when i get home,
mum’s waiting
but not today
the house is quiet,
no note, no message
as if it’s conspired
to trick me,
send me running scared
into the street
as if i’d dare
shout her name
up and down the block
bang on doors
let them mock
didn’t think she could walk, love,
i hear someone sneer
can’t have gone far, love,
she’ll be around here.
mum, i call, mum –
i’m a kid lost in the snow –
mum, where are you?
i don’t want her to go
out of doors
the streets are sheet ice
the sky is like knives
the dangers are rife.
the doorbell chimes
mikey is here,
his friend’s mum’s dropping him back,
i pretend mum’s near.
everything’s quiet
but for my heart
missing its beats
on red alert.
BERNADETTE (17)
Bypasses
Bands
And
Sleeves.
The options
Go on for ever.
But the specialist says
I qualify –
My BMI
Is way too high.
In fact, he’s quite surprised
I’m still alive.
No.
He didn’t say that –
It was in his eyes.
“It’s not a magic wand,” he says.
“Your lifestyle, your diet, will have to change.
It’s a long process,
You’ll need to lose weight.
And, of course, there’ll be a long wait.”
How long? I ask.
Impatient at last,
I don’t have time, I’m already almost too late.
BACK
where’ve you been?
i yell
are you okay?
mum looks upset
doesn’t want to say
anything at all,
drops her coat in the hall
envelops mikey in a hug.
“i’m fine, don’t fuss.”
but where’ve you been?
“out,” she says, “i got held up.
i’m back now, don’t worry, love.”
relief swells, but i’m angry –
she’s acting strange
as if i’m stupid,
i know her ways –
this isn’t mum.
fine, i say,
well, i’m off too.
“where?” she asks.
“training?”
too late
i’m gone.
SHOW OFF
i want to see how much i can lift.
pile on the weights
and push the questions high above me,
frustration powering my muscles,
pumping my arms.
i guess i’m stronger than i thought.
jane lifts an eyebrow,
slaps my hand –
high five –
and i
let a little swagger into my stride.
“but watch it, lil,” jane says,
“don’t make those arms
too heavy to lift:
light and fast, lil, light and fast.”
no sign of rosie,
she isn’t always here,
but kezia’s in though.
“want to spar?”
i shrug and agree
it doesn’t occur to me
to refuse.
we get in the ring
and that’s when my stomach goes
and all i can hear
is my pulse
swelling in my ears.
i push in my mouthguard,
pull on my gloves –
look round
see jane at the ropes
a few others gathered.
what is this?
but there’s no time to back out,
kezia’s ready
grinning, waiting,
and fixing me with
her stare,
which means
come on!
hurry up!
too slow!
she gets the first touch
i forget to duck
of course it hurts,
i’m used to that
and let it slide
off me,
because there’s no time
to think about how
sore you are,
how sore you’re going to be,
no time to
plan or plot
no time to worry.
just move
like jane taught you
like you’ve practised with rosie
and dad
a hundred times
a thousand.
gloves up in your bedroom
throwing your punches
watching your feet
moving through the days
like it’s all been for this.
protect your face,
and find your space.
i get a hit
another
and again
it’s kezia who’s
caught off guard this time,
i take advantage
of my advantage,
of my size
and of my strength
suddenly feel
a thousand feet tall
when she’s up against the ropes
breath coming fast
my feet moving faster
can’t take it for granted
i’ll win,
but i know i can try.
kezia fights back,
our fists start to fly.
how long has it been?
a blur of a fight
our four rounds are up
and no one is down.
she hits me again,
but my chin’s granite now
though there’s blood in my mouth –
i still don’t fall.
jane steps into the ring,
“well done,” she begins
and i like her smile,
wipe sweat out of my eyes,
as she starts telling us
where we went wrong.
i try to listen, and try to learn,
then finally, we’re done –
i’m aching, burning, and tall.
kezia smiles
looks up, catches my eye,
“you got better,” she says,
“nice one,
see you around.”
FULL OF IT
i can’t wait to tell dad,
but he’s not there when i get home,
just mum.
it’s so quiet
too quiet
not even the sound of her sewing machine,
or the TV chattering
in the darkness.
“good time?”
mum asks.
her face is pale,
her expression strange.
i say, yes,
i did well,
and wonder how much
she’d like to hear.
she doesn’t really get it.
“that’s great, love, come in and sit
down for a bit, i want to talk to you.”
where’s dad?
her eyes drift away.
“not here at the minute,
he’ll be back in a bit.”
something’s wrong
and i don’t want to hear it,
all the whispered anger
the heated exchanges
mum getting quieter, not speaking to dad –
dad going out, coming in late,
what’s happened
to them?
is he planning to leave?
but mum shakes her head,
“no,
he wouldn’t do that
we’re a team.”
though her tears make me wonder.
so what’s happening then?
might as well face it,
but there’s no way i’m ready for
what comes next.
“today
when i was out
i was . . .”
she swallows,
hands clenched,
like she’s praying hard.
“up at the hospital
seeing a nurse,
getting some tests,
talking to doctors,
things like that.”
and it all makes sense –
oh my god
are you ill?
oh mum,
what’s wrong?
and i’m drowning in guilt for being a brat
i’m hugging her tight,
hating the fact
that i’ve shouted and yelled
been a spoilt kid
and she’s got this going on
but all i’ve thought of is me.
“no!
hold on, lily,
that’s not it.
please, i’m not really sick
or, i’m sorry,
i’m sorry, just listen
you’ve got the wrong end of
the stick.”
and then she explains
what she’s planning to do,
how dad isn’t happy,
but he’s just worried right now,
but she thinks that it’s best
and hopes i’ll agree
it will change her life
she wants to be
free.
BERNADETTE (18)
The last thing I ever wanted
Was to let my daughter down.
Seems it’s all I manage, though.
She looks at me
As if I’ve told her
I’m running away
And never coming back.
“But Mum,” she says,
“You can’t.”
I have to.
I’m desperate.
I don’t say that, of course
You can’t tell your kid
You’re no longer living,
Just waiting to die.
I know it’s dangerous, Lil,
I tell her.
Of course there are risks.
Does she think I don’t realize?
That I haven’t been told?
But I’ve decided –
And yes, of course I’m scared,
I’m only human.
I tell her so,
And she runs from me,
Slams her door
Locks me out
And I wonder
If I’ll ever do anything right again.
HARD
miss moves us around –
she thinks she can –
delighted with this,
her new seating plan.
is she insane
hasn’t she seen?
the way that he taunts me
from across the room?
now aidan’s beside me
my stomach sickens,
he sniggers and shouts
argues, won’t listen.
he kicks his chair
then slumps down at last,
swearing under his breath
gestures at me, then the class
laughs along,
thinks he’s funny
i shuffle away,
thinking of running.
then he reaches out
and lifts up my pen
chucks it to stacey
sniggers again.
stop it, i say
give my stuff back.
“fuck off,” he says,
“you stupid fat slag.”
he starts flinging my books
as the teacher protests,
laughs in her face
he knows she’s no threat,
“pig girl,” he says,
“come on, suck my dick.”
shows me his crotch,
“you crap bitch,
fat girl wants it,”
he calls out to his mates.
my face is burning,
my body shakes.
get lost, i scream,
what’s the matter with you?
but it’s here, it’s happening,
i know what to do.
he goes for my neck
tries to pull my head low,
wants to bury me there
wants to put on a show.
but i push and i shove
the desk topples, the chairs,
i use my shoulders, my feet,
as all my rage flares,
because this isn’t happening –
not even once more –
i’m not a victim
time to even the score,
and
so,
i
swing and i smash
the whole room explodes
in shouts of delight,
nobody knows
who i am any more –
that i have a plan –
that i’ve played this one out
and won time and again.
“oh my god! look at her!
fight! go on! fight!”
aidan is coming for me,
won’t let this lie.
his nose is bleeding,
still, he grabs and he lunges,
i duck and i dodge,
watch as he stumbles,
and because he’s off guard
he doesn’t know what to do,
he thinks he’s too hard
doesn’t know that i grew
harder than him,
wear a shell like a shield,
he’s not going to yield,
miss is crying and shrieking,
and trying to end
what is only beginning,
but if i want to send
them a message
that this stops now
i will have to go further
before i fall down.
jane’s voice in my head –
that i’m worth something too,
dad’s got my back,
and i swing through
with a hard left hook
follow through with a jab
he staggers backwards
didn’t know i could stab.
my fists are on fire,
my monster is out,
he’ll never dare touch me
not after this bout.
faster and faster
my fists start to bleed,
but i don’t feel them hurting
he can’t take my speed.
i’m only just starting,
want to go all the way,
want to make him see clearly
now i’m having my say,
but it’s over so quickly
when someone catches my arm
and they’re pulling me away
before i do harm.
it’s what he deserves
why can’t you see?
why shouldn’t i fight back?
they won’t let me be.
“for god’s sake stop it!”
aidan’s still on the floor
cradling his nose
but i want to do more –
blood will have blood,
isn’t that the right line?
now it is true
this is my time.
i did it, i got him
and i could do it again.
i stand in the hallway,
feeling no shame.
PUNISHMENT
“this isn’t a zoo,” the head teacher says
“you can’t just hit people
and think that’s
okay.”
everyone is waiting for me to say sorry,
i shrug, shut my eyes.
i’m not even bothered.
“it’s not like you,” my form teacher pleads.
i don’t care now –
i’ve seen him bleed.
it serves him right, i say in the end,
they aren’t impressed
and so they suspend
me for a week.
i shrug
and say thanks.
HARDER
rosie laughs when i tell her about aidan,
and then forces her face straight,
wags her finger and says,
“don’t tell jane.”
why not?
she’s the one who told me to
stand up for myself, i say,
pulling on my gloves.
“i don’t reckon she meant like that,
i think she meant in the ring,”
rosie says, and jabs me
as we begin
sparring, panting, dancing
(at least that’s the way rosie moves –
i could watch her all day
and all night).
“what did your mum say?”
she’s not happy, i gasp,
as i duck, and swing,
but tough,
right?
in reality, mum cried
and dad swore.
but that had been about aidan really,
about the things he’d said
and which i’d written on a piece of paper
and pushed across the kitchen table,
unable to put
them into my mouth.
(i haven’t told rosie what the fight was about –
if i say those things
then she might think them too,
might realize
that aidan’s got it right.)
“good for you, lil,” dad had said,
his face white
and pinched
as he tried to hold his anger in.
but mum had just wept, and wept and wept.
it made me want to hit her too.
ROCK
the only thing left to do is
fight
train
run.
work at getting harder,
faster.
work at not feeling
the blows,
at not feeling anything at all.
let them boo
or shout me down
laugh and look.
i can be stronger.
rock
that doesn’t flinch.
stone
that won’t cry.
don’t want to be home