Where my spirit calls...

Where my spirit calls1

I waddled through the streets towards my house on Melina Street. Let’s put it this way, I had spent my Sunday afternoon with a bunch of adults with serious problems, I wanted to spend my life as a low interest levelled physiologist, as if I didn’t have my own problems to solve, and also had completely neglected my French assignment due the next day. As a 15 year old teenage drama queen, to me, life basically treated me like the brown smudges that my dogs produced in my small excuse of a garden. My parents didn’t like me talking to ‘difficulty’ filled middle aged people who could only seek advice in someone nearly half their age, but who cares? It was my only way out of my own problems, the way I dealt with it... to think about everyone else’s pain and forget about mine. Right at that small round about at the crossing of four roads, a huge car came by and completely drenched me with dirty rain water that filled the gutters. It was at that moment that I began to reflect on my life, and started to force it out onto the blue lined journal I bought for 5 cents at China Town, stacked under the books in my bedroom cabinet.2

Sunday went as follows. At 7.30 I was rudely awakened by the birds screeching outside my window, covered by paper. My whole room was covered in white paper, glued to the walls with my thoughts scribbled all over it. The funny thing was that my carpet was tinged green; but my parents wouldn’t let me bleach it white because of course, we were renting the house. I bashed on the windows a few times to hear the birds screeching away into the distance, smiling at the thought of their fleeing faces. Sometimes the mean side of me took over. Pushing away the collection of my clothes from the whole week under my bed, where most of the stuff I didn’t particularly like went. Not bothered to shower, I went strait to my closet and picked out a loose worn out plain green dress and ran my hair under the tap. Why dress up properly when you are only going to see a bunch of freaks? 3

The dress didn’t shape my body at all, it made me seem like I was just a sloppy puppet with no control over my body. I didn’t really care either, well… I guess I pretended not to care. I brushed my plain brown hair staring at my hazel eyes in the mirror, searching for something behind them. After getting somewhat bored, I walked a step out of the bathroom and found myself in the kitchen. I also found that my foot was somewhat smothered in Peachy’s droppings. Boohoo. Retreating to the toilet, I began cleaning the foot. To bad Peachy wasn’t there, or I would have started to sing (which sounds so bad he cries). 4

Soon after this incident I grabbed my wool bag with my phone, keys and bank card in it and headed for the door. Another half hour passed before my bus came, the same old smirk-filled bus driver I faced nearly every day. He gave me the once over then looked away innocently, like I didn’t see. Not bothering to put in the bus pass, I tossed Smirk face 80 cents and retreated to the back of the bus. I noticed that a boy that looked just over my age laughed at the scene--- angry girl storms into bus with sopping wet hair wearing a granny dress. Sad isn’t it? But who wouldn’t laugh at it. The boy had an interesting face shape, more bone structured then any I had seen before. His hair was dark and his skin was white. To me, he was absolutely beautiful. I felt my cheeks burning but tried to calm down. The bus stopped at the Plaza.
Something told me to impress the mysterious boy on the bus, and stupidly, I skipped out of the bus and fell on my face. Not only did this make everyone laugh, but I also earned myself a huge graze on my knee. And I didn’t look back to see his reaction. I headed down to Kmart and went to the paying section- a fake nutrition bar was just what I needed. I bought it then I once again fled away from the staring faces. My hair was starting to annoy me, being all long and plain. In a trance of randomness, I dashed to Just Cuts and asked for dark red colouring for my hair and eyebrows. I told the old man to keep mirrors away from me, a surprise was necessary. After an hour or so, I left, giving the lady at the cash register $30. My hair felt different. I liked how it felt, and didn’t even look for a mirror. The smirky jerk arrived at the bus stop again, pulling a cheesy grin at my new style. The boy was gone, but I kept my head up high. Time went by very fast, considering in 4 hours I had travelled from one part of Melbourne to the other, by a slow broken down bus. As the bus reached the broken down part of Melbourne, it slowed down to the bus stop I usually got off at.5

The driver tilted his head to the ‘Drunken Bar’ house across the road, hinting that’s where I go, but I released a growl at him, and he backed off. I once again hopped out of the bus, and a blast of chilly air rushed through me. I shivered and kept walking towards the small stale building directly opposite the bus stop. The door was half breaking as I pushed it and walked into the room. Immediately everyone became silent and gathered in a huge circle of chairs, facing me. Most people would love this attention, but I was the very person attention kicked in the face. Knowing me, in the spotlight, I let out a smile and suddenly a huge wet sound came from my rear end. THEN people started to laugh. I wanted to bash my head on the wall, but then realized if I did so I would break a huge hole in it, and loose my $5 left in my bank account to repair it. Mr Bizzle (Explosion haired insane duck fetish) blocked his nose and started quacking. Margret Watson (cheese obsessed 50 year old woman with absolutely no sense of mind) started giggling hysterically and stated: ‘if you were a cheese, you would definitely be the Blue cheese. It’s so delightful but the smell kills us all!’ People began whispering. “Hey Alice, why the black hair” people asked from around the room. 6

Before I could reply and argue, a huge shadow appeared through the tinted glass of the door. The room fell silent as Mr Corse Goots (his real name is John by the way) opened the door and thumped in, his heavy metal boots squashing the floor. His face was somewhat pug-ish shaped, and flat. His body was huge, but not the sort of obese way, more big boned. Even big Jane (steroids obsessive) was scared of him. The funny thing was that I was the only one not afraid of him. Maybe because of the fact that he was my brother. My parents think that he got taken away, but really he just changed his name and ran to the cheep side of town. That reminds me, my name. I’m Alice Gootique. My brother comes to my sessions just to see me, but deep down I know he needs serious help. 7

After the scare of my brother’s entrance died out, I began starting the activities with all the middle aged troubled people and time quickly passed by. The class ended and I got a sum of $15 all together for the class. The patients quickly scattered and I said my goodbyes to John. The whole scene seemed like a dilemma the needed to be solved by students in moral ethics class, where the kids secretly laughed about it after the teacher left. The thing is, because I have no friends, it doesn’t matter how I waste my weekends, a gain or a loss. As soon as I got home I ran to my grotty school bag.
My evil French assignment was staring me in the face. I bent down and grabbed my graffiti filled pencil case and ripped out a black pen and wrote in capital letters across the page:8

‘ASSIGNMENT WAS COMPLETED AT 10.45 NIGHT’.
CURRENT MENTAL POSITION: very unstable
IN HAND: pooper scooper.
CURRENT TASK: clean turd filled kitchen floor. Assignment must wait.9

Neatly writing my name across the page, I folded my French assignment and put the folder away. Without dinner, I went to bed. Yes, I ignored the faeces on the floor; Tim (couch potato step Dad) would come home and probably kick it under the table for Jenny (Weird excuse of a mother) to find it. The lights were out and my lids shut.10

My paranoid mother sent me to an all girl’s school called the CCS (Central Church School), were I was destined to slowly waist away. The uniform was a potato sack- like yellow and green religo skirt that fell to the floor, and a white top that slightly resembled a hobo’s beard. Yes, I repeat… a hobo’s beard. The material was woolly and things got easily caught in it. The girls at my school were all the same: pointy noses, small bodies, yellow hair and thin legs… and have the typical Church Sole. I stood out like a grinning dog eating peanut butter in a nut free zone. My hair was dark and plain, and now dyed red, or apparently, black. My nose went down… NOT up. My body was alright, but not Ano Anna like the rest of them. 11

Monday I woke up sweating, remembering my recurring alien dream. Ye, ye, I get it… my subconscious mind is telling me I’m different to everyone else. I actually bothered to shower that morning, and ended up staying in there for about 20 minutes washing my hair. I heard the school bus coming past my house as I got out of the shower. ‘DAM IT’. My mind told me to go after the boy on the bus because he looked like he didn’t go to school, all dark and silent and besides… something about him interested me. I ran into my Mums room and grabbed an oversized dress fit for an older woman, and slipped it on. It did nothing for me, it was shapeless, loose, and the aqua colour was dying out. But I didn’t care. I went through her shoes and found my old flip flops, and put them on. I looked as useless as hen barf on a water pump handle, but again, I didn’t care. The house smelled clean, so I thought Mum had came home last night, cleaned the house up and then left with Tim for their anniversary holiday to fake town Paris, not that I gave them a card or anything, Tim is a pig. 12

I left the house, feeling slightly bored as usual and headed to the bus stop. The bus driver was different, but he was there. The boy sat on his usual seat, and I sat nearby. He never turned around, never moved; he was like a porcelain doll. The buss had gone round and nearly reached the subway station. I had a strange feeling in my stomach; I knew he would join me at the next stop. The bus arrived at the station and as I guessed, he got off with me. He said nothing, but just grabbed my hand and guided me to the station. 13

We were on the subway, going far away into nothingness. Everything seemed like a dream, no one spoke properly, and I wasn’t in control of my mind and body. The subway stopped, and we got off. The land was parched and bare. The wind was thick with heat and no one was around. This boy had taken me to a place far from home, where I would never return to. He had definitely been here before. We walked for miles, it seemed. Finally we stopped near a small shack. We stepped in, and it was empty. “Sleep there; I’ll be back in the morning”, he said in a low voice. I was scared to move, scared to run away, scared to scream for help. He arrived in the morning, dirty and his eyes bloodshot. I wanted to run away, this wasn’t who I was. “Please take me home”. He only looked away, and sat down on the floor next to me. 14

Many days passed, and I completely lost my sense of time. He left each night, and returned each morning, with something else wrong with him. Today he came back with dark circles under his eyes, but he also came back with three huge sacks. I never asked him what was in it; he only just stood there full of emptiness. He left again one night, and didn’t come back at all. In the morning, I opened the bags. They were full of shiny green $100 bills. My first instinct was to run. I grabbed the bags, running far from the shack, far from this boy. Each time I saw a person; they got money, and directed me to the nearest station. I ran until my feet bled. My dress was brown with dirt; my mind was full of hopeless thoughts. I finally reached the station, and found him. He sat on the corner, bleeding. Everywhere. I ran to him, crying. I knew I loved him, even if we had just met, even if he had done all this to me, even if he framed me for his crime. 15

His face was not just pale anymore, it was white. His eyes were red, his mouth flowing with blood. He grabbed my arm and told me to live on this way, to fight reality, and to forget him. I didn’t want to be a runner; I didn’t want to hide away anymore. I started to cry as his eyes rolled back and his hand dropped to the ground. I started moaning and wailing, and lay there with his rotting corpse, till the lights went black.16

Everything blurred as my eyes slowly opened. They were red and puffy from crying. Only I was in my room, in my bed, with the smell of black hair dye still in my hair. What happened faded like a dream, only I was sure it was all real. My feet were dirty and pounding and my hands were covered in blood. My dress was faded and dirty. I ran to the bus stop confused, as the bus driver stopped. His face was not smirky, it was sympathetic. His eyes looked wet from sobbing, and this time he only sighed. No one was on the bus, except us. He started to drive, but took a different root. The bus stopped at the Central Cemetery. The bus driver knew. I slowly walked into the fields of long grass, when a small tombstone caught my eye. 17

“In memory of Tom and Alice Revierene, in 1988, aged 19 and 16”. I felt a cold chill down my spine, and started to break down. It was 2006 right then, and I had just re-lived the past. On that moment, I walked off into the distance, hoping to find him. The river swayed radically, calling me in. I took my last breaths under water seeking to find him, so we could stay together forever. Everything went black. 18

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