What Does Blue Feel Like? (3 page)

mindlessly into the darkened silence,

‘You are acting possessed, child.'

The empty house does not respond.

And solitude is a quiet friend to have.

Bronwyn gives in,

pulls away,

her reservoir of energy is depleted.

She thinks, half-heartedly,

that perhaps Char is only after a bit of attention

and, if she doesn't get it,

maybe she will no longer act the part of a

woebegone person

faintly reminiscent of Char.

And so she pulls away.

She is drained.

Char gives her knowing looks whenever they pass

each other at school.

The looks are faintly sympathetic, as if she, too, is saying,

I am drained.

 

to a song in which the singer,

emotionless,

screams

Take my hand and come with me,

lead you through the dark

come with me, come with me.

I can

set you free.

Or are you happy in your captivity?

Char pushes Jim away, because

he cares too much.

He is too steadfast, too gentle, too loving,

and when she hurts this much,

seeing him doesn't make the pain go away.

She is burdening him, the voice whispers.

He could have a life, a normal girl,

instead of someone who

doesn't stand a chance in the world,

not really.

 

Jim pulls away from Char, because

he cares too much.

He is running out of steadfast love,

but really because

he wants a normal life, a normal girl.

Char has changed from the fun wild child he knew at that

party into a girl

who seems determined

to let herself fall,

and stay

down.

He doesn't know what he is doing any more

and he is scared.

 

And,

just like that,

as quickly as it began,

it is over.

Finished.

Char meets with her doctor, to get some

prescribed sleeping

pills.

The doctor, startled by the blackness under her eyes,

tries to find the reason.

The cause. There must be, he muses

(like all logical minds would),

someone, something to blame.

But all he can comprehend is the tired, bewildered, and

half-near-tears child opposite him.

Scratching his head,

he writes the script.

 

The pills bring sleep.

Of a kind.

The kind that knocks you out,

plunging you into dreams

that are the blackest black.

Groggy upon waking,

and still needing sleep.

Her parents decide it is time for action.

Time to get this straightened out.

Time to restore their daughter.

Time to look at options.

Time to make decisions.

Time to be in their parental element.

Time to make this stop.

Time to

do something.

Anything.

But what?

Char looks unkempt. Ruffled, baggy and drawn. Although

Julie tries, she does not want to treat Char

like a four year old.

And when Char gets a detention for being scruffy

even though Julie is itching to sit her down,

brush her hair properly,

scrub off that chipping nail polish,

she does not.

Instead

she grimly says,

‘You did bring it on yourself, Char.'

Bronwyn cannot stand to Watch.

She can't stand Not to Watch.

And so, transfixed, she observes Char

until she can no longer ignore the growing sense of fear in

the pit of her stomach.

One lunchtime, she seeks out Jim.

She finds him, immersed in the largest uniformed

group of boys.

A tap on the shoulder, and he turns around, affronted

slightly at being tapped.

She pulls him by the wrist

out of the circle

and begs him

to do something.

He opens his mouth to refuse,

and sees Char wandering past,

looking sadder than ever.

Alone.

He looks back to Bronwyn.

Her eyes are pleading him to accept, and she hugs him

when he does.

He finds Char,

still wandering, and takes her hand.

She barely acknowledges him,

but doesn't pull away.

He leads her — and it is like leading a puppet

with leaden feet and wooden limbs —

away,

out to the furthest corner of the oval, encircled by trees.

It is out of bounds for students,

but no one bothers them.

They sit down,

and still have not spoken.

Jim avoids her eyes.

There is something uncanny about their bleakness.

Without a word he takes her hair in his hands.

Clumsily, he begins to plait,

putting something back in order, trying to find Char in

there somewhere.

When he has finished he sneaks a

glance into her eyes.

They are brimming with tears, and even as he watches,

they overflow.

And, still without words,

she is in his arms.

He breathes in the familiar scent of her hair

and she is touched

by this small gesture.

Wordlessly, she thanks him

and he feels her salty tears

soaking into his shirt, her breath upon his face,

and her hands, warm, upon his skin.

Char agrees to go with Jim

to a party

at a friend of a friend's.

She

dresses

brushes her hair

puts on make-up and perfume.

Transformed,

she emerges from her room.

Her parents,

amazed,

can only watch as she walks out the door.

>I just saw Char, ya know? She was with Jim

>>I heard she was crazy, ya know? I heard she tried to jump off the roof

>>>Hey, Pete, did ya know that Char and Jim are here? I heard she's pregnant

>>>>Hey, Tom, Pete reckons Char's ...ya know. Pretty damn thin for someone who's ...ya know

>>>>> Lucy, did ya know if Char's ...ya know, anorexic?

>>>>>> Hey, Sam, do ya know what the deal is with Char?

>>>>>>> Over in a corner, where Char and Jim are drinking and partly mingling, Jim watches the light in the room bounce off Char's earrings. He notices the red of her lip gloss and the smoothness of her skin. Feeling a sudden overwhelming need to protect her, he clasps her hands with his and asks, ‘How are you feeling?' She replies, ‘I don't know —

>>>>>>>> do ya?'

bottle

this feeling inside

I would sell it

and I would be rich,

really rich

because people drink, and take drugs, and do all other

sorts of shit

to feel this

numb.

It's like the cold you feel in the middle of winter

when your fingers and toes have turned to ice.

You can pinch them, and twist them around

and normally they'd hurt

but they're just numb.

It's like that but you aren't cold.

Just numb.

And you can't say how you feel when people ask

because you don't feel.

A few drinks later,

and she is laughing.

It is a Kahlua-vodka-Baccardi-bourbon laugh,

a ‘take me drunk, I'm home' laugh,

an ‘everything is so pretty when I'm drunk' laugh.

She is a happy drunk,

a spin-around-in-circles-and-giggle drunk,

and she is laughing

and the feeling is somewhat familiar,

like seeing an old friend again after years have passed,

or an old pair of jeans you can't bear to throw away,

you can just slip back into them,

and the familiarity is so comforting.

When he wakes, Jim is pretty sure he's dreaming.

Char is nestled in his arms

in the exact way she always used to.

He can rest his face in her hair, and breathe in

the scent of it

in the exact way he always used to.

She stirs in his arms, and wakes, smiling at him —

in the exact way she sometimes did.

 

But he isn't dreaming, because he kisses her cheek.

Exactly how he always does.

They sit on the back veranda with their coffees.

Squinting against the sunlight.

Nursing headaches.

It is so familiar.

 

When she goes home,

in the afternoon sun

and sits,

alone

in her room

the numbness returns

with startling clarity.

And feels almost like she should be hurting

but isn't

and yet ...

Sometimes

when you cry

the tears flow, gently, caressingly down your face.

Like making yourself cry so you get out of trouble with

your parents.

Other times,

when you cry a little harder

they course rough zigzag tracks as you gulp and snuffle,

sometimes even hiccup.

And then there are the rare times

when something inside you cracks,

when your heart is breaking just a little

and then

there's an ocean on your face, the pillow, your shirt,

and your crying sounds like the howling

of a wounded animal.

You don't mean to

but you can't help it.

And this kind of crying is exhausting

and,

unlike the

other kinds,

you can't

stop

crying, it just runs its course.

And you know you've never cried like that before.

And no one else has ever hurt quite like you do.

Back at school

Char is sitting in class, watching everyone else

not working,

just watching.

And she thinks, I am different

from all of you

and none of you

has ever felt like this before.

There is a barrier

between me

and all of you.

Is it

impenetrable?

There is another party for, of course, there is

another weekend.

Another excuse to get drunk

and forget.

Because everyone has something they'd rather

not think about.

And when you're not thinking, you can
breathe
.

Char and Jim go for a walk,

not for sex, as everyone said when they left.

This party is conveniently situated near the beach.

They stumble their way down the footpath

acting sober for the sake of

passers-by

even though it's way past midnight,

and there aren't actually any passers-by.

A small dog barks and they giggle,

run the rest of the way

down the street and onto the sand.

Char shivers in the cool air and Jim

pulls her into him, wraps his arms around her.

She relaxes into him, and thinks,

he smells like beer.

They stand together,

looking up at the stars.

Jim drunkenly says, ‘They're so beautiful. They make me

feel so good. Aren't they good, Char?'

Char doesn't reply for a long time.

Finally, she says, ‘Yeah, they're pretty. But they make me

feel so goddamn small.'

Eventually, they turn and make their way back

to the party.

Char doesn't go to school on Monday.

She pretends to be sick

and it's not exactly a lie, not really.

She's still hungover

but her parents don't know she drinks

so they think she's actually ill.

She doesn't feel well, truthfully,

but she hasn't in a long time.

 

She lies in bed,

willing herself to get out.

It's not that hard, she knows,

but it's so much easier just to lie still.

 

Eventually,

she pulls herself up

and outside with a coffee.

A butterfly comes,

flies away,

and comes back,

landing on her hand.

Char is mesmerised.

It is so pretty.

She begins to look around.

The next afternoon,

Jim goes with her to the

tattoo parlour.

The guy there has a tattoo all down one arm

with a picture of a lady's face on it, and the words
Annie

May
sketched out just below the picture.

He has just finished a tattoo on a skinny man

with a moustache.

Moustache proudly tells them that he's just gotten initials

tattooed on his fingers,

which is actually illegal

but he knows Tony is so skilled, and they're such good

mates, he was just the person for the job.

Tattoo Tony turns to her. ‘What about you, little lady?'