Authors: Anna Carey
Rebecca's Rules (22 page)
It is quite exhausting going out with John Kowalski. If we are actually going out. I am not quite sure. We are definitely kissing on a regular basis. And talking. It is all very intense. It is also quite different from me and Paperboy. We used to just sit around and laugh a lot. But John is not really into sitting around and laughing. After rehearsal today (which went very well – Ms Byrne actually PRAISED me and Alice for
our acting-singing in ‘I Love To Laugh’) we went to a café on Drumcondra Road and talked about our visions for the world (I texted my mum and told her I was going for post-rehearsal tea in the café but I didn’t tell her who I was going with).
‘The country shouldn’t be run by dull politicians, the way it is now!’ John said, taking a drink of his pitch-black espresso. ‘It should be run by artists and writers and dreamers!’
I expect that would be more exciting. Although a few of my parents’ friends are artists and writers (and possibly dreamers) and I don’t think they should be in charge of anything. Also, as I pointed out to him, my own tyrannical, embarrassing mother is a writer.
‘She’s bad enough when she’s ruling my life,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’d like her ruling the entire country.’
‘Oh, I don’t mean writers like her,’ he said. ‘I mean proper writers.’
‘She is a proper writer,’ I said. ‘I mean, she writes novels. She makes a living out of it!’
‘A living!’ he said scornfully, and laughed a hollow sort of laugh. ‘As if making money from writing makes you a true artist.’ According to him, a true artist doesn’t care about something as mundane as money. I suppose that is true. I am quite
glad my mother isn’t that sort of writer, though. As she is so fond of reminding me and Rachel, we wouldn’t have a house or an iPod each if she didn’t earn money from her books. Dad certainly doesn’t earn enough teaching students about history to pay for all that on his own.
Anyway, I like that John Kowalski is very passionate about everything. I can imagine us sitting in some sort of romantic place (I am not sure where. Definitely not my room − it’s the most unromantic place on earth with its baby-ish decor), reading each other poetry. No one has ever read poetry to me before, but if anyone would do it, it would be him. I felt all wobbly when he kissed me goodbye at the corner of Gracepark Road. Who knew those traffic lights could look so romantic in the evening light?
I have been working on my story this evening and, you know, I can see why Mum became a writer now. It really is fun making stuff up. Mum has always said it’s hard work, but I never really believed her. How hard can a job be if you can do it in your pyjamas? I know for a fact that there are days when
she doesn’t get dressed properly until after eleven! Anyway, the only problem is that I am still trying to write a serious story, but whenever I read back over it, it doesn’t feel serious at all. It’s like I keep thinking of funny things to put in and then it’s hard to make it serious again. It is very frustrating.
I suppose I could always ask Mum for writerly advice.
Oh God, I can’t. Just imagine how smug she would be. I will just have to soldier on.
Today John Kowalski told me he doesn’t like the terms boyfriend and girlfriend.
‘Why formalise what we have, Rafferty?’ he said today. ‘Why tie ourselves down with labels?’
Which is fair enough, I suppose.
I told Cass this on the phone tonight and she was not impressed. ‘If I had a girlfriend, or boyfriend, I wouldn’t mind labelling them,’ she said. ‘It’s not like you wanted to get his name tattooed across your forehead.’
I should hope not. But anyway, Cass has never had a very romantic soul. And John is very romantic, in a very exciting way. When we reached the corner of Gracepark Road today he quoted a line from an ancient Roman poet called Catullus. You’d never think of ancient Roman poets being romantic but this really was.
‘Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand,’ quoted John in a very intense voice. And then he added. ‘What’s good enough for the Romans is good enough for me.’ And then he kissed me. It was better than any labels, so what does Cass know?
Anyway, when we weren’t talking about Latin poetry we were talking about LIFE. John says nothing could stop him from writing.
‘Even if I was told I would have to live in poverty forever,’ he said dramatically. ‘Even if I had to live in a garret …’
‘What exactly is a garret?’ I asked.
‘An attic,’ said John.
That doesn’t sound so bad to me. Attics have nice slopey walls which I always think is very cute. Ellie’s bedroom is an attic conversion and it’s nicer than my room. Although maybe he doesn’t mean an attic conversion but an actual attic, with a water tank and no windows? That would be fairly horrible. Still, I can’t imagine why he would have to live in one. I mean, how would it come up? When is anyone going to say to him ‘You must choose between living in an attic or never writing again?’
Anyway, I didn’t say this to him. And he hadn’t finished.
‘Even if I had to lose my entire family,’ he cried. ‘Nothing could stop me from writing! If I had to choose between my parents’ lives and my ability to write, I would have to choose writing! My own life wouldn’t be worth living if I couldn’t write!’
I don’t think it’s very likely that he will ever have to choose between any of these things, but it just shows how passionate he is about his work. Which is surely a good thing. I felt all exhilarated listening to him, like anything is possible. We have arranged to meet in town tomorrow and I can’t wait.
I have to admit, though, that when I came home it was
quite a relief to just slump on the couch with my parents and watch a silly sitcom. It is very exciting being with John, but it is not very relaxing. Still, that’s what home is for, isn’t it?
John and I met in town today and went for black coffee (him) and hot chocolate (me). I told both Cass and Alice beforehand that we were meeting up and made it clear that I have not forgotten about them. I am sticking to my rules!
Alice and Richard are meeting in town today too, so I felt a bit bad about Cass being left on her own, but she said she was going to give Liz a ring and see if she wanted to look at guitars and instruments in music shops. So we were all happy.
It was a lovely afternoon. John brought a book of poetry by WB Yeats and when we went for a walk in Stephen’s Green he stopped by the band stand and read one of them to me. It was about golden cloths and spreading dreams under your feet and him standing there reading it to me in the twilight was the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me. It was like something in a book or a film. It felt very grown up.
Of course, I was brought back to earth when I got home by my stupid parents. I knew I had to tell them about John because I knew if I didn’t Rachel would eventually say something awful about him, so when I got home I told them I was seeing a boy from the musical called John Kowalski, and he was very nice. And I told them that that was all I was going to say about it so they needn’t bother asking any questions thanks very much.
You’d think that would satisfy them, but no!
‘Kowalski …’ said my mum thoughtfully. ‘Is his dad’s name Jan, by any chance?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. I mean, why would it come up?
‘It’s just when I went to the garden centre down the road the other week with Maria, we met a friend of hers called Jan Kowalski who has a son about your age,’ she went on. ‘We were talking to him for ages and he seemed very nice. He’s Polish – he’s lived here for years. He runs a community radio project and teaches media classes in a VEC out in west Dublin. His wife’s Irish – I think she’s a social worker. Does that ring any bells?’
‘That can’t be John’s parents,’ I said. ‘He says they think of nothing but money and trivial things.’
‘Ah,’ said Mum. ‘That doesn’t sound like this couple. Maria told me he won some social entrepreneur award last year for all his good works.’
Anyway, Mum then got a bit patronising and said she was glad I’d met someone else after all my moping over Paperboy (that word again!), but then she said that boys weren’t the most important thing in the world and I shouldn’t think I needed a boyfriend to be happy. Obviously I know this, but I’m not going to turn down John just to prove it, am I?
It turns out that the Jan Kowalski Maria-from-round-the-corner knows is John’s dad!
‘Oh yeah,’ he said, a bit reluctantly, when I asked him about it. ‘That’s him. He’s obsessed with teaching idiots how to make radio programmes about local history and stuff. It’s so boring.’
‘But you said your parents were obsessed with money,’ I said. ‘I thought they’d be, like, greedy investment bankers who don’t care about the world. Not people who do community work.’
‘They are obsessed with money,’ said John crossly. ‘And trivial
nonsense. They’re always going on about stupid bills and stuff.’
I suppose if you are an artist like John then things like bills do seem trivial. Maybe he’s right about Mum not being a proper artist; she certainly goes on about bills all the time.
