Paradise
From Griffith REVIEW Edition 10: Family Politics
© Copyright Griffith University & the author.
Written by Jennifer Robertson
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Jennifer Robertson's biography and other articles by this writer
In the beginning there is Eden. We all move into the same house. It is a new house. All the houses in this suburb are new. They look alike, too. Our neighbour's house is just the same as ours except the staircase is on the left – a mirror flip. Our house is big and white. It smells of paint and my new mother.
At night, I get out of the sleeping-bag they have set up for me on the floor. My new sister sleeps on the bed. She sleeps lying on her back with her eyes half open. It seems she has always slept like this – somewhere between death and a sentry guard. She reminds me of a snake. Cold-blooded, too. My walk to his room is all carpet and white doors. Soft white carpet under my bare feet. His room, though, is dark. There is a medicinal smell of acne cream. I can make out the dark blues and greens of his bedspread and him, lying on his side, feigning sleep. He has been waiting for me. But we both pretend not to know this.
I stand by his bed.
"Eden?"
He rolls over onto his back, sloppy in his false sleep.
"Hey, babe."
He pulls me on top of him.
In the nights that follow we do not talk about what is going on between us. To talk about such things would be to suggest we have a future. We have no future. Instead we play strip monopoly, smoke reefer and have sex. I have never had sex before and conclude it is painful but necessary. We climb out his bedroom window, sit on the roof and look out on the inky blackness of suburbia.
NONE OF THIS HAPPENS IN THE DAYTIME. THE HARSHNESS OF THE SUN MAKES IT IMPLAUSIBLE. I can't figure out if my nightly visits are dreams. Nobody says anything. But they must know or suspect.
Our family goes on road trips. We sell Bibles for the church and spread The Word. I sit in the back seat between my new sister and Eden. It is summer and I am wearing a short skirt. The car's upholstery sticks to the backs of my thighs. The heat makes me vaguely carsick.
"Praise the lord, it's time for a lunch break," my father says, smiling weakly at his feeble joke. We stop at a restaurant on the side of the highway called "Caesar's". The toilets are in an outside building separate from the restaurant.
"And praise be, it's time to pee!" my new mother chimes.
They all stomp off. Eden and I are left alone together. I lean on the side of the car. One foot tucked up behind me, knee bent: teen coquettishness. I put my hands palms down on the warm metal.
"Hey."
"Hey."
He comes closer to me. He jabs a finger on the exposed skin somewhere between my navel and my crutch.
He smirks.
"Damn, girl, you should put on some weight. You're bones."
I simper.
"Shut up."
Pause.
"Bones."
He rubs his bone against me.
The family re-enters the scene. We go inside the restaurant.
I AM ACHINGLY AWARE OF HIM, OF THE WAY HE SITS ACROSS THE TABLE from me and the amount of his knee touching my knee. I'm so mesmerised by my proximity to him that with an unwitting flick of my hand I overturn my glass of water. It is so appallingly dramatic. The whole family yells, "Whoah!" Water spills across the table and down into Eden's crotch. Red-faced, I meet his inscrutable gaze. He stands up. The dark circle on his jeans grows. It looks like he's wet himself. He walks off to the bathroom leaving the family laughing.
"If that were me, hon, he would have blew the roof," my new mother comments.
AGAIN AND AGAIN I OFFER MYSELF UP as a present to my new brother. He is tender as he puts a pillow behind my head.
"Are you OK?" he asks.
"Mmmhmm."
But despite this, it still hurts. I try not to flinch. Instead, I put on an expression of fixed ecstasy. The more it hurts the more attachment I feel. I have to stuff my face into the pillow to stop myself from pleading: "Do you love me?"
I learn my blood is cherry-coloured.
Later we roll onto our sides and hug. Now I feel a real sort of ecstasy – a small patch of paradise in my mind. I feel content. For once, I feel safe. I consider the bruises on my thighs glorious battle scars. Half asleep, I am happy.
He turns to me and says, "This is just fun, right?"