The Simple Gift (11 page)

Cooking, and eating

I hate cooking.

I hate touching raw meat

and cutting it into thin slices

and peeling vegetables is boring,

so I do it all quickly.

I throw the chicken,

potatoes, beans, carrots into a pot,

I add stock,

and curry from a jar,

and I let it simmer

for hours.

I go downstairs to Dad's cellar

and choose wine,

a few bottles of red,

one white,

expensive wine

for my valued guests.

I go upstairs

and run a hot bath,

put some music on,

just quietly,

and I lie back in the full tub

and I forget cooking.

I think of eating.

I love eating.

The moon

I almost laughed

when they arrived.

The two neatest hobos

I'd ever seen,

with their hair combed,

slicked back,

and their faces rubbed shiny clean.

Old Bill called me ‘Miss'

and offered me a box of chocolates

he'd brought

and he looked around the house

as though he was visiting the moon.

Billy saw the wine,

already open,

and he poured three glasses

passed them around,

and as we raised our glasses

Billy said,

‘To the richest house in Bendarat'

and we laughed.

My cooking even smelt good

and Old Bill kept

wandering from room to room

discovering

another side to the moon.

Stories

We couldn't sit at the table.

It looked too neat,

too polished, too clean.

We sat on the floor

near the fireplace

and we ate the curry

with a fork

and we dipped our bread

in the sauce

and we drank just enough

to forget where we were.

Billy and I talked

and planned picnics

and nights off from McDonald's.

I told them about school

and its stupid rules

and about Petra and Kate

and the gossip about

the two Physical Education teachers

that swept the schoolyard.

And Billy told us about Irene

and their library deal

and reading books beside

Westfield Creek while jigging school.

Old Bill sat quiet,

a faint smile

as he slowly drank

Dad's expensive wine

and listened

to our exaggerated

stories.

Simple gift

I shook the young lady's hand,

and Billy's.

I thanked them for the meal

and took my leave.

I walked back

through the rich streets of town,

the neat gardens,

the high timber fences,

the solid gates with

the double garage behind them.

I hadn't drunk too much,

the wine was too good to ruin

with drunkenness,

and I'd listened

to Billy and Caitlin talk

and I'd noticed

how they looked at each other –

their quick, gentle smiles over the food –

and the way they sat close,

and I realised as I walked home

that for a few hours

I hadn't thought of anything

but how pleasant it was

to sit with these people

and to talk with them.

I walked home to my old carriage

and thought of how to repay them

for their simple gift,

and I enjoyed the thinking.

Making love

It was like falling headlong

into the clear waters

of the Bendarat River

and opening my eyes

to the beautiful

phosphorescent bubbles of light

and trying to catch those bubbles

in the new world of quiet and calm

that carried me along, breathless,

and too late, or too early,

I surfaced

and broke the gentle tide,

and I gasped and rolled

and wished Caitlin and I

could return to the hush

of that special world

and we could float

safe for a lifetime

lost

and hoping never

to be found.

My other life

We fell asleep.

I fell asleep with Billy

beside me,

his arm on my stomach,

his breath so close,

and when we woke

we woke together

and he kissed me

and we made love again

in the single bed

I've had since I was eight

with its crisp white sheets

and oversized doona

and lots of pillows,

and I looked around my bedroom

at the posters on the walls

and my dresser full of make-up

and moisturiser and clutter

and my school uniform

hanging neatly behind the door

ready for my other life,

the life I'd forgotten about

for a few hours last night

and this morning.

Monday

It was early Monday.

I was sleeping,

and I heard the knock.

I knew it wasn't Caitlin,

her knock is quieter.

I woke with a start

and was ready to run

when the door opened

and it was Old Bill

with a coffee

and a breakfast bowl

for me.

He came in,

sat opposite,

handed me the cup,

and he said,

‘Milk and two sugars,

the way you like it.

You young blokes sure

know how to sleep,

it's nine o'clock you know.'

We looked at each other

and I started laughing.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed long and loud,

and Old Bill,

who at first looked offended,

joined in,

two hobos laughing,

laughing the morning away.

Tell the world

On Monday at school

I sat with Petra and Kate

and I wanted to tell

them about everything.

I so much wanted to tell

but I couldn't

because

I thought of Kate

and her story

of sex in the bushes

and I didn't want

to have to talk about

the details

as if to prove to her

that it was good

and fine

and I felt lucky

and I didn't want to admit

that I couldn't wait to see Billy

and do it again

and again

and that somehow

while mopping the floor

at McDonald's

I'd met someone

who I could lie naked beside

and not feel foolish

or embarrassed,

that I'd met someone

I could trust

and feel safe with.

I wanted to tell them that,

but not yet,

not just yet.

I wanted to go to Billy

tonight

and tomorrow

and next week

and I wanted to prove it

to myself

before I tell the world.