Callum didn’t let me out of his bed for a whole week and I hated every single minute of it.
I wasn’t ill. I’d told Callum many many many times.
So I’d thrown up a few times on the Monday. There were some people who threw up after every meal and were walking around fine. This statement led to Callum questioning whether I was bulimic and then getting stressed and tending to my every need like a wet blanket. But no, wet blankets weren't any use to anyone; my point didn’t make any sense. I told Callum that what he’d just said proved my point.
I finally got a smile out of him.
Callum was sleeping on the floor of his bedroom in my special sleepy bag no less. It would have made me laugh out loud every time I saw him in it if I didn’t feel like such a thief. I’d just moved in, taken his bed and made him sleep on the floor. I was really starting to hate myself.
It was the following Sunday when I decided enough was enough- for about the billionth time- and for once Callum actually agreed with me. I mean, we had finished a game on Monopoly. No one finishes a game of Monopoly, it is never done!
So I was allowed to go to school.
Thank god. If I spent one more day in that bed I was going to scream- more. I’d begun screaming once Wednesday had rolled around.
Once again I had to scramble out of Callum’s bed over to my bedroom window so I could get some clothes. Callum was adamant about me staying in his house and to tell you the truth I didn’t really have it in me to argue. Every time I looked at him, I mean really looked at him, to shot one of my world famous retorts in his face my eyes were drawn to the lip that Amber had been tugging at like it was her only life source. Then my stomach clenched, my body would seize up and whatever words had been going to come out died on my lips.
He let me eat toast, without any butter on it, in case it upset my stomach. It was dry. (Ha, that may actually be the worst sentence I’ve ever written). No orange juice for me, only water.
Throughout the week Callum made sure I only ate dry savoury snacks. This amused the Williams to no end as the watched their son take care of the poorly girl next door. Each one of my desperate pleas for a piece of cake, a chocolate bar, hell even a stick of bubble gum was returned with a sly smile and a taunting, “Do you think Callum would want you to do that?”
I frowned as I climbed up the side of my house reaching up to my window that was permanently open. I had always been surprised that no one ever broke into there. Then again, what would they take?
When I got into my bedroom I took a deep breath. I took in the smell, the taste, the feel of my room. I noted how it differed from Callum’s room. I tried to list the things that would make my room, at least, a little more like Callum’s house. I came up short, as always.
That Sunday evening when Callum had let me out of sight for a moment was slightly different than every other time I forced myself over to my house.
I didn’t want to leave straight away.
It wasn’t that the place didn’t disgust me. It was just that I wasn’t sure if I could take Callum’s mollycoddling anymore. It was driving me insane. I knew that Callum was that type of person who just cared. About everything and anything no matter how small it was. Many a night I would be awake with Callum and he would be worrying about how some person was reacting to some random thing that had nothing to do with him. And I would laugh at it calling him a big softy and saying how whoever the person was they were being stupid. Every problem in the world can be resolved, people just need to pull up their big kid pants and sort it out.
I knew Callum cared, more than I ever could, about anything in world. I could tolerate it on normal days. But I couldn’t that week.
And it was all because of stupid Amber Milton. She was the reason things between Callum and I had become rocky, why things weren't as easy as they had been. Wasn’t she?
I breathed slowly urging all of my anger to leak through my fingers and find some other vessel. I did not want to be like my parents.
I cursed the house: it did terrible things to me.
Quickly moving around the room I picked up as many clothes as I could, more than I did on a normal stop off. Maybe I was paranoid, going crazy; I really felt as though I was losing grip on things.
When you start blaming other things for your erratic behaviour you know something’s wrong.
I rubbed my hands over my face and sighed to myself as I looked at the dirty clothes that were still in the hamper. My mum sometimes ventured in my room to clean stuff, when she was in her odd lucid moods.
Moving on I bundled the items into my school rucksack planning on using the Williams’s washing machine and drier later. I then went to walk back to the window, easy peasy, when my mother stopped me.
She was kind of like Callum in that respect, in the moments when she was really was my mother; she didn’t need to threaten me to get me to stay, a little while longer at least.
“Hello, Antonia.” She said huskily. Her voice deep and almost drawling told me she wasn’t quite drunk.
“Hi, mum.” I said quickly.
She looked me up and down, her eyebrows knitting together in an almost smug fashion, “I’ve never seen you wear those clothes before.”
I wiped my hands on them awkwardly, “They’re Callum’s.”
Mum smiled softly, “That’s his name.” She laughed, “So are you two doing a swap thing or does your possessive boyfriend like seeing you in his clothes?”
I frowned but couldn’t really find it in me to correct my mum about Callum.
She went up to my bag and started to fold the clothes I’d stuffed in there properly. “These aren't clean.”
“I know.”
“But I bet she prefers the way Callum cleans her clothes.” She mumbled to no one in particular. Wandering around the room she began looking at various things. Not that there was much to look at in my room. A wardrobe, a bed, a chest of draws.
She drew a line in the dust that had settled onto of my furniture. Then she stopped. She froze.
“Mum?” I asked quietly, even though my better instinct was to leave the house and go back to the protective suffocation of Callum.
Her head snapped up and she smiled uneasily at me, she then looked down again, as her brows knitted once more, “What would you do if there was no Callum?”
I blinked at her. What kind of question was that?
I shook my head, not even dignifying that with an answer. I held my head up high and watched her through peering eyes, “What do you want, mother?”
She chuckled lightly, “What’s the point of wanting?” she then cleared her throat and laid one hand over the other. “Go home, Antonia.”
“I-”
“You know what I mean.” She said tersely.
I walked backwards a few paces but didn’t dare turn around. My mother was being almost nice, something was wrong.
Her eyes were cold and unforgiving. Like always, hard little dark hard pebbles, maybe a little larger than usual, against a white, normally bloodshot, background.
My mum hadn't quite changed. She was still her sad old self. I would have smiled at the familiarity of it all if it wasn’t so depressing.
She breathed heavily, “You would be stuck here with me you know.”
“Wha-” I began to ask, but she cut me off before I could finish.
“If there was no Callum you’d be stuck with me. You’d be dead too.”
I shook my head quickly, as though the words could be scared out of my head. I repeated the movement again and again just so I didn’t have them reciting themselves as they attached themselves to new nerve ends in my body, picking on them.
Mum laughed, “You really think you could survive in this house?”
I hated when she would do that. Act as though I wasn’t as strong as her, as smart as her; as though I was no better than a piece of shit on her shoe. It was her favourite pastime.
I glared at her. “How dare you!” I yelled accusingly before I knew what I was saying, “What have I ever done to you?”
Mum batted my finger away from her face, I hadn't even realised I’d raised it, “You. Left. Me.” She said venomously, menacingly.
I blinked. I did what?
My mother turned away from me laughing that humourless laugh again, “The worst part is: you don’t even realise you’re doing it! You think I like this… this hell hole? You think I enjoy being there for your father’s every whim? You think I enjoy my daughter seeing strangers as her family?”
I stared at her back as she told me off. My mum had never told me off- not like that anyway. Her telling off was shouting and screaming and calling me a little bitch.
This was different. This was quiet and menace and such sadness in her eyes that they seemed to be black holes.
I opened my mouth to say something but the words wobbled and quaked for fear of being thrown back in my face, as they always were when I spoke to my mother.
“You were meant to be my haven: my beautiful baby girl who would stand by me when her father was his usual bastard self.” She breathed out slowly. “You know when I was pregnant with you he pushed me down the stairs. I was crazy with worry, I thought he’d killed you.” She smiled at the memory, it was odd seeing her do that, I don’t think I’d ever see her look so happy the whole time I knew her. “But you were a happy and healthy little girl. You were so strong, Annie. You were so beautiful…” her voice became lost between all of the emotion, “And I loved you with all of my heart.” She spun and stared at me, “I loved you! So… so why did you leave me, Antonia?”
I breathed heavily and pressed myself against the wall next to the window. Mum was moving towards me. There was something wrong, something very wrong. Maybe it was how glassy her eyes were, how she couldn’t walk in a straight line, or the fact that she was actually talking to me. Mum never talked to me.
It kind of reminds of Little Red Riding Hood. A little girl wanders into what should be a familiar house to find a family member isn't who they were. ‘What big pupils you have, mummy.’
She pressed her body to me and chuckled deeply, her lips against my cheeks.
I would have squirmed away from her but I didn't know what she’d do. When in my house in times of crisis it’s better to play dead than actually provoke it.
“Don’t you love me, Annie Bannanie?” she chortled at her choice of words then suddenly fell silent again. I stayed mute, holding my breath and keeping my eyes closed, trying not to notice the putrid stench of her breath. “Well!” she snapped when I didn’t answer.
I nodded quickly, “I do. I love you.”
I felt her body move away from mine then dared to open my eyes. Hers were hard and cold and large. They made my insides cringe.
She smiled fleetingly, “It must be nice to be so sure of things.” Looking down she finished her thoughts, “I don’t know if I love you anymore.”
My stomach dropped right through my feet and kept going till it was somewhere cold and abandoned. I say my stomach; it could have easily been my heart.
I didn’t even have time to stop the tears that rolled out of my eyes. They took me by surprise; I didn’t know I cared that much.
Mum laughed, once more at my face then her eyes took in my body.
She scoffed, “I don’t even know who you are any more. My daughter was strong. She was such a pretty baby, such a beautiful little girl…” she mused to herself.
Then she left.
But her words bounced against the walls. Miniature obscure rocks that penetrated my skull every time they ricocheted off of the side of one of my sad pieces of furniture.
I, unexpectedly, found a hatred burning in my stomach. Not for Callum or my mum. But for that little girl that had grown and broken my mother’s fragile, suddenly, non-existent heart.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The chamber began to fill with water, soaking the clothes through and making the soap froth. The machine, set to spin, did just that and suddenly my clothes were fighting each other for water, soap and dominance. Ah, the wonders of a washing machine.
“I thought I heard you come in.” Callum said sitting next to me on the floor. He laughed slightly, “It worries me how easily you can sneak into this house.”
“I can’t be that good if you heard me.” I mumbled.
“Firstly: ouch. And B: you and I are practically twins, we’re connected. I know everything you do.”
“Tres: you stayed up to wait for me.” I finished.
“You wish.”
“I know.”
He glared at me, I could feel it on the side of my head, but I didn’t react. I didn’t feel as though I could move my gaze from the spinning machine before me.
Watching the washing whirl around, I caught sight of my reflection. I frowned and pawed at my face.
“What are you doing?” Callum laughed.
I groaned and turned to the side inspect my plain ear. “Do you think I should wear earrings?”
“Where did that come from?”
I sulked and went back to my face; I cringed at the spots peppered on it. “And wear makeup too.”
“Toni?”
“Or at least do something with my hair.”
“Your hair’s fine.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.” I said finally replying to one of Callum’s comments. I found the frown on my face engraving itself. Maybe I needed to have a complete makeover like one of those girls in those books about them becoming popular and falling in love with the captain of the football team.
“No.” Callum stated whacking my hand away from my face, “Don’t even think about it.”
“What?” I moaned loudly glaring at him.
“I don’t know what it was you were thinking exactly but the look on your face told me it wasn’t healthy for you to be thinking whatever it was.”
I turned my nose up at him and went back to watching my blurred image in the washing machine. “I thought we were meant to be twins. You should know exactly what I'm thinking.” I muttered under my breath.
“If this is one of those stupid teenage girl vanity things then I only have one thing to say: I thought you were better than that.”
I glowered at him, “What if I don’t want to be better than that.”
“You can’t help being better than that, you’re Toni.”
“Well what if I don’t want to be Toni anymore.” I hissed at him. What if I never wanted to be Toni?
The silence around us felt dense and unyielding. It didn’t want us to speak.
Or maybe it was just me; it didn’t want me to speak.
“What’s wrong?” Callum asked finally.
I forced myself to blink; my eyes were becoming too dry. “The same things that were wrong yesterday.” I answered softly, “And the day before that and the day before that…”
“Ah, so you’re battling your dormant feelings for me.”
I smiled slightly then leaned onto his shoulder, “If only.”
“Huh.” Callum murmured, only barely.
“‘If only, if only’, the woodpecker sighs, ‘the bark on the tree was as soft as the skies.’” I related to no one in particular, it’s just the first thing that comes to my mind when the words ‘if only’ are spoken.
“That’s pretty.” Cal told me.
I smiled and turned to him, but because of my previous positioning I spoke into the crook of his neck, I felt Callum shiver. “It’s from the book Holes. You remember it?”
“I remember them making us read it in year 6, not much else.”
I laughed then turned my gaze back to the washing machine.
“It’s the story of an unlucky boy who’s sent to a desert to dig holes, because digging holes is character building.” I said the last part in a deep voice. “Stanley Yelnats. Everyone in his family was called Stanley because Stanley is Yelnats backwards.” I explained, “He was Stanley Yelnats the third.” I paused. “They had a poem that had been passed down through the generations by their no good pig stealing great granddad, or something like that, he could have been Stanley’s great great granddad. The thing is they forgot the lyrics and made it up as they went along. It went:
‘If only, if only,’ the woodpecker sighs,
‘The bark on the trees was as soft as the skies.’
While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely;
Crying to the m-o-o-o-on,
‘If only, if only…’
“But later the reader finds out that the real lyrics are:
‘If only, if only’, the moon speaks no reply;
Reflecting the sun and all that's gone by.
‘Be strong my weary wolf, turn around boldly.
Fly high, my baby bird, my angel, my only.’”
Books are so pretty aren't they? The things they make you feel. The thoughts they make you think. You ever wonder what your life would be like if you hadn't read a particular book. You ever wonder if you’d see tail coats and top hats with such wonder if you had never read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Or would you watch a fox and muse about it wearing socks and standing in a box and talking to a man called Mr Knox if you had never read that book by Dr Seuss? I think it’s beautiful how something as humble as telling a story can completely alter someone’s outlook on life; how one sentence in a novel can stay with you for so long that the simplest of things can trigger off the memory; that a book can drag you into a story for such a lengthy amount of time that you’re at a loss whenever you put it down.
Books are beautiful, so very beautiful.
“How do you remember all of that?” Callum asked.
I sat up quickly, not even realising that I’d settled back onto Callum’s shoulder and that my body was so relaxed. I shouldn’t have been so relaxed when Callum was that close and that Callum-ish, it would just lead to me blubbering about all that I thought was wrong with the world. “Sorry.” I apologised, I then furrowed my brow as I didn’t really get what I was apologising for.
“Ok something’s definitely wrong. You just said sorry.”
I frowned, “I say sorry.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yeah I do.”
“Not to me you don’t.”
“Only ever to you. I never say sorry to other people, not really.”
Callum stared at me, and I stared back. Then his eyes flickered to my lips and I flinched away.
Again, I know. Stupid, foolish, inconsiderate Toni. But that look in his eyes made me have to move away. We weren't doing that anymore.
I breathed slowly and watched the washing machine from my new seat. It was just a few centre metres from my old patch on the floor, but it was so much harder and colder and darker.
“You still haven't told me what’s wrong.” Callum offered as a change of subject. Not the right change but I could work with it.
“Who says anything’s wrong.” I countered.
Callum wrapped an arm around my shoulder pulling me towards him; it didn’t feel as friendly as it should have. Rather it made my stomach squirm, in that nice way, after the work my belly had been through earlier that week butterflies were welcomed with open arms. “I do. And since I'm always right…” he trailed off.
Maybe he was waiting for me to shot him down or something but words couldn’t find their way to my lips, not words I wanted to say anyway.
Callum held me tighter to him, so close I could feel the slight sigh run through his chest. “You remember when we were seven years old and you always used to sit in front of the washing machine and watch it go around and around until one day mum taught you how to use it.”
I thought about when I was seven and the things I was going through. I almost smiled; the situation was pretty much the same, my mum reminding me who my true family were and me being stuck. But then Callum’s mum had taught me how to do chores. How to wash dishes and take out rubbish and use a washing machine and fold clothes, and I had suddenly felt as though I could earn my keep.
The difference between the seven and fourteen year old me was that the latter realised how stupid that theory was.
I nodded, “I remember.”
Callum shook his head, his chin rubbed against my cheek. “I did not understand that at all. How could you actually enjoy doing housework.” He laughed, “I still think you did it just to make me look bad. Dad said you were a better child than I was.”
I snorted.
“I know right. They just said that to make you feel as though you were important.”
Probably...
There was a pause in which Callum waited for my response again. And once again there was none.
“Where’s the evil little comeback?” Callum teased poking me in the side.
I groaned.
Callum sighed, “So you’re not talking?”
“I’m talking, Callum.”
“But you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong.”
I smiled, “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
I laughed, sat up straight and rubbed the top of Callum’s head lovingly, “Why yes, you’re the prettiest girl in the pageant.”
He laughed too, “Man, you’re just so damn funny.”
I sighed dramatically and fell into Callum’s lap, “It’s a curse, really.”
He laughed again and smiled down at me. I looked up at his face in the almost dark. Though my butt was hurting and my heart was aching and my better judgement was telling me that I was meant to be at home with my mother and father, I was happy.
Callum made me happy.
Damn boy.
Callum bent over, leaning forward towards my face, until our noses were touching. It was a funny feeling: like the teasing that Callum would sometimes inflict on me while we’d been Practising but different. It was the feeling of being close to Callum rather than that feeling of being with Callum. Both different but just as satisfactory.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered his breath hitting my lips.
Confused and expectant of Callum’s touch, I raised an eyebrow.
He chuckled, the vibration of his body causing my skin to pulse. “I’m sorry for being a dick all day.”
“All day?”
He rolled his eyes and sat up, “I mean all week.”
I frowned, mainly because of the memory of the week, and how nice it seemed after what had happened that evening, but also because Callum had moved away from me. I shook my head, “Forget about it. It was actually really nice.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, kind of like Lennie in Of Mice and Men, when he pets the little animals but ends up killing them because of…” I trailed off due to the expression on Callum’s face. “That came out wrong.”
He nodded but didn’t meet my eyes, “I didn’t mean to be so… protective. It’s just it scares me when you’re sick. You hardly ever get sick.” He itched the back of his neck, “Plus school’s gotten…”
“Let me guess, little missy prissy pants is-” I then stopped myself again; reminding myself that it’s wrong to bad-mouth a friend’s girlfriend- especially to their face.
Callum sighed and shifted on his bottom. I noticed the space between us widen, I didn’t fill it. “Amber’s just…”
A bitch. I finished in my head.
He shook his head at my mien, “She’s a nice person.”
“Just like a blowfish is a nice pet.”
“I think a blowfish would make a great pet.” Callum said puffing out his chest.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I hope you and your blowfish have fun together.” I said crossing my arms.
“We do, thank you very much.” Callum smiled sweetly.
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Fantastic.”
“Excellent.”
“Outstanding.”
“Superb.”
“Marvellous.”
“Great.”
“You already said that.” I told him.
“I know, but I couldn’t think of any other words.” He explained.
And then I burst out laughing.
I sighed and looked up at Callum, his dark eyes twinkling. “What’s up with you?” I asked.
He smiled at me curiously, “What do you mean?”
I shrugged, “Something’s different. You look different.”
“You mean instead of gobsmackingly gorgeous, I just look gorgeous? I understand, it’s been a trying week.”
I laughed and waved my hands in front of his face, “No not that. You just look…” but what was the word. How could I possibly describe the look on his face when his looks had been confusing me for weeks? I shrugged again, “I don’t know.”
He flicked my nose, “Aren't you just the queen of I-don’t-know.”
I wrinkled my nose, “I think you’ll find you’re the queen of I-don’t-know.”
“Oh, how I do enjoy you questioning my sexuality at every opportunity.” He said dramatically.
“It would be so cool if you were gay!” I exclaimed.
“No. It would be cool if you were gay.” Callum stated. “Three words: ménage a trios.”
“Ohh, look who knows French.” I said derisively.
“I only did it for three years.”
“And that’s the only thing you know how to say.”
Callum pinched me.
“Hey!” he smiled smugly at me, I flipped him the bird, “And anyway, if I was a lesbian there is no way in hell I would have threesome with you.”
I then paused and looked around. “What?” Callum whispered.
I shot him a look, “You realise that that would have been just about the worst time for someone to come in. And we weren't exactly whispering.”
Callum feigned sadness, “That’s true. The thought of someone overhearing you rejecting me sends shivers down my spine.”
“Shut up.” I spat, hitting him.
“Anything you say, ma’am.”
“I don’t hear shutting up.” I sung.
“Of course you can’t hear shutting up, it’s meant to be silence.”
“God, you’re so smart.” I muttered.
Cal laughed, “Not many people call me by my biblical name.”
I hit him.
“Ow.”
“Good.”
Then there was a silence again, a nice kind. It felt like it had been a long time since Callum had had a nice silence between us. I missed it.
I grinned at him. “How do you do that?”
“What?” he inquired.
“Just make everything else in the world irrelevant.”
There was quiet, such comforting quiet that I was sure it was folding it’s arms around me and whispering sweet nothings, lulling me to sleep.
“I'm God.” Callum explained, “I can do anythin-OW!”
“Thou shalt not misuse the name of God.” I recited.
“Of course you’ve memorised the ten commandments as well. Your mind must be a sight to behold.” Callum said.
I couldn’t tell if he was complaining or not.