should buy make-up, and colour your hair, and drink Coke so that you will be the sort of attractive that men can’t resist. It was pretty shabby, but then so was menstruation. All the girls in those tampon ads wear white and play sports and beam as though it wasn’t interfering with their life in any way. Maybe sex was the same?
I stood at the window and watched the uncle walk down the driveway. He was high-stepping and humming, tossing his keys in the air and catching them. He gave me a cutesy waggle-finger wave as he got in the car.
‘You’re not going to let him do that any more,’ I told Mellinda. ‘If he even leans too close, you say in a loud voice that you’re going to phone his wife. Tell him that if he comes near you again you’re going to ring his boss and take out ads in the fucken Daily Telegraph .’
Then I looked for a different couch in a household where there was no uncle or neighbour, or brother, or cousin, and every now and then I found one.
7
W ILY
Once I was staying at my friend Emily’s house while her mother was away. Emily was drunk and when she passed out on her bed I took off her shoes and covered her with a doona. Then I went downstairs to the guest room.
I stripped down to my undies, pulled on an oversized T-shirt and then I saw a reflection in the window. Emily’s older brother Joshua was standing in the doorway. I could see his erection through his clothing.
He grinned. ‘I think we should have sex.’ I knew he meant to whether I wanted to or not.
For a moment I panicked. I had to find a way out. I had to think fast.
‘Oh no, I’m too drunk. Maybe another time,’ I laughed.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a bedside lamp with a heavy base. I sat on the edge of the bed so that it was within arm’s reach. It was attached to an extension cord, which was even better. I wouldn’t have to unplug it before I sconed him with it.
Joshua sat next to me and kissed my neck. I could smell the beer on his breath.
‘I hardly know anything about you,’ I said. ‘We can have sex if you want to, but first tell me a secret.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he mumbled.
‘I know that your father died last year,’ I countered.
He sat back.
‘That must have been really difficult for you,’ I added.
‘I haven’t talked to anyone about that,’ he said.
‘Don’t you want to?’
‘No, I want a root.’
‘OK, but after you tell me about your dad.’
So we sat there together until five in the morning, sharing beers, and Joshua told me how hard it had been. He even cried. At the end he thanked me.
Initially it had been a wily means of escape for me, but now that I think back, it was probably really good for his mental health.
8
M ETAPHORICAL D UCKS
My counsellor doesn’t use the word ‘problem’. She says ‘challenge’. I am a smorgasbord of challenges. I’m kind of a sampler kit of disorders for social workers. You name a challenge and I will have brushed against it at some time or another – but just a little bit. I’d make a great practice youth for novice social workers before they moved on to bigger cases.
I’ve stayed with foster-families. The first time was after the incident that happened at the chemist’s shop, and then the next was for four months last year.
The first time was OK, but the second family didn’t want me there. I think it’s because I was too old. Or maybe it’s because I ate too much, and not at mealtimes. I would wait until everybody was sleeping and I’d sneak into the kitchen. I’d get a big platter from the cupboard and fill it up with a little bit of everything in the fridge – one slice of ham, one teaspoon of Vegemite, two pickled onions, two slices of bread, a handful of frozen peas and a dob of tomato paste.
Just when I was about to close the fridge door I’d spy something else – a stick of peperoni, say – and hack off a good eight centimetres. In the pantry cupboard I would select a sheet of lasagne, a muesli
I stood at the window and watched the uncle walk down the driveway. He was high-stepping and humming, tossing his keys in the air and catching them. He gave me a cutesy waggle-finger wave as he got in the car.
‘You’re not going to let him do that any more,’ I told Mellinda. ‘If he even leans too close, you say in a loud voice that you’re going to phone his wife. Tell him that if he comes near you again you’re going to ring his boss and take out ads in the fucken Daily Telegraph .’
Then I looked for a different couch in a household where there was no uncle or neighbour, or brother, or cousin, and every now and then I found one.
7
W ILY
Once I was staying at my friend Emily’s house while her mother was away. Emily was drunk and when she passed out on her bed I took off her shoes and covered her with a doona. Then I went downstairs to the guest room.
I stripped down to my undies, pulled on an oversized T-shirt and then I saw a reflection in the window. Emily’s older brother Joshua was standing in the doorway. I could see his erection through his clothing.
He grinned. ‘I think we should have sex.’ I knew he meant to whether I wanted to or not.
For a moment I panicked. I had to find a way out. I had to think fast.
‘Oh no, I’m too drunk. Maybe another time,’ I laughed.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a bedside lamp with a heavy base. I sat on the edge of the bed so that it was within arm’s reach. It was attached to an extension cord, which was even better. I wouldn’t have to unplug it before I sconed him with it.
Joshua sat next to me and kissed my neck. I could smell the beer on his breath.
‘I hardly know anything about you,’ I said. ‘We can have sex if you want to, but first tell me a secret.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he mumbled.
‘I know that your father died last year,’ I countered.
He sat back.
‘That must have been really difficult for you,’ I added.
‘I haven’t talked to anyone about that,’ he said.
‘Don’t you want to?’
‘No, I want a root.’
‘OK, but after you tell me about your dad.’
So we sat there together until five in the morning, sharing beers, and Joshua told me how hard it had been. He even cried. At the end he thanked me.
Initially it had been a wily means of escape for me, but now that I think back, it was probably really good for his mental health.
8
M ETAPHORICAL D UCKS
My counsellor doesn’t use the word ‘problem’. She says ‘challenge’. I am a smorgasbord of challenges. I’m kind of a sampler kit of disorders for social workers. You name a challenge and I will have brushed against it at some time or another – but just a little bit. I’d make a great practice youth for novice social workers before they moved on to bigger cases.
I’ve stayed with foster-families. The first time was after the incident that happened at the chemist’s shop, and then the next was for four months last year.
The first time was OK, but the second family didn’t want me there. I think it’s because I was too old. Or maybe it’s because I ate too much, and not at mealtimes. I would wait until everybody was sleeping and I’d sneak into the kitchen. I’d get a big platter from the cupboard and fill it up with a little bit of everything in the fridge – one slice of ham, one teaspoon of Vegemite, two pickled onions, two slices of bread, a handful of frozen peas and a dob of tomato paste.
Just when I was about to close the fridge door I’d spy something else – a stick of peperoni, say – and hack off a good eight centimetres. In the pantry cupboard I would select a sheet of lasagne, a muesli
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