The Slightly Bruised Glory of Cedar B. Hartley (8 page)

All I can say is there was an atmosphere of secret, muffled conversations, puzzled expressions, shut doors and empty late-night wine bottles growing in the recycle box. And there was a letter that arrived for Aunt Squeezy, and it came from Italy; a thin pale blue envelope covered in large stamps and elegant spindly lettering. I found it, of course, in the letterbox, where there should have been a letter from Kite. But there wasn't, only that exotic-looking thing and a gas bill. I slid it across the table towards Aunt Squeezy, hoping I might get to soak up some of her excitement, but she just opened her eyes in alarm, stared at it as if she didn't quite believe it was real and then, as if on autopilot, took it into the back garden. She didn't say a word, didn't emit one little squeak of excitement, and when she came back she just hovered for a moment with this stiff, thin smile, and then plunged into her bedroom.

After that there was a hushedness. She and Mum would be talking in the kitchen, and whenever I came into the room they'd stop their conversation and Mum would turn to me and say something to change the topic, like, ‘Here's Cedar.' And I'd say, ‘Yep, here I am,' and she'd say, ‘Still moping?' and I'd say, ‘Yep, still moping,' and then, after a significant pause, I'd say, ‘What are you two talking about?' Of course I wanted all the pity I could get, especially now that something else was getting all the attention, but I also wanted to find out what was going on.

‘I know how to stop you moping,' said Aunt Squeezy.

‘Cedar likes moping. She likes the attention,' said Mum, somewhat cruelly, I thought. Where was all the sympathy going? Certainly not where it was needed. I rolled my eyes at Mum and, in order to prove her wrong, I faced Aunt Squeezy like a puppy, eager and willing. She grinned and leaned forward.

‘Volunteer work. You can come with me tomorrow, after school. They always need some help down at the Learning Network.'

‘What?' I felt duped. I thought she was going to suggest a night at the movies, or a trip to the beach to try out some surfing, or at the very least a double choc Magnum and a video. I could see Mum was amused.

‘What a great idea. If there's one way to stop feeling sorry for yourself, it's to stop thinking about yourself.'

‘It might be more interesting,' added Aunt Squeezy, and she made a pleading face, as if she knew it was a long shot to convince a devastated, lovelorn teenager that someone else's troubles might be more interesting than her own. I knew they were trying to tell me that my ‘poor me' act was worn out and overused and it was time to find a new act. But I can tell you, if I had a choice of new acts to choose from, volunteer wouldn't even get in on the top fifty.

‘I don't think I'd make a good volunteer. What can I do? I can't even tie a knot.'

‘You could just come and see. I bet once you came and met some of the people there you'd think of something you could do.' Aunt Squeezy shrugged and yawned. Her attention seemed to spiral inwards and she closed her eyes for a moment. Mum got up and patted her on the shoulder.

‘Ginger tea?' she said. I sighed and slumped dramatically on the table, as I could see I'd already lost their attention and had to resort to desperate measures.

‘All right, I'll do it, I'll be a volunteer. I'll come,' I declared.

‘Good on you,' said Aunt Squeezy.‘We'll go tomorrow.'

Mum now had her attention on bills. She suddenly turned around waving an envelope, looking like a young girl, like a cheerleader.

‘Look, it's a letter to me. From Ruben.'

‘To you?' I wailed and leapt up to see. Surely it was a mistake.

‘Yes, to me.' She blushed and sunk into the chair. I couldn't help frowning. Couldn't help thinking that this made it even worse that Kite hadn't written, even more obvious and inescapable and purposeful. And why would Ruben write to my mum? I couldn't help wishing it was to ask for permission to let me go and train in the circus too. Suddenly I felt hopeful and watched her as she opened the letter.

A small folded square of paper fell out and landed on her lap. She picked it up and squinted to read the writing, and then a small smile began to dance on her face. She handed it to me.

‘This one's for you, love.'

‘For me?' I squealed. My heart started to thud almost instantly. I knew who it was from. I could tell. I took it and ran outside to be private. I sure didn't feel like anyone watching me read.

‘Well, well. There're a lot of letters coming in this week,' said Aunt Squeezy as I left.

Chapter 12

Hi Cedar,

Remember me? Or has some other acrobat swung out of a tree?

I've been thinking of you, but I never know what to write and say, but now there's going to be an audition up here in two months (December 5) and since I reckon you should come up for it, that seems like something to write about.

Anyway, you'd like it here. Maybe not Albury, but the circus, it's great. You should see the equipment. Dad 's doing a good job.

I don't know what to tell you.

Days wear on.

It's getting warmer.

I've got blisters (doing some flying trapeze).

You'd like the trees here. So would Stinky.

How're Oscar and Caramella?

Are you attracting any attention with your bat pole positions?

Be good and come up.

Love Kite.

I read it through about seven times before I stopped to think about it. I wondered why he set it out like that. So it would take up more room and look longer, probably. I have to admit, I wasn't happy with how short it was. Not a lot of thought had gone into it…no endless hours lying in bed, pencil in mouth, thinking about how to put this and how to express that. Plus there was no kiss at the end, no I miss you. There was a lot that wasn't in it, let's face it. But then again, there are things you have to take into account, like for instance, he's a boy, and boys don't give too much away and, as I once said before, it becomes a girl's job to learn how to read things that aren't said. The problem with this is that if you happen to be a girl with an overactive imagination you can read a whole lot of extra stuff into everything, because you tend to read things with a certain imaginative vigour and a kind of leap-happy attention that jumps off and runs further and further until you are making quite faraway assumptions and thinking of desperate implications…

Like for instance, just say Marnie is your friend (
God help
you
), and if one day she just happens to not say hello to you (
because actually she's busy focusing her attention on getting Angus
Bennett's attention
), you might just decide that means suddenly she hates you (
wrong
) and you get to wondering what on earth you did to make her hate you
(nothing
). Was it because you were absolutely committing a glaring and embarrassing fashion blunder by wearing your brother's hand-me-down King Gees? Because Marnie for sure wouldn't abide that. (
True, but this was not noticed because she was too busy flirting
with Angus Bennett.
) So then you begin to believe that really you must be a worthless person because you make fashion blunders.
(If you'd been thinking, instead of imagining, you'd have
known that fashion victims are the ones to be pitied, not us fashion
crime-committers.
) So you decide the only thing that will redeem you is the purchase of a brand new pink zip-up parka. (
What a big waste of money, and lucky for me I don't even
like pink parkas, anyway.
)

Fortunately, I'm already disliked by Marnie, and my best friend Caramella is an artist and not a snob, so I haven't had to go out and buy a pink parka, but still, I do tend to run away with my interpretation of events.

Here's how I read the letter:

Hi Cedar,

Hopefully he wanted to say, My dear Cedar, but that sounds too much like an old gent from last century, so he opted for a more casual version of greeting.

Remember me?

As if I'd have forgotten him. He knows very well I'll never forget him even if I don't hear from him ever again. Obviously he's sarcastically overcompensating for extreme guilt he feels from not having written sooner.

Or has some other acrobat swung out of a tree?

Hmmm. Can I possibly detect a note of jealousy? Hope so.

I've been thinking of you

Obviously not quite enough to make you write sooner.

but I never know what to write and say,

Why not? Is there something you can't tell me? Do you have a new girlfriend? Is she an absolutely brilliant acrobat with interesting views on life and big boobs?

but now there's going to be an audition up here in two months (December 5) and since I reckon you should come up for it, that seems like something to write about.

Yes, that's a safe thing to write about. As if my mum will let me go, anyway.

Anyway, you'd like it here. Maybe not Albury, but the circus, it's great. You should see the equipment. Dad 's doing a good job.

Blah blah, boring boring, reveals nothing. Who cares about equipment? What about the other acrobats? Why don't you tell me about them?

I don't know what to tell you.

You sure don't.

Days wear on.

You're really struggling.

It's getting warmer.

Obviously. It usually does.

I've got blisters (doing some flying trapeze).

Am I meant to feel sorry for you?

You'd like the trees here. So would Stinky.

Nice of you to think of us, actually.

How're Oscar and Caramella?

Being polite now, or are you actually missing the old Acrobrats and their hotchpotch magic?

Are you attracting any attention with your bat pole positions?

Hmmm. Could possibly be a second but well-disguised note of jealousy. But more likely feeling guilty about attracting a bit of attention himself and is trying to deflect guilt.

Be good and come up.

Knows I can't come, but wants to act like he wants me to anyway.

Love Kite.

If he really meant ‘love', why didn't he add a kiss or two?

‘He could be too shy,' says Aunt Squeezy. ‘Men often are.'

I've shown her the letter because she has forced me to. I'd finally returned to the kitchen after my private half hour of interpreting on the back step. I'd considered burying myself in my bedroom but decided a bit of sympathy was in order so I'd gone and sighed loudly in the kitchen instead.

Aunt Squeezy is standing at the bench chopping an onion. She responds appropriately to my sigh by asking me what's wrong.

‘Kite doesn't love me,' I declare and sink into a chair. Aunt Squeezy stops chopping, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and faces me.

‘Did he say that, Cedar? Did he say he didn't love you?' She puts the knife down and tries to puff at a red curl that is hanging over her eye, but it just floats up and then lies down again.

‘He didn't need to, I could just tell by his letter.' I lift the letter feebly, but I look away from it, as if the sight of the offending piece of evidence is almost too much to bear. She sighs, wipes her hands on her jeans, tucks her hair behind her ear and comes towards me.

‘Let me see, what makes you think that? I'll bet you're reading things into it.'

I roll my eyes and thrust the letter at her. She only reads it through once and then immediately tilts her head to one side and stares at me like I'm a dumbo.

‘Are you mad? He's asking you to go up there and you're claiming he doesn't love you. Why on earth would he suggest you audition if he didn't want you to be in the circus?'

‘He knows I won't be allowed to audition. Mum wouldn't let me.'

At this she tilts her head the other way and again she reminds me of a bird. She considers for a minute, puts her hand to her mouth and stares upward. Then she sits down opposite me and in a slightly conspiratorial way she says, ‘Listen Cedar, where there's a will there's a way, and if it's really, really what you want to do then you will find a way. But first you have to think about it and make sure it's really, really what you want.'

I nod and then I say, ‘But why didn't he put a kiss at the end?'

And that's when she stands up, goes back to chopping and says, ‘He could be too shy. Men often are.'

‘Men?' I say.

‘Men and boys. They're similar.'

‘Did Ruben write kisses on Mum's letter?'

‘You'll have to ask her that, Cedar.'

‘Yeah, right,' I say as I slide off the chair and skulk off towards my own room for some extra pondering. I wonder if she's right about Kite just being too shy. I must be convinced (easily done when you want to be) because, before I can stop it, I'm already turning my mind to something else. Do I really, really want to do the audition?