Frontwards

Friday 2nd February, 2006.

Today I left the house for the first time in almost a week. Alice insisted that I’d be okay and she’d be with me the whole time. But obviously I was still anxious. You can’t go through that sort of shit and just carry on as if nothing ever happened. The most you can do is try.

Not that we even went far. We took a short walk to the mailbox on the next street. I wanted Kate to see the article in Alt. Press so I decided to mail it to her. She’d like it, I knew. And it would let her know that I was doing a little better.

“You’re doing really well,” Alice grinned as we were on our way back towards the house. “You’re a lot stronger than you think you are, Daisy.”

I gave a weak smile because I couldn’t do much else. No matter what anybody said to me, I still just didn’t feel safe being outside. I still felt threatened and uncomfortable and scared. So I tried to think about other things.

Mostly I thought about the thing growing inside my uterus. And I thought about what Linda had said to me. She told me it would all be worth it when I held my baby. I sure hoped she was right, because right now it felt like I was living a nightmare.

If I had to create a visual representation of my life since meeting Frank, it would look much like a sine curve. It would oscillate all the way from 1, for delirious joy, and -1, for crushing depression. It would go up and down in cycles. It would undoubtedly have its ups and downs, but ultimately it would be predictable. The graph dips down to -1 but then it goes right back up again to happiness.

I guess what I’m saying is that I knew things would get better. So this is what I thought about. I thought about the fact that pretty soon, I was due a big slice of joy.

“I’m really proud of you,” Frank told me as we lay in bed several hours later. My head was on his chest and he was stroking my hair.

“Me too,” I smiled. Leaving the house may not be a big challenge for most people but to me, it was massive. I felt like I’d actually achieved something. Yay for Daisy.

Saturday 3rd February, 2006.

“Okay, now put your middle finger here,” Frank said, as he guided my hand to the correct position.
I looked down at the neck of the guitar and frowned a little. “I think my hands are too small,” I said. “I can hardly reach.”

“Of course you can,” he chuckled. “There. That’s fine. Now strum.”

I ran my right hand over the strings. It sounded a little strained and rattly but it definitely sounded like music. I had made music. Only one chord, sure, but beautiful harmonious music all the same. It’s hard to believe I have actually done something creative. I have brought beauty and culture to the world. Is this how Frank feels every day?

“You see,” he grinned, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “That was a perfect G-chord.”

I beamed, all proud of myself for my minor achievement. “Yay. Okay, what’s next?”

He moved my fingers into another position and I strummed again. It sounded different this time. Obviously. Even musically-retarded Daisy Montague could tell you that.

“And that’s a D major,” Frank told me. “Well done, baby.”

I grinned again and kissed him on the lips. “Easy peasy,” I said for the first time in my life, getting a little bit too cocky at this stage to be honest. “What now?”

“Can you remember G major?”

Fuck. I narrowed my eyes and focussed all of my energy on remembering where my fingers had been just a few minutes ago, but sadly to no avail. It’s as if all of the information I was being given was simply being shoved into my right ear and then falling right out of my nostrils.

“Erm,” I muttered, arbitrarily moving my fingertips around the strings. “No?”

Frank laughed and reminded me. “It’s okay,” he assured me as he moved my fingers with his. “You’ll get it eventually.”

“I probably won’t,” I sighed. “I don’t really have a very musical mind.”

He looked up at me with a feigned look of surprise and he looked so dumb that it made me laugh. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he smirked.

I strummed another G-chord and shook my head. “You don’t even have to.”

The whole reason I asked Frank to show me a couple of chords is because I have absolutely fuck all to do with my time while he’s in the basement. Most days I just sort of wander around the house, watch Jerry Springer for a little bit, maybe play on The Sims, have a bath and then watch more trashy TV until either life emerges back into the living room or I get tired and call it a day. So I may as well be doing something productive. And I’ve always wanted to play an instrument. I, probably like many of you, always had these fantasies about being one of those girls who sing with wispy voices and play a beat-up, sticker-covered guitar in coffee shops. I don’t know. It always seemed kind of cool. Even if I do hate those kinds of pretentious girls myself.

Anyway I was determined to persevere.

“Maybe we’re doing it wrong,” Frank said thoughtfully.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He paused. “Don’t think of it as music,” he said. “Think of it as math. Like algebra for your fingers. Forget about music. Just remember that if you put your fingers there, you get a G.”

It took me about three seconds to come up with an accurate formula for this. Screw music, playing guitar is all about numbers now. I can’t even tell you how much easier I found it after that.

“You’re a genius,” I proclaimed after half an hour, in which I had learnt 7 basic chords and could even put them all together to play ‘You’re Beautiful’ by James Blunt. Very slowly. And with many mistakes. And without words. But still. Not bad for a first day, right?

Monday 5th February.

Today is Kate’s 21st birthday so I gave her a call at what my calculations told me would be exactly 9.08am in England, because this was her official time of birth. Not just because I’m a bitch who wanted to wake her up, or anything like that.

Unfortunately, exactly 9.08am in England happens to be exactly 4.08am in New Jersey. The things I do for that girl.

Three rings. Four rings. By five rings, I started to panic. Kate and I are not very alike in many ways, but impatience is one of the few traits we share. It seems to be a family trait that we both got from our respective mothers. I mean, just look at my own mother. Too impatient to even bother fully raising her first family before gallivanting across the ocean to start another. And Kate’s mother is just as bad, having had just about every job you could ever think of. At the moment she might be a seamstress or a yoga instructor or maybe a vet, who knows.

Anyway, I was panicking because I knew Kate had been out celebrating with her friends last night and I was worried she might have got too drunk and passed out and choked in her own vomit. It happens. So, me being me, I was getting myself into a panic about it, pacing the living room and chewing the skin around my thumbnail and willing her to answer the goddamn phone.

Finally, on the seventh ring, I heard a croaky “Hello?” from the other end of the line.

“Took you fucking long enough,” I said, allowing myself to catch the breath I had been holding. “Happy birthday!”

I heard some shuffling, banging noises from Kate’s end that indicated to me that she may well still be drunk. “I’m still drunk,” she affirmed, her voice noticeably slurred. “Why are you waking me up right now?”

I sighed. Sometimes I feel quite unappreciated. “It’s 9.08am,” I said, even though it was probably now more like 9.09am thanks to Kate’s fucking about. “This time exactly 21 years ago, you were tunnelling your way out of a vagina. Well done you.”

She gave a small, grunting laugh. “Well thanks. Although I hope you realise I’ve been inside plenty of other vaginas since then.”

“Oh Kate, you’re so crass,” I tutted. “You’re supposed to be a lady now, you know.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” she scoffed. “If you think I’m going to start wearing pencil skirts and stop having casual sex then you are sorely mistaken.”

I gave a small chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect anything of the sort from you. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Aww,” she replied. “You’re so darn cute. I miss you, you know.”

I glanced around me at the darkened room and gave a small sigh. “I miss you too, but there’s not a whole lot we can really do about it for now.”

She paused and I liked to think she was looking pensive. I could just imagine her, all curled up under her duvet with her eyeliner smudged all over her face and her hair clumped together with last night’s hairspray. I’ve seen drunk Kate more times than I’d care to mention, and although she’s a major pain in my arse, she’s still wonderful and she’s still my family. “I know,” she eventually said. “But still. If I can save the money and get the time off work, I’ll come and see you for a bit, yeah? I can’t stand the thought of not seeing you for another 6 months.”

I gave a weak smile. “Kate, you know I won’t be coming home right after the birth, right? I mean, it’ll be a long time before I’ll be up for flying, not to mention the baby-”

“I know that, stupid,” Kate interrupted. “But I’m coming to live you after the birth, aren’t I?”

I blinked a few times. “Are you?” This was all news to me.

“Of course I am, you fucking moron.” Beautiful. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave you to your own devices in America, did you?”

To be honest, I didn’t know what I thought would happen after the birth. It doesn’t bear thinking about, really. I’m scared as shit about giving birth, whatever happens afterwards is secondary for now. “Um. I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Course I’m not,” she continued. “I’m already partway through sorting out all of our stuff and looking into how easy it is to get a green card.”

“Green card?”

Kate paused. “You know,” she said, “for such a smart person, you’re really pretty fucking dumb.” I was about to interject but I didn’t see the point, so I let her carry on. “You’re only on a holiday visa right now, Diz. It’s valid for up to three months at a time, and if you stay in the country after that then you’re technically an immigrant.”

Oh great, just another fucking think to worry about. Jail. Deportation. A huge ass fine. Fabulous. “So what the fuck do I do? I can’t leave the country, it might hurt the baby.”

Kate sighed. “Well there is one obvious solution to this,” she said slowly. “Something that will give you a green card so you’re nice and legal to stay in the country as long as you want.”

I knew straight away what she was getting at. Even I’m not that clueless. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I groaned. “I’ll have to talk to him. It’s a massive thing, isn’t it?”

“Massive,” she agreed. “But you’re sort of running out of time. And options.”

“Great. Thanks for that, Killjoy,” I mumbled.

Kate gave a small laugh. "I don't see it being a huge issue on Frank's part," she told me casually. "I've read the article. I've seen you together. I've heard far too much from you about how wonderful he is. He really loves you, Daisy. He'd be an idiot not to marry you."

I let out a soft sigh. "Maybe. We'll see, I guess."

“Good luck, Diz. You know I love you.”

“Love you too, Katface,” I smiled.

“I should think so. Now, can I please go back to fucking sleep now?”

I chuckled a little and rubbed my own sleepy eyes. “Sure thing. Happy birthday again.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, Diz.”

“Night.”