ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

black hair.
“Hi, Bo. How you been going?”
“OK.”
“Just, OK?”
“Yeah.” I hand her my form.
“You’ve been to see all this people; all these jobs?”
“Yeah, course.”
“If I rang some of these people, they’d remember you?”
“S’pose not.” I ain’t stupid. “They see heaps of fuckers.”
“How’s your mum?”
“OK.”
“Still working her two days a week?”
“She’s not working. Hasn’t worked in months”
“I thought she was at the motel two days a week.”
“Nah, when it came to pay day the prick wouldn’t pay her. Sack’d
her.” Can’t tell swami-girl the truth, mum said.
“I see.” She goes down the list of interviews I’ve done, well, done
some of ‘em. She looks at me like she likes me. I like her too.
She’s wearin’ lots of flowing clothes so I can’t get the jist of her
body, but I bet it’s alright. I start imaginin’ her black swami bush
between her legs and I get a hard-on. I wanna touch her. I look
at her hands and she’s wearin’ a few rings. She’s not supposed
to wear stuff like that at work. Ya can get smashed fingers from
some prick who’d cut your hand off as soon as look at ya. They’d
fetch a bit, I reckon. She looks at me. I look at her. The kind of
too-long look you see sometimes in movies. I reckon she likes
me for a fact. “Nice rings,” I say. She looks at her rings and takes
them off. Fuck! Why she do that for? “I was just lookin’.” “Sure,”
she says but you can see she’s scared a bit. Stupid bitch! She looks
at me again and there’s somethin’ she wants to say.
“It’s fuckin’ OK, alright?” I say.
“Is it Bo?”
“Ye-ah!?” What’s she getting’ at?
“You’ve got to think about the future, Bo.”
“Yeah well I am! Me mum says that shit all the time. I wanna get
a phone.” I think about that loser in the park. I gotta get a phone.
She’s lookin’ at me. Now, I don’t know if she likes me or not. This
is what I don’t get. Chicks look at ya and ya know what they want,
and then they look at ya again and it’s different. Or they look
at ya and ya know what they want, so you do it, and then they
scream at ya, call you names, and piss you right off.
But she signs my form and I say, “Thanks.”
“Say hi to your mum,” she says. “Next!” she yells.
I go into the city to make me feel normal. When you’re in the
city ya can be anyone walkin’ around. I look at them and they
look at me and see what I see, just pricks walkin’ around being
normal. I breath normal. I break the fifty at Maccas but know I
have to get some food for tonight. I like this feeing, this doing
stuff for me mum. I walk past a posh supermarket and think, I
can go in here, and so I walk in. I look at security and he looks at
me. Shit! There’s so much light, so much stuff. I look at all the
packets on the shelves and don’t know half of them. There’s a
whole room full vegetables. It’s like a farm or somethin’. Don’t
know half of them either. What are ya supposed to do with ‘em?
I look for the can section and pick up two cans of spaghetti. Me
mum loves spaghetti on toast. I see all the bread on a huge table.
What is all this shit? Bread’s bread. I take one that looks like real
bread, a square one, and the skinny guy at the check-out looks
at me as if I’ve forgotten somethin. “What are ya lookin’ at?” I
say. He looks away and then back at me and says, “Nothing at all,
mate. Nothing at all.” And it’s like I hear the words he’s sayin’ but
it’s not what he’s sayin’ and I can feel my ears burnin’ and that
thumpin’ again. “How ya goin’?” It’s the security guy with a weak
little smile on his puss. And more words but it’s not what he’s
sayin’. What the fuck is he sayin’? And I want to scream so fuckin’
loud and punch his fuckin’ prissy face, cut his cock off, and shove
it up his arse, but there’s so much fuckin’ light in here. I can feel
it like sunshine and I say “Fine, thanks,” and it comes out like it
isn’t me and I suddenly don’t know where I am. This skinny guy is
handin’ me some money. “Here’s your change.” I look at it. I take
it. “Don’t forget your stuff.” What? I take the bag and head for
the street. I can feel security followin’ me. What did I do? What
did I say? The world’s a mess and I have to side-step a man with a
broom. “Fuck off!” I yell at him.
I get home and walk inside. Nothin’ but stink. And mess. No
sound. I put the grocery bag on the table. It takes me five goes
to find the toaster. I want to do this for me mum. I plug it in.
I’m gonna make me mum some spaghetti on toast. I can’t find
a pot so I use a fryin’ pan. It’s got stuff stuck to it but there’s no
washing stuff so, fuck it. I ring-pull the spaghetti and tip the
sloppy stuff in the pan. I turn on the gas. I put two slices of bread
in the toaster and push the level. Bang! There’s a flash, sparks,
and I nearly shit myself. Fuck! Is that supposed to happen? I
push the lever again. Nothin’. Again. Nothin’. Again. Nothin’.
My jaw aches. Again. Nothin’! I yank the toaster from its socket
and throw it into the lounge room. It hits the floor and a shower
of crumbs flies up like a bomb’s gone off. I have to keep doin’
somethin’ or I’ll explode. A cup of tea. I’ll make me mum a cup
of tea. Yeah. I search through the cupboards. Nothing but shit
and stuff. Stuff and shit. Where’s the fuckin’ tea bags? I smell
smoke or somethin’ and I turn to see the spaghetti burning in the
pan. I grab it and throw the whole fuckin’ lot in the sink with all
the other shit. I stand there with my mouth shut tight, tryin’ to
steady my breathing. The thump-thump-thumping is deafening.
I want to scream but me mum’s still asleep.
And then I remember. And the thought is like sunshine, like a
birthday present. It could be happiness, even. The thumping
stops and I suddenly want to laugh. The burger! I’ve got a burger
in the fridge. Me mum’s burger. It’s there. Just there in the fridge.
Me mum was right. I thought about the future, I’ve got this
burger and now everything’s OK. This new feeling is strange, but
kryst, it feels good. I’ll take her a nice burger. I get it out, un-wrap
it, and find a clean plate, well sort of. I put the burger on the plate
and take it into me mum. She’s still asleep. I get a little closer
and I reach down to wake her like I always do. There’s vomit on
her check and I can smell a different stink. What is that? I touch
her shoulder and it’s like touching the toaster. Is this dead? I
stand there. Me mum’s dead. I hear myself saying it. Me mum’s
dead. I don’t know what to do. It’s like she’s been turned off, or
something. What am I supposed to do? Don’t know. I eat her
burger.
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