This River Awakens (42 page)

‘Clearly,’ Joanne said in a quieter tone, ‘you don’t understand what it is to be a proper girl. I know, the influences on your life have been terrible – but you’re old enough to choose new influences now. You don’t have to choose to drink—’

‘Drink? I don’t—’

‘Quiet! You don’t have to choose to act like a … a slut – I don’t like that word, but it fits, I’m afraid. You don’t have to repeat your parents’ mistakes, or their failures—’

‘My mother’s not a slut,’ Jennifer said.

‘Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply—’

‘Maybe not on purpose—’

‘Stop interrupting me!’

‘Is your period overdue or something?’ Jennifer asked. ‘Still a virgin, are you? That’s too bad. Did your father cheat on your mother? Did—’

‘How dare you talk to me like this?’

‘The same way you just did, you fucking bitch. Didn’t like it? Well, I didn’t either. So now we’re even. So either suspend me or can we go back to class? Barry Thompson’s bound to be wringing their necks by now, and you’ll be responsible if it happens. Oh my,’ she sang shrilly. ‘Whatever will we do?’ She rose, her eyes narrowing. ‘Aren’t you just so very angry, Miss Rhide? So very, very angry. I know this doctor – he’s perfect, a catch. He’s so very, very caring. Should I call him, make introductions?’

Joanne also stood. ‘One more word—’

‘And what? You think Mrs Reynolds couldn’t hear every word you said? You’re a banshee, just like Owen said. What else did he call you? Well, never mind. Too obscure for you, anyway. You and me, Miss Rhide, don’t you get it? You want me to be just like you – is that my future? Are you my future? Well, no offence, but fuck that. And you – you want to be just like me – a part of you does, anyway, the hungry part. Well, keep on dreaming, Rhide, it’s all you’ve got and all you’ll ever get.’ She paused, trying to regain her breath.

Joanne could only watch, helpless, unable to defend herself. She remembered Marianne Obell’s words:
Watch out, Joanne. She’s exceptional. She’s a razor, a goddamned razor.

Jennifer continued, ‘Ask the secretary out there. We’re not the only angry ones. Ask my mother. Now show me something worth being. Hell, since you’ve made yourself God, show us all, Miss Rhide. Wave your hand and wipe the anger away, from everyone, for all time. If you can’t, then shut the fuck up and stay out of my way.’ She whirled and rushed from the room.

Joanne heard Mrs Reynolds call out, ‘Jenny! Wait! Please—’ Then the outer door slammed.

Joanne slowly sat down. She was shaking, trembling. She felt like she was going to vomit. Mrs Reynolds appeared at the door, her gaze like flint. ‘I’ll get you a glass of water,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Joanne whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Jill.’

The older woman stared down at her. ‘It’s a start,’ she said, then left.

III

Jennifer made her way to her chair. Thompson stopped his bored lecture on the fur trade and watched as she sat down.

‘And Miss Rhide?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.’

There was a brief tug at the corner of his mouth, then he swung his back to the class and began wiping his notes from the blackboard.

Jennifer looked over at Owen. He mouthed the word
bitch,
jerking his head towards the office. She nodded, then sighed and looked down at her hands on the desktop. She’d almost cried, standing by the outer doors with the endless rain ripping down just a few feet away.
Got to me. Never again, Rhide. Go to hell, go to fucking hell.
She’d smoked a cigarette, and that had calmed her down.
Almost cried. Fuck you, Rhide.
Detention, phone calls, letters – she knew she was under attack. The year ahead stretched out in front of her mind’s eye like a road of broken glass.
Still, just a year, a winter, one winter. She’ll go away, like a rash of zits. A temporary torture.

Barb leaned towards her. ‘How’d it go?’ she whispered.

‘Piece of cake,’ Jennifer hissed back.

Miss Rhide strode stiffly to the head of the class. Thompson handed her the chalk then leaned close as she whispered a few words. The man frowned, studied Rhide searchingly, then, looking troubled, left for his office.

‘Well! Sorry for the delay.’ She tried to smile enthusiastically, but it came out as a grimace. ‘I believe you were learning about the fur trade…’

*   *   *

Detention over,
Mr Lyle’s expression revealed as he finished marking her test. He was a pale-skinned, dark-haired man, always wearing suits in shades of green. Tough as nails, but fair, never malicious.

‘You know,’ he said, rising from behind his desk, ‘I’m having to write up special tests just for you, Jennifer.’

‘Sorry for the extra work.’

‘Oh no, it’s becoming a real challenge. I haven’t even taught you this algebra yet. It’s really very impressive. You definitely have a talent.’

Jennifer scowled. ‘Mr Lyle, you know you’re not supposed to tell me things like that.’

He sat on his desk, looking tired after a long day. ‘You don’t get told often enough, I think.’

‘Is that the problem, then?’

‘You tell me.’

She fell silent.

‘Well, then,’ he said, standing. ‘You can go. But Jennifer, if you ever want to talk to someone, I’ll listen. No lectures, I mean. Just listen. You’ve got some people here pulling for you, you know.’

She couldn’t meet his eyes. His words echoed inside, piling up, filling spaces that had been empty for so long.
Only Owen’s done that. Only him.

‘Get your coat on,’ he said, shrugging into his olive raincoat. ‘I’ll drop you off. No point in getting soaked.’

‘Oh, that’s okay. I can walk. It’s not far.’

‘How about the top of the road, then? Halfway, as it were.’

‘All right. Thanks.’

‘Don’t know about you,’ he said as he collected his leather briefcase, ‘but I’m dying for a smoke.’

*   *   *

The drive to the turn-off was a short one. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take you the rest of the way?’ Mr Lyle asked.

‘That’s all right,’ Jennifer said, opening the door. ‘I like rain, anyway.’

‘See you Monday, then.’

‘Bye.’ She stepped outside, closed the door then waved. The teacher pulled the car back on to the highway.

She crossed to the other side, feeling the rain soak into her clothes and through her hair. It felt cleansing, life-giving. The day had left her shaken, wrung out. She would have liked to have met Owen right now – she hoped he’d held out against Rhide better than she’d done, that he’d gone away unscathed, not wounded and still bleeding. And the thought of going home, back into that shadow game, the smoke and mirrors still being played for Roulston and Queen Anne’s benefit, filled her with dread. Her house ticked like a bomb, and the fuse smouldered behind her father’s placid smile.

Someone was in the bus shack near the turn-off. She saw a boy’s legs, the jeans wet, the sneakers covered in mud. Thinking it might be Owen, she headed over. As she came around the side she saw that it was Lynk.

He had a chrome lighter in his hands. A pile of crumpled newspaper smoked under the bench in one corner. Startled, he looked up.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ he asked, flicking the lighter.

‘Nothing.’ Jennifer turned to go.

‘Hey!’ Lynk said.

His cheek was still blue under one eye, making him look like a sad dog.

She said, ‘What?’

‘Want to neck or something?’

‘You’re dreaming—’

He sat up, flicking the lighter back on. ‘Why the fuck not? I won’t tell.’

She turned away again.

‘Come on, you slut! I’ll feel you up. You like that, don’t you?’

Slut. That’s what I am, isn’t it? What Rhide called me. I wouldn’t have to go home. Not right away. He can play with my tits. That’s what they’re there for, anyway. Roland’s played with them, too. And Owen. And Mark and Dave and Mark’s kid brother – what was his name? He sucked on them like a baby, then he started crying when his brother and the others started teasing him. I’d been stoned. We’d got the kid stoned, too – what was his name? I kept putting my cigarette into his mouth – he was so out of it he didn’t even cough. Mark said later his brother was hooked now – on everything. He was eight, or nine. Maybe even seven – can’t even remember his name.

Slut. Slut slut slut.
She pulled out her cigarettes. ‘Give me a light,’ she said, sitting down beside him.

His hand was shaking so she had to take it in both of hers to light the cigarette. ‘You can’t make it obvious,’ she said. ‘Some cars go by slow – I don’t want anybody to see.’

‘No way,’ he laughed. ‘With this rain, nobody can see anything.’

He reached over and cupped one of her breasts. The nipple was already hard, with the wet and chill, but she heard her own breath quicken. ‘Twist it,’ she said. ‘The nipple. Twist it hard.’

Awkwardly, Lynk moved closer, then pushed his mouth against hers.

She punched at his chest, drove him away. His eyes were wide.

‘What the fuck?’ he said.

Jennifer felt like crying. ‘No kissing,’ she said.

‘What the fuck’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘We’re supposed to be necking, you bitch.’ He set his hand against her breast again and pinched the nipple.

She pushed him away. ‘Fuck off. I changed my mind.’ She stood, started buttoning up her jean jacket.

‘I can do it as good as Owen,’ Lynk said, his face red. ‘Better. You said we’d neck. I want to cop a feel. Come on, I’ll put my finger in you – you like that, don’t you? All girls like that.’

‘How would you know?’ Jennifer said with a harsh laugh. ‘You don’t know shit.’

He grabbed her, pulled her around.

She punched him in the face. He sat back down heavily, putting both hands against his nose as the blood streamed down.

‘Bastard!’ Jennifer hissed.

‘I’m telling Owen,’ he said, his voice muffled.

‘You do that, and I’ll tell everyone how a girl beat you up, gave you a new black eye.’

‘Fuck off.’

She left him sitting there. She lifted her face to the sky and let the rain shower over it, the water running down her neck, down between her breasts.

Why did I let him do that? Just because that’s how it always happens? Some shithead wants a handful of my tit. I let him, pretending I don’t care, only thinking about the way it feels. Just wanting to feel good for a change. To close my eyes and listen to the guy’s breathing, to his gasps and grunts as he loses control. Then a private smile. Took out another one, another one looking shamefaced and unable to meet the calm knowledge in my eyes. But they all want me, and it’s good feeling wanted.

And yet, Jennifer knew that what they wanted wasn’t really her. Just parts of her. For so long, it had seemed like she wasn’t supposed to expect anything more. Nothing else counted, nothing else mattered. She’d been unable to believe that there could be more to things.
Use me, and I’ll use you back. We’ll call it ‘going together’, until we get tired of each other, until you want someone else to use, and I want someone else to use. Like Owen.

She felt dirty inside. She’d betrayed Owen, and punching Lynk in the nose wouldn’t change that.
A slut.
Rhide was right.

But I don’t like it any more. I can’t be that way. I don’t want to. Owen’s mother said that Owen was lucky to have me as his girlfriend. She might have to change her mind, but I don’t want her to, I want to be what she wants me to be. Never again. It’s over. Lynk showed me that.

She decided to visit Owen later, come to the house. He’d squirm, but she liked his mother, and they had fun talking, teasing Owen, acting like sisters sometimes. And Debbie might come downstairs and they’d all smoke and gab away, until Owen managed to make his escape, then they’d talk about him, but more privately, and talk about other things, too. And she’d complain about Rhide.

If only Rhide left us alone. It’s none of her business, the bitch. She acts like it’s a love triangle or something. Weird, sick, the way she acts. She’s the ‘good’ influence. I’m the ‘bad’. It’s that simple for her, but it isn’t for me. Owen’s smart. He should be doing good, he should like school – that’s not my fault. It’s like Rhide’s draining him. Like a goddamned vampire. It’s like he’s shutting down inside – Christ, I think that’s what scares me the most. Not me – I’m a lost cause. But Owen, what’s happening to Owen. Something’s wrong.

Maybe she’d talk about that.

Still, she felt dirty inside. She wasn’t sure if she could face anyone tonight. She needed to be alone. She needed to think.

Jennifer walked up the muddy driveway. The dogs were lined up along the wire fence that was visible from the front yard, and started barking as soon as they saw her. They were soaked, the fur matted down, making them darker, more frightening.

They look like Max.

She hurried to the door and quickly went inside. As she closed the door she heard the rumble of thunder, and the dogs howled in answer.

IV

Silent, Gribbs lay in his cot. The lightning flashes blossomed in dull motes through the darkness that now shrouded his sight.

She’d pushed through, the only one left who could now. A last answer to his unseeing eyes. She was out there, she told him. She’d finally arrived.

He’d waited for so long, but now he was afraid. He wished he could strip the years away, be young again, with the world stretched out in front of him. He thought of the old woman in Istanbul, and saw clearly – for the first time – how they now reflected each other. A final night in a dilapidated shack, betrayed by the flesh that had carried them faithfully for so long. With the last story lost, still to be played out.

He wished he’d gone out like the Dane. Something as deliberate, something that was itself a statement, an heroic embrace. Instead, here he was, huddled under the blankets, cowering as she cracked through the black sky somewhere overhead.

Earth’s own blanket. I should’ve heeded the Dane’s decision, the boldly inscribed reasons that took him, step by step, so measured and certain, into that end. And the old woman, writ as she was in the flesh, both glory and decay, she made fire her final blanket, the smoke gathering under the roof, settling black over more ancient smears and smudges, her own layer, her own continuing of the story – I’ve seen caves just as dark, the walls an eternal folding of lives, one over the other, that spoke of ages and ages. She did the same, there in that house in a forgotten corner of an ancient city. The Dane and her – they’d made themselves part of their own history, gestures without choice, so very fated and seamless and inevitable, so … perfect.