ELTHAM HIGH SCHOOL ANTHOLOGY   

1.

She shifts around the room, her feet soft and cold on the concrete floor, as if it were a different space. I lie here. My eyes closed, l listen. I can sense her looking at me, as she always does, then continues to walk. My eyes closed, I listen.

She is sitting on her bed on the top bunk. I am on the bottom bunk. She shifts positions and I excite my fantasy. The future. I will lie next to her and feel my arm slide down her white skin. Her clammy body will link with mine and she will need to change positions. She settles for a while. I will not rush her. Not in this space. Not in this future.

In that future we will be happy. Maybe next Christmas I will ask her to marry me, after she kisses me once I trip over her bed sheet of course. And she will sneak me a smile when she thinks I am not looking. When she thinks I am asleep she will shower and I will join her and slide my naked body against her flaky skin. After she explains, of course. Then it will make sense, then she will love me. I do not wish to worry her. I will tell her our future when she is ready; when the men stop bringing dolls.

The men come at night - or at least that’s what I assume – and every morning she silently jumps out of bed to inspect the dolls. Once she has rummaged through the doll’s belongings she will pluck the eyes off the little girl’s face. Sometimes this is hard to do, in which case she will stab at the eyes with her fingernails until each eye shoots off into the depths of the room. She gets up and heads back to her bunk, mumbling to herself.

What’s that? I ask.

For a second she looks at me, before turning away.

She doesn’t move like a normal person; more like a bird, the way she twitches her head. I have grown to call her Blue Jay. I do not know why. She is not blue. Her true colour would be a sort of off-white. I do not like the sound of ‘Off-White Jay’.

Throughout the day she will return to the doll, carefully cutting a segment of clothing off and quickly hiding it in her apron pocket. When all that is left of the doll is a few scratches where there were once eyes and a pale unclothed body, the men will return with the next doll to place beside the last.

Before the men return I often look at the dolls. They seem to be neither male nor female. At first I assumed they were female, but this is not the case.

When the men do not return for some time, darling Blue Jay shifts around the room.

 

 

 

2.

The men have stopped bringing dolls. She has stopped shifting around the room and I have stopped asking. I have often stuck my head out the door of our space but I do not dare to call out. I do not want the men to return. I do not dare stick my neck out.

 

3.

They have given us a new occupation; Monopoly it is called. At first she and I would silently exchange a glance or two as we exchange our money; but she has taken to looking at me. She spoke to me yesterday.

How long has it been? She said.

I do not know as I have been without a working watch for some time.

What’s that? She said.

I do not know. She is looking at my bulging pants.

 

4.

In the future we will make love, but not yet. Although I often find myself now shifting around this space in a sort of trance. I love her. She is my darling. But things cannot happen like this. Next Christmas, maybe then she can sneak me a smile and shower when I’m asleep. Next Christmas, whenever that is.

There she goes again.

Stop it, I say.

She looks at me and then turns to the ground, tending to her doll.

Here, she says. Come.

I know what they are. I do not want to come. She walks over to me, stroking my neck with her tongue. I do not wish things to happen like this. I turn to her and she grasps my face, my mouth between her thumb and fingers.

Come, she says.

Her eyes dark, her look stern, I find my hand on her hip. She returns to cover the outside layer of my neck with her saliva. My left hand joins my right and I find myself peeling a layer off her clothes. She sheds her outer self; a sort of beige overcoat. I have not noticed before, but it has many stains; some, a dark red and others, a flaky yellow.

Come, she says.

My hands move to her waist and peel away her thin material, head to toe, without my permission.

She looks at me angrily, then hands me her remaining monopoly money. She has had to mortgage all her properties. I do not like this bit. I take the money, knowing that I am knee deep. I have stuck my neck out and it is jammed between crowbars.

At this point I remove her final layer of clothing to see that she is neither she or he; having no human features to identify as either man or woman, only scratch marks where, perhaps, these features once were.

I turn to the ground, with the Monopoly board touching my knees I deposit the money. I am Banker now. As I turn to face Blue Jay I hear a breath of air, like someone has exhaled, and find that she has gone. All that remains is the bunk bed, the fortress of dolls scattered around the room - a franchise of processed life - and the darkness of the door. The exit.

The next morning I wake to find my day’s commission. A doll, placed in the centre of the room. Its eyes are difficult to remove so I use my nails. As the day progresses and I return to take snippets of clothing, I notice that this doll is neither male nor female. Only scratches remain, where perhaps these features once were.