Teacup and Bullets

Bethany Smith

I thought that, when I would eventually leave home, the weather would be celebratory, you know, shining sunlight, a warm, fruity breeze and a clear, aqua blue sky stretching into possibility. Instead, reality gave me grey, smouldering storm clouds, a biting, icy breeze and a sky choking with swirling fog and little sunlight. It was a marker of my wonderfully dull life that not even the weather could get excited about one of the most difficult phases I had to pass through. Not even the weather was excited that I was leaving home.

I was still in bed, letting everything wash over me in bright, shining waves of thought. Emotions rushed through my veins in vague notions, and I felt like a toxic mixing pot, everything stirring inside me at a frantic pace, thoughts bleeding together and emotions blending with thoughts and memories adding a bittersweet edge to the mix. I felt like I was liable to explode, so full of everything.

Unable to stay immobile any longer, I swung myself out of bed and stretched, feeling crackly and hyper-excitable, like a sparkler on top of a birthday cake. Today was the day. Today was the day I left the nest, exposing myself to The Real World. It was good, in fact, it was great. I could leave Violet Street behind, my awkward phases of growing up, my contretemps, my old crushes. I could just leave them in a rush of wind.

 But at the same time I was nervous, I mean, what if I wasn’t ready for The Real World yet? People were mean in The Real World, people robbed and killed and raped people. Like, if high school was preparing us for The Real World, then, theoretically, The Real World would be worse than High School. And that was pretty scary.

So happy-sparkler me dissipated and butterflies started to attack my stomach. My nerves decided that it would be best if they impersonated razorblades. My mind kind of melted in my head and I just stood there for a second, thinking about progression.

Childhood is like the army. People prepare you for your ultimate goal, they drill it into you: you have to be ready, you have to be strong, you have to dream big and achieve bigger, you have to be confident yet humble, you have to be assertive not aggressive, you have to be smart and pretty and charismatic but you can’t be perfect, because no one can be perfect. It was almost as if you were a funambulist, and the rope was so incredibly thin and taught that it was nearly impossible to stay on. And if you did get to the end, when you finally finished the training and got onto the battle field, nothing was what you expected. Everything you were taught was blown to crap, and all that you knew was shot into unhelpful shrapnel and raging fires.

So I was kind of freaking out. Because, even though I knew I had to leave home, even though I so desperately wanted to attain actual, proper independence, I was shitting myself. It’s scary when you’re going to The Real World. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff and I was about to jump into darkness.

“Bethie, sweetie pie! Your breakfast is ready!” My mother’s voice shocked me out of my depression. I blinked away the thoughts and put on my favourite baggy jacket, before heading downstairs to greet my mum.

When I got to the kitchen I saw my whole family assembled at the kitchen table, even my little brother Robbie, who was just entering that pubescent I-don’t-care-about-anything-except-how-much-gel-I-can-shove-into-my-hair stage. Admittedly, he didn’t look too happy about it.

“I don’t get the deal, mum.” He said, forgetting he wasn’t a black gangsta. “Beth’s leaving the house, yeah? So what? It’s not like she’s dying.” My brother was insensitive, to say the least. He didn’t get the notion that other people are capable of more than three emotions.

Obviously, my family hadn’t spotted me yet. I was leaning against the alabaster wall jutting out next of the stairs so I was pretty much undetectable. Out of curiosity I decided to remain hidden. It was always strange when people talked about you when you weren’t there.

“It won’t be like it has been, kid.” My mother replied in her customary point-blank manner. “Beth’s going to the other side of Brisbane. We won’t be able to just pop over and say hi.” I could hear frying and sizzling and immeadiantly my stomach grumbled. Pancakes?

“It’s more a metaphorical thing.” My dad added, his voice broken by some sought of food. “Bethany is separating from the unit. She’s becoming a woman.” My dad worked in a book store and was often prone to bloviate. He also had an uncanny ability to make sense in a senseless kind of way.

I heard Robbie snort. “Beth’s not a woman. She still watches ABC3.”

It was here I decided to make an entrance, because little Robbie was starting to get a little insulting.

“Good morning, parents and Robbie,” I said as I walked into our tiled kitchen. Robbie and Dad were sitting down at the kitchen table and mum was standing at the stove, flipping some congealing liquid in the pan. PANCAKES!!! “How are we all feeling?”

“Ecstatic. We can finally turn you room into the billiard room.” That was my mum. And I meant that in two different ways. I mean it in a that-was-my-mum-talking kind of way and I also meant it in that’s-so-frustratingly-like-my-mother manner. Because she doesn’t get emotional. Over anything. Once we had to put our pet dog down and she sat at the Vet’s writing a shopping list on the back of her hand.

“I’M SO SICK OF SEEING YOUR STUPID FACE,” My dad added in, his blond hair standing statically up on his head. “IT’S A RELIEF THAT I NO LONGER HAVE TO PRETEND TO LOVE YOU.”

“Hardly morning.” Was all Robbie mumbled. Now that I wasn’t eavesdropping I could see how tired he was, his lids dropping down like shutters.

I took time to look at each of my parents in turn, sculpting my features into obviously fake astonishment.

“You never say anything like that!” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “How weird is it that you would say something like that?”

The chair I took was next to Robbie and I could smell his stupid gel from here. He had a bowl of milk in front of him, soggy remnants of cereal floating miserably in the liquid.

“Hey, kitty cat,” I teased him, nudging him so he would turn around. “Gonna lick that up with with your rough little tongue?”

Robbie didn’t look as amused as I felt, in fact he looked massively unimpressed.