he’ll walk home with me but I ask him why he doesn’t go up town with the others. If I could, I would, and he says that watching Shaznia drink an eggnog latte on a war memorial isn’t his idea of fun. I think to myself how much I’d love it because it’s about fitting in and having a choice.
Choice. That’s what I want really.
I am controlled. Controlled by anxiety and my need to be prepared for every possible outcome, but that is an impossibility…so anxiety reigns over my life.
What was Shaznia talking about to Lynx?
Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx
We walk out the school. I make up an excuse to check a notice board in the art block, so I can walk past the the coins and count:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
The half day meant I didn’t have time to do my usual 12 times check. They are reassuringly still there and that’s what I need on a half day/last day. We are walking along Vernon Road by The Money Shop.
The window display of diamond rings, gold chains and shiny watches changes a lot in The Money Shop. People sell their precious items because they can’t pay a bill, says Mum, and I think maybe they didn’t have any choice either. Maybe they had to sell their rings and chains to pay their electricity bills and I know how sad that is, and the window becomes a very sad window of second-hand jewels… And then I shudder, thinking about all the stains, all the passed-on energy in these jewels.
But I like the big M in the sign.
As we walk Joe asks why I like Shaznia so much, and I explain that she is my friend, and he says he thinks she’s a bit of a user. User. And then he asks why I call Lynx “Lynx” and I explain about Amber Jade, White Lines, Africa and all the other ranges of body spray which he wears, and he nods and asks,
“Did you get the card I gave you M?”
I did, and I recite the message on the front under the laughing snowman,
“Tis the season to be jolly!” And add, “Actually, Joe, I think ‘Tis the season to shut yourself in your bedroom and breathe deeply,’” and he says he understands that very well and he wished he had a bedroom to shut himself away and he says I’m lucky. Lucky? How! How amazing that someone thinks I am lucky! We get to my house and Joe asks to come in and watch a film but I say no.
“I could take Bella round the block for you?” he suggests.
“Err…no, Joe.”
“Is Toby about? I could say hi.”
“No,” I reply. “Toby is out. He’s at the Christmas party, at the football club.” And I am so glad he is out and I can be on my own.
“I have to go in now.” And the truth is I should be in a French lesson right now anyway, so it’s best I go in and try to cope with the displacement and broken afternoon.
“OK. Merry Christmas M. I’ll call over in the holidays,” he says as he walks up the road and I wonder when exactly. And that makes me feel edgy. Edgy. Will he call round? Or will he call me on my mobile? Will he give me warning? Maybe I should call him and tell him not to call round.
I turn the key in the door and enter my little, warm home.
The last day/half day has ended and I have made it. Term has ended and I survived!
I stand in the hall and enjoy feeling in one piece.
I can hear the fridge whirring but I feel a sense of calm and I am grateful for this moment.
Anxiety doesn’t seem to be near. Perhaps it is waiting by the war memorial for me. Coming home was definitely the right decision.
Bella waddles up to me, wagging her tail, and I kneel down and hug her. Bella is the only one I hug. Hugs and kisses. She pulls away and walks to the back door and I let her in the garden. The apple tree’s black twigs and branches are scoring the grey sky. Dark, spiky beauty, and I am settled by the cold air and the shadowy moon, which is beginning to show in the sky.
I can look at the moon for hours, sometimes. It is never stressed, even though it looks over some terrible situations. I breathe in nature’s centring strength. Constant and full of magnificent systems that connect us all, and nature’s brilliance calms me, further.
I go to my room, Bella follows and collapses on my bedside rug, and I look up USER.
User
[noun]
1. A person or thing that uses.
2. One who uses drugs, especially as an abuser or addict.
And I wonder why Joe has told me she is a user? We’re all users. I’m a user but I’m certainly not a drug addict. Drug addict?
Why would Joe say Shaznia is a drug addict?
USER USER USER
Does Shaznia use me? And I feel rotten.
I look up photos of Lynx on the school football website and I go from rotting to sweetness. Inside I feel sweet and sparkly and I just really, really love him!
Athletic! Strong! Fit! Handsome!! Muscles! Legs!!! Lynx!
Action shots!
Lynx scoring a goal! GOAL!!!!!!
Team photos!
Holding a trophy, high above his head!
Photos on the school mini bus, “Off to win at Hollingbrook High.”
Handsome, successful, juicy-lipped Lynx.
I look in the bedroom mirror and say, “All in all, M, this term was C minus.”
And now I needed to sleep and let my masks drop.
Daughter
Friend
Student
Sister
Small talker
I lie on my little bed and be Me. I think about…
Mum and Dad
Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx
Life has piled so much on top of me.
AN-Xiety
Sep- ar- ation
F r a c t u r e d t i m e
FRIENDSHIP?
Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx Lynx
Exhaustion
