A Girl Is a Half-Formed Thing (8 page)

We were moving off now. From each other. As cannot be. Helped. I didn’t help it from that time on. You know. All that. When you said sit with me on the school bus. I said no. That inside world had caught alight and what I wanted. To be left alone. To look at it. To swing the torch into every corner of what he’d we’d done. Know it and wonder what does it mean. I learned to turn it off, the world that was not my own. Stop up ears and everything. Who are you? You and me were never this. This boy and girl that do not speak. But somehow I’ve left you behind and you’re just looking on.

4

Fifteen sixteen. Eat coleslaw sandwiches with ham on top. My legs tucked up underneath my skirt. Tights stretched tight that I hate for they rub. Coffee. Me and my friend on the mitch. This is neat and clean where I can be. My growing-up. She smells like biscuits. Crisps. Old fags in her oil and her hair. I think her knickers must stink down there. It wafts up sometimes when she crosses her legs. Or is it tights too. Skirt rolled-up polyester. But I like anyway.

She and me. Like to lurk here in the day. Those gossips we have are the very best and we read and read. Quote quotes back forth. That’s good for sharing books of this and that. Word perfect. We snick snack at each other. Correct each other’s grammar. Chew gum and talk and think of sex. I do not say but hint a little. That’s a powerful thing I know.

And we go on travels. Great worlds to our minds, like interrail from here to there. Slum it downtown Bucharest eat cheese in Paris fall in love. Take boats in Venice to Constantinople by the train. Where speak good Russian Portuguese. Know people. Flit around the world to New York parties. Kandahar. We don’t know the world but want and want and on the very tip of tongue I’d fly away if I could. With her. It is our love affair. How we’d be. Who we think we are beneath royal blue jerseys and pleated skirts. Icon in the making me someone new tell every single one at school to go to fucking hell. And sometimes we sit by the lake. An early morning or some after school – in the daytime monitors drive there to catch whoever’s on the hop. Read Milton and feeling moved discuss the heavens and the earth and film stars we’d do with a chance. It’s love. It. Is. Love. Or love waiting for a man to come and take her place. But how would someone fit, I don’t know, in between us two.

She is sufficiently hated by all at home to make the escapade worthwhile – having a friendship outside that womb. Making it an empty shell. Escape of me. We don’t say lots of secret stuff but good for a laugh and that’s enough. Who is better? She or me? Quick quickest. Fastest putting down. I belt her to the canvas every time. Still. She has something I’ve not got. That’s. Everyone else on her side. This is being liked at school. She sway there here and there to this one that. Can I borrow your copy? Can I have a crisp? Always smells like cheese and onion for it at the break. Too looking in her books I find how square roots done I never bother learning that. My brain isn’t. I’m up for Art and nothing else. Strict in it I’m on the outside of these schoolmate mates, being drawn in somehow by herself. Working so hard at working the room. Having people say hello. What’s that? What’s that? I learn.

For a change now I wear my skirts high. Rolled up to the arse when I get off the bus. A new thing. Where’s it from? Seed. Is this. Is in my head. We are going towards a new and I’ll tell when I get there. It’s not straightforward yet. But when it comes she’ll know.

You are behind. You are way behind in this. I see you lagging. I can see you limping off at the back but I’m getting very tired of looking around and in a bit I’ll leave you to the fates. She knows you but she doesn’t care and we are speaking less and less because. In all that you make me want to get away. It’s too much and you’re much too. Young. For me now. Is the simple truth. Where I’m going you cannot come.

That I am turned fifteen is true. You three years more than me. At eighteen Leaving Cert. Is due. You’re almost there. I do not toil nor do I spin but you do. That upstairs every night. The light on scribbling, dream away you must so your results always say. But you’re polite and getting by. They wish the best said teachers all to our mother who can bang her head on every wall. What will you do? Where will you go? She says almost every night. I think you’d like to stay at home. Bring coal in. Clean the fire. Stoke the range. Find something living here. She cannot see you doing out in the world. I see. I agree.

I see you still at school. The sometimes butt but always desperate eager to be one of those ones. Of the boys who lurk smoking. Who wish they knew the insides of the girls and say so often. Say out loud hey Miss I think I’m so good, come here and give me. Oh fuck off. You’re not like those boys. Don’t go looking up to them. You do. Too obviously for me. They don’t want you. Can’t begin to know what you’re like inside this you who’s still good at falling over. Walking into visible things. And I do not either. Consumed with all my dreams and shames.

What’s wrong with your brother? He’s a bit. You know. You know. What? Well he’s a bit you know. Know? Ahem, a little bit strange? He looks a bit. Is he a bit slow? No. That’s a really stupid thing to say. Jesus who are you, saying things like that to me? You’re a fucking bitch sometimes you know that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I heard someone say is all. Heard who you better tell me now. Heard who say what about him now? I mean it, fucking say.

She did tell me after that. Once I’d made her feel ashamed. A rumour going round the school that your brother should be in some mental school for retards they said that in class he doesn’t know to properly read when called out loud and never answered questions right. That when he failed a geography test he told the teacher she was ruining his life. Doing him down before the class. He shouted and pushed her and they had to pull him off. That he’s a psycho. Blaming everyone for being thick. Oh is that what they say? Someone said your family is all fucked-up. Blow-ins weirdo’s born-agains or something bad as that. And about me? Go on. You might as well I’d rather know. I was proud of being brave. I thought that’s what I had to be and asking it was showing how. You she said well they think you’re weird and really up yourself. You’re always wearing that long coat and never talk to all the lads. That you’d be something if you tried. I know not I do not understand but think and think on after this of ways back in and to revenge. Not take any notice they can see but bend myself in secret til. What? Til I can lift this. Fury. Out. And get them. Really well and get her for. For. All kinds of things. For the good word in my ear and thanks for that she was too kind and liked the telling just too well.

On a spring day’s when I hop the world in this new way I’d never done. We take off early she and me to down the lake on the chance school gaelic match keeps all monitors at their bay. It’s usual too and she and me are not the ra-ra going kind. We snicker over them at that and buy some biscuits on the way. Sophisticated we think kind with blueberries were rare. Blueberries are the great unknown and must be something in New York like muffins lattes and ice-tea. We see the television. We know here is not like there. And I am reading Scott Fitzgerald know that I must drop the F. Think American twenties just divine and I’d be Zelda if I could. Think suffering’s worth it. To be mad a fine exciting thing to be for those short times in those mad years. Wearing pearls and drink champagne and bob my hair and show my knees. Be daring darling simply wild. I’d be if I had a chance I’d be. She. Feeling more pre-Raphaelite has dyed her hair an orange red and keeps Rossetti in her bag for reference always to be inspired by love and nature and dying young. Her choice is poor compared to me I think but nod and smile along at every quote. Think her a little behind and all that cheap to be admired.

So blueberry biscuits and bottle of coke we go sloping in the back streets down to the lake where the sun shines waters lap and all the birds sing. And we sit in the grasses down beside the water’s edge. I will not put my feet in though I’d like to if I could. But it’s not cool and I’m too old now for that I’d say. We talk. All that usual that we do. Lie take the sunshine on our eyelids consider why this makes see red. Think beat of blood. Guts and things. An almost hazy day but for nip on the breeze a bit. Shredding grasses with our thumbnails. Throwing grass seed on the lake we look for fishes come gobble up. They do not. They are staying low. This lake’s as bottomless as the pit she says. Goes down into the middle of the earth. Everyone knows that that’s why so many people drown here and their bodies never pop back up. I think I’m listening to this but off in the distance over the brambles are sounds of boots. I prick my ears. The lads approach. The boys I know them by the sounds of hoarse laughing and shoving push. Ssss she says it’s the lads they must have mitched the match as well. Prick up. Sit up looking around.

They see us shout girleens, girleens! Decide they’re coming down to sit by us in our hidey hole. There wind’ll catch their fag smoke and take trace off into the sky with it.

Oh you two. I thought it was someone else. Oh right. But now we’re here lads shall we stay put? We laugh at that, she and me. And kind of rippley felt within for no good reason but this was something new. Some attention’s what we like. Noticed and worthy of these cool boys staying down with us.

Hey what’s that book you’re reading there? God how can you read books at all? Look at that three hundred pages an awful lot to read. Ye two are always really strange. What? You know using all long words. Sure you don’t know either of us I say. When did we last speak to any of ye she snippedys and not at all pleased to be made up posh or strange or anything far from their fine herd. Anything too like me. Well you know you don’t go out at all. Ye’re never down here with everyone else are ye? Oh drinking on Saturday night? When the guards come and chase you all away? I can’t resist. Hiding in the ditch sounds great craic. Ha ha you’re so funny says one turn his face from me with. Mumble mumble. At least we’re out having it instead of sitting home reading books thinking you’re so great. And how do you know I think that? But they’re not interested, saying to each other, have you them maths done and did you hear yer man got his hand broke in the vice down the woodwork room last night? Fuck. They cracked his knuckles. At least he won’t have to do the tests next week. Ha ha well for some. I’m going to be bollixed in Irish.

I’m needled now wishing they would go away. It’s enough and I’d like the quiet back. I turn. I start to read. I leave her for she loves to flirt it seems. Shallow stupid bitch. I’ll save for later suck-up jibes. Didn’t know you always had to be everyone’s friend. I suppose if being popular’s important… leave the rest unsaid. Annoy her. It’s her own thick fault.

In a while of mouthing I get up and walk off. She calling what’s up with you? I’m just going for a walk. Well don’t get caught or let us know. Cough loud if you see. Yes yes. I stroll. Feel the grass slit through my hands when I tug trail it. Sharp as ice inside the deeper finger and thumb crease. I am warming up the fire to think of him. Of my legs round him. Gloss and embellish. Gasped my name. Broke my heart. My longing longing. Not for him but I think so. I let it be. If only they knew it’d be revenge for everything. Pick a primrose. I like the touch it has the soft and smell and crush gently gives the best and lasting perfume on my fingers. Squeeze pollen falling on the ground and wipe that off on my skirt. The muck earth slithering under my feet. How would they ever understand my life is more than cider? Complex than that. Fuller deeper richer. Irritation that. Something. Not as good as me in the back of my head. In my silent they’re not so clever not so quick and rule the world anyway as if it’s fair. Think I’m too good. I am but would not say it to their face. Lucky for them. I’d annihilate. Champing at the. I would. Such. I would. Hey aren’t you the sister of yer man in our year?

Behind me in the thicket. Standing up against the light. I cannot see him very straight. The fella with the head thing. What? Yeah you are his sister I know you alright. Bristle bristle hair on my spine and on the back of my neck. You go on the bus with him or sometimes don’t you? My brother’s got a little scar on his forehead if that’s what you mean. Except it’s not that little, and all that bullshit story about the knife he says. It’s not. What? Bullshit as if you’d know anything just because you’re in his year. I wasn’t having a go. Yeah right. Yes. I see. Well. Don’t be so uptight. Oh fuck off I know what you lads are like in that year. And what are we like? You know. What? I know what you did to him so don’t bullshit me with you’re all interested and nice. All I said was you’re his sister nothing more and nothing less. Oooh defensive too. I amn’t. Yes you are and you lot should be ashamed. Why? I didn’t do anything to your brother if that’s what you’re saying. Oh didn’t you? I didn’t. I turn. I sit down. Let the morning drizzle in it’s shush I think now. I don’t want to talk to lads like him. The purpose is? I close my eyes and let him do the work if he wants. He can’t I wouldn’t. I would not. I’d almost sleep here but it’s much too cold. I’m sick with churning round the things ever said of you. And listen for him beat retreat he doesn’t. He must stand and look. Hmmm this one with his big ears. To win I sudden streak. I’ll be dumb-founding. And out of my throat comes a voice I don’t know that says in words my thoughts out loud. The lads in your year are fucking scum and bastards and thicko pig-ignorant culchies. What? They stink of hair gel on too thick and biactol that doesn’t even work. Your friends. The nice boys of your year. Pimply faces white as never seen the light and crusty lips and dirty hands. Think they’re all so cool and can piss on me and my brother but really they’re just desperate for someone anyone to give them a wank. Just leave me alone. But he didn’t answer. That voice already burning in what they don’t know for all their talk. What am I? God. Is that right. How would that be? But there’s some bit feels savage. That doesn’t know the wrong from right and sees the way to venge. I might. I am. I will.