emotional headspin.

Red and White

She was red and white. That was the first thing I thought, before her screams came banging into my atmosphere. I’m late, that was the second thing I thought, as her words finally formed meaning. Her pleas for help were vicious and desperate, like a wild dog.
I was riding my bike to my first day at a new school when I heard the pounding. She was on the fourth floor. I remember the window seemed to crumble beneath her fists, the glass tumbled to the ground and she stumbled, trying not to meet the same fate. She was wearing a white sheet around her middle, dusted with red. Her hair was blonde, a tangled mess of matted blood. I don’t remember her face; I just remember she was red and white.
I remember thinking she looked like she’d just crawled out of a horror movie. Up until then, I’d never seen anything as strangely real as that day. I felt like I was on some secret realm of reality, where no one else could see. It was just she and I, suspended in a starry spiralling mist. That was until I heard the dark fill my ears, he was unrelenting as he pulled her from the window. She simply fell away at the sound of his nightmarish demands. He screamed burning embers down upon her, the ash flew through the air and I caught it in my hands.
Finally a man walking his dog noticed her too, for a second he hesitated, just like me, his face mirrored mine for a second. His dog whimpered at the sound, his red collar dancing in the morning light. The man ran inside the building and the dark got louder. Then the alarms started ringing and I remembered I was late. When I arrived at school I was telling the other kids about the woman when I caught my reflection in a window, my red skirt and my white shirt. When I finished my story a girl with a black eye punched me in the shoulder and said “so what? No big deal”

‘GOD’

Most of the kids in town had heaps of brothers and sisters, but I only had Joe. He was five years and forty three days older than me. It took us forever to figure that out. Joe wasn’t just my older brother, he was my God. His word was the truth, at least that’s what he said. We lived with our Mum, Jerry the butterfly, she could sing real well. She always had a song playing and a rolled White Ox between her fingers, she smelt like tobacco and vanilla essence. My Dad’s name was Chris, and he was invisible. Mum said she could never see him, even back when they still lived together, before I was born. I never saw him but I think he would be like me, but bigger and stronger. Joe sometimes visits his Dad in gaol, he catches a bus to Sydney to see him, and when he gets back he always goes into his room and smokes the green cigarettes and doesn’t come out for ages. I don’t know what Joe’s Dad’s name is, but I wish I did.
It’s my birthday. It takes me a second to remember, but then I open my eyes and the sun comes through the window and I can smell pancakes. Mum only makes pancakes on my birthday. She tries to when it is Joe’s but he always tells her not to, he’s not a kid like me. Alan Jackson is playing on the stereo, I look over at Joe’s bed, and it hasn’t been slept in. He never sleeps at home anymore, he has lots of friends. I walk out into the kitchen and Mum sweeps me into her arms, I can almost taste the tobacco when she kisses me.
“My Jay is thirteen! Oh I could just break down in tears I’m so proud!”
Mum’s always in a good mood when it’s someone’s birthday. Other days, her eyes go sort of blank, and she gets cranky over the little things.
“Thanks Mum, where’s Joe?” I say as I shovel chocolate pancakes into my mouth.
“How would I know? I’m sure he’ll be here soon, eat your pancakes I’m going to have a smoke”
I finish my pancakes and sit on the couch. I’m thirteen, I think to myself, a teenager. I wonder where Joe is and then I hear him wolf whistle.
“Jay man! Happy Birthday my little bro”
He’s brought the rest of the boys too. There are four of them all together; Joe, Dave, he’s seventeen and doesn’t talk much; he looks like a snow man because he has no neck. I don’t know how old Stephen is and I don’t care because I hate him, he broke Joe’s nose once. He was always doing things that made me wonder why Joe even hung around him. Joe said that Stephen wasn’t a bad guy, that he did the things he did because he didn’t take people’s shit, and that’s how everyone should be. Jackson is my friend too, he’s only a year older than me but the boys let him hang around them because he can fix anything. He told me he has ADD, I don’t really know what that means but I think it makes people act really silly and happy because that’s what Jackson is like.
The boys swarm into the house. Stephen goes straight to the kitchen and starts picking at the leftover pancakes. Joe comes over and ruffles my hair.
“Teenager now big man! You can hang out with us today if you want”
Joe has never let me come out with him before, when the boys are at home he lets me watch TV with them, but never go out. He’s never mean to me about it; he just says it’s not a good idea. I wonder what’s changed now, maybe it’s because I’m a teenager. Mature. I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
“Yeah” I say and Jackson slaps me across the back off the head. It hurts but he’s laughing so I laugh too.
“Happy Birthday JJ” he says and wrestles me to the floor.
Dave is looking as much like a snowman as ever, he doesn’t say happy birthday but he sort of smiles at me. Then he nudges Joe.
“Jay we’ll be back in a minute” Joe says. Then Stephen comes out of the kitchen and Jackson gets off me and they all go into Joe’s room. I know they’re going to smoke the green stuff. I’m pretty sure it’s weed, that’s what my little cousins told me when they came down from Broken Hill last year. I would never ask Joe though because he would get mad.
I can hear Mum singing as she hangs the clothes on the line and I walk out the back to help her. It’s my favourite type of day, the sky is all grey, but it’s hot as hell. Sweat beads across my face, the air tastes of fresh cut grass, probably from next door; I can’t remember the last time our lawn was mowed. It reminds me of a jungle, all twisty vines and prickly bushes. I make my way down to the line and start hanging the clothes.
“Gosh you’re a good one Jay, helping your mother hang out the clothes on your birthday!”
“Aw Mum don’t worry about it, the boys are here.”
“They better not make a fuckin’ mess of my kitchen that’s all I’ll say”
“Nah they’re in Joe’s room”
“So what are you going to do today? I’ve got to go over to Auntie Lindsay’s and help her sort out all of Jason’s stuff.”
My Auntie Lindsay lives a few blocks away from us, she’s older than Mum but she used to have a boyfriend called Jason who was only 21. A little while ago he bashed her real good. She came to our house and she looked like she was going to die, her whole face was red and squished in the wrong places. Mum screamed and cried and the ambulance came and ever since then no one’s seen Jason anywhere around town.
“Joe said I can go with the boys”
Mum looks at me then, I think I see her eyes go blank for a second but then she’s back.
“Well okay, just be good” I think she sounds worried.


We’re in a sort of shack by the river. Joe said we were going to the “hole”. I guess it was sort of a hole, a dark hole against the sky. The walls are old pieces of corrugated iron and broken branches. The roof is a mess of huge dead leaves.
“Did you guys build this?” I ask, fumbling to find my footing.
“What a stupid question, we sure fuckin’ did!” Stephen pipes up, he’s sitting on a plastic chair that looks like it could collapse at any minute.
“Fuck off Stevie! I fucking built the thing” Jackson’s rolling a smoke. I watch his fingers curl the paper perfectly and wonder why I don’t smoke. “How ya like it then JJ? Pretty fuckin’ ace aye?”
“Yeah” I say, watching him light up. “Can I have a puff?”
The four of them all start laughing at me.
“Here him? A puff” Stephen laughs. I feel like hitting him.
“Jay man” Joe tries to muffle his laughter, “can’t afford to be speakin’ like that, like a fuckin’ poof” Jackson cackles like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “It’s called a drag, and yeah ya can have one Jacko hand it over”
“Well fuck me!” Jackson says but gives it to me.
I’ve never even held a smoke before, and I wonder why I’ve never even thought about it before. It’s all part of growing up I think. I put it to my lips and suck in, I don’t even feel it hit the back of my throat before my whole chest is on fire and I’m coughing and the boys are laughing again. Joe takes the smoke from my fingers, I’m still coughing.
“Suck it up little bro”
“I’m going for a swim” Jackson says, he hits Dave, who hasn’t said a word all day, on the back “Come on snowball let’s roll!” he jumps up and down like he always does and they both walk out of the hole and into the sun.
“Come on then” Joe says to me. “Ya comin’ Steve?”
“Nah, give me that smoke aye”

The stars are out and I’m sitting on the couch of Dave’s house. It’s his Dad’s house but his Dad is in gaol too. The boys are in the bedroom, smoking weed, I’m sure of it. It’s my birthday and I’m sitting on the couch waiting. The day has been pretty good, the river was fun, we played Marco polo until Stephen was on the bank yelling and saying he wanted a bong or a bang. I can hear Jackson giggling at the top of his lungs, I even think I hear Dave’s voice, I only know because it’s not any of the other’s. I start getting mad that I’m all alone so I decide to go knock on the door.
“Wah!” comes Joe’s voice.
“How long are you going to take?” I know I sound mad but I can’t help it. It goes silent for a few seconds.
“Yeah just come in Jay man”
I open the door and the room is filled with fog. I cough. Jackson and Dave are lying on the bed. Joe’s sitting on the floor and Stephen is sitting in a big chair with a bowl in his hands.
“Alright Jay, now you have to fuckin’ promise you won’t tell Mum I gave you any!” Joe says, he’s looking me right in the eye but it doesn’t seem like he’s even looking at me, his eyes are like windows.
“Yeah no way” I say. All I’m thinking is that I’m about to smoke weed. I don’t even know why I’m so keen now but I can smell it and it doesn’t smell bad like smokes.
“Alright, this is a bong” Joe says, taking from behind his back a really dirty old water bottle with a hose coming out. “This is what ya smoke it out of, it’s not bad man it’s only weed. This is only a starter.”
He shows me what to do and it looks hard. He blows out so much smoke I’m scared of coughing again and them all laughing at me. It’s the first time they’ve let me hang out with them and I don’t want it to be the last.
“I’ll make ya a little one so ya don’t cough, now just remember, keep pulling!”
I put the bong to my lips and I can taste the grit inside, it’s the most digusting taste I can remember. Joe lights it and I suck as hard as I can and the whole thing pulls through and I keep sucking it right down into my lungs. Then I blow forever and it’s all out.
“Holy shit Jay’s a pro!” It’s Stephen. He comes over and pats me on the back. “Man I ain’t never seen any shit like that before” he laughs, “fuckin’ mad”
Maybe Stevie isn’t so bad after all, I think.
“I feel like I’m floating”
“That’s it aye mate”
I feel the happiest I’ve ever felt in my whole life. This is the best birthday ever. I look up and Joe is pouring alcohol into shot glasses. He puts one in front of me.
“It’s vodka, ya first bong and ya first shot! Happy Birthday!”
I swallow it quickly and it sears my throat. Then I feel it in my stomach, the rumble.
“I feel sick” I say weakly.
They all laugh again.
“Not in the room Jay, the toilet!” Dave finally speaks.
Stephen gives me his hand and helps me up and I run to the toilet and throw up all my insides. I spit and wipe my mouth with toilet paper. I feel great again. This is the best birthday ever.

When I was little my family lived in a house cut in half. Behind a blocked off door lived Milka, an elderly Russian lady who took pride in her precious front garden. I didn’t know the names of these flowers but I knew my front yard was a rainbow. My Mum called it our fairy garden and told me that every child has a fairy that lives on their shoulder, you couldn’t always see it but you could feel it. When I think back on that time of my life, I can see the fairies dancing, hovering above the flowers like angels saluting imagination. Of course there were no fairies, just a bunch of flowers and a story. That’s the magic of writing, you read a book or hear a story and it has the capacity to change your whole life, it doesn’t matter if it’s real or not, because in your heart you’re connected with it, and for the rest of your life, you believe in it.