I ran my hand over the top of my head, to anyone else it would look like I was smoothing my bird’s-nest hair but truthfully I was attempting to catch the chain of bubbles that led to the open window of my mind. All I ended up with was a handful of loose hair which I unceremoniously released and watched flutter in a twisted heap to the carpeted floor. A floor that appeared to be soaked with the tears from unanswered prayers and the secret sins of those people who’d dare release them to the world.
***
I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. I hated the mirror; it could see me for what I really was. It didn’t reflect the lies I told about myself. It saw my chubby little face and belly which I had tried to cover in a hideous black dress. It had long sleeves and a high collar with a row of buttons down the front which made it look almost liturgical. I had several beautiful dresses in my wardrobe but this was certainly not one of them. Tonight Lev was having a party at his place and despite all my beautiful dresses, not one of them would be appropriate. My slow weight gain over the past eighteen months meant that none would fit me; if they did they would cling to my fat little belly and make me look pregnant. I used to be so active. Swimming and running with the occasional session at the gym but the Blackhole had sucked all my energy, as well as any possible enjoyment of exercise. As the swimming dropped off so did my confidence; I just hated the way I felt and looked, and this had nothing to do with the Blackhole. It was hard to feel good about yourself when you looked so awful. Maybe the hideous dress did me some good then; wearing a pretty dress would just highlight the fact that a very unattractive girl was wearing it. Yet despite my physical misfortune, I still felt obligated to go to some effort. I’d put make-up on, more than usual because my mother had always said you needed more of it to look pretty in the dark. My eyes I’d attempted to paint like I was some ’70s film star but in reality I looked like I’d just emerged from a coal mine. I’d smudged it so much I almost resembled a raccoon. In the end I washed my face, destroying my carefully pinned fringe and hopelessly resolved to painting my face like I always did, with a tiny hint of mascara and a dusting of bronzing powder which, no matter how lightly I primped, always made me feel like I was painting the mask of a grossly happy clown.
The fact that I was on the verge of an anxiety attack had made me overly hasty in getting ready. Doug had offered to pick me up but he wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes so I was left to sit in my uncomfortable dress, trying to crease it as little as possible, all while feeling my insides boil. I was sitting on my unmade bed and fiddling with the loose thread on my quilt cover. I needed to wash my sheets. They looked dank, like they were covered in an invisible slick coating of sweat and grime. I suddenly felt sick. Seizing my bedclothes I ripped the elastic edges off their corners and bundled the linen up into a tight ball. I walked to the laundry and dumped the ball on the floor before pulling clean sheets out of the laundry cupboard. The new sheets were threadbare, obviously for the emergencies of childhood bedwetting but at least they were clean. Carrying the clean sheets back to my room I bumped in my mother who looked at me quizzically before she walked into the laundry and saw my dirty sheets balled-up on the floor. Calling my name I felt her heavy footsteps vibrating through the wooden floorboards as she pushed her way into my room, demanding to know why I had decided that eight was a sensible time to be changing bed linen. I considered giving her some excuse which would have rendered the other sheets unusable; I’d spilt some coffee on them or accidentally wiped my make-up, but I was too tired to think of anything creative. I lazily told her the truth, that I didn’t want to sleep in a dirty bed, and she looked surprised at the honesty of my answer.
‘Well, okay then, just make sure you wash your proper sheets tomorrow. I don’t want you using those other ones, they’re completely worn through,’ she stated before she pulled the door shut behind her. I was left rather stunned. My mother was never that calm, nor that understanding. It was far more her character to punish me, forcing me to spend another night lying on greasy cotton just to teach me a lesson. Yet perhaps she thought I was being productive or maybe she just felt like being kind. Regardless it made no difference to the Blackhole how clean my bed was. A Blackhole was a Blackhole and if I was going to be trapped in it I may as well be comfortable. The return of heavy footsteps made me think my mother had remembered her usual self and I turned, bracing myself for her exasperation but it was Peter’s head that poked around and I felt a flimsy sense of relief.
‘Doug’s at the door,’ he stated. I dropped the untucked ends of my sheet, shoving my feet into my black sandals while reaching for my phone. Peter watched my frantic movements with a gaze that was almost studious and it made me uncomfortable.
‘You all right?’ I asked and he returned to Earth.
‘Yeah, sorry. You look nice,’ he said before he turned his back on me and allowed me to follow him down the hall.
I turned off my light before leaving my room and glanced back at the unmade bed, the Blackhole didn’t seem to mind me leaving: “Don’t worry; I’ll be here when you get back.”
Doug was standing on the porch. Dad stood in the doorway, propping the door open with his shoulder and talking to him. Doug was being himself, perfectly charming, and genuinely seemed to be enjoying the conversation.
‘Hey,’ Doug greeted me with a smile which I returned. It was impossible not to; he was the one thing that the Blackhole hadn’t seemed to grab hold of.
‘Hey,’ I replied, and Dad pressed himself against the door to let me pass. My arrival had brought their conversation to an abrupt halt and Dad didn’t wait to see us off.
‘Have a nice time,’ he farewelled.
‘Bye, Dad,’ I replied.
‘Have a nice night, Mr Fourie,’ Doug said, and Dad chuckled with faux exasperation.
‘It’s, Will, for the last time.’
‘Right, sorry. Have a nice night, Will,’ Doug uttered, while attempting to hide his embarrassed grin in his chest.
‘Ah, well you kids have fun then.’ Dad pulled the asthmatic fly-screen door shut behind him and we were dismissed.
Turning to me Doug’s smile shed its embarrassment and became something else, I couldn’t quite describe it. Whatever it was I could only glimpse it for a second before he pulled his chin down, trying to hide it again and we started walking to his tidy little Hyundai which was parked at the end of our rickety driveway.
‘Do you remember the way to Lev’s?’ I asked and Doug’s mouth cracked.
‘No, I’m relying on you to get us there.’
My grin widened. ‘You’re relying on me and my sense of direction? Well, I’m flattered but you have way too much faith in me.’
‘Ah,’ Doug sighed dramatically, opening the door for me so I could clamber into the passenger seat between stacks of anatomy books and loose-leaf diagrams of the spine. ‘Well if we get lost, at least we’re together.’ He shut the door gently after me before running around to his side of the car. Whether it was just being away from the Blackhole or Doug’s cheery exuberance but the earlier panic that had coiled itself around my chest seemed to have lessened and I began to think that I may even enjoy myself tonight, or just not watch the clock like I always did.
Apart from a tense moment of indecision at a set of traffic lights where we couldn’t decide whether to turn left or right, Doug and I managed to get ourselves to Lev’s without great incident. Doug parked up at the end of the black street and it wasn’t difficult to pick out Lev’s house, it was the only one to ignore the lazy slumber and pierce the quiet with a pulsing bass. It was a small house, with light blue plasterboard and a grey corrugated tin roof, dominated in the front by a russet brick fence which enclosed the patio. The house seemed too fragile to hold such raucous activity. I could imagine its blue walls swelling as the pressure of the music and people threatened to burst. We’d been here a few times. Lev was always keen for a party and his end-of-ass
essment celebrations had now become obligatory rather than optional. Inside, the house was teeming with people and we melted into the pot, stumbling our way around by jumping in the gaps which opened up randomly between them. Lev’s height made him easy to spot and the excitement with which he greeted us indicated he was already drunk. He wrapped me in a hug, crushing me slightly against his chest before brushing me off so he could similarly embrace Doug. Falling aside I landed in front of Bryce. His pupils were the size of saucers and they made me uncomfortable, if the Blackhole manifested itself physically that’s what I imagined my eyes would look like. Bryce didn’t even notice my discomfort and hugged me, a form of physical contact he only did when high.
‘So glad you guys came!’ Lev yelled over the swelling tones of conversation and thumping beat.
‘Happy to be here,’ Doug yelled back. Even though my ear was right next to Doug’s mouth, his words didn’t register as more than a whisper.
‘Well there’s plenty of booze, just find an esky or whatever’s floating around and help yourself,’ Lev instructed with alcohol-infused generosity, and with the obligatory welcome out of the way Lev made his way back into the middle of the mess of people. Doug and I retreated back to the wall, allowing ourselves to regain our footing before we entered the fray behind him.
‘Did you want anything to drink?’ Doug yelled, and I shook my head.
‘No, I’m all right,’ I yelled back.
We had to keep our sentences short otherwise nothing would be understood. Doug’s eyes scanned the tops of the little bobbing heads, undulating irregularly around us; even though I was too short to see anything I felt obligated to gaze around too, studying the people in front of me. I didn’t know any of them, though it was obvious they were all from uni. They were all completely ordinary and completely forgettable, not one of them seemed real or capable of holding their own personality. They appeared like cardboard cut-outs, the embodiment of the average student and talked about generic things in equally generic tones. It was disconcertingly stereotypical, almost dreamlike and feeling Doug’s hand grasping mine I was pulled out of my intense stare-off with the wall of bodies in front of me. Doug pointed to the left though at what I had no idea, so I nodded my head in faux understanding. Pulling me close behind him, Doug and I entered the bustle of people and I had to practically pin myself to Doug’s back to stop them from separating us by nothing but the sheer gravity of their presence. Doug’s sweaty hand gripped mine tightly and we fell into an empty room which connected to the party space. This was obviously the stoner’s corner, a haphazard ring of couches arranged around a cheap coffee table that was nothing more than stained balsa wood. As it was still relatively early there were only two others in the room: a girl with bad extensions and her chubby friend. They were in the farthest corner, drinking Jim Beam and smoking. Apart from them, Doug and I were allowed to choose the cleanest-looking couch to settle ourselves on for the night. Abby’s presence soon materialised and she plonked herself down next to me unceremoniously. Surveying our chosen seats she dramatically widened her eyes.
‘Jesus, it’s hectic out there.’
I would regard Abby as a close friend, I know that may astound you but I certainly resented her less than others in my life. Despite this I still found our conversations tedious; they began the same as every other, with the clichéd “How was your day?” After our polite awkwardness had been paid its due, Abby and I contemplated how we were going to find a drink. Unwilling to merge back in with the swirling mass of people we were forced to settle on cans of premixed rum and coke that the only esky in the room contained. I sat in the middle again, between Doug and Abby and while I was the literal middle of the conversation I contributed very little to it. I’d sunk into a little hazy world and felt a disconnection with everything around me. Doug and Abby’s voices were distant while the party in the next room was muffled and Abby’s body was being pressed against mine as the couch dipped in the middle. The appearance of a pair of legs in my low field of vision made me look up and I found Bryce grinning down at me like the Cheshire Cat. He looked unsteady and was swaying slightly, evidently now drunk as well as high. He was holding a spit-soaked joint in his left hand and allowed his legs to collapse underneath him, plonking himself down in front of me on the dirty carpet. His glazed eyes closed and his head lolled; he appeared to fall asleep for a moment before quickly snapping upright.
‘You guys are all right, you know.’ Bryce’s words dribbled out of his lax mouth and Doug grinned.
‘Thanks mate,’ he acknowledged, and Bryce’s smile made his jaw slacken further. His head dropped, like his neck was struggling to keep it up but, noticing the blunt in his hand, Bryce remembered his manners and offered it to me.
‘Aw, thanks, Bryce, but I’m good,’ I muttered. After my rejection Bryce offered his joint to Doug, then Abby who both followed my suit, though not for the same reasons. I wasn’t against drugs. Like every other kid at uni I’d tried them a couple of times in my first wild semester. Nothing too heavy: just weed and eccies. They were fine, but once the novelty had worn off I failed to see the draw. I was already too removed from reality to completely appreciate drugs. If I smoked weed tonight, melting into the dirty couch I was sitting on was a real possibility. My body felt heavy, as though I was sinking into a pit of itchy sofa cushions. I wasn’t drunk, but like Bryce my head felt heavy and my eyes hazy, the dream was becoming more like reality and I was too tired to snap out of it. Bryce was sucking on the limp end of his blunt before he suddenly appeared to give up; tossing it aside, he let his body fall against Doug’s feet. Bryce was asleep almost instantaneously. Doug and Abby broke out into hysterical laughter and I managed to warp my face into a wide smile, the pandemonium next door making laughter impossible to hear even if I had managed to force it out of my mouth.
My Bed is a Blackhole Page 7
