Eimear McBride - A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing

Then later in the day. They just went. Got into their car and drove away with some, well hopefully we’ll see ye soons and give us a call when you get home just to let us know you landed safe. I was. At his peck. Fairly passive. Say it. Bye. Following a voice in my head. My tongue. Cleave to my mouth. Think of his. His bending brush kiss on the bone of my cheek. Bye then sweetheart. Filled with shame. Take care of yourself. Whisper. Then. And Goodbye to you.

We are days. Watching telly drifting by. Coiled in front. Bored and always is. The evenings after school. But it comes over still. Whizz and whiz. What was that I did? I think of it in bed at night as. On my own I. Think will it always hurt? Will I always bleed? When things are fit that tight how can there not be bruises? I did think about it too at school. To fill my head with something new that’s not this. Blackboard chalk and slime in the loos and the always stench of boys’ feet and impulse off the girls.

He didn’t write or ever phone as aunt did often. Again again and how are you? Did you get that check? Your uncle tells say hello. That’s quite an impression young lady you made. She like me now. Strangely. I don’t know. I wanted to ask you. Someone. I knew you wouldn’t know. What this all this is.

We were moving off now. From each other. As cannot be. Helped. I didn’t help it from that time on. You know. All that. When you said sit with me on the school bus. I said no. That inside world had caught alight and what I wanted. To be left alone. To look at it. To swing the torch into every corner of what he’d we’d done. Know it and wonder what does it mean. I learned to turn it off, the world that was not my own. Stop up ears and everything. Who are you? You and me were never this. This boy and girl that do not speak. But somehow I’ve left you behind and you’re just looking on.

Fifteen sixteen. Eat coleslaw sandwiches with ham on top. My legs tucked up underneath my skirt. Tights stretched tight that I hate for they rub. Coffee. Me and my friend on the mitch. This is neat and clean where I can be. My growing-up. She smells like biscuits. Crisps. Old fags in her oil and her hair. I think her knickers must stink down there. It wafts up sometimes when she crosses her legs. Or is it tights too. Skirt rolled-up polyester. But I like anyway.

She and me. Like to lurk here in the day. Those gossips we have are the very best and we read and read. Quote quotes back forth. That’s good for sharing books of this and that. Word perfect. We snick snack at each other. Correct each other’s grammar. Chew gum and talk and think of sex. I do not say but hint a little. That’s a powerful thing I know.

And we go on travels. Great worlds to our minds, like interrail from here to there. Slum it downtown Bucharest eat cheese in Paris fall in love. Take boats in Venice to Constantinople by the train. Where speak good Russian Portuguese. Know people. Flit around the world to New York parties. Kandahar. We don’t know the world but want and want and on the very tip of tongue I’d fly away if I could. With her. It is our love affair. How we’d be. Who we think we are beneath royal blue jerseys and pleated skirts. Icon in the making me someone new tell every single one at school to go to fucking hell. And sometimes we sit by the lake. An early morning or some after school — in the daytime monitors drive there to catch whoever’s on the hop. Read Milton and feeling moved discuss the heavens and the earth and film stars we’d do with a chance. It’s love. It. Is. Love. Or love waiting for a man to come and take her place. But how would someone fit, I don’t know, in between us two.

She is sufficiently hated by all at home to make the escapade worthwhile — having a friendship outside that womb. Making it an empty shell. Escape of me. We don’t say lots of secret stuff but good for a laugh and that’s enough. Who is better? She or me? Quick quickest. Fastest putting down. I belt her to the canvas every time. Still. She has something I’ve not got. That’s. Everyone else on her side. This is being liked at school. She sway there here and there to this one that. Can I borrow your copy? Can I have a crisp? Always smells like cheese and onion for it at the break. Too looking in her books I find how square roots done I never bother learning that. My brain isn’t. I’m up for Art and nothing else. Strict in it I’m on the outside of these schoolmate mates, being drawn in somehow by herself. Working so hard at working the room. Having people say hello. What’s that? What’s that? I learn.

For a change now I wear my skirts high. Rolled up to the arse when I get off the bus. A new thing. Where’s it from? Seed. Is this. Is in my head. We are going towards a new and I’ll tell when I get there. It’s not straightforward yet. But when it comes she’ll know.

You are behind. You are way behind in this. I see you lagging. I can see you limping off at the back but I’m getting very tired of looking around and in a bit I’ll leave you to the fates. She knows you but she doesn’t care and we are speaking less and less because. In all that you make me want to get away. It’s too much and you’re much too. Young. For me now. Is the simple truth. Where I’m going you cannot come.

That I am turned fifteen is true. You three years more than me. At eighteen Leaving Cert. Is due. You’re almost there. I do not toil nor do I spin but you do. That upstairs every night. The light on scribbling, dream away you must so your results always say. But you’re polite and getting by. They wish the best said teachers all to our mother who can bang her head on every wall. What will you do? Where will you go? She says almost every night. I think you’d like to stay at home. Bring coal in. Clean the fire. Stoke the range. Find something living here. She cannot see you doing out in the world. I see. I agree.

I see you still at school. The sometimes butt but always desperate eager to be one of those ones. Of the boys who lurk smoking. Who wish they knew the insides of the girls and say so often. Say out loud hey Miss I think I’m so good, come here and give me. Oh fuck off. You’re not like those boys. Don’t go looking up to them. You do. Too obviously for me. They don’t want you. Can’t begin to know what you’re like inside this you who’s still good at falling over. Walking into visible things. And I do not either. Consumed with all my dreams and shames.

What’s wrong with your brother? He’s a bit. You know. You know. What? Well he’s a bit you know. Know? Ahem, a little bit strange? He looks a bit. Is he a bit slow? No. That’s a really stupid thing to say. Jesus who are you, saying things like that to me? You’re a fucking bitch sometimes you know that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I heard someone say is all. Heard who you better tell me now. Heard who say what about him now? I mean it, fucking say.

She did tell me after that. Once I’d made her feel ashamed. A rumour going round the school that your brother should be in some mental school for retards they said that in class he doesn’t know to properly read when called out loud and never answered questions right. That when he failed a geography test he told the teacher she was ruining his life. Doing him down before the class. He shouted and pushed her and they had to pull him off. That he’s a psycho. Blaming everyone for being thick. Oh is that what they say? Someone said your family is all fucked-up. Blow-ins weirdo’s born-agains or something bad as that. And about me? Go on. You might as well I’d rather know. I was proud of being brave. I thought that’s what I had to be and asking it was showing how. You she said well they think you’re weird and really up yourself. You’re always wearing that long coat and never talk to all the lads. That you’d be something if you tried. I know not I do not understand but think and think on after this of ways back in and to revenge. Not take any notice they can see but bend myself in secret til. What? Til I can lift this. Fury. Out. And get them. Really well and get her for. For. All kinds of things. For the good word in my ear and thanks for that she was too kind and liked the telling just too well.