Drawn (7 page)

Inside the box is an oval shaped, brushed metal keychain. Holding it up, I turn it over in my hands, reading the inscriptions on both sides. One says ‘Home Sweet Home’ and the other side says ‘Etta’.

“Oh wow. This is really thoughtful Aaron. Thank you,” I say, leaning in to him and hugging him tight as I kiss him on the cheek.

Grinning, he turns a little pink. “No worries. I just thought with the move and all…”

“It’s perfect. Really it is,” I beam, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze as our lecturer calls us all to attention. “Thank you,” I say again in a whisper
, as I turn to the front of the room to listen, all the while keeping a hold of the smooth metal in my hand. This is really the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.

“Happy birthday!” my mother singsongs, as I trudge out of my room on Tuesday morning at 8am. “What would you like for your birthday breakfast?”

“Anything with caffeine,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. You’d think I hadn’t even slept by the way I was feeling when my alarm went off this morning. It’s not like I’ve been training lately either. Surprisingly,
Damien actually respected my wishes and didn’t show up, honking his horn until I came out. Although, I’m not sure if I’m happy or a little disappointed in that.

When I’m around him, I feel things. That’s a very ineloquent way to put it, but I don’t feel normal arou
nd him. I’m not sure what it is. I’m not sure if I’m attracted to him or if I’m scared of him, and I find myself constantly on guard, but at the same time, hoping to run into him.

It’s driving me a little mad, as I keep thinking I see him everywhere. He’s in my dreams, he’s on the street. I even thought I saw him when I was at the movies with my mother on the weekend.

I just can’t name what that feeling is. It’s not that hope you feel when you like someone – it’s different to that. I guess I just feel…aware. It’s strange. It’s disconcerting and more than a little confusing.

My mother sets a mug of coffee in front of me. Thanking her, I take a sip. “Where’s dad?” I ask, carefully placing the mug back down on the table in front of me.

“He’s outside, working off a bit of steam. He’s not taking your birthday well,” she confides.

“I know. But I need to have my own life mum. I just want one year on my own. Uni will be over and before I know it, I’ll have all this work and responsibility. I just want one year with no rules, no restrictions.”

She cups my chin in her hand and looks at me, her lips pressed together, and her eyes glassy. “I do understand, honey. It’s just hard for us to see our little girl grown up so fast. You’ll have to give your dad time.”

It’s at that moment, he chooses to burst in through the back door, his face flushed and his breathing rapid from his early work out.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he says as soon as he sees me.

“Thank you dad,” I smile, noting the hint of sadness on his face.

He walks toward me and places a small bag on the table in front of me. “I know your present is the move and all, but I wanted to give you something on the day.”

“Oh dad,” I breathe, touched that he’s being so thoughtful even though this birthday spells the end of his authority over me. It’s not like he’s been horrible to me at all. I certainly don’t see him as some sort of evil tyrant, I just feel shackled and I’m ready to be free.

“Open it,” he urges, nodding toward the black bag with brightly coloured ‘happy birthday’s all over it in different fonts.

Looking inside, I move the white tissue paper to the side and locate a burgundy velvet pouch at the bottom.

“You got me jewellery?” I ask smiling. My father has never bought me anything girly before. As I open it, I glance over at my mother who is leaning against the bench top and watching our exchange with an absent smile on her face.

Slipp
ing my fingers into the opening to loosen the string, I reach inside and slide out a black tube bracelet, held together by a silver ellipse.

“It’s a Ki bracelet,” he explains, taking it from my fingers and offering to clasp it
to my wrist. “It’s to keep you centred.”

Turning my wrist from side to side, I admire the sleek design. “Thank you Dad. This is beautiful. I’ll wear it always.”

He nods, leaning his bulk down to kiss me on my head. “Happy birthday,” he says again, before announcing that he’s going to take a shower.

“Did you know about this?” I ask my mother once he’s out of ear shot.

“No, he did it all by himself,” she smiles. “You ready for something to eat? I can toast some banana bread if you like?”

“Yeah mum, that would be great.”

I spend the rest of the day with my parents. My mother has taken the day off work, and my father has left the running of the gym to his employees for the day. We torture my father by shopping for items I’ll need to move out with, as well as a dress for the Scarlet Party on Thursday night.

It’s a simple dress - red of course, and sleeveless, with an asymmetric mid-length skirt. It’s one of those halter neck designs with black binding on the neck and a black and gold trim on
the waist that acts like a belt. 

While I’m not that into dresses, it’s actually kind of cool – and it’s not super girly, plus, it doesn’t have any sequins on it, which I hate. It’s just …nice.

By the time we’re done, you can tell my dad is itching to go home. He’s not big on shopping, so I really appreciate him spending the day being dragged around without complaining.

Feeling exhausted, I head to my bedroom to deposit some of our purchases on the floor while my mother and father store a few of the other things in the living room. As I walk down the hall, I brush my fingertips over the door leading to my brother’s room, wishing he was still here. It’s basically a shrine in there, not one thing
has changed since he died. It’s as if it’s sitting there, waiting for him to return.

Once again reminded of my family’s loss, I lay on my bed and take out my phone as a distraction, quickly responding to the happy birthday messages from my friends. They all know that we’re celebrating my birthday together at the Scarlet Party on Thursday.

I know that spending the day with your parents isn’t the normal thing for an eighteen year old to do. I’m supposed to be celebrating my legal freedom by having a big party or spending the night getting drunk at some club or bar with my friends. But today is a family day. It’s one of my last ones.

In a few days, I’ll be out of here, out on my own. As much as I love my parents, and as much as I know it hurts them that I’m leaving, I need to think about myself. I can’t live with my brother’s ghost forever. It’s already been six years since he died, and while I miss him every day, I just can’t live with the sadness his absence brings to this house anymore. I need to live. I can’t mourn anymore.

Is it wrong that I’m so excited about going to the Scarlet Party that I actually woke up early this morning? Like 5am early? It’s only 8am now and I already have my dress ironed and ready… I know – who even irons these days? But I’m all fidgety with nothing else to do today but wait until it’s time to meet everyone at the uni bar.

I think I’m driving my mum crazy with my constant pacing. She works from home as a Virtual Assistant to various small companies that can’t afford to hire someone to work for them full time. So I guess me walking around the house aimlessly is ruining her concentration.

“Would you just go for a run or something?” she says eventually, her eyes closed as she forces her voice to stay calm.

“Oh, it’s fine.
I’m happy hanging around here,” I reply, clapping my hands together as I continue to pace.

“Honey, I insist. Please, get out of this house and work off some of that excess energy.”

“But I have uni in an hour,” I retort.

“Then you can get ready and walk to the uni instead of catching a train. Please Etta, I can’t concentrate with you huffing and puffing out there.”

I hesitate in the doorway of her office, it’s already fairly warm outside, and I don’t want to have to wear a giant hat to protect my fair skin from the bright February sun.

“Go!” she commands, shooing me away with her hand.

“Um… ok,” I call, grabbing my bag as I head out the door.

It takes me a good forty-five minutes to make it on campus, and the first thing I do is head to the café to grab a cold bottle of water. As I stand outside, I lean against the wall in the shade to cool down before I go to class.

“Hey, I thought that was you,” says Aaron as he approaches me. “How does it feel to officially be an adult now?”

“The same so far. I haven’t done any 18-year-old things yet,” I reply taking a mouthful of water.

He raises his eyebrows at me as a grin spreads across his lips. He knows full well that I’ve done plenty of 18-year-old things. I just haven’t done them legally yet.

“I mean I haven’t been able to officially use my ID yet.”

“Well, we will fix that for you tonight. Are you going to crash at your new place or do you want to crash at mine?” he asks, taking the bottle from my hands and taking a mouthful for himself.

“I hadn’t thought about it. I was actua
lly just planning on going home. I only have tonight and tomorrow before I move out. So I thought I might be responsible and not drink too much tonight to freak the parental unit out.”

He hands the bottle back. “Thanks,” he says. “Yeah, that might be a good idea. We can go out again next week if you want to have a big one.”

“We can go out any time. I’m about to be granted my freedom. The rules will soon be mine to make,” I smile.

“You know, it’s strange thinking of you as eighteen. You seem so much older all the time,” he muses as we begin to make our way to the lecture hall.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or if you’re telling me I look haggard,” I laugh.

“No Etta – it’s a compliment. You’re so far from ever being called ‘haggard’ and you know it. I guess it’s just that we started uni at the same time, and I’ve always thought of you as the same
as me. You’ve never seemed as though you were five years younger than me.”

Besides the mature age students, Aaron is actually one of the older students in third year. Most students started straight out of high school. But Aaron didn’t start until he was twenty – he took a year off to work and travel before focusing on his studies.

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” I say.

“No. It’s true - you’re amazing.”

He stands aside to let me into the row of seats ahead of him, and I’m glad to be able to turn away from him, and glad that the lecture hall has dim lighting. His compliment has caused a deep flush to heat my cheeks. I’ve always thought he was pretty amazing too.

***

“Show me, show me, show me!” my mother sings as she makes her way up the hallway to the bathroom where I’m getting ready for my night out. I’ve used the flat iron to straighten my thick auburn locks and applied a deep pink lip stain. For my eyes, I’ve kept it simple, by brushing brown eye shadow over my lower lid and smudging it at the corner, topping it off with some black mascara.

“Oh honey,” she breathes, looking me up and down. “You look gorgeous. Wait there, I want to take a photo to show your father.”

“No mum please,” I beg.

“Just one,” she says, dashing off to grab her phone.

When she returns, I turn aro
und and let her take her photo, feeling like an idiot as she clicks away.

“Just one more. Can you smile in this one - please? You look so pretty.”

I give my mum the smile she’s after, as a horn honks outside, letting me know that Aaron is there to pick me up.

“Isn’t he going to come in to get you?” she asks, glancing out the window at his parked car.

“It’s not a date mum,” I remind her, as I pick up my bag.

“Doesn’t mean he has to beep at you,” she comments.

Smiling, I ignore her quip. “Thank you for the dress mum,” I say to her as I start to leave.

“I expected you to choose pants,” she smiles, touching my arm lightly. “Have a great time tonight. Stay out as long
as you like. Be good – and drink if you wish. I promise to deal with your father.”

“Thanks mum,” I whisper, giving her
a quick hug.

On my way out, I can’t stop smiling as she leans against the door jam and keeps calling out for me to have a good time. I’m now wondering who’s more excited about this. Me or her?

“Holy shit Etta. You look smoking hot tonight,” Aaron remarks as I get in the car.

“Thank you,” I smile. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I like this look on you.”

He’s wearing a pair of red jeans with a fitted black t-shirt. You can actually see the hours this man puts in at the uni gym through his clothes, and I wonder why he still doesn’t have a girlfriend. I don’t really think he’s dated much at all since we broke up.

As we approach the campus Bar Café, I’m feeling a little overdressed. Most of the people milling about the campus are wearing casual jeans and t-shirt type outfits as they move from class to class. My phone goes off in my bag, signalling that I have a message.