Sanctuary of Mine (2 page)

Tyler

Relief swept over her features as Chuck and Benson pissed off to footy practice. Her gaze is intense, although I don’t think she means it to be. In fact, I don’t think she has any idea at all how much she actually affects me. In the months she’s been coming to this school, she’s remained quiet. Private. Never making any friends and keeping up this invisible barrier so that no one can get close enough to know the
real
her. Problem with that is it irks me so much that she gets under my skin.

I want to know why she likes the solitude. I want to know what makes her laugh, what makes her tick.
What turns her on?
Mentally berating myself, I head off in the direction of the field for practice. All I’ve ever wanted to do was play football, but lately, keeping my head in the game has become a little more of a mission than a pleasure.

I’ve known her name was Mackenzie since I grabbed one of the students from her year and made ‘em spill. They were also keen to offer up that she’s moved in with her mum’s new flame in Randwick. Her being a grade below me kind of makes me open to serious tormenting if I were seen with her, but frankly, I couldn’t give a shit. Hell, if anyone has anything to say about it, I’d just box their ears in. But that’s not why I haven’t said even so much as a hello until today.

She’s damaged. I can tell. Since the very first time I laid eyes on her, I knew what vicious disease has its claws in her. I know, because my sister died of the fucking disease. A strong warning swims about my head, cautioning me to stay away, because nothing good will come from interfering. But needing her in my life has become more than wanting to save her. I want her to get better, I really do. But illness or not – I just want her.

When I break free of the school building I’m confronted by Chuck and Benson waiting for me. They fall in behind me as I walk.

‘So why are
you sticking up for Jane now?’ whines Chuck. I stop dead in my tracks. They’re both flanking me and just about run up my arse.

‘What the fuck did you say?’

More warily, he replies, ‘I asked why you’re suddenly sticking up for eleventh graders?’

‘Her
name
is Mackenzie, you moron. If you so much as look at her wrong I’m going to break every bone in your hands so you won’t need to worry about your football career anymore, got it?’ I’m seething. I feel like punching something, just to expel the anger floating through my veins. With restraint, I decide my excess energy will be best spent on practice. Leaving both of them staring after me, I make my way to where coach has set up the fluorescent cones for our practice drills.

‘So are you in love with her or what?’ Chuck yells after me, giggling like a hyena, and only because he feels safe enough to do so with me yards away from him. Shaking my head in disbelief, I duly ignore him and keep on walking. Tossers. That’s the problem with most high school seniors. Most have driver’s licenses, are close enough in age to legally drink and hold down jobs. Problem is, though, they still have the maturity and mentality of a two year old. Maybe it’s because I have been through the heartbreak of my sister dying that I see things differently. Regardless, I doubt my parents would put up with that kind of behaviour from me. I’m lucky that we’ve always been such a close-knit family. But that in itself is what made losing Kelly all the more devastating for all of us.

‘Get your arse started on these drills, Redding. You’re late enough as it is!’ Coach is wheezing for breath and looks like a walking heart attack. He’s losing his hair and has been a pack-a-day smoker since the seventies. He knows his football, but looks like he’s about to drop dead every time he rouses on one of us. I just nod and get on with it.

I free my mind of Mackenzie for now, placing the image of her face to the recesses of my mind while I endure the physical workout. It feels good to burn the never ending energy that courses through me. For the next hour and a half I’m in the zone, loving every minute of drills, tackling practice and scrums.

By the time we hit the showers in the locker room, second period classes are filing out into the hallways. I hurry to wash the sweat from my body and dress so that I can wade through the student masses to my next class. I like Mondays a lot. The only reason, of course, is because Mackenzie has subjects that take her past my classrooms in third and fifth period. No, I’m not a stalker, but I’m damn well going to quietly appreciate the view as she walks past, oblivious to my gaze.

Lately the realisation has hit me. No matter how much I try to distance myself from Mackenzie and the potential heartache she carries around with her; sooner or later I’m going to cave. Soon the need to be with her will surpass all rational thought until I’m plain acting all cave-man like, putting my paws all over her. I hope for my sake my heart can take it.

Mackenzie

It turns out that Levi and I take a lot of the same subjects. We spent the day running into each other more often than not and by lunch time I give up trying to avoid having a new friend. He joins me for lunch in the cafeteria. Not that I really have any plans on eating, but I keep up the show for appearances sake.

The line to be served is already as long as the counter so we quickly grab a tray and jump in line. While we move along, he fills his tray with more food than I’ve seen in a week. There’s a hot dog, a chocolate jam donut, custard, an iced coffee drink and an egg and lettuce sandwich to top it off. He pays the cashier and then looks dubiously at my own tray. All I have are an apple and a small carton of plain milk.

‘You sure that’s enough for you?’ I know he’s trying to be nice, like everyone else has been over the years. But I honestly don’t want, or need, his concern. So I do what I always do – I bite.

‘Are you sure you’ve got enough?’ My dagger eyes and icy tone silence him instantly. He looks away embarrassed. We make our way to a table in the
back of the cafeteria; his shoulders slumped from my insult.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble as I place my tray across from his.

‘No worries, it’s none of my business anyway.’ His smile is genuine, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He seems very sad.

‘I just don’t do food, you know?’ He nods sagely.

‘I know I eat too much,’ he offers sheepishly, ‘but it’s comforting.’ Funny how two people can have such a different relationship with food. I avoid it, wanting some sort of control when I know other things are beyond it. He seems to like food – too much. I
t would appear in order to replace his misery he feeds himself to feel some sort of happiness.
Comfort eater
springs to mind and I wonder briefly what has brought about such feelings of unhappiness within him.

While Levi starts inhaling his food, I start the slow process of organizing what little I have on my plate. Milk carton open. Check. Cut apple into pieces. Check. Consume. Ah, this is the part where I have trouble. Everything in my head screams
deny, deny, deny
. But there is common sense in there somewhere that tells me I need the nourishment.

I take little bites of the apple; slowly chewing each one before swallowing the contents. It is extremely sour, but I know that it is what my stomach can handle most without bloating me or making me feel ill. After each bite, I take a swig of milk, careful to let it trickle down my oesophagus. Too much too soon and I will hurl chunks right here.

‘So why did you move to Sydney?’ My tone is light and conversationalist, but I know if the shoe were on the other foot, I would hate to be talking about this shit with someone else. He doesn’t seem to mind though, despite his sadness bleeding through to his words.

‘My dad’s family is from here originally. His brothers and sisters still live here on the east coast. Up until November last year we were living with my mum in Melbourne.’

‘She didn’t come?’
Nosy
, I chastise myself.

‘She died.’

‘Oh ... I’m really sorry.’

‘Yeah, me too.’ Tears prick the corners of his eyes and I feel like a real
moron, having just brought up something that is clearly traumatic for him. We eat the remainder of our respective lunches in silence.

From across the cafeteria I spy Tyler and the beefcakes from this morning, sitting with a group of friends at a large table. Groupies, cheerleaders and general hangers-on swarm the edges, grateful to even get a minute of their time. I roll my eyes in disgust, but not before sneaking a second look myself.

Tyler is in his final year, while I’m a grade below in year eleven. That should be enough right there to stop me from looking at him at all. Throw in the fact that he’s athletic, good-natured
and
hot makes all the more reason for me to mind my own business and go back to being invisible. He glances up just as I’m about to tear my eyes away and winks at me as though it is the most natural thing in the whole world.

My cheeks instantly flush at being caught out perving. I can’t help but notice I receive the dirtiest look from Marla and her posse as I return my attention to drinking what’s left of my milk. Being the hottest girl in school gives her unwritten dibs on whoever she so pleases. By the looks of things, I would say she’s got Tyler firmly in her sights.

The bell rings, signalling the end of our lunch break.

‘What subject do you have next?’ Levi is studiously conferring with his printout of classes.

‘Art and graphic design.’

‘Too bad. I’m off to Home Ec.’

‘You’re taking Home Economics?’ Stifling a giggle, I press my fingers to my lips, just to make sure one doesn’t escape.

‘Yes. I like food remember?’ His serious expression is quite endearing.

‘Gotcha.’

‘Well I’ll see you tomorrow then?’ He’s keen without trying to appear too needy.

‘Sure, Levi. It was nice to meet you.’ He gathers his things and takes off quickly, eager not to be the last one out in the hallway this time around. My leftovers get dumped in the trash and I head out into the hallway. Sometimes the mass of people can make me feel a little claustrophobic. I’m minding my own business when a nasally voice behind me stops me in my tracks.

‘Jane is it?’ I spin around and come face to face with Marla and two of her friends.

‘No, it’s Mackenzie,’ I inform her.

‘Not what I heard from Chuck and Benson.’ She’s talking about the beefcakes.

‘It’s Mackenzie.’ I give her my best steely gaze and try not to let her intimidate me. Pretty hard considering she’s a year old than me and towers a good four inches above my five foot four stature.

‘Whatever. I’ve got a message for you.’ She smiles now, her glossed lips turned up to full wattage. Her nose, if possible, seems even more upturned as she readies herself to cut me off at the knees.

‘And what is that?’ Not really caring for her response, but suddenly realizing that the term
no good deed goes unpunished
is just about to come true.

‘Well, us girls heard from Chuck and Benson that Tyler isn’t too happy that you keep staring at him. Apparently it makes him uncomfortable. I can see why, it’s creepy,’ she snickers as she looks me up and down. Heat rushes over me and I’m sure it shows on my cheeks. I’m both embarrassed and furious. All I want to do right now is go and purge my lunch – the only thing that I know will bring me comfort.

‘Hey, Marla?’

‘Yes?’ She bats her eyelashes at me, as though she can’t possibly understand what come back I would have to say to her.

‘Go fuck yourself.’ I turn on my heel as her mouth drops open in disbelief. The whispers of her friends can be heard behind me as I make my way to the bathroom door.

‘… so rude!’

‘Can’t believe she said that to you …’

‘Who does she thinks she is?’

I tune them out as the blood that rushes to my ears takes over. It’s like waves crashing around me so loudly that there isn’t room for any other noise. Kind of like when you hear the sounds of the ocean in a shell – it’s all just static.

Roughly I shove the bathroom door open and almost knock another student off her feet.

‘Hey, watch it!’ Ignoring her I make my way into the nearest stall and slam the door behind me. With shaking fingers I lock the door, the trembling making it almost impossible.

The room is already spinning and I can feel the bile rise up my throat. The second I hear the door close I know I am in the clear. Tears sting my eyes and I lurch over the toilet bowl
and stick my fingers in my mouth. Vomit pours out, the stench of apple and milk assaulting my senses. I can feel chunks getting caught in the back my throat and hack to bring them up.

I may not be able to control who loves me and who likes me. Who stays and who goes. But one thing is for certain. I can control this. Somehow that rings untrue as the little voice inside my head taunts me too.
It controls you! It controls you!

Mackenzie

Thankfully my mum and her boyfriend aren’t at home. It gives me a little time to breathe, to be on my own and enjoy the sanctuary I have created for myself in my room. I pull my homework from my bag, grateful for the distraction from the craziness of life. Mathematical equations fill the next hour, the radio on in the background.

My stomach starts to gurgle. With alarm I notice the time on my wrist watch. It’s nearing dinner time and my mum will be home from her job as a Paediatric nurse at the local hospital. Jim, mum’s new squeeze shouldn’t be too far either. He’s the foreman of a huge construction company which operates out of the Sydney CBD area. I like him well enough; he’s just not dad.

Slamming my algebra book shut, I race down to the kitchen and pull a plate of food out of the fridge that has last night’s leftovers on it. Taking a knife and fork out of the drawer is all part of the charade. Walking with the plate out the back door, as per my routine, I head to the furthest part of the garden that is fenced with timber planks. Calling softly for the neighbour’s dog, he whines in response. He knows our little routine, and comes running obediently. He’s a beautiful chocolate Labrador, although he’s become a little round of late.

Peeking over the fence he’s sitting patiently, wagging his tail and smiling his doggy smile. His eyes glisten brightly, knowing a treat is in store. To be honest, I think he’s rather fond of me.

‘Hey Max, are you hungry boy?’

‘Woof!’ he assures me. I’m sure he’s lying.

‘I thought so.’ I scrape the food off the plate, pot roast and veggies dripping with gravy onto his side of the fence. He’s all over it, no graces as he scoffs every last bit like it’s his last meal, although we both know he’d eat again in a heartbeat. When
I’m certain he’s got every last bit, he stands on his hind legs so that his paws reach the top of the wood planks where my face is peering over at him. Balancing the plate and utensils in one hand, I scratch behind his ears. He pants, utterly content, gravy doggy breath reaching my nostrils.

‘Same time tomorrow, Max.’

‘Woof!’ he assures me.

‘Good dog! Bye Max.’

He whines as I leave, but I
’ve got not time to pat him. In the kitchen I place the plate in the sink, but do not wash it properly, merely allowing just a drizzle of water to run over it. The leftover gravy sauce mingles with it. The cutlery is dumped on top. Keeping up appearances is very important. It keeps
her
off my back.

My stomach rumbles again, but I barely notice it. Coffee is what I need, with sugar and lots of milk. The kettle boils away merrily while I fix the mug with instant, freeze-dried coffee and full cream milk. I know it sounds funny that I would allow myself the indulgence of sugar and fatty milk, but when that’s all that’s going into my stomach ‘til tomorrow morning, it’s not that big of a deal.

Full cup in hand, I’m just about to leave the kitchen when I hear the garage go up. Perfect timing. Mum’s home, and judging by her late arrival, I’m assuming she’s picked up greasy takeaway on her way. The door that connects the garage opens and she emerges with plastic shopping bags in tow. She’s wearing her nurses uniform and looks haggard for a woman of forty-five. Wispy bits of hair have come free from the bun on her head, her dyed auburn hair in desperate need of a colour job. She walks towards me, unaware that I have been watching her so intently. I try to appear nonchalant as she enters the kitchen.

‘Hey mum.’ She looks up, surprised to see me.

‘Hey baby, how was your day?’ The groceries are relegated to the tiled kitchen floor, except for the bag that contains a barbecue chicken with chicken salted fries. I can see the takeaway logo glaring
from the side of the plastic bag.

‘It was okay, I guess. A new boy started today.’

‘That’s nice dear. It would be good for you to have a few friends.’

‘I suppose.’ Taking a sip of my coffee, I watch her like a hawk as she takes three plates out of the cupboard.

‘Jim will be home in a minute, how about you set the table so we can eat when he gets here.’

‘Sure, but I’ll just set it for you and him. I was hungry so
I just ate leftovers from last night.’

She stops what she’s doing and eyes me suspiciously. Seeing her distrust, she proves me right when she goes to inspect the rubbish bin, searching for any sign that I have tipped the food in favour of continuing my destructive path of self-deprivation. Satisfied that there is nothing out of place, she nods her head.

‘Fine, Mackenzie. At least you’re eating, so I won’t complain about the fact that we haven’t had a meal together in ages.’ Didn’t she realise that just by mentioning that we haven’t had a meal together means she was intentionally doing just that? Go figure.

‘Sorry mum, maybe next time.’

‘That would be nice.’ Her smile reaches the crinkles at the sides of her eyes. A stab of guilt niggles at me as I realise she trusts me enough to buy into my deception. The sound of a car door slamming shut on the front driveway alerts us to Jim’s arrival.

‘I’m just gonna go and finish the rest of my homework, okay?’

‘Alright, honey.’ I leave her while she dishes out helpings of chicken and fries onto plates. Heading to my room, I’m stopped at the bottom of the stairs when Jim comes through the front door.

‘Hey Kiddo! How you doing?’

‘I’m good, Jim.’ He kisses my forehead lightly, the smell of his tobacco lingering around his beard. He’s a kind man – gentle. His eyes are warm and brown
but behind them there’s a mischievous side. Dark hair that needed cutting months ago is tucked scruffily under a trucker’s cap. His temples are peppered with a few grey strands of hair, but he still looks youthful enough. Like Max the dog, he also looks like he’s put on a bit of pudding around the middle since mum and I have come to live with him. Jim’s work clothes look dirty for a change, grease smeared across the fluorescent safety material.

‘Tough day?’ I ask.

‘You betcha. Young’uns these days just don’t have the tricks of the trade like us oldies do. We had the mechanical pulley shut down, which would have delayed us sending materials up to higher floors of the high-rise we’re working on if I hadn’t stepped in and fixed it.’

‘Just as well you were there then,’ I offer.

‘Damn straight, kiddo.’ He ruffles my hair the way an adult would a small child. I’m guessing he didn’t get the memo about age appropriate shows of affection. Not just me, but I am certain teenagers worldwide would cringe at that one.

‘Jim! Dinner!’ My mother’s voice floats to us from the kitchen.

‘Catch you later, Jim.’ He looks at me surprised, and raises a discerning eyebrow.

‘You’re not joining us?’

‘I ate already and have a ton of homework.’ It’s a poor excuse he hears often, but I’m sticking to it.

‘Alright, so long as you’ve cleared it with your mother first. You’re all skin and bone as it is. We don’t want you wasting away to nothing now, do we?’

‘I guess not.’ My tone e
ncapsulates the sullen teenager perfectly.

‘Now
, don’t go on looking like that,’ he half laughs. ‘Your mum just cares about you is all.’

‘I know. Speaking of, you’d better get in there before she goes crook at you. You know what she’s like when she’s kept waiting for a meal.’

‘Yeah, bear with a sore head!’ He roars with laughter, very much pleased with his sense of humour. I smile in spite of myself and excuse myself up to my room. Jim heads off to the kitchen, and once again I am left to my own devices.

I have to write an assignment for English literature – a short story on something we consider life changing. We were assured it could be very loosely based, but the idea and concepts still had to stem from a personal experience. To be honest, I think anything that springs to my mind is a little confronting for senior year in English. I’m beginning to think I should just make some bullshit up. I mean hey, who’s going to know the difference anyway?

Gulping down the sugary coffee, my brain and body happily spring back to life a little. My blood sugar spikes and I think a little clearer. Tiredness pulls at me, though. Without much nutrition, my body flounders at this time of day. It’s only seven p.m. but I’m ready to call it a night, leaving homework for another time.

From my bedside dresser I pull out my little bottle of pills. There are all manner of herbs in there, hidden discreetly beneath my underwear. It’s funny – I know full well what detriment my lack of eating is having on my body and yet I can do nothing to stop it. So instead I take supplements; ones that assist with keeping my hair shiny and my nails strong, among other things. Taking a huge swig of water from the bottle I keep next to my bed, I down the chunky tablets, gagging on the large chalky texture as it scrapes against my already irritated oesophagus.

When I sneak out to use the bathroom, I can hear the muted tones of mum and Jim chatting. They’re in the lounge room watching a television game show. It’s unusual for me to ever keep them company in the evenings, but sometimes I wish my mum and I were closer. Sometimes I want to go back to our life before the divorce, when I was blissfully unaware that anything was wrong.

I use the toilet and then clean my teeth, leaving combing my hair to last. Looking in the mirror while I run the brush through my long tresses, I search for signs that my reflection has changed at all. Staring back at myself I try not to hate what I see. It’s hard though, when a parent has wished you had never been born.

My mind drifts back to the night I first heard those words leave my mother’s lips. Neither of my parents knew I was listening in. They had already told me they were getting a divorce, and since it had all come out in the open, things were getting nasty. I’m sure both believed I was asleep in bed already, but I had snuck out to get a drink of water. Passing their bedroom door, I could hear their voices. Harsh words were being slung back and forth between each other, neither realising just how loud their shouts had become. I sat crouched on the carpet of the hallway, ear pressed to the space under the door. I could hear every single vicious word. And each one was like a dagger to my already fractured heart.

‘Well I wish we’d never met!’
My dad’s furious tone was meant to sting, but my mother’s retort was way worse. Not just for him, but for me too.

‘Well I wish I’d never had your baby, maybe then I wouldn’t have felt compelled to marry your sorry arse!’
My mother’s words had stung me badly. I know she didn’t really mean what she said, that it was all just coming out in the torrents of anger that she felt over the whole hopelessness of the situation she was in. But still … I never really forgave her for that. Her words were meant to cut my father to the quick, but instead they had a devastating effect on me too. I’m not sure a person can ever really recover from that kind of hurt.

I slowly rose up off the floor and slunk back to bed. Even from there I could hear the escalated shouts of my dad, declaring that she was the worst kind of mother. Right then I had to agree with him. I mean who says that about their child anyway? I know it wasn’t intended towards me, but still, my logical thirteen year old brain thought that no loving parent would
ever
say that – angry or not.

As is always the case with this memory, tears prick my eyes and anger flares from within. Some days I feel it is a real struggle to keep my emotions in check. I finish roughly dragging the brush through my hair before heading back to my room. With the lights off, I snuggle under the doona cuddling the Care Bear my dad bought for me when I was six. The rest of my room looks like any normal soon-to-be sixteen year old’s does – posters of pop bands on the walls, CD player and ornaments that reflect a young girl who is almost a woman. And yet, this one little toy cannot be thrown away.

Like the bear, I still wish my father were here to hold me whenever I feel sad or upset. I miss him dearly. With his job in the army, it’s always unclear as to when I will get to see him again.

Knowing the best way to escape my torment is to sleep; I allow my heavy eyelids to close, praying that darkness will bring peace for just a little while.