Being Kalli

by Rebecca Berto

  “How many times?”

  The fuck, Kalli? That voice tells me. You need to be the strong one for this family. The glue. People in my position are trusted to be strong. Those people aren’t dirty, slutty fuck ups. They’re normal.

  It’s what I’ve tried to be since the decision to survive, to move on from what He did.

  Once, when I told Mum that I got drunk and the reason she needed to quickly pick me up from a house party was that a guy tried to force himself on me, she took me home, all happy and assuring me it was okay. All okay, everything. We went to bed and I didn’t see her for days. I had to wait for the drug bender to end to get her back. She was so unresponsive. I felt guilty for making him do that to me because of what happened to her afterward.

  Now, she doesn’t ask more and I don’t tell her what she’s thinking is wrong, but she holds me, hugs me closer to her at the waist. When we leave my room, I decide to play with a mindless app on my mobile and Mum pulls out a novel and we keep each other company without talking at all.

  • • •

  Two weeks after He changed me, Mum sits us down at the couch in the living room. I’ve been staying at the library and going to the shops after school although I don’t have much pocket money to spend, then going straight to my bedroom once Mum’s home from work. I lock the door until dinner, pretend I ate too much from the cafeteria at school, and lock myself back in my bedroom.

  This one day, on the couch, Mum says, “Kalli, I know you’ve been wanting a baby brother or sister, so we’ve decided to start trying!”

  I’m so shocked I can’t even force a smile. Can’t muster a couch-jumping squeal, and I know I would have done one if He never touched me. But I can’t pretend to be happy after two weeks of being alone so much, being so hungry yet too sick to eat, being ditched by all my friends but Scout and Nate who just talk to each other and give me the protection from bullies by allowing me to sit and pretend I know what they’ve been talking about.

  “Cheer up, girly!” Mum sings. “What is wrong with you? You always used to bug me about this.”

  Yes, I think, but that was before I knew what He would do to you to give me that brother or sister.

  “I don’t want one now.” I cross my arms and slink as far away as I can from Him.

  “Kalli, we talked about this for you. He’s been bringing me flowers and deliveries of chocolate at work, and even bought me a giant teddy on the weekend. When I asked him why the sucking up, he said he wanted for us to make a family and have a baby. Didn’t you, honey?” He nods. Mum claps her hands excitedly. “Finally! Isn’t this going to be cool?”

  “No,” I say.

  “You’re such a moody, whiny girl, Kalli. I just don’t understand. He and I will have lots of fun extending our family.” Mum winks at the devil. “And maybe when you snap out of this depressing mood you’ve been in, you’ll see how much you wanted the company.”

  Suddenly, I panic. If Mum is fed up with me she’ll leave. I need to tell her what He did! She can’t leave me with him. I need to tell her now. I’m ready!

  “Mum,” I say. “It’s just …” I pretend to go all embarrassed because He must be thinking about me telling on him. “I learned some girly stuff in class about reproduction and, and I think it happened to me. Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

  Thank God, it came out so smoothly. Mum takes me to the kitchen.

  “Oh wow, Kalli? Did you get it?”

  It? What’s “it”? And it hits me soon enough, so I bow my head and nod into my hands.

  “I did. It scared me and it was so sudden.”

  The teacher told me these things and more. I haven’t got my period yet and hope I don’t, because the teacher told us I could have a baby if a boy is near me in that way and I get my period for the first time soon after. And He’s so big and a man and could definitely make me pregnant.

  Mum pats my shoulder and spins me. “What are you wearing now?”

  “Just toilet paper shoved in there, but Mum, I have something important about Him—”

  “Crap, Kalli. I’ll just go shopping and get dinner and pads and tampons for you. I’ll get it all. Just wait here. Tell me that thing later.”

  “Mumm,” I wail, please.

  But she tells me not to be scared. She calls Him and asks him to tell me it’s okay and to explain, and He walks me to the front door, his big fingers digging into my shoulder. He waves Mum goodbye and asks how long she’ll be.

  Mum says he’s the best boyfriend ever and will make us all a nice dinner after she goes for a shop. She might be half an hour.

  I slap him and punch him in the balls like I know it hurts other boys. His fingers release my shoulder and I run.

  What actually happens, however, is I take two steps before he grabs my ankles and my chin hits the floor.

  I’m so numb I see stars and I can’t see the hallway anymore.

  It doesn’t take long to realise that’s because I’m on Mum’s bed again and that disgusting thing from his pants is coming out again and he knows I didn’t get my period.

  22

  I spend the rest of that day looking at without seeing my perfectly laid-out dress I’d prepared. I avoid her direct look. I spend that night hearing without listening to the sea of bodies in the crowd at the concert. It’s only once they stand and form an ovation that I recognise I’ve drilled my pieces so deep into my mind, I’m playing how I’ve practised. I know to add my specialty to the vibrato notes, and use my fresh look to engage younger people as well as the older crowd who love this stuff.

  It was a hit, even if I’m trying to calm myself about the fact my life will never be the same after I leaked that shame earlier today.

  I walk back from my first performance to a dark, behind-the-scenes run of organised chaos. I recall my performance on stage, and remember bits. Like when I walked the length to one corner, angled my head down and played to the audience with a passionate expression focused on my strings. And another time before the end when I stood in the centre and looked up to the beams above, hidden by the stage curtain, letting the buzz feed me power.

  But those memories are me as a camera, zooming in on Kalli, and I can’t get far enough in to remember anything personal. I’m detached.

  As I try to make it to my violin case behind the curtained section, one of the concert producers finds me and pats my shoulder. He keeps saying “wow”, and pats me on the shoulder three more times. Two of the other performers I remember from last year say hi and I wish them luck for their pieces.

  I don’t feel nineteen here. Behind the stage with the MC introducing and leading out performers, and the sweeping Hollywood-like lights, and the clapping audience, it feels like I’ve always done this, always will. In my elation, it feels like the floor isn’t really here because, as cliché as it sounds, my head is in a flurry amongst the excitement pulsing within and I’m floating somewhere else.

  The performer on the stage is subdued back here and this moment feels like the first real thing, here in the relative quiet of my section for the evening.

  I hope to God Mum and the twins showed. Surely. I knew if I tried to find them or any of my friends in the audience I’d be off for the count in and miss my start, and then nerves would take care of the rest, which is why I purposely didn’t look. I can’t be put off tonight.

  Violin is the one thing I can see myself doing forever. I was enthusiastic about having a degree, but that wore off. I used to love having the boys’ attention at my command whenever I wanted it. I don’t know how I didn’t see the years of recurring feelings in the aftermath: hollow, empty, and unsatisfied.

  Throughout, I’ve hated on Mum for longer than I can remember being happy with her, yet I’m holding her words like gold these days. Part of having fun is letting go, you know. Forcing fun only gives you so much satisfaction, like getting drunk to smother whatever you need to. Part of enjoyment is trust. Trust that you can open yourself up to someone and that person will take care of your mind
and heart.

  How the hell do I argue with that? It’s like she said it to describe my issues with Nate in a nutshell.

  Since I have downtime to break, I check my phone. I’ve got five texts, three calls. None are from Mum. I wipe away hairs sticking to my glistening skin. I feel a breeze and sidestep until I’m under the vents of the air-con.

  Much better.

  There’s a text from Scout, two from Nate. A random one from Donovan saying good luck for tonight since he heard I was playing, and that he’d really love to catch up after I’m done to celebrate.

  I text Scout and tell her and Nate to come to the backstage door, and I’ll let them in. There’s fifteen minutes until the break and then I get back on for the performance of my last piece an hour after that.

  I open the door and usher them in, immediately envious. Scout is in skinny jeans, ballet flats and a bat-wing top. Nate’s ever cool in khakis and a fitted print T-shirt, looking like one of those celebrities you see snapped in magazines on a Sunday afternoon.

  No one looks that good naturally, sheesh!

  Me? I’m in nude stockings, heels and a dress for girls who don’t mind not breathing. It’s one of the only appropriate things I own for tonight, coming an inch above my knees, a built-in band just under my bust, and a sweetheart neckline with thin straps. I look sophisticated and like I’m in my twenties, not some trashy uni skank.

  “Kalli!” Scout throws her arms around my neck and I squeeze her back. “I’m totally jealous. You look stunning and wow. You sounded similar, yet so much better than when you play at home.” She tilts her head back, looking up at the high ceiling. “I think it’s this building, too.”

  “Shh. Thanks.”

  Nate comes around and gives me a hug. I loosen in his arms to give him access to whatever he needs to do and slowly nestle into him. His hands are around my lower back, tracing swirls over the fabric.

  He leans in, his scent sending my knees into a quivering mess hardly able to keep me up, so I throw my arm around the back of his neck for support, glad I have an excuse to do it. Nate’s chest expands against me. His hands tighten at my waist, unsaid reflection of his wanting.

  In heels, my eye level is at his lips, and I can’t will myself to look up further for fear that I’m back to being the old Kalli, using my power of seduction to lure him in. It’s this weak body, jelly at his touch. I want his soul and mind this time, and I don’t want him uncontrolled, only full of lust.

  Nate’s grips relaxes and rather than cup my cheeks, he slides his hands up my sides, soft enough that it’s like an imagined desire within me, rather than his actual touch.

  Lowering his head, our lips line up and I touch his with mine, feathering them across. He lowers his head further and I bring mine up, settling my chin in the crook of his neck, him burying his face the same way to me.

  Who knew that I could tremble between my legs, and feel my heart racing and be heated up all with the simple promise of trust, surrounding myself by just Nate.

  “Kall Bell,” he says, lifting his head to whisper in my ear. “That was incredible. You had on that cute serious face and you were in your own zone, owning that stage. So proud.”

  Nate cups my cheeks and holds me still as he lingers a kiss on my forehead.

  “Okay, make out later. There’s catered food here, yeah?”

  I start, accidently wriggling free of Nate’s grip. Shocked, I take in my surroundings and notice Scout with a sly smile on her face, her hand on her hip.

  “Yes, Scout. Round that corner.”

  Scout winks and takes off. I have the feeling she could have a full stomach and still would have left us.

  As soon as we’re alone, I ask, “Is Mary here?”

  Nate’s eyes wander in thought. “No, I can’t believe I didn’t notice. I was so focused on the dickhead Donovan turning up and wasting a spot meant for the other guys that I didn’t realise.”

  Donovan’s name elicits no physical response as a different dread seeps into my thoughts. “Nothing? No message, no … nothing?”

  Two months ago I’d have expected this of Mum. Promise to see my most important performance of the year and forget, instead high with Betsy at a scummy pub? Sure. Sounds exactly like her. However, after our heart-to-heart chats, how responsive and responsible she is, looking years younger since focusing on being here and not being dependent on substances to carry her through a day …

  Not now. Not after everything.

  Thump.

  A thought hits me, stealing my breath.

  I may know what’s happened if she’s not here, and it can’t be good. A lump blocks my throat, and it’s impossible to swallow, almost as hard to stand tall and happy for concert night, when my selfish info dump on her could be the cause for this no-show.

  What would I do, cold turkey off drugs, if I’d realised all those years my daughter had had that happen to her?

  Shit.

  “Nate,” I say. I wipe down my face and my shoulders because everywhere is tingling. “This isn’t right. She said she’d be here.”

  “Kall.” His voice is low, sad. “I really wanted her to be here too. And I’m shocked she couldn’t make it. But not surprised.”

  “No, listen. Please. Something’s probably gone wrong.”

  “What if it hasn’t?”

  “I …” I take a deep breath and force the words out. “We had a chat. I ended up hinting at what He did to me.” I open my mouth because I have to explain. My breath staggers instead, and not only do no words come out, but I start sucking in, sucking in, unable to release the air. My head feels like an over-pumped balloon.

  “Shh,” Nate whispers, rubbing my back. “Don’t underestimate her, if she’s late for whatever reason, she’d want you to play—you know that. It’s a forty-minute drive home, forty back. You won’t make your performance. You are incredible. I won’t let you miss this. Stop worrying about her and do this for you.”

  Right then, he has me. He feels exactly like the level-headed person I need to make me listen. I’m shit scared, but if Mum’s at home, back to smoking a joint, I know she’d hate for me to screw up this chance. Managers and label execs are here tonight, and imagining me missing that opportunity for the possibility that Mum’s high is a regret I couldn’t get over.

  “You’ve worked for so many years to have a moment like this. Next year you could be running this show. You could be having your own concerts. An album or something. But you throw away tonight and they’ll never ask you back. You deserve this. You’ve dedicated so much of yourself than other idiots can fathom. Kall,” he says, rubbing my cheek. He steps in and cradles me by my waist. “I promise after your performance I’ll do anything you like, but you know you need to do this. She’s a big grown woman. She can handle herself. You don’t need to be a mother tonight. Be you.”

  I press my lips tight, holding everything in and nod, resting my head against his neck.

  I go back, trying some sort of meditation through calming breathing to get my headspace in the zone. No point not being here and not checking on Mum either. I need to rock my second performance.

  When the break is over I’m visualising my sheet music, playing over the piece in my mind. All of us crew and performers get together and it’s easy to remember why I love nights like this, us joking about stuff-ups gone unnoticed on stage, gorging on the catered food, and making performance jokes only us types get.

  As the second half of the night continues, I help organise performers and setups. This concert is run by volunteers, and it’s how people like me can get a chance.

  “Kalli,” one of the lead organisers says, tapping my shoulder. “Make sure you’re ready in five.”

  When it’s my time, I get into position on stage and let the audience fall away. The lights are bright enough to block them, and my thoughts drift into space. This is the piece I wrote, and I can’t help but close my eyes and see waves of Scout asleep next to me, me straddling Nate and more wash over me. I snap open
my eyes to focus on my fingering, and then I gaze out to the audience, sweeping my attention in and out like a yo-yo in slow motion. Excitement builds within my core, like I’m getting closer to a prize. I find myself daring new things. I’ve never stepped off the stage, but I walk down the steps this time, getting close enough to the audience that invigorates me, and makes me divide my attention between my bow, my fingers and the melody.

  The whole time I’m super charged, and if I was aiming for somewhere between a technically sound performance and an entertaining one, I feel I’ve hit both. My last note is a long bow, a sweeping vibrato that earns me another standing ovation and endless claps, which begin before I finish.

  Once off stage, a group of performers and crew latch onto me, and are touching me and congratulating me.

  “You were better than André Rieu!”

  “OMG, I really sucked. I just realised watching you, Kalli.”

  “Your family must be so proud!”

  And I snap out of it.

  Family.

  I thank them as quickly as I can, pack away my violin and text Nate:

  Kalli: Come to the back door again ASAP.

  By the time I dash to the door, violin in hand, he’s waiting there, chest moving as ragged as mine, looking like we ran and stopped at the same time a second ago.

  He shakes his head. “You did good, but she didn’t show, Kall.”

  “Take me. Take me now.”

  I text Scout, knowing it’d take too much time discussing face-to-face. And I know. I’m fucking it all up but this is my bargain. I stayed for both performances, as I needed to.

  But now I’m done, waiting on impatient toes, bouncing on the spot and flooded with worry and thoughts.

  We get home in thirty minutes with Nate looking out for cops and speed cameras, and gunning it when we were clear. Mum won’t answer her mobile. He pulls up in my driveway and the second we hit park I jump out of the car, slam the door accidentally and running as quick as I can. Hooking my heel straps over my wrist, I dash for the door with speed.