Black Mamba

“Where is this party again, exactly?” Min’s mum was interrogating them for the millionth time.

Robin smiled the most polite smile she could manage and hustled Min over to the the front door. “It’s in Coster Park Mrs Wu, and it’s totally safe, I promise.”

The two girls were out the door and in the cool air of the early evening before Mrs Wu could stop them. Still, the old Chinese woman hurried out after and called to them as Robin shoved Min into the passenger seat and darted around to get in and start the engine. Mrs Wu was shouting in broken English about not drinking and not smoking and not taking any drugs and not letting boys talk them into doing things and so on. Robin grinned at Min who rolled her eyes as she heard her mum continuing to shout advice from the front step of their house.

“She’s right you know,” Robin confirmed as she jammed her old VW Beetle into first gear. “If a boy is trying to talk you into sucking him off, he is exactly the type of boy who doesn’t deserve to be sucked off. Lesson number 72 complete.” Robin said, nodded to herself and squealing out of the Wu residence driveway.

Min rolled her eyes again, hoping that none of the airborne driveway rocks hit her mum (who was probably still on the step, shouting, now probably in Chinese). “I’m not going to do that anyways,” Min affirmed. She felt silly in the outfit she had chosen — black jeans and a red, v-neck ruffled top she had borrowed from Robin that showed too much cleavage — and she was already regretting her agreement to go to the stupid party altogether.

Robin burned down the street away from Min’s house and took a too-sharp right onto the main town road. “Oh my God. Can you please relax?” she said, screeching to a halt a the red light outside the pharmacy. “I’m not saying you’re going to suck a dick tonight, I’m just informing you of the whats and what-nots.”

“That phrase doesn’t even make sense.”

“Of course it does!” Robin said, letting go of the wheel and throwing her hands up dramatically. “Look, Mini,” her face turned serious. “Stacey is going to be there tonight and all I want is for you to have a good time.”

Min felt herself blush and looked out the window to avoid Robin’s eyes. “Oh my god, what do I even care if Stacey is there?!”

“Well, I just thought maybe you’d care because you’ve been eye-stalking him for the past forever.”

Min turned back with her cranky face up to full volume. “Eye-stalking? Now I can be sure that you’re not making any sense. Eye-stalking.” Min shook her head. “I have not been doing anything of the sort.”

A huge smile peeled Robin’s perfectly painted party face almost totally in half. “Of course you have Mini. When you’re watching him I’m watching you. I see your eyes slide around like a wet slug in a cup. It’s fucking brilliant!”

Min couldn’t help but think that it was precisely the opposite of brilliant. She knew she had been ‘eye-stalking’ Stacey for a while now, she just thought that no one had actually noticed, and now, knowing he would be at the party she shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat and tugged at the red v-neck blouse, willing it to cover more of her chest than it could ever possibly manage. Robin always gawped on and on about how jealous she was of Min’s breasts, but Min couldn’t help but feel they were nothing but a burden — a huge pair of luminous beacons that she couldn’t hide if she tried.

They were moving again down the main street towards the bend in the town, closer and closer to Coster Park. To the party.

“Relax, please?” Robin tried again. “It’s going to be fun. You can have a beer and eat some corn chips and I’ll be there with you. You can hit on Stacey. I bet you’d be a pro if you gave it a go. Oh my god that rhymes!”

Min rolled her eyes. The dim street lights flew by like fireflies in the night. Min figured she wouldn’t mind a beer at this point, just to take the edge off. Maybe the party would be good. She would never know if she didn’t go. Oh, she realised her inner voice was starting to sound a lot like Robin. Fancy that.

They sped through the bend and down towards the part of town without street lamps. Coster Park sat detached from the main street and was where more of the wealthier people in town lived. Acreage and farms and sprawling ranch houses. It was also quieter than where Min and Robin lived but it was where the best parties happened. They saw the smoke plumes and the golden glow of the fire long before they made it to Buck Mason’s house.

Robin had been there a million times — apparently — but this was a first for Min. Actually, the whole party situation was a first for her. She tugged up at the low-cut red top again without luck, and started to panic as they rolled through the open gates of the property and along the fence line until they found a parking spot next to a rusted baby blue utility.

Robin turned off the ignition and took one of Min’s hands in her own. “Listen cutie, I know you don’t want to be here and I fully understand that. Please stop pulling at the shirt — it looks fucking good on you okay — and I know you’re nervous, which is fine, but if you could see yourself like I do…” Robin’s brows furrowed like Min had never seen before. She trailed off.

The deep base-beat of party music rumbled the world outside the tiny car. Min looked at Robin and Robin smiled her life-filled smile back at Min. “You are gorgeous and smart,” she said, “and worthy of so much more than you think you are Mini. I just want you to take one chance with me and try to have a fun night. We leave at midnight no matter what — we keep your mum happy and we don’t get wasted — I promise.”

Min felt Robin’s hand in her own, warm and solid despite the delicate fingers and the sparkly nail polish and all the shiny rings.  Min was way out beyond her depth. “You really think the shirt looks good?”

“You know I fucking do. If anyone can pick a top for you, it’s me, bitch.”

They both laughed and Robin pulled Min in close and kissed her cheek. “C’mon my Chinese bombshell, let’s go make some dreams happen.”

Min was smiling as she scrambled out of the car and followed Robin past the enormous house and the multiple sheds to where the party was happening; to where everything was happening.

There was a large bonfire surrounded by intoxicated teens, and a stable of horses to the left, and a couple of eagle cages next to that, filled with fluttering wings. Min was nervous — she wanted a drink.

The two girls approached the party of people; Robin took Min by the hand and they entered the glow of the firelight with a certain camaraderie. A million eyes swiveled around to focus on them and Min felt Robin’s fingers tighten in her hand. She wondered if this would be the moment when her life actually started.

That was when Buck appeared out of nowhere. “What the fuck is my favourite girl doing without a drink in her hand?” he demanded with a smile.

Min saw Robin beam and lean up to kiss Buck’s almost-shaggy beard. For a moment she was afraid she would lose her friend to beers and beards and sex, as she always did, but their hands remained intertwined as Robin whispered something in Buck’s ear and he paused only for a moment before he winked at Min and took off again around the other side of the fire.

Robin pulled gently on Min’s hand and they kicked up dust as they walked around outside the circle of people by the fire. Robin had always been lively but she wasn’t one for big groups or ‘being on show’ as she called it. She liked to entertain but preferably in a one-on-one setting. Min had presumed that meant Robin was kind of slutty, but the more they hung out the more that seemed to be untrue. Robin liked sex  — she had said that exact thing over and over to Min — but only sex with someone who gave half a shit about her, or so she said. Min figured Robin said a whole lot of things. It was hard to tell which ones she meant and which ones she didn’t.

Min decided to break the silence. “So, you and Buck then?”

Robin shrugged. “Get me a drink first, then I might talk. But just in case you’re wondering, his dick is absolutely magnificent.”

Min was beyond embarrassed and hoping that no one else had heard their little conversation, when Robin’s eyes widened at something behind Min, and she abruptly walked away. Min was about to call after her when she felt a heavy warm hand on her shoulder — it made her jump.

“Hey.” It was Stacey behind her. Min turned to see his smooth brown face illuminated in the firelight/light of the fire.

“Hi.” The word came out too quiet and soft. Min blushed.

Stacey removed his hand from her shoulder and smiled. “You are apparently getting a drink for Robbie so that you can hear all about Bucky’s dick. Maybe we could get some drinks too, if that’s okay with you?”

Min felt all words evade her, so she nodded and followed Stacey over to the sprawling tables of snacks and drinks and candles. He poured a vodka cranberry for Robin (Robbie, as he called her) and a plastic cup of beer from the keg for himself and then turned. “How do you feel about a gin and tonic? You probably won’t like it too much at first, but I bet that will stop you from getting drunk.”

Min pondered this a moment and then nodded. She’d never had gin before — or tonic (whatever that was) — and there was something so dulcet and easy about Stacey that she decided that all she wanted right then was for him to make her a gin and tonic.

Three ice cubes clinked against each other in her cup as Min followed Stacey back past the bonfire surrounded by people and through the dark to a small bowl-shaped brazier where Robin sat on Buck’s knee, the two of them barely noticeable in the dim light. Stacey pulled up a spare chair for Min and took one right next to her. He was as easy as Sunday morning. He was calm and confident and smooth as golden honey. Min felt her insides turn to soft butter.

Robin sipped her vodka cranberry. “So boys, nice night you got going here. Took all I had to get my girl to come along. We had to make promises about curfew, we had to sell our souls to the devil, and, we had to make a personal sacrifice upon the sacred ground. I hope you two are willing to go as far as we did.”

Min saw Robin wink at her from Buck’s lap.

Stacey smiled. “Bucky my boy, I’m afraid we don’t have any souls left, but maybe we could sacrifice Terrance to the gods above?”

Buck was drunk. “Stacey,” he said with flat, glassy eyes. “What kind of gods would want Terrance?”

The two of them burst into boyish laughter and when Robin joined in Min sipped her gin and couldn’t help but feel even smaller than before; even further from fitting in. The drink was bitter — no, sharp — and it burned down her throat, but she took a few more sips nonetheless, and swallowed hard.

She was glad they were over here in their own little party — the big one would have been too much for her. The party noise still travelled over, but it felt as if they were in their own universe. Like the world outside them couldn’t touch or be touched. Min drank a little more of her gin and tonic and started to feel warm despite the night. Stacey scooted his chair closer to hers and continued in conversation with Buck and Robin. Maybe he was as nervous as she was.

As she sipped the sharp gin and tonic, Min felt herself sink down into the night. She remained acutely aware of Stacey’s every movement — the way he sat with his knees wide and casual; the way he constantly ran his fingers over his smooth shaven chin, as if grooming an invisible beard; the way his eyes flicked now and then to her, to Min, now and then to her crossed legs, now and then to her thick dark hair that was caught by the wind, now and then to where the red blouse came down to a v in the front.

Eventually Buck’s beer ran out and Robin pecked him on the cheek before grabbing Min’s hand and dragging her back to the main party area.

“But I don’t need another drink,” Min protested.

Robin brushed the curls out of her face and stared up at the sky as they walked slowly. “I know, fool. But the boys needs to talk about us and we need to talk about them.”

Min panicked. “What are they talking about!?”

Robin screwed up her nose. “I just told you. Us. “

“I know, I know. But what about us?”

“Probably your tits.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Min felt a hot frustration rising up inside her. “I wish they weren’t the reason he’s paying attention to me.”

Robin stopped walking. “What, Stacey? Of course that’s not the reason. He likes you because you’re awesome, and honest, and you don’t take any shit even though you’re quiet. He likes you because you try hard and you get excellent grades and you’re not like me. And, he likes you because of that poem you wrote for Advanced English at the end of last year.”

Min pulled up short and shot Robin a look. “He — he remembers my poem?”

“That’s what he told me,” Robin said, looking a little tipsy in the moonlight. “C’mon, I want another vodka. Buck’s horny and I really can’t deal with that again tonight. If one or both of us get drunk it will mean I get the night off.” She winked and fumbled about on the table of refreshments that were near the house.

Min didn’t protest. She had poetry and the firelight and Stacey on her mind. She still knew most of that poem, not by heart, but it had won her the senior poetry prize despite the fact that she hadn’t been a senior last year. Her mum had been so proud, and Min had been so proud as well, until some of the other girls in their grade had started making fun of her in the halls. They recited lines to her in a generic Asian accent as they passed by. She didn’t ever bite — she would never risk her scholarship like that — but after a while she was taking the long way, avoiding the halls, leaving through emergency doors, entering through them. Robin had been the one who had saved her, but that was a story for another day.

These days, no one bothered Min, not with her sparkly friend around.

As she watched Robin pour another vodka and then a beer for Buck, Min wondered if she would have survived high school without her bright, sparkling friend. “Rob,” she started, “what if I want to kiss Stacey tonight?”

Robin turned with a dramatic look of shock and awe pasted across her party painted face. Her glittery eyeshadow sparkled as she blinked. “This had better not be a joke, young lady.”

Min shrugged and felt the blush rising again to her cheeks. “You know I like him. Everyone knows I like him.” Min was hunting for advice but she didn’t actually want to ask for it, for fear of dying right there on the spot.

Robin lifted the plastic cup to her lips and pondered with narrow eyes. “I like this new Mini. Maybe it’s the gin and tonic, but she’s definitely wooing me tonight.” Robin turned back to the table and poured another vodka cranberry and another beer, both of which she handed to Min.

“You’re nervous, my little Chinese kitten, but this is the easy part. The boy wants you and so all you need to do is smile and be there.” Robin’s eyes went all wide and crazy. “Let’s go!” She kicked Min’s butt gently with her foot and the two of them left the main party behind again, a drink in each of their hands.

When they got back the boys were huddled close in their chairs, whispering to each other. They looked up as they heard the girls approaching and their secret conversation stopped abruptly.

“Only good things, I hope,” Robin said as she handed Buck his beer and pulled him up off his seat. “How about we leave these two to their own devices?”

Min handed Stacey his beer with a shaking hand and wished Robin would be a little more subtle about the whole thing. Stacey took the plastic cup in one hand and pressed the other, very lightly, into the small of Min’s back. She felt a jolt of needful electricity shoot up her spine and warm the entirety her skin. Her ears were suddenly hot and she took a gulp of the vodka drink Robin had poured for her.

Stacey didn’t stand, but pushed a little on Min’s back until she was close enough that her thigh touched his knee where he sat. “We just need a moment Bucky, if you don’t mind. How about you and Robbie go and check out that hole you’ve been digging out behind the damn — oh, I’m sorry, the ‘excavation site’.”

Buck stood up and spilled some of his beer onto his jeans. “There’s something down there Stace, and when I find it I’m going to get mega rich and you’ll be sorry you ever made fun of me.”

Min saw Stacey smile but it was warm friendly. “I know, Bucky. I wasn’t making fun. Poking the bear, as it were.”

Buck swayed, looking confused for a moment, but then Robin tugged on his shirt and they disappeared, away to this purported excavation site. Min was about to ask what exactly Buck was excavating when Stacey suddenly pulled her down to sit on his warm lap. Her heart beat faster than she had ever known it to do, and she wished the light of their small fire was casting anywhere but upon her face.

Stacey wrapped a solid arm around her waist and smoothed his invisible beard once again. “Can I kiss you right now?” he asked.

Min took a quick sip of her drink and swallowed her fear. She nodded. “Mmhmmm.”

It wasn’t like how she had imagined at all — and she had imagined quiet a lot. Stacey bent and placed his plastic cup of beer on the dusty ground next to his chair. Min didn’t know if she should do the same, but there wasn’t time either way, because his face was close to hers then, and she could feel his chest giving off warmth into her side. She was vibrating with excitement and anticipation. This would be her first kiss. This would be more than her first kiss. This would be everything.

Before she could think any longer, Stacey’s warm hand came up to her face and he leaned in and it was too fast and it was slow motion and it was just the right speed. It was everything. Their lips touched and Min was surprised when his were so soft — much softer than she had expected — and the moment lasted a lifetime.

The red v-neck blouse was suddenly perfect, and the gin in her blood felt sweet and syrupy, and the small fire crackled like the electricity up her spine where his hand had dipped under the red blouse and was holding her in close to him.

Stacey.

Bucky’s call pierced the night and the perfect moment.

Min didn’t care, she was under so many layers of Stacey-honey that some part of her worried she might never be able to get back out.

“Stacey!” Buck called again.

Stacey took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You know how he is.”

Min ran her fingers across her freshly-kissed lips. “It’s okay. Robin is my best friend, remember?”

Stacey smiled and the two of them stood up and started off towards Buck’s excavation site.

The hole was about ten foot in diameter and Min was impressed at Buck’s efforts. “Did you dig this yourself?” she asked.

Buck smiled wide and finished his beer. “There’s something down here, I know there is.”

Robin sat on the far edge of the hole with crossed legs looking quite unimpressed. “Please don’t encourage him. This whole hole thing has been going on for like a week now. Can we just drop it. Mr Mason is going to castrate Bucky if he finds out there’s a fucking pool-sized hole in the back yard.”

Min figured it was likely that Mr Mason might not ever find out — they had walked a good half mile down from their small fire to the excavation site. Buck had set up a few spotlights around the hole and Min looked down to where he stood in the dust and dirt and rocks with a shovel. She felt Stacey’s hand holding onto the back of her jeans but somehow it felt like more of a soccer mum hold than an I wanna do bad things to you hold. No big deal, she thought, but secretly she was looking forward to the latter.

Stacey seemed tired of the hole thing and Min saw him share a look with Robin. “Look, Bucky. I know this is important to you, but don’t you think that this is just a distraction? School is coming to a close and you haven’t done well, I get it. I get it. Let’s just knuckle down and get through this last month and then we will be free, yeah?”

But Buck wasn’t listening, he had his shovel and he was going to town on the hole, smashing away at dirt and rock, searching for something that none of the rest of them could imagine. Min saw Stacey give Robin an imploring look and, in the spotlights, they heard Buck’s shove hit something. Whatever it was, it rang out into the night air. It sounded hard and metallic.

All of them were still.

“Buck?” Robin called down into the hole.

There was silence, and then, “I fucking told you guys!”

Stacey looked at Min. The two of them stood side by side across from Robin and peered down into Buck’s excavation hole.

Min saw it immediately — a large square-shaped indentation in the ground beneath Buck’s feet — she looked up and knew that Stacey had seen it as well. Stacey put his arm around Min again and pulled her back from the edge of the hole. “Bucky,” he called, “I think maybe you should get out of the hole, yeah?”

“What do you think it is?” she asked him quietly.

They watched Robin stand up and leave her drink behind her, abandoned in the dirt. “Buck, baby. Can we just call your folks in the morning and get a professional out here to have a look. Maybe it’s unsafe or something?”

Buck didn’t reply from down in his hole. The three of them heard him digging and digging, smashing the shovel into the metal thing that was down there. Min felt her heartbeat hasten and a strong urge rise up inside her. She wanted to be anywhere but near Buck’s excavation site. There was something she didn’t like about it but she couldn’t quite put her finger where it needed to be. She figured he was probably just doing as Stacey had said — distracting himself from the reality that he had done poorly on his final exams — but at the same time she felt the adrenaline pumping through her blood.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was her proximity to Stacey. Maybe it was the quickly cooling night. Maybe it was Min questioning herself, doubting herself, hating herself. — Worrying that perhaps she hadn’t done that well herself on the final exams either. Maybe it was the dark movements of the trees around the hole Buck had dug at the back of his family’s property.

Min turned to Stacey. “I really want to go back to the party,” she said, and it felt like she was begging. A blush started to rise in her as she felt Stacey take a hold her shoulder and turn to give her his whole attention.

“I’m sorry, he’s drunk and in a bad place. But Bucky’s my best friend, and I know that you know how that feels.”

Min felt the warmth of his body close to hers and the seriousness of his tone. “I know. I do know,” she said, and it was more of an admission than anything else. She was new to the best friend thing, but she understood how important it was.

Below them they heard Buck fall and the shovel clatter loudly onto the metal thing. Buck groaned — he’d hurt himself.

Stacey gave her a slightly pained smile and brushed the hair out of her face with gentle fingers. “If you want to go back I won’t hold it against you. Once I get him out of this ridiculous hole I’ll come and find you, okay?”

Min felt relief — she was free. She turned to see Robin crouching on her knees in the dirt, looking down at Buck. Her sparkly friend was still trying trying to convince her not-boyfriend to give up on becoming a raving idiot right before graduation.

Min called across the hole. “Robin!?”

Robin looked up and gave her a desperate look. “I’m so sorry Mini, I didn’t think he was that drunk. You okay?”

Min nodded and gave her brightest pretend smile. “It’s all good, I’m just cold.Going to head back to the party, is that cool?”

Robin closed her eyes and smiled in slow consent and then looked back down into the hole.

Min looked up at Stacey. “Promise you’ll come find me later?”

Stacey’s face was bright and glowing as he looked down at her. Like a Christmas star, Min thought to herself. He was the lovely thing she had been searching for. The thing she had wanted for so long. Too long.

“Of course I will,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “Will you be able to get back without a light?”

“I think so. I’ll be fine,” she shrugged. “Just — just get him out of there, please?”

Stacey stuck out his tongue and the tension eased. Min turned and knew immediately that she needed a light in the darkness of the trees, though she didn’t dare backtrack. There was something about Buck’s hole and the big flat metal square down at the bottom that made her stomach tighten with fear.

She had only walked a dozen feet or so when there was a strong wind that pulled at the tops of the trees above her and whisked up dust into her face. It was so strong that she had to cover her eyes and turn her face away and bend her knees. The wind was freezing and it cut through her.

That was when she heard it — a laugh like she’d never heard before. It was piercing and staccato and brought her stomach up into her throat. It was a laugh that no one could ever forget.

In the darkness she turned, still close enough to Robin and Stacey standing around the hole that, between them, she saw a thicket of dark smoke start to rise. It was black and amber and the red of dark blood.

Just as Min began to panic and move back to the site, that same awful laugh sounded around her in the trees and more pointedly, from the hole. Min crept a few steps back towards where Stacey and Robin stood. She wanted to stay quiet but it was hard with the dirt and the rocks crumbling under her feet. As she got closer she saw that Robin had her arms raised out and high into the air on the other side of the hole. Robin?, she whispered to herself.

The laugh erupted again, and it was from her mouth; it was Robin who was laughing. “It is you who have given your blood, young one,” Robin said in a voice not her own as she looked down at Buck, “and it is you who will pay, now, as I have paid in the past.”

There was a cracking sound and Min heard Buck cry out in pain. She crept a few steps closer to the excavation site in the dark and saw the black-amber-red smoke thickening from where it rose from the hole. “Stacey?” she hissed, trying to catch his attention, but Stacey was watching Robin through the smoke. He didn’t seem to see or hear anything else.

Robin spoke again in the awful voice that wasn’t hers. “And who is it that will be my vessel?”

Feeling a strong impulse to run away, Min wondered if this was some kind of drunken practical joke. She hoped it was. From the trees, she watched as the smoke started to clear a little and her sparkly friend, Robin, lifted up off the ground and drifted over the hole towards Stacey with her arms still raised high, opened up to the sky, as if she were in some kind of yoga pose.

It was impossible — Min knew it was impossible — but she watched it happen all the same. She watched as her lithe friend landed gently on her feet on the other side of Buck’s excavation hole and looked at Stacey with eyes that were bright green and pierced with a vertical slit. Snake eyes.

Min inched a few steps closer. She didn’t know what to do — there was a strong urge to run away and a similarly strong one to stay and approach — but who was she to make that decision? She felt small and young and helpless.

She watched as Stacey stood dead still and not-Robin approached him with a careful step. Robins feet were bare; her boots were gone. Min’s heart was a racing drumbeat inside her chest. She listened as closely as she could.

“Do you not fear me, boy?” asked not-Robin.

Min watched Stacey as he remained solid on the spot in the dust. “I don’t know you, so how can I fear you?” His voice trembled a little but he didn’t move. Min wanted to run to him.

Not-Robin pondered Stacey’s answer a moment. “People usually fear things they do not know, and things they cannot understand. If you were wise, you would fear me.”

Min inched closer again and she was just at the edge of the trees hoping she wouldn’t be seen. She saw Stacey move on the spot slightly; he was, perhaps, starting to lose his baring on reality. Min knew that she was surely starting to lose it.

“Without understanding of what you are, and what you can do, why would I be afraid? Ignorance is bliss, right?” Stacey asked.

Inappropriately, Min felt something inside her heart flutter at his calmness under pressure; his wit; his put-togetherness — all the things that had made her first start to eyestalk him.

Not-Robin smiled like it was what she was born to do, and Min felt a terrible chill creep through her, raising her skin into gooseflesh..

That was when her adrenaline really kicked in and Min ran directly towards Stacey from the trees where she had been hidden. She burst out into the spotlights and the smoke, and not-Robin turned to see her just as she stumbled in front of Stacey.

He started to say something to Min. He started to grab hold of her arm and pull her back, to try and move in front of her, to try and stand between her the Robin who was no longer Robin.

Min turned away from him and saw Robin with the yellow snake eyes. Robin was right in front her of — close enough that Min could feel her sparkly friend’s hot breath on her face.

After that she knew nothing but darkness.

Video Games

                 trying something a little different this time...  


Personal diary of Margot Spoon. Entry dated 27th May 2012. Evidence Item Log #46331. Maryland State PD.


    27/5/12 Sunday

The one is about you. But aren’t they all? Well, they’re all about me really, but this one is also about you.

I wore those nice purple knickers that you say you like. Did you even notice? Actually, I should back track because that’s not the start of it. The start of it is that I don’t have a key. I don’t have a key, which is fine, I would flat out refuse a key anyways, but it would just mean that I can get in and out of your fucking house. Like when I leave my makeup bag in your bathroom but I’ve already closed the front door and then I’m locked out. Thanks. That’s what I would say to you. THANKS.

Today, as always, it was getting in that was the problem. This is how it went — I try calling you on my drive back but you don’t answer. Then, at your front door, I’m knocking without response. And then I’m knocking so loudly that your neighbour comes out to see what’s going on. And THEN, my husband calls and I know that if I don’t answer he’ll start to panic a little bit.

So there I was, on your front steps feeling your neighbour’s eyes penetrating my skirt, seeing my inappropriate purple underwear, wondering why I was talking to one man on the phone while I waited outside the door of another man’s house like a fucking five dollar whore.

But of course he was thinking nothing of the sort — your neighbour. Those were MY thoughts.

And THAT was the point that I had a tiny, quiet moment full of questions. It went like this — Is it the sex? Is it the danger, the risk? Is it just a habit I have created? Is it the comfort I feel after so long without any comfort? Is it my lack of self control? Is it you?

Is it YOU?

By the time I realise it’s none of those things and nor do I have any answers, you’re at the door, opening it, and I can see you’re wearing that ridiculous microphone headset.

‘Sorry baby,” you say as you let me in and I would believe the apology if you didn’t immediately  turn away and hurry back to the video game that I know is the reason you took so long to answer the fucking door. I want to leave right then and there, and so I pause in the hallway, my overnight bag in one hand, my phone in the other with my husband’s missed call. I watch you un-pause your video game on the couch, and to you, it’s as if you it’s as if the last fifteen seconds didn’t happen. And maybe they didn’t.

I think about walking back out the door but I’m tired and I’m frisky and I’m hungry. Plus, my husband thinks I’m staying at Kate’s tonight and she thinks I’m staying at home. I don’t want to go home, but if I actually show up at Kate’s it will be cuddling and then I’ll get her off and then she’ll lick me and all I’ll be wishing is that someone would actually fuck me. And hard. With a dick. I know that’s selfish. I’m no stranger to my own lack of appreciation for the things that I do have have in life.

To be fair though; my diary is about the ego. So let it be that this is my ego talking, in order of make me feel less culpable. And there it is — I already feel it less.

Anyway, I’m at your house and I don’t leave. I don’t go home. I don’t go to Kate’s. I undress and, in only my underwear, I come and sit next to you on the couch. For obvious reasons I am convinced that this will work, but you LITERALLY don’t look away from the television screen.

I sigh. My eyes ache. I want to take out my contacts, and let’s face it, maybe I’d like you more right now if you were blurry. I lean in and kiss your neck but the only response I get is a small humming sound. You still don’t look at me. You are transfixed on Halo. I know it’s called ‘Halo’ because you might have said it to me a million times. Maybe more. It was a couple of months ago when you first bought this video game and it’s your money to spend so I kept my mouth shut.

But now, here on your couch in my inappropriate knickers, I wish I had said something. I want to you tell you that you’re a halfwit and a fool. I want to scream it out loud and paint it on your god damned walls. I want to paint it on your face. I want to paint it in your blood.

You’re talking and for a moment I think it’s to me and so I go open my mouth to say something in response, but then you wave me away with a hand and I feel my anger and it’s almost tangible.

You’re talking into your headset and I think of all the times you have come on my back. In the interests of full disclosure via my ego, I will say that I always liked it, but that is beside the point. I think of all the times you’ve come on my chest. I think of all the times you’ve come on my face. And in my mouth.

I recompose myself and sidle up next to you. The gunfire from your Halo game is distracting. ‘How about we have a little nap?’ I suggest. You appear not to hear me. You talk again, and AGAIN, it’s not to me.

I’m vibrating. I feel it more as I stand up and look directly at you from the side. I’m cold in just my knickers and my eyes still itch — I’m at the point where I NEED to take out my contacts. ‘Baby?’ I ask, one last time.

If you register the words you fail to show it. You frantically thumb buttons and I see your eyes dart back and forth as they follow the graphics on the screen. I circle the couch until I am behind you and I feel as if I’m floating above us. I think to myself that perhaps even if I could break open the heavens, your attention wouldn’t be caught. Perhaps I could wake the dead and your attention wouldn’t be caught..

It’s easy to grab the thin cord of the game controller and quickly wrap it around your neck; the neck that I just kissed. There’s a long moment before you reach up to grab at my hands because apparently you thought this was something kinky. You were wrong.

I tighten the cord and feel you struggle against it. You’re strong and you pull forward and one of my hands slips but I have my knee up on the back of the couch. Leverage. That’s what I have. For once. LEVERAGE.

It takes longer than I imagined. You scratch at my hands with your fingernails and try to get out by sliding downwards, but you weren’t expecting this. No one would have expected this from me I suppose. I almost lose you a few times but I think of your come on my face and somehow it gets easier to keep the cord pulled tight and fast around your neck.

Your last breath is silent. I almost don’t even notice it. Ironic, really. Isn’t it? I let go and push you a little. You slump forwards. Your video game controller falls to the floor. I think it might crack open. Your game — Halo — continues on the television. On the screen things explode, vividly coloured aliens attack your virtual character, and I bite my lip.

It happened again. My husband is going to be so mad.

He. You. She.

He. You. She.
Three poems for free. I hope they're okay.




My Avocado

Sitting there in the fridge, smug
That would be fucking right
But I know he’s hiding the truth from me
The naughty shit
His skin — dark and rough and green
And yet he looks so perfect
Ready for a salad
Mine to take
Mine to eat

But my avocado
Hiding his foul brown-ness from me
Leading me on
Lying in my fridge
Lying to me
He’s nothing but a liar
Naughty little avocado
You’re naughty
You’re a naughty little shit



My Pen

Baby where did you go?
Three days
Three whole days since I lost you
My soul aches wondering where your plastic-self might be
Your spare ink cartridges lie still — no longer with purpose

Baby where did you go?
I still remember how you felt between my fingers and how you
Managed to speak for me
Even at the worst
Even at the best
Even in the middle

You were all of me when I was nothing
Ink running down to your tip
I could always coax out what you had
To spill

Baby where did you go?
It was easy
To work you, until you couldn’t help yourself
And then your hot, thick truth was all over my page
And you were mine
And I was yours

Baby, where did you go?



My Crazy

My crazy wakes up early and goes to bed late
My crazy knows that there isn’t enough time in the day
My crazy has a busy schedule and I am at the top of the list
My crazy has been watching me
My crazy has been paying attention
My crazy knows the drill, but
My crazy, she lacks imagination — for she looks just like me
My crazy talks like me
My crazy walks like me
My crazy smells like me
My crazy, well, she’s just like me
My crazy is me
My crazy is everything I want to be
My crazy is everything I’m not
My crazy is qualified
My crazy is tired, and
My crazy wants her life back
My crazy is going to win.

The Bunny

An Easter story for my nephew, Clancy John, for when he is old enough to read it and realise that his Aunty Al was always a little bit messed up.

For you, CJ.

The Bunny

I didn’t call you.

I didn’t call you at all.

Nevertheless, nevertheless

You steamed to me over the sea,

Fat and red, a placenta

— Sylvia Plath, Medusa

~ ~ ~

“Why don’t you want to leave out some carrots?”

CJ shrugged and wished his mum would leave him alone about the whole Easter Bunny business.

“Clancy, you’re seven now. You don’t need to listen to what those other kids at school say. They’re only trying to scare you.”

“I don’t listen to them mum,” he lied, forking his macaroni around his plate. “I just don’t really feel like leaving out the carrots tonight.”

His mum sighed, but at the same time she seemed to give up. She stood and cleared away the plates and CJ was happy the conversation was over.

His dad fought the case next. “CJ. We know that you’re a big boy now, but that doesn’t mean you have to pretend to be something you’re not.” CJ’s dad had always been that way — trying to make too big a point, too soon. “We can have hot-cross buns and marshmallow rabbits and chocolate eggs and all the things you like. Tomorrow will be fun, you’ll see.”

CJ knew it would be a nice day. That wasn’t the thing he was fighting his parents on. “Mum, Dad. I’m not trying to be naughty, I just don’t want to put any carrots out. I don’t want the — “ he hesitated, “ — the Easter Bunny to come tonight.”

CJ saw his mum giggle quietly at the sink as she scraped off the dirty plates. 

“CJ, son,” his dad started, seemingly determined to fight the case, “are you worried that if the Easter Bunny brings you gifts, the other kids at school will make fun of you?”

CJ was starting to get angry and his voice got loud. “Dad, I don’t care about the kids at school, I just don’t want that big Bunny near me.”

In the kitchen his mum turned around and her eyes were wide with surprise. “Clancy John, you will not raise your voice when you speak to your father.”

CJ felt the hot blush rise up into his cheeks and regretted saying anything at all. His macaroni was going hard and dry on his plate. He should have kept quiet about the stupid Bunny. He looked at his dad and noticed the man’s eyes were tired and wet. CJ looked back down again.

“Alright young man,” his mother said quietly, “I think it’s time you hit the hay. We’ll see you in the morning. But there will be no Easter treats for you, I’m afraid.”

CJ could breathe. No treats, thank goodness. He felt a wave of relief — The Bunny wasn’t going to come tonight.

~ ~ ~

A book and a glass of water were allowed him, and the fan was on the lowest speed — just enough to keep the air moving and the scary sounds at bay. 

CJ tried to focus on his reading, but every minute or so he found himself looking out the window. He was waiting for The Bunny. Sure, his mum had said it wasn’t coming, but CJ knew better than that. 

The trees rustled and the winded picked up and the night was full of whispering and jumps that he couldn’t ignore. He wished he had finished his macaroni — he always felt sleepier with a full tummy. Tonight he felt hollow and filled with nothing but worry. Nothing but thoughts of The Bunny.

The Bunny. 

CJ knew about pretend things. Things that were in his books. Things that were on the television. Things that didn’t exist in the world where he lived. Make-believe. Pretend. He knew the difference and he knew that sometimes dreams seemed like real-life, but you had to shake yourself free and bring yourself back to Mum, and Dad, and School, and Sunshine. 

All the scary things disappeared when the sun came up.

But not The Bunny.

~ ~ ~

The first time he had seen it had been in the middle of the night and at the time, it had been middle-of-the-night dark. Dark. So dark that CJ had almost believed that it was indeed, a dream.

Outside his window, sitting cross-legged with its back against the fence, was a huge pink, fluffy bunny. It had drooping pink ears and awful tennis-ball sized eyes that were as red as raspberry cordial. It was not like a rabbit, but more like someone who was dressed in a rabbit suit. CJ had gone to the window to get a better look and the someone-in-a-bunny-suit with the raspberry tennis ball eyes had waved at him enthusiastically. That was when he had seen the red splotches on it’s hands and feet. The Bunny opened it’s mouth and screamed into the night. It was like a million fingernails scraping down a million chalkboards. 

CJ had wet the bed that night. He hadn’t known that it wouldn’t be the last time he would see the bunny. Scary things disappeared when the sun came up. 

But not the bunny.

~ ~ ~

The second time was at breakfast the next day, Good Friday, when CJ was eating his cereal at the bench, listening to his parents bicker in their en suite. They thought he couldn’t hear them. The minivan was parked in the driveway outside the window and CJ had a clear view of it. 

He heard the gravel crunching and the dirty pink bunny came swaying up the path, stumbling here and there, a bottle in it’s hand. 

CJ was frozen with fear — he knew he shouldn’t be seeing what he was seeing — his held his spoon half way between his bowl and his mouth. The bunny looked up at him, head lolling. It waved. CJ didn’t wave back. 

The bunny cocked it’s head and it’s huge raspberry-red eyes stared at CJ. The splotches were still on it’s hands. CJ wanted to call for his mum or his dad, but no words came out of his mouth, and so, as the bunny tossed the bottle in the air and it smashed on the bitumen behind him, CJ felt the piss soaking into his school shorts. He wondered if anyone was going to save him.

~ ~ ~

The third time was the worst.

School. 

Big lunch. 

CJ had put on his hat and eaten his sandwich and his sultanas. He kept his apple aside. Lunch was always the best part of the day. School was good, but he found himself longing to be outside. Reading was good, but it was always better when he was outside and could feel the cool breeze and the bright sun on his face. 

His best friend was Sammy — big, burly, brown and blonde — Sammy was CJ’s anchor. They mock-wrestled on the oval; race each other from wall to wall; pretend to be Jedi knights; or go exploring in the bush beyond the far fence (which technically, was breaking the rules, but CJ felt safe if Sammy was with him). The two of them used their Big Lunch time to full capacity, and CJ loved it. He looked forward to it. He waited on edge for it.

But that day turned out to be different.

CJ sat on the bench near the fern trees. Sammy hadn’t arrived down from the sixth grade block by then. CJ turned his apple over and over in his hand — the bed wetting stuck in his mind. He thought about it over and over like the apple, and felt heat rush up to his face. He wanted to smash the apple to pieces. He didn’t want to eat it — he wanted to destroy it. 

A screeching sound caught his attention. CJ looked up to see the pink bunny with the red tennis-ball eyes waving at him from across the oval. It’s mouth opened and closed oddly, like a fish from the cartoons. CJ tensed up and willed himself back home. He willed himself anywhere away from the bunny Anywhere. Even back to his bed where maybe he could be asleep and maybe this could be a dream and maybe the sheets would be dry.

CJ wished Sammy would come down for lunch.

The bunny was motioning him over, calling him across the sea that was the oval, but CJ knew better than that — strangers and candy and balloons and all of that stuff — he knew a threat when he saw it. He stayed right where he was on the bench and felt his hand tighten around the apple. 

The screeching sound of fingernails got louder and Louder and Louder and LOUDER and LOUDER and…

“CJ?”

It was Sammy. The big, brown blonde boy stood in front of him looking worried. Clancy shook off his fear and looked past Sammy but the bunny was nowhere to be seen. He looked down again, certain he would find his school shorts soaked with piss, but they were dry and his apple lay on the ground next to his feet, un-crushed.

“Wanna go read this new Spiderman comic I got?” Sammy asked. “I don’t really feel like exploring today.”

CJ nodded. The words he clutched at seemed to dart away too quickly for him to know what they were. 

Sammy always knew when something was wrong and he always knew when it was best to be quiet and not ask about those things. CJ was glad for that. He wanted to burrow into his friend. He wanted for there to be a space inside Sammy where he could hide — away from The Bunny. 

The comic was a good one. Lots of action and interesting bad guys and exciting moments where you didn’t know if Spidey was going to save the day or not. Or not.

The bell signalling the end of Big Lunch rang. Sammy put a good, heavy hand on CJ’s shoulder, but it wasn’t enough.

The Bunny was already back. 

It was waiting over beyond the far fence of the school oval, holding a red balloon. The awful thing was waving like a maniac.

~ ~ ~

After homework had been assigned and school let out, CJ was sure he would be ambushed as soon as he stepped out of the gate. Sammy caught the bus so he was all the way on the other side of the school — useless. 

CJ loitered near one of the thick cemented gate posts and prayed for his mum to be early.

And by some miracle, she was.

“Clancy!” she called from the car, “c’mon cutie, I’m parked in the loading zone. Quick quick!”

CJ felt relief wash over him like a warm bath. Nothing mattered as he sprinted to the car — not the wet bed, not the cold fear, not the red balloon — nothing. He was home-free and it was the best feeling he could remember ever having.

“Good day kiddo?” his mum asked.

CJ tossed his school pack onto the floor and buckled himself into his seat. “Sammy had a new Spiderman comic. It was awesome!”

His mum laughed and pulled the car out into school traffic. Everything felt better.

~ ~ ~

When they got home they found his dad asleep on the couch, and CJ’s mum held a finger to her lips —  quiet. 

CJ did his homework on the kitchen bench even though tomorrow was a holiday. It was easy, just some simple math and a few word game but it was a nice distraction to waste away the time until dinner.

When his dad roused it was, as always, funny to CJ. The big man would blink his eyes open lazily, and look around as if nothing made sense; as if nothing was the right way up or the right way round. CJ knew the feeling but he never imagined his dad could feel the same way as he did.

His dad spoke to his mum. “There’s a roast in the freezer baby. If you take it out and let it thaw we can have it tomorrow for lunch.”

CJ kept his focus on his homework, he wanted to stay here in this moment with his parents forever. 

“Clancy my boy, did you have a good day?”

CJ nodded, but his dad persisted.

“So, I know your mother said the Easter Bunny wasn’t going to come tonight, but…”

CJ felt a jolt of terror at the thought — “You promised he wouldn’t come!”

His mum turned where she was in the kitchen, confusion in her face. “Clancy baby, what’s wrong?! Are you okay?”

CJ folded up his homework and slipped it back into his folder. “Sorry mum. I just want to go to bed.”

“Do you not feel well?” his dad asked.

CJ was desperate to retreat and hide under his blankets. “I’m just tired. I’m sorry about this morning.”

His mum looked hurt. “Baby, we aren’t mad anymore. The Easter Bunny won’t come if you don’t want him to, okay? We aren’t mad. We just…we thought you still believed in him sweetness.”

CJ kissed his mum and dad goodnight, and wondered what ‘believing’ really meant. In his room he closed the window and the blinds and the cupboards and the bedroom door — even though he never did that. He usually like everything open. But he wanted to keep it out. 

He wanted to keep The Bunny out.

~ ~ ~

When he woke CJ was buried under a pile of blankets and pillows and he was soaked in sweat. At first he was worried he had wet himself again, but he didn’t have the heart to check properly. 

He smelled something strong, something strange, like burning. Smoke.

Down near his feet, the bed dipped away suddenly. CJ’s stomach dropped out of him and he carefully pulled back the blankets.

Sitting on the edge of his mattress, smoking a cigarette, it’s big red eyes gleaming, was The Bunny. It was staring at him and had one leg crossed over the other. It’s mouth peeled into a wide grin. 

“Hey buddy,” it said in a low voice. The Bunny flicked ash onto CJ’s carpet and tapped a furry hand on it’s furry knee. “I hope you weren’t expecting me to hop around or anything.”

CJ felt the piss soaking into his pyjamas.

This Is Getting Old

“Jerry, take your meds.” Ellen was thin, quiet, but not to messed with. 

He didn’t really care today. 

“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.” 

She was right — they had done this a thousand times, and it did always turn out the same way — but he was still going to put on the show. 

Just to keep her distracted. 

He opened his mouth to protest (or so Ellen would think) but then threw in the three little pills and took a gulp of tea from his cup. Then he made a big deal of swallowing and opening his mouth again to show that the pills were gone. 

Ellen looked at him like she looked at everything else — with eyes that could see but would never really care — then she turned on her heels and walked the med cart over to Beverley Lewis who was drooling down the front of the bib that was tied haphazardly around her wrinkled neck. 

Jerry drank the water from his plastic cup to wash away the heat from the tea. He watched as one of the pills bobbed up to the milky surface in his mug and wondered how he was going to fix that situation. Letting the capsules hit the roof of his mouth and then get sucked back with the rest of the tea was easy; getting rid of them was a whole different thing that he hadn’t really thought about until this point. 
 
“Butter cake, Mr Downs?” It was one of the morning shift trainees. Luke or something. He was holding a flimsy plastic plate with a thin piece of dry butter cake on it. 

Jerry looked up at the kid and had an idea. “My fly has a tea in it.” 

“I’m sorry Mr Downs?” Luke-or-something was confused. 

“I mean, apologies — my tea has a fly in it.” 

“Oh. Oh... I see. Would you like me to make you a fresh cup?” 

Jerry went to stand up. “No no. I can do it. You carry on kiddo. But be sure not to get your fingers too close to Bev’s chompers,” he winked. 

The kid shrugged and continued on his butter-cake-mission around the ring of stained plastic chairs that were the main attraction in the common room of Pandonia Lodge. 

With plenty of effort, Jerry hoisted himself out of his plastic chair and shuffled over to the tea cart that was parked near the nurse’s station. 

As he dumped his tea (and secret stash of pills) into the waste bucked, a pair of dark eyes and a short, thin, electric-purple mohawk appeared from behind the cart. 

“Dom!” Jerry hissed, and turned back quickly to see if anyone was looking. 

They weren’t — Ellen was rigid as always, talking to a tired-looking resident; Beverly Lewis was stuffing butter cake in between her dentures; and Luke-or-something was turned towards a window mucking with his phone. 

Jerry slowly turned back to the cart. The purple mohawk was gone and so he poured another cup of tea, but just as he was stirring in the half-spoon of sugar that he liked, he heard a whispering voice to his left. 

“Jeeeeeeeeeee-rrreeeeeeeee...”

He turned his head to see Dom in a backwards hand-stand against the wall down the hall. A huge grin peeled itself right across the kid's face. 
 
“Oh my God!” the Dom exclaimed, “I’ve been waiting, like, only forever for you."

All Jerry could think was that he was going to be in trouble. They were going to be in trouble. “Dominique, you can’t be here!” 

“Jesus. You always say that.”

Jerry stepped further into the hall — away from the common room. “I say it because it’s true.” 

“Oh, c’mon Grandpa. Live it up a little.”

Jerry didn’t like that. “Please don’t call me Grandpa.” 

Dom pushed himself off the wall and stood up-right, his purple mohawk bobbing sideways and then back again. “Sorry J. I’ll call you Nancy if you prefer. Either way — I have a plan,” Dom said, winking one of his dark eyes. 

Jerry was tired. “No, not tonight Dom. I have to get back to the common room and check in with Ellen.” 

“Fuck that. I have a better idea.” Dom winked again and took Jerry’s hand in his own.

The skinny purple-haired teenager dragged the old man further down the hall, away from the common room of Pandonia Lodge and the tedious staff and residents who milled there, wasting away their lives.
 
“Where are we going Dom?” 

“To complete the first stage of my plan, Nancy. You and I are getting out of this prison.” Dom dragged Jerry past the awful unisex bathrooms, the steaming hot kitchen, and the security desk — they headed right for the staff locker room and Dom produced a silver master key from him pocket. 

“Where did you get that?!” 

Dom shrugged. “Stole it from the nurse’s station, Nancy. Whatchya’ gonna do ‘bout it?”

Jerry felt a tumultuous mix of worry and excitement inside himself. “This is bad Dom. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re going to get caught.”
 
Dom waved his hand in Jerry’s face as he opened the locker room door and pushed inside. “Oh don’t be such a scaredy-cat Nancy. All we need is one set of car keys and we are outta-here!” 
 
With a glance behind him, Jerry had no choice but to follow the purple mohawk though the door and hope that no one saw them. Inside it smelled of sweat and socks and Indian food. Jerry felt the urge to hold his breath. “What do we even need a car for, Dom? We’re not going anywhere without the pass-code for the main door.” 

Dom brushed a hand down the line of smooth skin next to his mohawk. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, old man. You just leave that to me.” Dom turned quickly and started rifling through the myriad bags that lined the benches. When he found a jingling key chain in what looked like a bowling ball bag he jumped up on the bench with a wild ‘ah-ha!’. 

“Get down from there Dom,” Jerry protested, feeling all his seventy-three years coming down upon him at once. He wanted to have fun but now was not the time, and this was not the place. Pandonia Lodge was where he lived now and it commanded respect. He had already disobeyed the rules by not taking his pills — by lying — and now stealing was just another step out of line. 

Dom jumped down from the bench and looked at Jerry with big, crazy eyes. “Remember when you used to knock off early on Friday afternoons and bust me out of school and we would go to the beach down past Golden Cove — where you knew that no one would recognise us, so we wouldn’t get in trouble? Remember?” 

Jerry looked down. He remembered.

Dom jangled the keys in his hand and tousled Jerry’s wispy grey hair. “Golden Cove was always my favourite place. Always.”
 
The old man felt a big fat lump swell up in his throat. 

~~~

“Jesus! Jerry! Where the fuck do you even think you’re going?” Ellen was not herself for a moment — she was huffing and puffing and there was bright pink colour in her usually pallid, unreadable face. She stopped in front of the Vespa 400 and Jerry could see her process as she put herself back together. She straightened up. The calm came over her and it was enviable. Jerry was used to the panic, even in his old age, even now that there was nothing to lose. He always got the guilts so easily and couldn’t help but feel every eye on him despite being the only one in the room. 

If only he could find a calm like that.

Jerry gripped the steering wheel of the Vespa and looked across at Dom who had his feet up on the dash, and his chin down on his chest, and his arm crossed like a sullen child. Jerry remembered that Dominique had always been a sullen child. Naughty and then sullen. Naughty and then sullen. Sullen when caught. 

“Tell her, then. I know you’re going to.” Dom’s electric-purple mohawk brushed against the car’s roof as he spoke. 

Jerry looked back up at Ellen and the words came out far too softly. To the beach. 

 “I’m sorry Jerry,” she said coldly, “did you say something?”

“To the beach.”

“To the beach?” 

He nodded, “Mmhmmmm.” 

“To the beach,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. 

Jerry swallowed and tasted the freedom that was about to be taken from him. 

Ellen took a few steps forward and placed her hands on the Vespa. “Turn the engine off please, Jerry. We’re going back inside.” 

Jerry shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tighter — he didn’t want to go back inside. 

“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.” 
 
He looked up and saw her face was serious. His confusion must have been apparent. “I was going to the beach,” he protested. 

“Who were you going to the beach with?” she asked, motioning for Luke-or-something to step and in get Jerry out of the car. 

Jerry turned to Dom, who was still sulking, and then back to Ellen. Her face was unreadable and slightly distorted on the other side of the Vespa’s windshield. 

“Jerry, who were you going to the beach with?”

Jerry, feeling all of his seventy-three years hanging over him, was finally ready to go back to Pandonia Lodge. “I was going to go with Dom. It was his plan, after all.” 
 
Ellen’s face didn’t change. “Dominique has been dead for forty years Jerry. I’m sorry. And I need to ask another question.” 

Jerry knew what the next question was — “No. I didn’t take my meds,” he said, feeling tired all of a sudden. 

When Jerry looked back to the passenger seat, Dom was staring right at him and the electric-purple mohawk had drooped a little. “Dad, I’m sorry. I just wanted to go to the beach.” 

Jerry smiled. “I know kiddo. So did I.”

Untitled

Untitled

And they both went down into the water
         — Acts 8:38

How quietly and slowly it is, that
You waste me away
How surely it is, that
You waste me down to nothing
You grind me down to dust

Dig up what you’ve buried and it will only stink of earth and rot

Dig up what you’ve hidden and it will ruin you

How entirely it is, that
You use me up and take all of my love
I am emptied out; cavernous, now.
And how slowly it is, that
You fail to fill me up again.
How slowly it is, that
You

Dig right down into the heart of me

Dig up what you’ve tucked away and it will be your end

How surely it is, that
I am not the means to your end
And so you dig

You and dig
And dig
And your hole
It fills
With water
Me; I fill with water

I fill with water and how slowly it is, that
I fill with water and yet it is not you
Who fills me

I can’t breathe
And you can’t tell
How surely it is, that
I fill
How slowly it is, that
I drown

Dig up things you’ve stolen and they will burn you

Dig into your luck and it crumbles

How quietly and surely you waste my time
And waste my body
And waste
My soul

How slowly it is, that
You lean back
Fall back
Into the water

And you take me with you.

Little Miss Turtle

Happy Valentine's Day


It was a blind and broken time
And kindness was forbidden
I guess I tried to hitch a ride
From acid to religion

But every guiding light was gone
And every good direction
The book of love I read was wrong
It had a happy ending

Leonard Cohen
The Great Divide -- from Book of Longing

*** 


I can’t sleep.

And it’s been eight minutes since I last looked at the clock because I’m looking at it again now, and it says 11:13PM and the last time I looked, it said 11:05PM. So that’s eight minutes.

Eight, very long minutes.

There’s something dripping. I can’t hear it all the time but if I stop and wait long enough, and make sure to listen properly, I can hear it. Something dripping. Maybe I left a tap on upstairs. Or maybe it’s the fridge again. Anyways, it doesn’t matter what it is because I know I won’t fix it, I’ll just keep letting it drip, whatever it is.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I was never very good at fixing things, or solving problems, or finality. I was never very good at letting go I suppose.

I would always wake up before you, I couldn’t help it. Probably the shift work or perhaps the caffeine that I yearned for; the caffeine I still yearn for. You would sleep without moving and I would lie there next to you and worry that the sound of my heart beating would disturb you. Now I just wake up whenever it pleases my body. I toss and turn and make a mother-fucking ruckus. I would wake the dead if they slept next to me.

It used to be that I would wake up and it would be an inconvenience except that what does it matter now? Sometimes I wake up and I hum a tune and then catch myself before I realise it doesn’t matter. Not now.

It doesn’t matter now.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Maybe it’s the other clock — the one outside our room, sorry, my room — the one I can’t see. Maybe it’s the other clock just tick-ticking away and maybe nothing is leaking or dripping at all.

I used to wake up early and be as quiet as I possibly could in the shower and then turn the coffee machine on and get out the milk and rip open a packet of Splenda and I would do all of this on edge. But you would sleep and none of it would bother you or wake you. I’d peek back into our room — sorry, my room — and you’d be in the same spot, unmoved, unchanged, lost in Sleepy Town. Nothing could ever raise you. Not until you were ready, at least.

It’s too early for coffee right now. Or is it too late?

I made bacon and onion and pasta last night. It didn’t work out well. It was too wet and the crappy shrivelled beetroot leaves that I put in it made the pasta an unappetising pink colour. I ate a couple of spoonfuls and then left it to sit in the pot. It’s probably congealed by now, but I’m so lazy that I’ll dump it into a plastic container and pretend like I’m going to eat it for lunch tomorrow, at work. But I already know it’s shit and I already know I won’t eat it tomorrow. At work.

Work. That thing I have to do tomorrow.

I definitely won’t eat it.

You would have made something nice — something impressive — like pasta with a homemade sauce. Or chicken wings with slaw. Or salisbury steak. You would have let me cut the onion.

Baby, you would say, please be careful. Last time you almost sliced off your finger. Pay attention, okay? I would blush and when it was almost done you would let me taste it for seasoning and I would say, no it doesn’t need any salt, and you would smile and say,  And then you would add a little more salt.

I can’t sleep and you would say it’s because I don’t exercise enough. I don’t expend enough energy to be tired at the end of the day and I know you’re right but you’re not here and so it doesn’t matter anymore.

I wake up early, long before you do, but you put everything into your day and I am a slow, underachieving turtle. You are loud and I am turned down so low that soon I might just disappear.

Little Miss Turtle.

11:22PM. Drip. Drip. Drip.

At work you would text me and ask how my day is going and I would lie and say it’s good. I'm killing it, I would say.

Does my pillow smell like you? Maybe it just smells like me and I can’t remember what I smell like so I attribute it to you; to your smell.  It smells more manly than me, I think. You smell like trees. Trees and grass and forest air. You slept like dead-wood and I always woke before you did. You were the slumbering log and I was the…

What was I?

The turtle. Little Miss Turtle.

After dinner you would go for your run and I would watch you out the kitchen window as you disappeared down the path next to the road. Every night you would disappear and all I could think was that you weren’t going to come back. The irony in that, is that one day you didn’t. There was always going to be that day time that you didn’t come back. And that one day held true — you didn’t come back.

I have to work in three hours. I stare at the clock and know that I’m going to look unrested and strung out and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll put on my work shirt and some makeup and hope that there aren’t any meetings scheduled today.

When you met me you decided that you hated my job and that in turn, I hated my job. Four ay-em? you baulked. No one starts work at four ay-em! Your body clock will be so off, baby.

You were right I suppose. Perhaps all of me is off. I can still hear it, but I’m not sure if it’s real — drip, drip drip.

For a long time your side of the bed was empty, but that got to be too much. Now I have books on the sheets amidst the dust, because I haven’t changed them for weeks. The sheets, that is. Maybe it’s more than weeks by now.  Drip, drip, drip. Coffee and a grapefruit is not breakfast, baby.

I shaved my legs tonight like it was date night. Like it was Thursday or Friday and you were going to take me out. Like you used to do.  You would give me attention and order me too many drinks and not enough carbohydrates so that I would be easy once we got home. So that I would let you have whatever you want. I knew how it worked and I never said anything but that was probably because I liked it that way. I liked it when I was yours — when I belonged to you.

Now, if I wanted to, I could sleep for days without worry. But I can’t. Now, I can’t sleep at all.

I can’t sleep.

I shaved my legs and they’re smooth now, but me in my bed by myself, what’s the point of smooth legs? You’re not going to take me out. No one is going to take me out. I’m in my bed and all I can think is that I-have-to-work-in-two-and-a-half-hours. It’s on a loop inside my head.

If I wanted to I could come home and get into bed straight away. I could change into my jimmies without doing anything — without cooking dinner or washing the dishes or saying even a single word. I don’t do that, but sometimes I think about doing it. Sometimes I really want to do it.

When I come home now I usually do a lap around the yard and pretend like I am committed to our garden — sorry, my garden. I fill the watering can and feed the parsley, the three rose pots, the succulent on the front table (it has a flower now, by the way), and the rosemary bush, which has grown into a tree in it’s own right. Then I come inside and I kick off my shoes and strip off my sweat-soaked work shirt and wonder how many hours it will be until I can sleep tonight. Drip, drip, drip.

Probably all of the hours to be fair.

I considered dinner on the way home in the car — an old burrito wrapped in tin foil in the fridge, a sandwich made with the bread from the box which I know is already stale, or pizza ordered in. You would hate all three options but you’re not here anymore. I’m a slow, slow turtle who doesn’t want to cook tonight.

Little Miss Turtle.

Last Valentine’s Day you bought me seven roses. They were variegated. Pink and red and peach. It was the first time you’d given me flowers and I didn't’t really know how to act. Today is February 13th and those roses are brown and grey and dried up, but they’re still in the vase that I put them in a year ago. I had to empty out the water because it started to stink, but once they were dry I put them back in and keep them on the dining table, where they sit.

I didn’t exercise today — I came home and poured a gin and drank it in two minutes and thought about texting you. I didn’t get any steps. Well, maybe twenty or so, but not enough to impress you even a tiny bit. I didn’t do all the things you used to tell me to do over and over again. I didn’t expend energy. I didn’t work hard without thinking about what it would get me. I didn’t ignore the externals. I didn’t feel thankful for all the things that I had. All I did, at the end of the day, was consider the ice in my glass and twist my hair into a ratty knot and I think about texting you.

11:22PM. That’s nine more minutes. I pour another gin and watch the dead roses on our, sorry my, dining table. I’m worried they might move or come back to life somehow. Perhaps if I stare at them long enough. Drip, drip, drip.

Sometimes (and you’d laugh at me) I drag my pillow and blanket out and set up a makeshift bed under the table downstairs. It feels like I’m camping — like I’m just out camping and that’s why you’re not here with me. I thought about texting you.

Hey little turtle. Did you get your steps today?

Once, in the morning, I dropped a glass in the kitchen and it smashed into a million pieces and I froze in panic at the cacophonous sound. But you didn’t wake up. You didn’t even hear it. I cleaned up the mess and you woke up at the time that you always woke up and you asked me if I was feeling positive and ready for the day.

Yes, I said. Yes, of course. A lie. Nothing but a lie. Drip, drip, drip.

11:29PM. Seven minutes. Seven minutes.

There’s a space — a point that hollows out in the center of my chest — you used to rest your fingers there after we were done having sex and it made me feel like perhaps gravity really could hold me down and stop me from floating away.

11:31PM. Two minutes.

I didn’t have dinner. I had another gin and I stayed quiet so that I could hear the drip, drip, drip.

I thought about texting you.

Valentine’s Day last year you told me that you loved me and you asked me if I wanted to marry you. I told you I wasn’t sure and that I would have to think about it.

I guess I fucked up. Little Miss Turtle messed up everything.

I thought about texting you tonight.

But you won’t get it. You won’t ever get another text from me.

The space where my necklace used to hang is empty. The space where you used to be is empty. I’m empty.

I’m fucking empty.

And I can’t sleep.


Feb 14th 2015
Man Dies in Chatinnya Lake

The details are still unclear, however the Westlow police station has confirmed that young local man, Bobby Callick, has been lost to the Chatinnya lake just below Chatinnya Bridge.

His car was found in the late hours of today, February 14th, floating downstream towards the spill, and the guardrail damage is consistent with that on his vehicle. There is no sign of foul play.

The county is confident that this incident is an accident despite the insistence by the victim’s finance that this was a suicide.

Mr Callick’s family will be holding a memorial at the Lutheran church in Westlow County due to crews being unable to retrieve the body from Chatinnya Lake. Our prayers are with them. There will be no formal burial.