Title - Through the earth
About - This is an original work of fiction. It has lesbian content and an angst factor. Welcome to part one. There will be many to follow.
Note - This is set in Australia and the spelling will be as such. Don't be bothered by the extra letter Us.
Feedback - Please; it fuels my urge to write.
I was 15 when I realised, to my disgust, that I loved her. We’d had a typical childhood. Long conversations at dawn, pressing our faces against the window to watch the sunrise and leaving steam on the glass when we spoke. Testing our mothers' words of caution and eating cookie dough until we discovered that it really did make our stomachs hurt. Wrapping ourselves in sleeping bags and sliding down the front steps of my house, leaving tracks that never came off despite two attempts by a dry-cleaner.
I went to her wedding and watched as she was given away to a man who she'd confided didn't love her the way she wanted to be loved. I organised a divorce party for her where we drank vodka through penis-shaped straws and cackled about his faults. I invited her kids over for pizza and movies whenever she had to work late, and I would tuck them into the bunk beds I kept in my guest room. These days, I still did whatever I could for her, but tried to keep things light and friendly between us.
“Anna?”
“What is it?” I was painting the walls of the living room a strong salmon colour that had attracted me in the store but now, in my house, seemed an unappetising choice.
Laura waited for me to put down my brush, stop what I was doing and face her before speaking. It was a very typical trait of hers; she demanded full attention.
“Can Hayley stay over tonight?’’
I looked curiously at her. “Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”
She shrugged her shoulders, but didn’t explain. “I’ll bring her over at five. Thanks, An.” She smiled her thanks, then left.
I rolled my eyes as I returned to painting. Part of her appeal was her mysterious modus operandi, but sometimes I wished she were more explicit. It was annoying at times.
At exactly five, her 10-year-old came rushing through the door, her cheeks pink with exertion. “Anna!” she called.
“Hey!” I wrapped my arms around her, breathing in the scent of her bubble bath and all the candy she must have recently consumed. Her breath was warm when she reached to give me a kiss on the cheek.
Laura stood by the door. “Thanks,” she said again. “I’m sorry to do this to you.”
“Anna doesn’t mind,” Hayley said, laughing as she tickled my neck. “You can go now.”
She didn’t go; she stood and watched us for a minute.
“Really,” I added, “it’s fine. Hayley and I always have fun, don’t we?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“Okay.” Laura pulled her car keys out of her handbag and kissed Hayley on the cheek. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning,” she said to me.
“Night, Laura.”
I watched her walk down the path and something seemed off. She was well dressed, which wasn’t unusual except she usually got changed in a hurry after work. I saw that her son was sitting in the front seat of the car. I shook my head, hoping to clear it. I knew that if something was wrong, she would tell me when she needed to.
Hayley pulled me into the living room and started rummaging through my DVD collection.
“Aunt Anna, why do you have some DVDs locked up separately?” She looked at me, her face scrunched up with confusion.
“Some movies are for adults and some are for kids. I want you and Daniel to be able to go through the box even when I’m busy on the phone or making dinner, so I keep your movies away from mine.”
She stared at me like I was stupid. “No, I know that. My mum keeps her movies separate so we know that we shouldn’t watch them unless she lets us, but she doesn’t lock hers up.”
I sighed. How could I explain that her mother didn’t have movies with pictures of two women on the cover? I also had to separate my books. Laura's books had blurbs about family dramas or an unexpected island romance. Mine were sprinkled with terms like 'cultural hegemonies', 'neo-feminist discourse' and 'queer polemics.' I realised that my locked cupboard seemed a little creepy, and struggled to explain.
“Hayley, there are some things that I don’t think your mother wants you to see. I’m sorry to have to hide them from you.” I made a mental note to ask Laura how she would feel about me coming out soon to the kids. It was starting to become a nuisance, the way I had to make up lies to cover the parts of my life that were not kid-friendly. It was much easier when they were young and not as interested in the fine details of my existence.
She was deep in thought. “Anna, do you want to have kids some day?”
“I would like to, yes. If the right person comes along.” I thought about my exes – one who liked to party, not procreate, another woman who would have made a great mother if she hadn’t decided she was straight, and the last, Tia, who had passed away.
“I think you’d make a good mum. You’re very good with kids.”
With that last comment, she obviously decided that she’d had enough conversation for the night and began to watch her chosen movie.
***
The next morning, Laura was late to pick up Hayley. When she arrived she was breathing heavily and I noticed that she hadn't put on her makeup yet.
“I'm so sorry,” she exclaimed. “The car wouldn’t start.” She reached out for her daughter. “Morning, baby.”
“Morning!” Hayley had had a very nice morning that involved pancakes, strawberry-flavoured milk, watching the final scenes of the movie we had started last night, and having her hair styled the way she liked it.
They started to walk down the path and Laura paused, turning to look at me. “Thanks, Anna. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I waved the thanks away. “Now take the poor kid to school before she gets a detention for being late.”
"Bye, Anna," Hayley called.
"Laura?"
She turned to look at me and I shook my head. "Don't worry."
I was useless when it came to confrontation. Laura looked as though she had a lot on her mind and I knew that some people could not talk without some encouragement. But then I also knew Laura, and knew that her strong-minded ways were not something I wanted to interfere with.
As soon as they left, I rushed to get myself organised. When I was with them, sometimes I forgot that I had a life that existed externally to their activities and routine.
I taught art at the local high school. I worked part time, so I had time to plan classes, run errands, teach and work on my photographs.
Once, a student who loved painting and had fought with his controlling parents to enrol in the class, had mocked my career. “It must be really hard,” he had said. He was a nice enough kid, but he liked to start conflict. He told me it made him paint better.
Naturally, I bit the bullet. “What must be really hard?”
“To be a teacher in the area of the arts. Teaching literature or music or visual arts. Aren’t you all, basically, people who have failed getting published or signed or exhibited? Like, no offense.”
I had shaken my head at his ignorance. “You know what, kiddo,” I had retorted, “working in the ‘area of the arts’, as you eruditely called it, doesn’t actually make a lot of money. Teaching is just an extra job, alongside my other career.”
“What do you mean? You’re an artist?”
“I most certainly am.”
The next day I brought in some of my prints that had been published in journals and had won competitions; a collection of black and white portraits, the contrast satisfyingly sharp, in addition to some wild nature shots. The class just stared, apparently in disbelief. I don't know what they thought of me before that day, but I won their respect instantly when I opened my portfolio.
I wanted to take photographs of Laura but she always declined. I don’t know what bothered her the most. People refuse for all sorts of reasons – not wanting to be immortalised in a gallery, fear of how they will look or sadness that their youth is gone. Some think I am joking about wanting to capture their image, and can’t understand why I would want to do so.
I can’t see Laura’s reason as being any of these. I think she knows exactly how she would come out under my lens. Beautiful and completely desirable. Maybe that’s what frightens her.
She has thick black hair, the type of hair that people say will be too thin when you reach middle age, but so far she seems to be keeping it. Her eyes are narrow and, to be honest, derisive. She looks at people as though she has figured them out and is amused by what she sees. It is off-putting for many, and I’m sure it’s why she has so few friends.
Her skin is very white, almost unnaturally so. She wears dramatic clothing and it looks striking together with her dark hair and pale skin. Her husband used to call her ‘my femme noir’. She would joke back that he better watch his back. Her son, Daniel, searched for the term on the internet and found it was the website of African lesbians. This troubled him until he clarified the meaning with his mother.
It's an itch, a crazy urge to capture her. I don't know what I would do with the print. I couldn't put it on the wall because that would be a confession. But I'm determined to get it one day.
Deep down Laura must know that I love her. I’ve never known how to hide it.
