Authors: Abigail Tarttelin
I shift uncomfortably in the cinema seat. There are more people in for this screening. The trailers are still rolling. I don’t want to cry in front of them. I start to panic a little, and my breathing gets faster as I think. As I realise that I am going to be intersex my whole life. Years and years and decades, maybe for seventy years, I’ll be like this. And, unless I find someone who doesn’t mind having sex with me, I’m going to be alone all that time. I’ll probably be alone all that time. Think. How difficult it is for people to find someone they love, who likes the same things as them, who has the same values, who wants the same things out of life, and then imagine adding to that the fact that they not only have to be OK with having sex with a hermaphrodite, they have to like it.
Without being a totally weird pervert, I add to myself.
My cheeks are so hot, and I look up, and the movie’s started, and it’s this sex scene.
I look up and look straight down again. I don’t watch stuff like this. Because I don’t want to know what I’m missing, what I’ll always be missing. I look up. I see breasts.
I look down. I feel weird. I feel like I want to get out of the auditorium, but there are people on both sides of me in my row.
I look up. I try to imagine me, in a scene like this. But I can’t.
I look down again.
I look up. They’re properly mashing. I imagine Marc and Carl in a couple of years’ – no, months’ – time, able to do that, talking about it with each other, sharing in-jokes that I don’t get. And they see I don’t get them and they drift away from me and we stop being friends. There’s a lot of moaning going on. I blush. I wriggle. I put my hands in my lap and pick my fingernails, watching the figures on the screen, in the dark.
I stand up.
‘Excuse me.’
People tut. I sniff my sleeve. I smell really, overpoweringly like weed.
‘Excuse me.’
I shuffle past everyone and walk quickly to the door and out. There’s a toilet and I go in it and lock the door. The light comes on automatically, and it’s just us again, me and my reflection. I turn away from him.
The bathroom is marble. The sink is set back into the wall, on a marble bench. I lean against the wall, with the mirror on my right.
The thing is, Dad
, I think.
I’m trying to hold it together. This is me trying. I really am trying
.
I look down at my Converse. My feet are too small. My hands are too small. Soon everything will be too small, and too delicate, and maybe I won’t make the football squad when I go to sixth form college, and then university. Maybe I won’t be the Max that rules the school. Maybe I’ll just be a loner, a too-androgynous, too weak to play football, too frigid to kiss loner. Then one day I’ll be nothing of my own. I’ll be an uncle to Daniel’s kids. I’ll be a provider for Mum and Dad in their old age because I’ll never have a family of my own. I’ll be the person who always has time to be there for other people. That doesn’t sound so bad. Settling for not so bad sounds OK. But, you know, it’s hard when you tried so much to make life really good.
I look down at my purple Converse again. I look at my face sideways in the mirror. In the bathroom light, it’s much darker. It’s much older.
I turn away and choke. I start to cry. I haven’t the whole week. I didn’t even after the operation. I try to wipe it away and be quiet so no one outside will hear and come see what’s wrong. I reach for the hand towels and try to fix my face.
I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m an idiot for thinking it could ever be OK. I’m an idiot for thinking that if I just stayed in fucking bed I could forget it, and everything would go away. I’m a stupid idiot.
I
t wasn’t my idea to go out tonight, but Dad wants me to get out and meet other people my own age. I think he’s not happy about me having all older boyfriends. He doesn’t know about Max.
‘She should get out and have fun and make friends,’ he said, turning to Mum. ‘Shouldn’t she?’
Mum shrugged. ‘Ah, she’s fine. I like her being a weird loner.’
‘Thanks for the help,’ said Dad.
Still, Carla Hollis had rung the house, asked if I wanted to come to the Town Hall, where everyone in Hemingway hangs out. It’s basically a club. Kind of. There’s a lot of crap metal played there, but some good rock and lighter stuff. It’s not that great, but it’s OK. She was being nice because I’d been upset at school during Games, and she’d heard through Emma (somehow Emma knows everything) that Max and I had broken up.
So I got dressed up kind of
Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
-y goth.
As I head out, I say bye to Mum and Dad, and Mum says, ‘You look cool’, just as Dad says, ‘You look terrifying.’
O
utside the cinema I see Marc and the group of guys.
They call me over and I feel like I’m walking into a different world as I cross the road to be with them. We head for the Town Hall, which is a Friday night club for sixteen- to twenty-one-year-olds, where local bands play. We hang out with the older guys from the cinema, who are complete wankers but think they’re cool. They stink of pot. But then so do I. Everybody gets drunk.
Kerry is there.
She cuddles up to me in the club. She starts kissing my neck. I get drunk. Marc tells me he’s had sex with Olivia. I get more drunk. I can hardly walk. Kerry pulls me outside. She pushes me against the wall and kisses me. I kiss her back. She puts my hand under her skirt. I touch her.
Then she unzips my jeans and slips her fingers between my fly.
‘I’m on the pill,’ she whispers.
I shake my head. She shrugs and pulls a condom out of the mobile phone pocket of her parka.
‘No.’ I shake my head, pulling away. ‘Sorry.’
I practically run back inside.
As soon as I’m back in the dark hall, I see Hunter by the bar. The light there illuminates his face. He sees me and stares at me. I feel his dark eyes on my neck even when I turn away. I feel him walking up to me.
‘Hey!’ he says, loudly over the music. I face him. ‘My sources tell me you just went outside like five minutes ago with Kerry Duncan. I guess you don’t take that long, hey?’ He laughs.
I shrug, look through him, look around him. There is a group of girls lined up against the wall. They are all looking at him like they fancy him. Some of them are looking at me the same way. Hunter follows my eyes and winks at them. He’s dark and foxy. I’m blond and angelic. One of them giggles and waves at us both. I feel a lump rising in my throat.
Hunter turns back to me, licks his lips, grins darkly.
‘Wonder what they’re imagining,’ he says, leaning in to me, his breath hot on my neck. His lips brush my skin and he pulls back and grins.
‘I had to have an abortion,’ I mumble.
‘What?’ He frowns. I guess he can’t hear me over the music.
‘Hey, Hunter,’ Kelly Morez calls, walking past us.
‘Hi,’ Hunter says dismissively.
I shake my head, turning away.
‘Max!’ he yells, grabbing at my jacket, then at my waist to turn me around. ‘What did you say?’
‘Get away from me,’ I say, feeling my eyes water. ‘I hate you.’
‘What’s wrong?’ he says, holding my coat.
‘Pregnant,’ I drunkenly mutter.
‘Huh?’ He looks at my stomach, then back to my face.
‘I got rid of it.’ I wipe tears from my face with my sleeve and push him off feebly.
Hunter looks confused. ‘You what?’
I shake my head. He tries to grab me again but I push him off, crying. ‘Get away from me.’
I walk out the hall.
‘Wait,’ Hunter calls, grabbing my arm and pulling me around the side of the hall, where Kerry and I were minutes before. ‘What’s wrong? Are you OK?’
‘You don’t care!’ I almost wail. ‘You just took what you wanted!’
‘What the fuck?’ he says. ‘Look, calm down.’ He puts his arms around me and it’s like when we were kids again and he’d hug me if I fell over or lift me up when I was too small to climb onto the climbing frame with him. ‘Calm down,’ he says soothingly.
‘People will see,’ I say, trying to shrug him off. ‘They’ll write about me. Because of Dad.’
‘There’s no one here, Max. Look around,’ he says. He’s right. There’s no one here but us.
I sniff and wipe my face. I’m properly crying, wiping tears away from my cheeks as he stands with his arm around my waist and watches me.
‘What were you saying? In the hall?’ Hunter asks.
I drop my hands to my side and sigh deeply and he uses his thumb to wipe under my eyes. I let him, feeling helpless again, feeling pinned by his authority in our friendship.
‘No!’ I say, thinking about this, batting his hand away. ‘Get off!’
He steps back, holding his hands out and I shrink down to the ground, crouching, my back against the wall. ‘You knocked me up,’ I say, because it’s the least crazy, embarrassing way I can say it. Because it’s the phrase that least makes me want to cry.
‘What?’ Hunter says. ‘How is that possible?’
‘I’m half and half, you dumb shit!’ I say, checking to see no one’s here before I do. ‘What did you think would happen?’
‘Max . . .’ Hunter sinks to the ground, kneeling in the mud and grass. He reaches out and puts his hands on my knees, as if to steady himself. ‘Shit, Max, I’m . . . I’m sorry, OK? Shit. What are you gonna do? Are you gonna have it?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s gone. I . . . They made me get rid of it,’ I mumble.
He looks off to the side. ‘Fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.’ He puts his arms around me. ‘I just lost control, alright? I didn’t mean . . . I thought that you . . . Max, please don’t hate me, I’m so sorry.’
I’m frozen in a ball. I can feel Hunter’s arms around me, his head leant against mine, but I ignore him, instead thinking about everything I’ve lost over the past few months. I feel his hands running down my back, stroking me. I feel helpless and trapped again. My fault. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have got drunk.
I will never again be this vulnerable
, I promise myself.
‘Max, look at me,’ he commands.
My head rises, despite myself. ‘What?’ I say.
Then, angry at myself again, I push his arms off me and stand up. He stands too and moves closer to me.
‘I really never meant to hurt you,’ Hunter explains. ‘I thought you’d like it and . . . come round to seeing stuff my way. I’ve always . . . you’ve always been . . .’ He searches for the right words. ‘Think of how much fun we’ve had together over the years. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be best friends?’ His hand brushes a tear off my cheek. ‘Do you want to always be alone?’
I sniff.
‘Do you want to always be alone?’ Hunter repeats.
His dark eyes are black in the starlight. He moves towards me, his hands icy on my skin. His fingers brush my jaw on either side and I realise I’m paralysed again, and drunkenly swear and shout at my body inside my head.
‘Look, if you can get over this . . . you don’t have to be alone. We were so good together. I’ve always been in love with you,’ Hunter whispers, his tone firm but almost shy. ‘You don’t want to be lonely, Max. It’s horrible.’
His fingers reach the back of my head and pull me towards him. Our lips meet, and he kisses me softly.
Then I think about being alone and, just for a moment, I kiss him back.
But as we kiss, I also put my hand to his chest. I shove him off me. He falls backwards onto the dirt. I walk towards him and lean over him.
‘You are a fucking nasty piece of work,’ I hiss, and he looks at me like I’m crazy, then he grins, a grin halfway between malicious and as miserable as I feel, and then he makes a kiss noise at me. I take all the saliva I have worked up from our kiss and I get it in the front of my mouth and I spit at him.
Then something catches my peripheral vision, and I look up, and Sylvie Clark is standing there watching us.
I walk away from Hunter towards her, then I walk past her.
‘Max!’ Sylvie calls after me. ‘Don’t you want to talk?’
I don’t turn around.
No, I don’t want to talk, Sylvie. I don’t want another friend. I wanted a girlfriend. I wanted all of you
.
I trudge past the houses, then down the country road towards home. It’s freezing and I can’t stop the salt rolling down my cheeks.