I looked at all the machine parts lying around.
‘Does it still go?’
‘Like the clappers. Hasn’t been really opened up on the road in maybe seven or eight years now, though. Tyres need a pump. Otherwise she’s good as new. Edie loved it.’ He pointed over my shoulder, and I turned to see two helmets hanging on the wall. One was matte black, the other was polished and lavender-coloured.
‘Which one is yours?’ I asked.
Vic laughed, which made me feel good. But then he started coughing again and he had to sit down on a paint tin. I put the sheet back over the motorcycle, then I went over to him. I was worried. His face was really red and he couldn’t get any air in. He stopped after a while and spat into his rag. I could see blood.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah mate.’
‘Do you want some water?’
Vic shook his head. I waited until he had his breath back.
‘Vic, do you mind if I borrow some clothes? I’ve been wearing this for three days and I’m starting to smell bad.’
‘Yeah, I’ve got some old duds in a chest of drawers in the bedroom. Help yourself.’
‘Thanks. Can I have a shower too?’
‘Of course.’
Vic’s bathroom was dirty. I took the watch off and showered then went back to the bedroom wrapped in a crusty old towel that was hanging on a rack. I opened the chest of drawers. It was full of shorts and singlets and polo shirts. The bottom drawer had handkerchiefs and underwear and socks. I found one apricot-coloured handkerchief with lace edges that was stained with old brown blood.
It felt strange going through Vic’s clothes. I chose a pair of black King Gee drawstring shorts and a white t-shirt with a sunset print. I laid them on the bed.
I knew I shouldn’t, but before I put them on I slid open the door of the wardrobe. It was filled with Edie’s clothes. It was like I had found treasure. Her taste was amazing. My heart was pounding as I worked my way along the racks. I found a black sequinned halterneck dress, an emerald green jumpsuit, a royal blue silk gown, a navy floral pinafore dress. There was an embroidered stonewash denim jacket, a crimson wide-shouldered wool blazer with pearl buttons, a black leather skirt, high-waisted pants with wide black and white stripes, a lavender cardigan with deep pockets. In a box, covered in tissue paper, was her wedding dress. It was like she had kept every piece of clothing she had ever worn in her whole life. At the end of one of the racks I found a cute tartan baby-doll dress with a round white collar. I held it against my body. It looked like it would fit me perfectly. It was so pretty. I wanted to try it on, but I didn’t.
In the drawers beneath I found tops and some nighties. There was a whole drawer full of knitwear. I pulled out an oversized mauve scoop neck jumper and laid it on the bed on top of Vic’s clothes. In the bottom drawer there were leggings and tights and sweatbands and a stack of old aerobics videos. I matched the mauve jumper with a pair of black leggings and a pair of white Reebok sneakers with a pastel pink trim.
I stared at the outfit and chewed on my lower lip. I worried that it was too risky, but I tried it all on anyway. Everything fit perfectly, even the shoes. The clothes smelled musty, so I sprayed my wrists with some Elizabeth Arden perfume from the vanity table.
I sat down on the stool. It was hard to look at myself in the mirror. The cut on my jaw had a yellow bruise around it, and my skin looked blotchy. I opened a tub of foundation cream and spread some across my cheekbones and my sore jaw, but I still looked really ugly. None of that mattered anyway because I couldn’t fix my hair. I barely even recognised myself.
My hair had always been long. By the time I was six, it had grown down to my waist. I liked brushing it and braiding it and swooshing it around. I thought it was beautiful. It was the only thing I loved about myself.
My mum didn’t care, as long as I looked after it and let her trim my split ends. People always thought I was a little girl, and they would pull a strange face when my mum corrected them.
I knew most boys had short hair, but it wasn’t until I started school that I felt ashamed of it. Boys pulled my ponytail and teased me and laughed. The girls looked at me like I was disgusting, and gossiped about me.
My first-grade teacher told my mum that I wasn’t integrating or learning proper socialisation skills, and I would continue to be isolated until I got my hair cut. My mum enrolled me at a different school, but it wasn’t any better. A boy called Danny Tarrant snuck up behind me during Silent Reading and cut off a chunk of my hair. I turned around and pushed him. He fell and the scissors sliced his hand open. There was blood and hair everywhere. I watched him scream and cry.
I was sent to the principal, who called my mum in to pick me up. They had a meeting in his office while I waited outside. When she came out she looked tired. She drove me straight to a shopping plaza and didn’t say a word. She led me into a salon called Hair To Dye For. I knew I was in trouble, so I just hid behind her and tried to be invisible.
Then a hairdresser with bright red highlights came over and reached for my hand. Her name was Doreen.
My mum said we were just there to trim my hair, so I went with Doreen. I sat in the high chair and she fixed a big black smock over me and sprayed my hair with water. Then she showed me a scrapbook with different boy’s hairstyles. I pushed it away and started to squirm. Doreen tried to calm me down by saying how handsome I was going to look, but that just made it worse. My mum came over and told me to behave. I felt trapped. I started crying and I begged my mum to let me leave. Everyone in the salon was staring at me. Doreen started combing my hair, but the moment she picked up the scissors I panicked. I slid off the chair and ran outside with the smock still on. I went through the car park and ran across the road without looking. I kept running until there were houses around, and I hid in a carport behind a wheelie bin. After a while, a nice old lady came out of the house and sat with me.
A little while later I heard my mum calling out. She was walking down the street with some other people from the shopping plaza. The old lady waved her over. I was frightened when my mum charged up the driveway, but she pulled me to my feet and gave me a big hug. She promised not to take me to a hairdresser again.
That night I agreed to let her cut my hair just past shoulder length, and she taught me how to tie a low braided bun so I might get teased less at school.
It had been a stressful day for her, so she went out that night. When she came home she could barely stand and she was angry. She started yelling at me. She told me she got fired because she had to leave her shift early to come to my school. She had no money because of me. No life because of me. She was alone because of me. She would never have anything because of me.
The next morning she didn’t remember any of what she had said. But I never forgot it.
I got up from the vanity table and went to the garage to see if Vic wanted me to make him breakfast. He looked up and stopped what he was doing and stared at me. I took a step back because I knew I had made a mistake. He looked shocked.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I don’t know. You said—’
‘Why are you in those clothes? Are you trying to be funny? You think this is a joke? Take them off!’
His face was red and his eyes were glassy. I wanted to say sorry but no words came out.