lily, about you. you’re just like your dad.
and your mum – she’s strong, too.”
a look passes between them,
then they’re both watching me.
mum nods, welling up again.
she watches us eat.
have some, mum, i say,
wishing i hadn’t the second the words are out of my
mouth.
the table goes quiet,
i start to fill the silence,
talking too much,
trying to make her see that i don’t want to hurt her
again,
that i’m just trying to tell her that she is allowed.
we are all allowed to eat, for god’s sake,
aren’t we?
i mean, it’s really good.
honestly.
i didn’t say that to upset you, i wasn’t trying to be a cow.
“i’m not really hungry, love,”
she answers,
reaching out to cover my hand,
“but i’ll have some now.
that’s a good idea, lily, thanks.”
i jump up, get her a plate, and we all pretend not to
watch
her serving herself,
lifting the fork to her mouth,
pretend not to see
that her hand is shaking,
that her cheeks are on fire,
the most embarrassed she’s ever been.
BERNADETTE (9)
I know
Size matters.
I have been big
And sort of small-
Er.
Not ever small enough.
Chubby as a kid.
Chunky
Then stocky
Then thick
Then big.
Big Bernie
Big Bird.
Then overweight –
Plus-size
Outsize
Obese.
Morbidly so, I’m told.
Hating my body
Every step of the way.
Fleshy,
Flabby,
Fat.
One thing I could have lived without –
And wish I hadn’t listened to,
(They’ve taught me absolutely nothing new)
– Is all those voices that think they know my truth.
And although
I’m not allowed to argue
With their logic –
That I will die an early
Death,
Go heavily to my grave –
The funny thing is:
It’s not as if they care.
I am simply someone else to hate.
IT GOES ON
it feels as if the walls will split apart,
like something is finally cracking,
smashing,
breaking up.
whatever it was that’s been waiting –
laughing through the bricks
its breath stinking up the rooms –
is here tonight,
rubbing its hands,
nodding its head.
“you do this,
bernie, i’ll leave you,
i swear,”
dad says.
“you wouldn’t, joe,”
she pleads.
i don’t know what this means.
and i cover my ears,
stuff them with pillow,
bury myself in hot silence.
does dad hate mum?
what have i done?
they go quiet.
i hear the shuffle of slippers on the stairs and
through the crack in my door
see mum,
a ghost, slipping silently downstairs.
PHYSICAL HUMILIATION
i’ve promised dad that i will not back down
or run away,
or fade.
i find a place to change.
pull on my tracksuit.
the t-shirt,
trainers,
bend to tie them tight,
hear laughter,
jerk up,
red-faced –
certain that it’s aimed at me.
phones out
they look away.
i know what’s happened
know one day i’ll make them pay.
“running today, lily?” miss scott asks and i nod.
she raises an eyebrow, and that says it all.
i struggle at the back,
but don’t give up,
each stride hurts
a bit more than the first
as i push myself on.
my chest burns
my heart hammers
breakfast churns.
miss scott nods and smiles
panting,
gasping,
loser red,
she pats my back.
“all right?”
i gasp out a yes.
walk past the others,
don’t meet their eyes.
“fuck, look at the state of that,”
someone says.
BERNADETTE (10)
All it takes is a phone call.
I’d like to see the doctor, please.
The receptionist, suspicious,
Supercilious,
Already unhelpful.
Can she guess at my problem
From just the sound of my voice?
Do I give myself away,
My weakness?
Excess?
“What’s the name?
Address?
What is it that you need?”
Here goes, last chance for me
To dive at my future,
Before it
Becomes the past.
I want my present –
A place where
Each bit of me deserves to be.
Will the doctor come out? I ask,
Another pause,
“I’m sorry?”
Home visit, I say, my voice quieter,
Hopeful
Doubtful
Why?
Why shouldn’t I ask?
Add it to the list of things I don’t deserve.
Time and respect,
Holidays and health,
Pleasure and prettiness.
A job.
Food.
Love.
She books the appointment,
The doctor’s busy of course,
And I don’t have the right to ask
Her to come here –
“It’s no longer good practice,” she says.
And my heart speeds up
At the thought of having to
Leave
The house.
I don’t have a car.
Get the bus?
Walk?
It’s too far.
Still, I set the date.
I don’t tell Joe.
Not that night, lying in bed,
Not the next day, either,
That I need him to help me.
I’ve already tried
To explain.
IMPOSSIBLE
i’m asking myself what makes a woman.
a girl.
a female human being.
do i have to be fragile?
pretty?
silent?
do i have to sit back and let them laugh?
or
can i be strong and bold?
can i live like i want to?
smart and sassy,
spinning straw into gold.
it isn’t easy to step out of the past and into now,
it’s easier to hear all the voices that tell me
no.
i sit at the computer,
after school
the place deserted,
blinds drawn against the night
i search and search again.
Google throws up photographs –
b
oxers
girls, but not like me.
they have muscles,
bodies toned and hard,
they are fierce and fearless, full of fight.
i stare,
eyes lasering the screen.
searching for someone else.
not these women,
my impossibility.
i won’t wear clothes that show my stomach
or arms
or short shorts
that show my thighs.
nothing that clings
or reveals
or would make someone notice
i’m here.
and i almost shut it down,
almost throw the monitor at the wall,
shatter the dream which is actually
just more
of a whisper
of a different life,
a shimmering
possibility –
out of reach,
glinting in the distance.
dad’s dream –
his plan, is it mine?
ON FRIDAY NIGHT
dad takes me to the gym.
i tell him i don’t want to go,
he doesn’t seem to hear,
it’s not what i expected, though.
no machines
on which people
with already perfect bodies glide
and sneer
and stare,
but a boxing gym
that smells of effort
and struggle
and might,
of sweat
and blood
and
fight.
“it’s a new thing,”
dad says,
“lottery funds, something like that,
good right?”
no one really notices me.
no one cares.
too busy moving in their own worlds,
muscles shining
and pounding,
bodies working and hurting.
i wear a tracksuit,
trainers.
new things, too,
and i feel bad,
it’s stuff we can’t afford
for something i don’t know if i can do.
i pull at the t-shirt,
look neither here nor there –
not one of them, for sure.
“need to get you some proper boots,” dad says
looking at my feet,
then my face.
his smile drops, eyes question.
“what’s the matter?
you okay?”
i just shake my head.
“all right, let’s just watch,” he says.
i’d been afraid he’d push me forward
into the ring.
that i’d stand there,
facing some girl i knew i couldn’t beat,
a girl with wings in her feet,
that she’d smash me down
with one fast fist
and they’d all laugh
and finally he’d get it.
we watch together.
meet the woman who runs the place.
jane is blonde and bubbly
tanned and fit,
she grins and shakes my hand.
“lily, is it? great we’re always looking for
new girls,
fresh talent.”
i’m glowing red
with the embarrassment.
she asks me if i fancy a trial.
dad signs me up.
i look around again,
breathe out the fear.
maybe i can do it.
at least, i have to try.
TRICK
hallowe’en.
the nights are blacker still,
the clocks have changed
and i am chasing life
faster and faster every day
around corners and along streets
that are always different in the dark.
dad’s away.
we don’t put out a pumpkin,
never have.
mum doesn’t need to explain.
instead we bob for apples,
tell spooky stories.
i paint my little cousin’s face –
turn him into a lion, a clown, a vampire.
he tries the same on me and mum and aunty clare.
we sit patient, laughing
chew candy
our faces rioting colour.
the baby sleeps,
clare drinks wine
mum sighs,
happy sort of
and smiles when she looks at me.
then
there’s banging on the window.
we jump,
mum screams.
it’s all right, mum, just trick or treat.
the baby wakes and starts to cry.
“put out the lights,”
mum whispers,
“come on, lily, quick, hide –
hide!”
and i dive for the switch
as something else vibrates
against the glass,
(i knew they’d get in one day
this is no surprise)
mikey’s crying, mum’s face is pale.
it’s up to me to put up my fists
and shout,
go away.
bangers explode
through the letter box,
eggs smash
on my face and clothes
as i open the door and yell into the night,
aunty clare swears and screams at them to leave us
alone.
mirrors glitter,
all over the house i hear them cracking
into laughter,
splintering
into sharp hysterical shards.
next time, i’ll be ready.
BERNADETTE (11)
I have always felt
Empty
And Joe can’t understand,
Although he should,
Because he knows
What it’s like
To grow
Without
Food.
Joe, I say, please,
Come with me
Don’t make me go alone.
“I love you as you are,” he says.
But love,
Don’t you see,
It’s not about you,
I’m doing this for me.
HARDER
there are the beginnings of muscles beneath my skin.
not so breathless running any more –
head down, battering through
corridors
i make my way
towards the end of every day.
i just want to be at home.
the night sky booms
and glitters with explosions.
we stare together,
my family,
our faces tilted towards the sky,
the dogs of the street
wild with misery
howling their objections
in a chorus of complaint.
“first fight soon?”
dad wonders
and i pretend not to hear
but the swoop in my stomach
sends me running inside.
CATCH UP
every night after school
i train
teeth grinding up the excuses,
i think about everything
i can gain
and how doing this
means ending pain.
i get home, worn out,
nodding off over my homework
my head on the kitchen table.
“lil, are you alright?”
fine, mum, i mumble.
“you know you don’t have to do this
if it’s not your thing.”
i want to, i say.
because this time i’m going to be the girl
who didn’t fail.
i’m through with watching my
self lose.
every day ahead of me, someone else,
another lil,
is running,
and she’s holding her gloves high,
whooping and cheering
and she’s free,
and she’s alive
she’s on fire.
i need to catch her.
THE REALITY
it’s hard work.
jane doesn’t make allowances
she expects me to keep up.
instead of running away
i hit harder.
instead of hiding
i pant and struggle.
hot and red and wet with sweat,
i try not to look at the other girls
who are happy to notice
that i’m not a threat.
BELIEVE
what do you believe in?
someone asks,
some teacher, speaker,
someone making demands
that we know ourselves, so soon.
i believe
a hall,
walls,
sitting in rows
like we’re children –
i’m not sure i know what any of it means.
do i believe that
this is all there is?
blank faces
jaws chewing thoughts
of home,
even the teachers yawn
and check their watches,
believe in yourselves! the speaker shouts
and clichés tumble from her lips
like snowflakes –
melting
before they catch and stick.
whatever i believe in,
it isn’t this.
marking time
until real life begins.
just leave me to be
let me become
my own sort of
someone.
SOMETHING BLOOMS
but then there’s rosie
and i can’t help but stare
at her face.
in the hustle of the gym,
she walks like
there are no clouds,
and if some should dare to appear
she’d just leap up there
and push them around
until the sky is only blue.
that face
with its smile,
that i’m hoping
i’ll catch
and keep
with her friendship –