Feeling Sorry for Celia (17 page)

Well, Celia and Saxon and I got the train back from Coffs Harbour and it was really cool. We were all getting on so well, and sometimes we read books or magazines, and sometimes we played games like Hangman or Boxes, and sometimes we just talked. We had great conversations, everyone saying funny things and everyone laughing. One time we decided
to get food, and Saxon and I
insisted
that Celia stay sitting while we went and got it for her. Because she’s still not very well, see. We were looking after her, and both of us making sure she was warm and drinking plenty of water and everything.

Saxon and I walked all along the train, right up to the other end looking for somewhere to buy food. He checked that I was okay in the scary bits between the carriages, when the train’s shaking and it feels like the metal bits are going to collapse beneath your feet. That’s how I feel between carriages anyway. And Saxon held open the door for me, and even took my hand sometimes to make sure I was all right.

We got right up to the other end of the train and there was no cafeteria carriage. We had to turn around and go all the way back. We went past Celia really quietly so she wouldn’t know we’d gone in the wrong direction, and she didn’t see us because she was leaning her cheek against the window and watching the banana plantations go by. It turned out that the cafeteria carriage was the
very next one down
. Like just one carriage in the other direction. For some reason Saxon and I thought this was the most hilarious thing ever to happen. We just stood there wobbling in the cafeteria carriage, laughing and laughing and laughing.

The guy behind the counter waited patiently, and the train bumped a bit, and we kind of fell against each other, and we were rocking, hugging each other, and laughing, and practically crying. No I think actually crying. That’s how much we were laughing.

Then we bought Cokes and sausage rolls and chips (which cost like a million dollars on trains – did you know trains rip you off just like they do at movies with popcorn?)
and we took them back to Celia, and we were kind of hiccuping laughter, and our stomachs hurt from laughing.

I think when the train pulled in to Central Station, and Celia’s mother was standing there holding an enormous sunflower in her hand, I actually felt happier than ever in my life before. My best friend was practically flying off the train to see her mum, and Saxon and I were standing back and looking at each other, kind of like ‘isn’t that nice?’ and feeling proud of ourselves, and carrying Celia’s stuff between us.

Then Celia’s mum gave Saxon and me a big hug too and said, ‘Thank you for bringing my little shooting star home with you’ and we all cried.

Celia’s mum dropped me off at my place first, and we all said, ‘see you on the bus tomorrow’ and I just felt like everything had changed colour in the world. Like this really special feeling of being sunburnt and sandy would stay forever. Like from now on everything would be the three of us in the basket of a hot-air balloon, floating around the clouds together.

I went inside my house and straight away the good feeling went bad.

Straight away I had this sensation like something was wrong.

My mum wasn’t there, but there was a note on the fridge from her, which said, ‘Call me at work. I have something bad to tell you.’

So I called her.

And then I realised what was wrong in the house.

My dog wasn’t there.

It was because he was dead.

I never thought that could happen. I mean, seriously, I
never once ever imagined that Lochie could just
die
. It was because he got hit by a car. My God, I don’t know why I never thought that might happen considering that we live on a really busy road, and bloody semi-trailers go past our place all the time. And Lochie’s favourite hobby was escorting them up the road.

I just thought he was being polite, you know?

It happened a couple of days before I got back, my mum told me, and whoever did it didn’t even stop. Mum found Lochie when she came home from work that day – he’d crawled on his stomach all the way down the street and ripped his stomach open, and left a trail of blood, and he was just lying in our front yard.

I know people’s dogs die all the time, and it’s not like a grandma dying or anything. I mean, you’re supposed to just go, ‘oh well, at least he didn’t get old and sick and arthritic, at least he died when he was still chasing semis down the street.’

But I couldn’t make anything work that night. I couldn’t make my head work or my arms and legs work. I just went dead all over.

Mum came home and made me chicken noodle soup and put me to bed like a little girl.

And the only thing keeping me going was this: I was thinking, ‘I’ll tell Saxon and Celia tomorrow’. Just over and over. ‘I’ll tell Saxon and Celia as soon as I get on the bus.’

So the next morning, I got on the bus and that had turned into a kind of chant in my head, ‘I’ll tell Saxon and Celia’ – and somehow that was going to make everything okay.

They got on at their stop and I’d saved a seat for them behind me.

So I turned around and said hello, and I was thinking in my head, ‘don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry’, and I told them.

They were nice, of course, in a kind of friendly way. Like, ‘oh no, that’s terrible’. But it wasn’t going how I imagined. They were looking at each other and going ‘god, how awful’ and it just wasn’t going to cure me.

Then for some reason I
wanted
to cry, like my whole head was full of tears, and I wanted to cry and cry, and for them to hug me, and everyone to stare. But I couldn’t cry. It was like I wanted it too much and that was blocking the tears.

Celia and Saxon did their ‘oh, Elizabeth, that’s so awful’ thing for a few minutes. And then Saxon says this: ‘Yeah, I know how you feel, Elizabeth. One of the horses on my dad’s farm had to get shot last year because of an infection. I was just gutted by it. I loved that horse. But we’ve still got other horses at the farm and that makes me feel better. Maybe you should think about getting another dog?’

And Celia says, ‘Well, maybe, but maybe it wasn’t fair having a dog in suburbia anyway? It’s not really where dogs belong.’

And Saxon says, ‘That reminds me, Celia. I want to ask you to come and stay on our farm with me some weekend soon. My parents think it might be good for you to get some country air.’

And Celia says, ‘Sure.’

And they start talking about the farm, and horse-riding, and sheep and cow manure and leeches.

And they never say another word about my dog.

And Saxon never asks me to go to the farm too. Just Celia.

And when we’re getting off the bus, I say to Saxon, ‘You want to come running with me tonight?’

Saxon says he thinks his knee’s playing up and he doesn’t think he wants to go in the Forest Hill Half Marathon any more, because he thinks we missed too much training up in Coffs Harbour, and plus he has to catch up on his school work (give me a break).

Then, as we’re going into school, Celia whispers to me, ‘He wants me to see a movie with him tonight. Cool, huh?’

So, that’s what happened.

Stupid, isn’t it.

I should go. I have to start making dinner before my mum gets back from work.

Love from

Elizabeth

Dear Elizabeth,

You know, you can take the whole best friend thing too far.

Celia would have been okay without you rescuing her. She’s always okay.

But back here, Christina needed you, and you weren’t here for her.

And Lochie needed you. He was probably lying there in your front garden crying for you, wondering where you were, hour after hour.

And where were you?

Try and think about who your
real
friends are in the future, huh?

Sincerely,

Best Friends Club

Dear Elizabeth,

Just letting you know we’ve withdrawn your name from our mailing list.

There is nothing remotely secret or mysterious about you. You’re just a dumb teenager who got some crazy ideas about herself.

As far as you are concerned, we no longer exist.

As far as
we
are concerned,
you
no longer exist.

Please destroy this letter.

Yours contemptuously,

The Secret and Mysterious Association of Secret and Mysterious People

Dear Elizabeth,

There is nothing romantic about you.

We think that a tiny part of you was actually
happy
that your dog had died.

Because you thought that would make Saxon Walker go all googly over you, didn’t you? You actually thought he might take you in his arms and hug you, and you thought he might cry with you, for you and for your dog and you thought he might ask you out to try and cheer you up.

And you thought he might hug you again when you went out, didn’t you, and you thought you might look
beautiful
with tears on your lashes and your eyes glinting, and a terrible, beautiful sadness on your face.

And you thought he would be swept away by you, and that he would kiss the tears from around your eyes, and kiss your forehead to comfort you, and hold your elbows gently, and kiss the tears on
your cheeks, and then his mouth would find your mouth and kiss you over and over.

You thought all that didn’t you, and you were
glad
that your dog had died weren’t you?

You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

We want nothing to do with you.

The Young Romance Association

Dear Elizabeth,

We told you so.

COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION

Wallpaper your bedroom in black, Elizabeth;

Close the curtains, pull down the blind, turn off your light, and Turn up your stereo loud, Elizabeth

louder,

louder,