Tea is my typewriter

Nobody sees me coming home. I’m extremely good at not being seen. I am well practiced at making myself small and almost invisible. It’s not difficult because my journey home is usually empty and predictable, making my way back to my family who have no idea about me, who don’t understand me. When I was first allowed out on my own at night it was exciting, but that wore off. Now it’s functional, like working a nine to five job, it’s just what you do to survive.

But tonight I feel like singing and dancing, with giggles threatening to explode out of my chest and what feels like the flutter of wings in my tummy. I want to wave my arms and skip down the hills. I have never had such a wonderful night in all my years.

As I walk, I cosy myself into my cloak, which is long, black and antique, a look I’m fond of and which my mother is happy to donate old family items to. Tonight I’ve teamed it up with Victorian ankle boots and a long lace dress, and I’m quite pleased with the results. I want to savour the memories of tonight, so I settle in to retell myself the story. I don’t want to forget how this started – I want tonight to be the first night of the rest of my forever.

As usual the night began with a fight with my mother – I can’t even remember what started it, but it’s always the same. She never listens, she doesn’t even try to understand. I don’t want to turn into her in a hundred year’s time. I slammed the door and flew up the street, anger burning in me along with desperation to be free of the house. 

I stood on South Bridge, staring down at the groups of people queuing for clubs in yellow sodium streetlights. It’s my usual haunt. I watch them, looking for the ones who interest me. Tonight I felt so empty, hungry for company, starving for someone who would understand – what I was having to put up with at home, what it felt like to be me, just to feel less alone for a while. 

I usually look for the straggler. The drunkest, the most distracted, the one that looks like they won’t be missed by their friends. That’s who I’m drawn to, that’s who I was always taught would be a safe bet. But tonight the guy I spotted standing on his own was Jeremy, and something about him made me feel different. 

His jaw was square, and his hair was dark, pulled back in a ponytail. He was wearing a long coat and the loneliest of expressions. He was just a few meters from his friends but he looked like he’d been lost for a long time. Like me. 

When he realised I was beside him, he startled and I felt bad, like I’d invaded his privacy. I had never felt that before. Usually the element of surprise is my advantage, but with Jeremy it felt unkind. So I gave him a smile, but it was so long since I’d had a smile on my face it felt unfamiliar, and I couldn’t be sure I was doing it right. Now I could see his eyes were blue and clear, and when he smiled back at me he looked bright and alive. My smile instantly felt like it was supposed to be there, like I was slipping into something very comfortable.

“I’m Millie. Can I walk with you?”

“I’m Jeremy. Of course you can. Where did you come from? You gave me a fright.”

“I didn’t mean to.” 

Jeremy introduced me to his friends, who did wait for him after all. They seemed like the kind of people who would definitely have noticed if he’d disappeared, and I liked that. Jeremy told me he worked as a gardener, outdoors in all weathers, keeping people’s lawns tidy and helping plants to grow. 

We queued to get into a club. The group were mostly wearing black, wrapped in long coats with heavy boots. The girls wore thick black eyeliner, their waists were squeezed by thick belts and their laughs were loud. I thought that if anybody were to look at us, they would think I was one of them. And this made me feel happy, and comfortable, and I hadn’t felt that way for a long time.

One of the girls swore passionately as she told us about the fight she’d had with her dad before coming out tonight. She caught my eye as I nodded in agreement, and she held my gaze. “You too Millie? God, parents, right?” I smiled and for the first time I can remember, I felt properly seen. Understood. It was wonderful.

In the club the music was loud and there were crowds and we danced for hours. The floor vibrated as hundreds of boots bounced. My body felt the hammering beat like a great heart, and I thought, this must be what it feels like to be fully, truly alive.

After the club, Jeremy invited us all back to his flat. I stood outside the tenement door while everyone else went in, and Jeremy waited for me, holding the door open. 

“Will you come in?” He asked me. So I did.

At his front door, two flights up, I stood on the doormat looking at the little collection of plants and boots.

 “I’m going to make tea”, he said. “Will you come in for a cuppa?” So I did.

We all sat in the living room while Jeremy put the kettle on, and we laughed and chatted and it was so easy. When Jeremy brought the tea, he handed me a mug and his hand touched mine, and it was wonderfully warm. 

“Are you hungry, Millie?” He asked. “I think I might be”, I said, truly not sure.

When he came back with a plate stacked high with toast and marmalade, his friends fell on it and devoured it. I held a slice by the corner and sniffed it. It smelled sweet and sharp and I had no idea whether I would enjoy it. I gently pressed my teeth into the crust and it yielded easily into my mouth. I felt flooded by the sweetness, then the bitterness of the peel caught me and it made me want to laugh. Somehow it made the sweetness even more extreme, side by side with the contrasting taste. I chewed it slowly, that strange sensation of crunch between my teeth. As I swallowed, I knew I wanted more of this – the toast, the marmalade, the company, the aliveness.

I realised Jeremy was staring at me. His wonderful smile was trained right on me. 

“You look like you’ve never had toast and marmalade before”, he said. 

I told him that I hadn’t. 

I didn’t tell him that I’d never been happier in my whole life. The way he looked at me, like he could really truly see the real me – and even better, it felt as if he truly wanted to see me. I wanted this toast and marmalade moment, under his gaze, to never, ever end.

When people started to leave, I found my cloak and thanked Jeremy for the lovely evening. 

“Can I see you again?”, he asked, and I told him I would like that.

It didn’t seem right to kiss him, so I placed my finger on his lips instead. He caught his breath but he was polite enough to not mention that my finger was so very cold on his skin.

All the way home, I walk on air. As I float round the corner to our home, I see the sky has begun to lighten. I turn the heavy iron ring of the door handle and hope I can glide up the stairs without interruption. Inside, I immediately realise I am hoping against hope.

“What time do you call this, young lady?” My mother appears from nowhere, a powerful draft of icy air and wild hair.

“Mum, there is plenty of time before sunrise, relax. I’ve been with friends.” These strange words feel daring and magical to say out loud. Friends. 

“What do you mean, friends? Who are your friends? You can’t have friends!” She’s particularly wound up tonight and I wonder if she’s had a bad evening herself.

“The only reason I can’t have friends is because you won’t let me! I CAN and I will!” She’s pierced my joy and I feel it flow away, leaving me cold and angry.  “People, mum! People who see me! People who ask questions about me and are interested in me! I can do that, and you can’t stop me!”

“Oh Millie, no.” Suddenly her rage turns into a sad, pathetic pity. “You know you can’t do that Millie. You can’t let them see you. Not the real you. I’m so sorry Millie, I really am.”

“Shut up, Mum.” My body stiffens. I want to lash out at her, to convince her that I’m right, that the happiness I had felt tonight was real. 

She doesn’t get angry. She reaches out her arms and wraps herself around me. She strokes my hair and I stand there, stiff as a statue. Everything ebbs away, the anger, the passion; and I know she is right.

If I let Jeremy see the real me, if I tell him my story, he’ll be terrified. He’ll know I have nothing to offer him and he’d never want to see me again. Because in the end, all I can is take. All I can do is suck the life out of people. I have no friends because I am like nobody else – I am exactly like my mum, my dad and my brother, and there will only ever be the four of us, just as there has been for hundreds of years. 

“Tell me you at least got something to eat tonight,” she says, gently.

“I had toast and marmalade, mum. And it was amazing.”

She let me go and looked into my eyes, with a hint of a smile and a raised eyebrow, like she’s teasing me. “Well, at least was it blood orange marmalade?”

“Damn you Mum! There’s no blood in blood oranges!” 

And freed from her arms I fly up the stairs, straight into my room. I can feel the tears starting to come and I know the best way to make the pain pass is to sleep, deep and cold and uninterrupted. I shed my cloak, I step into my coffin and slide the lid closed.