Ballad for a Mad Girl by Vikki Wakefield

Author:Vikki Wakefield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2017-04-20T04:00:00+00:00

I wake early and spend the morning checking off the list of chores that Dad left pinned to my door: dusting, vacuuming, washing. Dad’s and mine. Not Cody’s. He can clean his own room. I shut his bedroom door. There’s still so much to do, including a stack of work I need to finish before school goes back, but the bus to South Swanston leaves at 9.15. There isn’t another straight run until 11.45.

Diesel’s watching me, bemused. This new industrious Grace must be as confounding as the one he wants to bite. I keep him at bay by chattering to him and throwing treats.

I cart the vacuum upstairs to my own room. On the floor, right where I dreamed Hannah had curled on her side, there’s a greasy outline and a fine layer of grit. I vacuum the grit and buff the grease away with a dirty towel from the bathroom. I’ve accomplished more in the last hour than I have in a month; it’s like the night I wrote the essay—as if by letting fear run its course instead of trying to block it, I’ve tapped into a source of energy.

I realise I’ve spent most of my life marking dot points off an imaginary list, trying to prove I’m not afraid of anything. I’ve flown down steep hills on skates and skateboards, and played chicken with cars. I’ve walked the pipe and jumped off Morley Bridge to prove I wasn’t afraid of heights or drowning. I take risks—breaking into Sacred Heart, sneaking out, stealing cars, playing pranks—to prove I’m not afraid of authority. I’ve stolen, lied, and cheated people for laughs, because if you’re laughing, it means you’re not afraid, right? My own mum died crossing the street, but sometimes I’ll shut my eyes and step off a kerb because I believe nothing bad will happen if it isn’t my time.

But I remember when I was small and Mum got her first mobile phone—she taught me to play a game called Snake. It starts easy: avoid running into walls and running over your own tail. But your tail becomes the main obstacle; every time you change direction, the space within your walls grows smaller as your tail grows longer and longer, until your tail isn’t following anymore. It has become an entity of its own. It’s chasing you.

I’m thinking I’m this close to crossing my own tail. All the fears I thought I’d faced down are back on the list, plus a few I’ve never acknowledged before, like being alone and seeing things that might not be real.

Now I know what Kenzie meant when she said she was suddenly aware of her own mortality, but the strange thing is: I’m not afraid to die. It seems like something I’ve done before.

The bus stinks like baby puke and exhaust fumes. It’s standing-room only. I can’t remember the last time I used public transport. I haven’t missed it. Mornings during the holidays are always a seething mass of children; anyone between twelve and twenty is probably still in bed.

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