Joe would whisper,
“She thinks you’re tired and that’s why your grades are getting worse.”
“Well? What time did you go to bed last night?” And I can’t answer. I don’t know why she is asking me this. I don’t understand, and anxiety has me in a head lock and it’s tightening its grip around my little neck and I am struggling to breathe. And I use all my strength, all my focus, to draw my shaky breath, deep into my lungs, like how Fiona, my counsellor, taught me. Deep, deep steadying breaths.
Deep breath in.
And out.
Deep breath in.
And out.
The truth is I went to bed last night at 9.00pm but I didn’t sleep till 6.00am. I often have nights without much sleep. Mum calls them my “all-nighters.” When my worries are the size of Kilimanjaro or Mars or the Great Wall of China and these are great, big enormous things that I just can’t push aside at 4.00am. They sit, big, bulging in my head.
Lara’s phone beeps.
Mrs Chiswick swings around and I swear she shouts at her almost with delight and stands over her desk. The attention is taken away from me and anxiety loosens its hold, a little. Joe whispers,
“She’s power mad M, don’t worry. I’ll help you with your homework. I could come over this evening?”
So Joe likes to come over and visit and we’d do our maths homework at the kitchen table. Mum really likes him. She says,
“I like Joe, he’s a very mature boy,” and Toby says,
“He’s cool.”
Not that Toby sees him much because Toby goes out a lot. But when Joe is over he lingers at the door. Half in, half out. Very disconcerting. Toby changes when Joe is about. He acts a bit like a dad or a teacher and even called him “mate.” He actually behaves like a nice person, maybe that’s how he wins all the “Most Polite Boy” certificates, stuck all over the fridge. The certificates I want to rip up and throw in the bin because I don’t get certificates…just letters home about my behaviour.
Dear Parent,
Your daughter’s disruptive behaviour in lesson 4 on Thursday 16th October has resulted in:
A Stage 2 on St. Andrew’s Code of Conduct
According to the school contract, which you signed when your child joined St. Andrew’s, this means a meeting is required with head of form and Head of Pastoral Care to discuss personal and academic goals. Please attend a meeting on 17th November 8.40am.
There are lots of these letters stuffed in drawers and bags…they don’t make it to the fridge door.
Anyway, Joe. Everyone really likes Joe. (Except Nev and Lara, but they don’t like many people.) He’s just one of those “even people” that everyone gets along with. Bella, our big, fat Labrador, likes Joe. She wags her tail and gets all excited when he comes over and Joe even takes Bella round the block if he stays for dinner and Mum always insists that he stays for dinner. She says,
“Joe, you’ve saved me a fortune in maths tuition.” To be honest Joe does lighten the feel of the house sometimes.
“You’ve got a great family,” said Joe one evening, while I was trying to work out the ratio of women to men in a fictitious software business in Nevada, USA.
“Really Joe? Are you serious?” I ask. “There’s a bit missing,” I said and Joe looked at my calculations.
“No, from my family,” I reply and he laughs. He does this a lot and I used to get annoyed with him and hurt, then he explained sometimes we have “funny misunderstandings.”
“Is this a funny misunderstanding, Joe?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says, smiling. “Your hair looks good M.”
“Thank you. I know,” I say and he smiles. “I look pretty today, don’t I?” And he laughs.
I know I am pretty. Everyone tells me this and I do assess from looking at pictures of other teenage girls that I’m on the high end of the pretty scale. Plus I wear really fashionable clothes and I’ve read things on the web and magazines that style and fashion can really enhance your attractiveness.
He flicks a pea, left over from dinner, and it hits my white school shirt.
I am shocked!
“I’m sorry M! I was only teasing.”
Teasing is one of those words, concepts that I really don’t understand. I’ve known people to tease me and it’s horrible and they’ve got in trouble, and when Dad lived at home he would tease Toby and they’d both laugh and then I heard someone on TV saying they would “tease the information out of the suspect.” So it’s at points like this I have to withdraw. It’s words like this which keep me separate and feeling dislocated from this world.
However, I am annoyed. He’s got dinner on my white shirt.
“And what do you mean, a bit’s missing from your family?” he asks.
“Well, Dad. He’s not here.” I don’t tell him that I did it. I broke the family because my anxiety drove Dad away and my guilt, the size of Russia, the biggest country in the world, 17,075,200 square kilometres, hangs around me all the time.
“Yeah but he’s still your dad. To be honest, M,” he continues, “my dad is around and I wish he wasn’t.”
“We’re a broken family Joe. That’s what we are called.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple M…” And I think to myself that nothing ever, ever is that simple. How I long for simple.
“Anyway, bent, broken or cracked I really like it round yours. You get some peace.”
“Peace? Really? Toby is so loud and booming and Mum is always shouting up the stairs or her phone is going off, she’s listening to the TV and talking.”
“Well, it’s peaceful now,” he said, and we stopped and listened. I could hear:
1.Fridge whirring intensely.
2.The kitchen light buzzing, drilling.
3.High sounding, tinny screeching coming from Mum’s radio upstairs.
4.Bella’s breathing.
5.Toby slamming the front door shut and shaking the whole house.
6.The neighbours plugging things in.
7.A car passing outside.
8.A car door slamming.
“This isn’t peaceful, Joe.”
“I’ve got six brothers and sisters, M. This is peaceful compared to mine.” I make a mental note, never, ever visit Joe’s.
“And
