Mama Killed A Man

It was about a year after Nora’s arrival that Aunt Denise had driven the arduous two and a half hours from Geelong to visit the sister-in-law and niece she missed so terribly much. I knew she would be coming a full week before she even told us because tickets to see Kylie Minogue live had gone on sale, and I knew Denise would have rescheduled heart bypass surgery if it happened to coincide with the concert.

I was fifteen years old and it was around the same time that I had decided that I liked milk chocolate better than dark. According to a boy in my Geography class at the time, milk chocolate contains a cow hormone that releases the endorphins that make you happy, and since Nora had been making my life miserable for a whole year, it more than kind of figured.

The night Aunt Denise was expected to arrive I had purposefully signed up as backstage crew in the school production of West Side Story, but my mother had called the head of drama and apologized that unfortunately, I would not be able to make it. So when the doorbell rang, and Nora pushed me towards the door, I bit down on my tongue and told it to keep still.

Denise looked at me over her nose and chastised me for having my hair in my face, before telling my mother that despite my little improvement she did however, recognize her efforts. She said my face looked cleaner and that it was a sure sign that my soul was being relinquished from the devil’s malevolent grasp. Then we sat down to a wholesome family dinner of Chinese take-away arranged in tacky, porcelain dishes and Denise started the interrogation.

“Amberlyn, what is it that you plan on doing in the future?” she asked, a dumpling halfway to her lips.

I replied that I was keen on music production, or audio engineering.

“That’s not a career, Amberlyn,” she tutted, shooting a small, jeering glance at my mother. I watched as she used her fork and knife to saw another dumpling in half and tightened my jaw. She was wrong in too many ways. “You’d be far better off doing something in economics. You’re a bright girl, I’m sure.”

She really didn’t sound sure.

“But I don’t think I’d be happy doing that, Aunt Denise,” I replied respectfully.

Denise tilted her head back and laughed, nostrils flaring delicately, “And how much money do you expect to make playing music?”

“I won’t be playing music,” I corrected, “I’ll just be helping the musicians make their music better. That’s what a producer does.”

Get a fucking clue.

She cocked an eyebrow sceptically, “And what will you do when you don’t make it? The music industry is a tough business to be in, you know.”

Aunt Denise flashed me her little condescending smile and I gripped my chopsticks so hard I felt a splinter rub and skewer beneath my skin. When my hands began shaking violently and my head began pounding with heat, I found myself so inhibited by cold stormy anger that I frightened myself to the core. I stood up sharply, knocking my chair to the ground.

“I’ll just fuck the musicians!”

I don’t think Aunt Denise realised how out of character the eruption had been, because in her eyes I was Jezebel incarnate. I saw a dumpling fall out of Nora’s open mouth as her eyes widened in alarm. Until then she had thought she was the only one that received my caustic verbal abuse and until then she had thought right. I saw my mother purse her lips and her temple pulse with resentment, but I left the house before she had the chance tell me to.

That was the last time I ever fought.

After that things just became hopeless and I didn’t see the point in wasting my breath. I went through periods where I would try to grasp at the split ends and tie my family back together but it was all hopeless, and so I stopped being angry. I grew up and learned how to be sad for all of us.

So when John felt the heat of my stare penetrating the bullseye on his forehead, and when he turned and his gaze slipped into mine, I felt myself thrust away the emotion and slip into passivity. His jaw dropped and his lips twitched and he held out his arm absentmindedly as if trying to snatch me back to him with his long, grappling fingers. But he was too far away. So, sighing out the last note and thanking the audience, he leapt over the few shallow steps and bounded towards me through the crowd.

“Amber!” he called, slipping through a group of girls and hurdling onto the back veranda. Slightly out of breath, he parted his damp hair from his face before placing his hands on his hips to open up his lungs. “You told me you were going to a party,” he smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah, and I’m at one,” I replied with a weak, mimicked jerk of the lips.

“You didn’t say it was this one.”

“I didn’t know it was this one.”

“Well, here you are.”

“Here I am.”

As we stood watching each other’s eyes, I felt Celeste nudge me in the side. I flinched and glanced up; her expression was uneasy and full of questions. When I turned back to John he was still watching me with a strange expression on his face. I shook my head and decided to quit beating around the bush.

“John, why didn’t you tell me you were performing tonight?” I shook my head, reversing through the rushing thoughts, “I didn’t even know you’re in a band.”

John looked like he was losing an inward battle against himself as he buried his hands in his hair and stammered out an uninterpretable response. And as he stuttered and stumbled, I started to get impatient. I knew it was ridiculous and pathetic, and I knew it was insecure and downright immature, but I couldn’t help feeling as though he was ashamed of me. I looked around. The people at the gig were all just incredible. They all seemed so comfortable and so stimulated by life- so confident and alive. I didn’t fit and I should’ve just been grateful that John didn’t expect me to.

“I-I...” he exhaled sharply, “I can’t believe you just heard me singing.”

“What?”

And then I realised that the pink tinge on his cheeks, that I had thought was because of the heat and the crowd and the adrenaline from the set, wasn’t actually from any of those things.

“Fuck, I’m blushing aren’t I?” he groaned.

“Yes you are,” Celeste giggled and John looked at her, mortified.

He sighed, grimacing apologetically at Celeste and pulling me off the decking. Celeste glared before hesitantly turning away and joining a group by the door. John pulled me around the side of the house, where fewer people littered the grass, before relaxing his grip on my wrist.

“Look, Amber,” he said, eyes shifting over the ground, “This will sound ridiculous but-“he dropped my hand and crossed his arms over his chest, “-but music is really important to me, and the fact that you just heard my music, absolutely mortifies me.”

I frowned, “That does sound ridiculous.”

“I care about you,” he said, sounding defeated, “I care about what you think. All those people-” he gestured at the crowd behind him, “they’re just strangers. I passed the point of caring what they think a long time ago.” He shrugged, scratching his jaw with the gathered cuff of his sleeve. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Amber.”

I exhaled, registering the depth of everything he’d said and feeling like a complete and utter ass.

“Well,” I took a step closer and lowered my head so that I could see his eyes, “It’s a good thing I think you’re pretty damn amazing then, hey?”

“For real?” he looked up.

“Yeah.”

He raised his brows sceptically, “You’re not just saying that?”

I rolled my eyes, “No John, I really mean it.”

He shot me his lopsided grin.

“Well then,” He let out a nervous chuckle, slinging an arm across my shoulders and steering us both back to the party, “that is a pretty fucking good thing.”