just_a_girl (14 page)

He trawled the internet as she slept. He never thought he’d still be playing with dolls in his twenties. But the web had taught him this much: he wasn’t alone. And it wasn’t as if he just wanted Mika to make love to. Growing up, it was always the girls he was drawn to. They’d stop to listen and invite him to their parties even though he was often the only boy there. In high school they’d go to the cinema or rollerskating and he imagined he was a neutral presence, fading into the background as they talked about other boys. The boys he knew were explosive, a riot of need and instinct and emotion, always trying to be in your face. He’d always preferred the company of girls.

That’s why he wanted Mika to be as close as possible to the real thing. A girl with personality, sweetness, someone to care for. At least he knew there was a support network out there if he needed it, the online clubs, the conversations. Or maybe he could move back to Japan where there seemed to be more people like him.

He started to note down facts he found online for his Mika journal. He had bought a scrapbook, elegantly designed, into which he transcribed daily research:

The scrapbook was divided into sections where he could add photos and letters. There was even a little envelope where he could place a lock of her hair.

He lay down beside her. He wanted to touch her but she looked so peaceful he resisted the impulse. He thought of the girl on the train and wondered if she was asleep now too.

Mika.
He breathed her name to the room and imagined what she would look like with her clothes on.

The next day he woke early to see her face in the morning light. She had a faint whiff of rubber mixed with new
cotton sheets. He opened her eyes and she smiled at him. He went off to make them both a cup of tea and returned, balancing the tray on the bed, seeing if she could hold a delicate cup once he’d propped her up against the pillows.

After making sure the blinds were closed, he arranged her carefully on top of the dining room table and unfurled the clothes laid out the night before. He used long pieces of scotch tape to pick lint off her body. The silicone seemed to attract little bits of fluff everywhere. He saw her squirming as if being tickled. He held her still with his one hand.

—Sorry, nearly there. I learnt this tip from my mother. She was always trying to clean the couch. We had a little dog who used to lose so much hair.

He felt Mika relax and by the time he’d finished linting her whole body he’d used an entire roll and would have to go out and buy some more.

The weather said fine and warm so he put the green velvet dress back in her wardrobe, chose a light-yellow smock for her upper body and arranged her hands into small fists, placing plastic bags over them. He was sure to be gentle as he didn’t want a nasty armpit tear. He pulled sheer pantyhose up around her waist before fitting a short white lace skirt. He fixed her wig but it didn’t look quite right, the fringe longer than he had expected and covering her eyes. He shook his head.

—Sorry Mika, I think I’ve put your hair on sideways. He noticed Mika having a good laugh at his expense after that but he didn’t mind. It was a good way to break the ice.

—I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable, I’ve never dressed a woman before.

As he gently moved her limbs, he remembered that this was not quite true. When his mother died he had sat through the night with her, moistening her lips with water and gently washing her body, adding hot water to the cold water in his bathtub. After drying her hair he had carefully wrapped her in a white kimono, tying the material in the opposite direction to the way she usually wore it. He hoped her spirit would reach
onoyo,
the world over there, but when his mother died she did not look peaceful. She looked like a storm had passed over her face in wild fury.

With Mika it was different. In her clothes Mika looked as fresh as a ripe cherry. He tied on her sandals and took her to the mirror, standing her up, so she could admire herself. She fell back into him and touched his hand as if grateful for his company, the long sleep, the cool clothes after being cooped up in a box for so long.

The thing about Mika was, she was durable. She wouldn’t argue over the small things. She wouldn’t try to impose herself. She wouldn’t be out late at night, so he’d worry where she was. Now he had her by his side, he knew she was perfect, that they would become an item, that they would be together as long as he was happy. That she could handle a guy like him.

Davo didn’t make it to the airport to meet me. He’s come around today because I haven’t seen him for weeks. Now I’m back at school we don’t see that much of each other. He’s working for his dad. Happy together under cars. He’s not really looking at me. He even forgot my birthday. There’s something going on. I know it because Sarah hasn’t really been looking at me either.

We’re sitting in my bedroom with the door open. Because mum always checks. I’m having one of those days. Where I can’t think of a thing to say. It’s like the more time we spend apart. The less we have to talk about. The dog jumps up on him with muddy footprints. He whacks it away but Rusty persists. Any attention is better than none. I’m on my computer struggling with solar panels. Mum keeps talking about getting some. So I’m doing the research for her. But it’s really hard to understand. Fuckadoodle, there’s too much information on the internet.

It’s quiet in here. I look up and Davo’s eyes are bullets and vacant at the same time. He’s not looking at me but at my screen.

—Reading your emails?

He starts in and straightaway I know. He’s been waiting all morning for this. It’s too late to get out the door.

—What’s his name? That guy you met?

—What guy?

Sarah’s told him something. But I don’t know which guy he means. Davo’s body is between me and the dog. And I’m hoping that Rusty will find his inner guard dog. If things get rough.

He looks over my shoulder and grabs the mouse. His voice is getting softer.

—Does your mum know?

—Look, nothing really happened, Davo. Really.

It’s not even that much of a lie but I can’t bring it off.

—You wanted it to. You went up there to be with a total stranger. You just pretended to go to your granny’s. I bet you’ve been chatting for months getting all hot in here.

So it’s
that
guy. He doesn’t know about the ones closer to home. Closer to him.

—It wasn’t like that.

Davo grabs my laptop and starts scrolling through my inbox. Through my Marco’s and Mr C’s.

—What’s his name? Show me.

—We chatted on the web. I don’t even have his email.

Davo tears the printer and internet cables out. I wait for him to throw the laptop but he just walks. Rusty runs to the door to watch him go. Jumps on my lap in triumph.

My message alert’s set on
Stupid girls
and it wakes me up at 1.03am. I roll over to switch it off. Hear my mum cough in the next room. She’s a light sleeper. Always on guard. A text from Davo. Hopeful booty call? Dream on. It’s pretty late even for him.

I read:
enjoyed hooking up at town hall station u should c the video got it on my mobile can show 2moro.

I switch the lamp on and stare at Pink on the wall. She gives me attitude back. Davo’s meant to be picking me up tomorrow. To go to Parramatta Westfield. He’s obsessed with his new car. So he’ll drive me anywhere to show it off.

But that text wasn’t meant for me. I read it again. I think about replying but hold off. Never text in anger.

I throw my mobile and it rebounds off Pink’s face. Mum calls out,
Everything okay?
I grunt and roll over on my tummy. Make a fort with my pillows and hide under them.

Sometimes at times like this I can’t sleep. And then my thoughts don’t seem to include me. It’s like they create this great superhero of a girl. Bionic Layla.

It started after 9/11. I’ll never forget that day. Mum stayed up all night watching TV. In the morning she stayed in bed. She said,
Don’t turn the TV on.
But walking to school I saw it. The streets of Springwood were empty. But people were in the cafe watching. I looked at the TV through the window. Some people were crying while they watched. A mum was covering her daughter’s eyes. The skyscrapers were collapsing. People were covered with white powder and blood. Like zombies feeling their way through the streets. At school Sarah said,
I saw people jumping from the roof.

And so I take myself there. I’m in the tower when the plane hits. Mr C has taken me for the view. The building cracks and shakes above us. People are screaming and running to the windows. There’s smoke everywhere. Men in suits are falling from the sky. It’s raining men. I try to take charge. I drag people into the stairwell. Mr C helps me lift them. I let everyone go down the stairs before me. I can smell the flames now. Mr C panics and starts to run calling my name. I want to follow him but I can’t move. I lie down and let the smoke fill my body. While others make their escape.

I see my dad at my funeral. I see my mum talking to my dad. And all I want to see is a world. Reunited by the love of me.

It takes a while to hear from Dr Child because we keep playing phone tag but the news is all good, thank the Lord for sticking with me, and I’m not off to meet up with Auntie Jeannie just yet so all that worrying was for nothing, and the other good news is Layla seems quite settled this year, maybe because Davo has left school, and this week she has to do an assignment on her family history, you know, there’s so much interest now in genealogy and we watched that show,
Who Do You Think You Are?,
and Layla started grilling me about the names of grandparents and great great greats and where they came from and lived and what they did and whether they were convicts or had murdered anyone, because that’s what everyone wants to discover, and I realised I didn’t really know much about my own family, especially Dad’s side, and that’s not far back in history at all, you know, Mum didn’t even talk much about my dad other than he was a hopeless alcoholic, if she was in a bad mood, or was too generous for his own good, if she was in a rare happy one, and her parents were completely off limits, I mean, it’s like the two of
us, Violet and I, were floating on this life raft with no-one about and I wonder how she got to that stage where the only people she had in her life were me and Auntie Jeannie.

The only thing I remember about my maternal grandparents is their deaths, as we never went to birthday celebrations or christenings or weddings or saw them at Christmas, but we did go to Violet’s mum’s funeral when I was a teenager, and there was a big stir because it was at some posh church over South Yarra way and the people there were all beautifully dressed in black but I was wearing my ripped jeans because I’d had a fight with Violet and didn’t want to go, and she’d literally dragged me by my scarf into the car, and I thought it was strange that I hadn’t met my grandmother even though she only lived half an hour away, and now here she was lying in a box, and all these people I didn’t know were crying but not Violet of course, tough bird to the last, that’s what she called herself, and I remember she was very careful at the wake not to have a drink and it’s the only day I can recall where she didn’t get plastered, but it’s like she wanted to have power over all those who were there by acting like she didn’t care that her own mother had died, and no-one really talked to me and I sat in a corner and played ‘Donkey Kong Junior’, but what I do remember is that halfway through the funeral, when I was pretending to sing the hymns, a man walked down the aisle right up to the front and he sat in the empty seat nearest the coffin, and everyone in the church stopped singing and then started again quickly with their eyes on the hymn book, and Violet whispered to my Auntie Jeannie loud enough so the whole row could hear,
He couldn’t even make it to her funeral on time,
and that’s when I first saw Violet’s dad.

He died soon after and Auntie Jeannie had his ashes for a while but then she thought it would be nice to do a road trip from
Sydney to Melbourne, to see Violet and scatter the ashes, because Violet hadn’t bothered turning up to his funeral and Auntie Jeannie thought her sister needed closure, you know, there’s no point having unfinished business she always said, so she set out and stayed overnight in Gundagai and when she got up in the morning she found her car had been stolen and she was in a big panic because the ashes had been sitting on the front seat, so she had to stay in town an extra few days in case the urn popped up and she did get a call from the police saying a farmer had found it, bobbing in his dam, so she could come in and claim it and then she had to carry her dad all the way to Melbourne on the bus as her car was never found, and I remember the story well from here, because she showed up at our place that evening and after I answered the door she carefully handed Violet the urn,
I thought you might want to scatter Dad’s ashes with me,
and Violet let her arms slip at the last minute and dropped it on the front verandah where it smashed into little pieces and she said,
I don’t want it. I hated him,
and I went and got the dustpan and brush to sweep so he was all safely back in one spot, but mum made me put the broken pottery and dusty ashes straight into the bin.