Mama Killed A Man

“Your city is really pretty.” She turned, smiling sadly, “It must have been so hard when you had to leave.”

I nodded, allowing my sleepy gaze to roam the lonely grey streets, fogged behind misted glass. Tram lines hung limp as laces against the yellowing sky and streetlamps illuminated themselves softly in the pre-dawn light.

It felt surreal to be back, like a beautiful, hazy dream that created a disorientating mix of both elation and distress. My first breath of crisp Melbourne air had me reeling, and for a good five minutes I just stood outside the airport, gazing up at the Southern sky. My shoulders relaxed and suddenly my chest didn’t feel so tight; for the first time in eight weeks, I felt completely at ease. My heart and soul and body had been reunited, and I felt like myself
again.

Up until then, I hadn’t realised exactly how hard it had been to leave home. My mind had been too occupied to analyse the cold, blunt pain that had been plaguing my core throughout my time in Arizona; I had just accepted its presence and let it eat me away. And now that I knew its cause, I never wanted to leave again.

Celeste yawned and didn’t bother to cover her mouth, instead using her hands to scratch lazily at her frazzled mane.

“I need a shower,” she stated, blinking groggily, “And sleep.”

It hadn’t taken long to pack my things because I thought I wasn’t going to be away long. Just long enough to visit my mother and say goodbye the right way. The way I should have two months earlier.

Celeste had found me standing alone on the curb.

“Your Dad called and asked me to come over,” she had said, brows furrowed and eyes dismantling my luggage. “Where the hell are you going?”

I told her, and immediately, Graeme had called my father who told me I was irresponsible, improvident and too impulsive for my own good.

“What the hell were you gonna do when you got to the airport, Amberlyn?” he stormed. Then he bought two tickets to Melbourne and shoved us in a cab without any further argument.

My father said he’d be flying out later in the week, after things settled down a bit, but until then Celeste was to be my escort. Initially, I hadn’t wanted her to come, but as we pulled up to the dark, empty unit I felt the warming grasp of her hand on my shoulder and I was suddenly very grateful for her company.

Nora answered the door after twelve minutes of knocking, and even then she didn’t let us in. She just stood in the doorway, gaping like an idiot.

“Are you going to move?” I asked, hot breath condensing in the early morning air.

She nodded and I pushed past her, Celeste close behind. I felt my face defrost instantly and I shuddered, plucking my nerves back into life.

“Moronic is her default face,” I murmured to Celeste, who glanced back with worried eyes.

“I think she heard you,” she whispered. Nora, who seemed to have woken up, slammed the door shut, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing us critically over her spectacles.

“Good,” I smiled tersely, before glancing around the living room and noticing the replacement of all my mother’s belongings.

“I can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place,” I snapped, dropping my luggage to the plush carpet flooring. Celeste watched me warily, the austerity of my tone catching her off guard. She hadn’t yet been briefed on my relationship with Nora.

“What did you expect me to do?” Nora spat back quietly, pulling her pink robe tightly around her feeble frame. “Live with shit that belonged to a dead person?”

I stiffened, nerves bristling.

“Yes, that is exactly what I expected you to do,” I retorted. “Especially since that dead person put up with your shit for three fucking years!”

Nora laughed deeply, her face contorting into a snarl, “Only because she couldn’t put up with yours, honey.”

I stared at her, nostrils flaring. I could feel the redness of fury creeping up my neck as my hands instinctively curled into fists. I advanced at her, and she stumbled backwards into the wall as I leaned in and put my lips to her ear.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

I felt the quiver in her chest, heard the silent whimper in her throat, and a manic sense of ominous strength washed over me. I felt like an animal, unable to control the violent instincts shaking my nervous system. I frightened myself.

It was then that Celeste intervened; grabbing me firmly by the arm and jostling me back a step.

“Hey,” she spoke calmly, easing her grip, “Relax.”

I watched Nora as she let out a shaky breath, smoothed back her hair, and strode down the hall. There was a slam as she shut herself in her room.

Celeste released my arm, leaving it quivering by my side.

“What the fuck was that?” She looked me over, worry creasing her brow. “I’ve never seen you so angry.”

I ignored her comment, picking up my bags and nodding down the same hall Nora had taken, “My bedroom’s this way.”

Celeste gathered her things and followed, but refused to drop the subject. “Forget angry, I’ve never you seen you so emotional.”

My room was exactly the way I’d left it. My bed was unmade, the blinds were shut, and clothing was scattered across the floor. I breathed in deeply through my nose, filling my lungs with the aromatic scent of strawberry incense.

“Well?” she pressed, arranging her luggage neatly by the door.

I looked her over, biting my lip indecisively. Telling her about Nora would mean telling her about me; it would mean telling her about the abortion and the boys and Katie Loraine. I’d have to tell her about my mother and Aunt Denise, about the empty house and the loneliness. I’d have to tell her everything.

I sighed, wiping an arm over my eyes.

“There’s a spare mattress under the bed.”

It took Celeste three days to get it out of me, and once I was finished she didn’t say anything. Nothing was said about the subject until lunch the next day.

“Who was the father?” she asked cautiously, biting at the lip of her glass.

It was the first full day of sunshine since we’d arrived, and we were taking the opportunity to sit outside. The air was crisp but the sun was warm on my face- my favourite kind of winter day. I took a bite of my California Roll and a hefty gulp of guava juice, shifting the concoction slowly around my mouth.

Celeste grimaced, “I can hear that.”

I swallowed, rolling my eyes. “I don’t know who the father was,” I shrugged, ignoring her repulsion.

She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her stare, “Come on Amber, cut the crap.”

“I’m serious,” I replied, shame heating my face, “I messed around so much back then, it could have been a number of people.”

Celeste put her hands to her mouth and blew hot air into her palms. She shrugged back at me, expression smooth, “Fair enough.”

The next morning I woke to the incessant bleep of my cell phone, pressed firmly against my cheek. I turned over, rubbing woozily at the sore lines its angular shape had creased into my flesh. It stopped ringing and I relaxed into my new position. I woke again three minutes later as a purse hit me in the jaw.

“Fucking pick it up already!” Celeste cursed, burying her head beneath her pillow.

Groaning, I reached over and felt around my mattress.

“Hello?”

“Finally!” The voice was too energetic for five in the morning. “I’ve been trying to reach you for like, two hours. Where the hell are you?”

“What?” I sat up, blinking hard, “Who is this?”

“It’s John.”

That woke me up.

Celeste grumbled from under the covers and I stood, flexing my toes against the carpet before ambling out of my room, down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Hey,” I said stiffly. My voice cracked and my eyes stung with fatigue. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Uh,” There was a rustle. “Twelve o’ three PM.”

“John, I’m in Australia.” I frowned, “It’s five in the morning.”

“Oh,” he said quietly, as if to adapt to the time difference, “Sorry.”

“Well, I’m awake now. You don’t have to whisper,” I replied flatly.

There was a shuffle, “Right. Look,” he inhaled deeply, “About the other day...”

I clenched my jaw, pulling my lips into a tight, straight line. My breath held in my chest, bracing itself for an argument.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

I gaped, surprised. The concept of a boy apologizing first was completely new to me. I closed my mouth and he continued, oblivious of my reaction.

“I know you were going through a lot and I guess it was a little selfish of me to confront you like that.”

I drummed my fingers on the counter top, “A little?”

“Ok, very. It was very selfish of me, and I’m sorry.” Then his voice dropped, tenderness washing his tone, “Are you alright, Amber?”

I shook my head, fully aware he couldn’t see me.

“I’m sorry too John, I shouldn’t have kept something like that from you and-“

“No,” he interrupted, “I get why you did. I guess I was just frustrated because well, you were going through all this stuff and I had no idea.” His breathing was staggered and I could hear him searching for words, “I told you before that I care about you, and when you didn’t tell me about your mum, it felt kinda like you didn’t want me to care.” He sighed throatily, chuckling. “That was confusing.”

“Yeah, a bit,” I laughed, but I didn’t mean his explanation. It was his tone and his sigh and the million and one connotations of the word “care”.

I yawned, “Hey, I think I’m gonna head back to bed.”

“Yeah, you sound tired.” I was silent while he coughed into his fist, “Sorry for waking you.”

"It's alright."

The silence was awkward, and I didn't know why. He sounded as if he was waiting for me to say something more, and just as I was about to the static crackle of his voice eminated from the speaker once again.

“Amber,”

The tenderness had returned; it made my stomach flip.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

I bit my lip, forcing down the lump in my gullet.

“I miss you too, John.”