s exactly like the rest of them. I was wrong.
My eyebrows furrow as I say, ‘No she wasn’t.’
‘No. I mean, in an unattainable way. Confident. She was confident. That’s like kryptonite to boys like me.’
I exhale and smile all at once. He’s right. She was. And I guess to boys like Gideon she was scary, completely. I completely get that.
‘You knew her?’
‘Of her. Knew of her,’ he says, smiling, and it makes me smile too—so wide that my face squishes and my brain fogs and I can’t hear anything, just this wave of, I don’t know, joy maybe. Just for a second.
‘I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling,’ Gideon mumbles.
‘I don’t even know how I’m feeling most of the time. It’s like sad times everything, and there’s this thumping in my ears.’ I pause. All of the thoughts again, muddling into one. ‘I don’t know how to flirt,’ I blurt and I can’t believe I did.
Gideon kind of coughs and quickly fumbles, ‘Is that what this is? Oh. No. Me either. I don’t know.’
So I quickly try and change the subject with the first thing that comes to mind. ‘I hate maths. Do you hate maths?’
‘Yes,’ he replies, but I keep talking.
‘And I don’t really know what I’ve done these last few months.’ That’s a complete lie, I do know what I’ve done. Lincoln. Beer. Telling people to get fucked and a whole lot of nothing, really, except crying and being pissed off.
‘I think that’s okay,’ he says with his head leaning to one side as he looks at me.
‘It scares me that our brains can haunt us from the inside, you know?’
‘Yeah.’ He smirks, the way you do when it’s an inside joke. ‘I know.’
‘That you can be so loved and yet so lonely,’ I say and he nods and my new thing of just saying what I’m thinking causes my mouth to open and this to fly out: ‘I’m scared. Are you scared?’
‘All the time.’
I pause. ‘And you really never wanted to do what Kelly did?’
‘Honestly?’ Gideon bites his lip. ‘A couple of times.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I don’t know. It scared me too much, I suppose.’ He pauses, thinking. I bite the inside of my cheek. Why didn’t it scare Kelly? Why wasn’t she scared?
‘What did it feel like?’ I ask.
Gideon thinks for a while before he stammers painfully, ‘At that time, it felt like…the only option.’ He nods once and I swallow hard, looking at the ceiling so I don’t cry.
‘Do you think that’s what she thought?’
‘I don’t know, Ava.’
My heart is racing and I feel like that time Kelly and I tried speed. We stole one pill from Lincoln and halved it. I felt all out of control and jittery but completely present at the same time. It was so weird. It’s the only time I did it and I’ll never do it again because it freaked me out so much.
‘Do you believe in God?’ I’m looking at Gideon, who kind of shakes his head at me. What must he think? He must think I’m crazy.
‘Not in the bible sense,’ he says. ‘I like the idea of believing in something.’ He half-smiles.
‘I think faith is weird. That kind of hope. I don’t think I have that. Not now,’ I say.
There’s a really long silence. The record has stopped playing music and it’s just making this whirring sound. Gideon stands up and lifts the needle. He puts the record back in its cardboard sleeve and then puts on something else, some lady, all slow and sad, with this deep voice.
I say the first thing that comes to mind.
‘How did I not know you prior to now?’
He keeps looking at the record player. ‘You wouldn’t want to have known me prior to now,’ he says.
‘Same.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Gideon turns and looks at me. He jams his hands in his pockets and moves his foot around the carpet.
‘Can you tell me another one of your poems?’
Gideon laughs; he doesn’t look up, just keeps making swirls in the carpet. Rubbing them out and then starting again.
‘Nope,’ he says.
‘Please?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re so bad.’
‘I know that’s not true now.’
He breathes deep. ‘Okay. Close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
‘Cause I’m nervous.’
I smile and close my eyes. I can hear him moving. I peek under my eyelashes and see him pick up a notebook, flick through the pages. He’s actually going to read one. I can hear him breathe in and almost with a whisper he starts.
I close my eyes. I want to listen, really listen.
a spectacle scene speckled with grief / she slammed into my sphere like a meteor / her debris lines my street / noticeable / unavoidable / she is unavoidable.
My throat tightens and my mouth feels really dry all of a sudden. I’m frozen and I keep my eyes shut tight.
her heart is like shattered glass / I found her on her knees collecting it piece by piece to put it back together / but all she had was some clag and everyone knows that shit doesn’t stick / but this girl / her voice is made of superglue it speaks and sticks and stays.
My chest, something is happening in my chest, this tightening, maybe because I hold my breath. I still don’t open my eyes.
she’s got a dustpan mind right now / ready to throw it all away / she thinks it’s too broken to fix / but everything is fixable with patience and care / get me a pair of those goggles with the light at the centre / i’ll sit for hours and piece it together.
I swallow hard. The tears finally fall but I don’t move as I watch Gideon read from the book. He’s standing so still.
it might not look the same when I’m done but at least—it will be hers / she is lost / and i can’t claim to find her / i don’t even know if she wants to be found / but i’ll bend down beside her / help her pick up the shards.
He closes the notebook, slowly raising his head to look at me. I’m sobbing as I stand up, walk out the door, down the stairs, past his mums in the lounge room. They say something when they see me but I don’t stop. I walk out the front door and I keep walking until I get home.
• The last time Kelly was hospitalised she told me she just felt numb. She even said she’d prefer it if it hurt, or she was angry or sad, even; it was th
e nothingness that made her feel heavy.
‘I just, I don’t feel anything.’ She was lying on her side on the hospital bed. Her mum and dad were talking to the doctors just outside the room. Visiting hours were limited to a couple of hours in the afternoon so I’d always come and just sit. I never knew what to say when she’d say things like this so I’d mostly just say nothing. Or nothing useful. I didn’t want to fuck it up by saying the wrong things. Other times when I’d ask her questions about it she’d crack the shits big time or she’d quickly change the subject. I guess I’d just got used to saying nothing. I wish I hadn’t.
‘Do you want Twisties or salt and vinegar?’ I asked, pulling my bag up onto my lap while Kelly just looked at me and shook her head. ‘Bullshit, you never say no to chips,’ I laughed.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.
I remember looking at her and just feeling this overwhelming sense of dread. This was different to the last times Kelly had an episode. She’d been hospitalised twice before. Once when we were in Year 9 but she was only in there for like a night and they just told her if she was feeling suicidal again that she had to tell an adult and then come back to the hospital. Which I thought was fucked because as if she was going to say anything. I hated that they made her so responsible for her own illness. Like it was all her fault. No one ever understood really. None of the doctors or the therapists. Not her parents. Not Lincoln or me. Not even Kelly.
‘Promise me you’ll say something,’ I told her as we lay on her bed at her place the night after.
‘Yeah, okay. Just stop talking about it,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
The second time, which was earlier this year, they actually put her into a psych unit for a whole week. She’d get daily therapy. But she hated it there too. Everyone else there was older or sicker than she was and it made her feel worse. One afternoon when I visited her a really, really thin girl, like you could see her entire rib cage skinny, was crying and screaming. I had never seen anyone so thin, it was like her skin just hung off her bones, all limp. We stared at her as she pulled at her hair and banged on her chest and screamed at this nurse who did nothing, just watched her. She was screaming because the nurse was trying to feed her a Yogo.
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