Eimear McBride - A Girl Is A Half-formed Thing

On a spring day’s when I hop the world in this new way I’d never done. We take off early she and me to down the lake on the chance school gaelic match keeps all monitors at their bay. It’s usual too and she and me are not the ra-ra going kind. We snicker over them at that and buy some biscuits on the way. Sophisticated we think kind with blueberries were rare. Blueberries are the great unknown and must be something in New York like muffins lattes and ice-tea. We see the television. We know here is not like there. And I am reading Scott Fitzgerald know that I must drop the F. Think American twenties just divine and I’d be Zelda if I could. Think suffering’s worth it. To be mad a fine exciting thing to be for those short times in those mad years. Wearing pearls and drink champagne and bob my hair and show my knees. Be daring darling simply wild. I’d be if I had a chance I’d be. She. Feeling more pre-Raphaelite has dyed her hair an orange red and keeps Rossetti in her bag for reference always to be inspired by love and nature and dying young. Her choice is poor compared to me I think but nod and smile along at every quote. Think her a little behind and all that cheap to be admired.

So blueberry biscuits and bottle of coke we go sloping in the back streets down to the lake where the sun shines waters lap and all the birds sing. And we sit in the grasses down beside the water’s edge. I will not put my feet in though I’d like to if I could. But it’s not cool and I’m too old now for that I’d say. We talk. All that usual that we do. Lie take the sunshine on our eyelids consider why this makes see red. Think beat of blood. Guts and things. An almost hazy day but for nip on the breeze a bit. Shredding grasses with our thumbnails. Throwing grass seed on the lake we look for fishes come gobble up. They do not. They are staying low. This lake’s as bottomless as the pit she says. Goes down into the middle of the earth. Everyone knows that that’s why so many people drown here and their bodies never pop back up. I think I’m listening to this but off in the distance over the brambles are sounds of boots. I prick my ears. The lads approach. The boys I know them by the sounds of hoarse laughing and shoving push. Ssss she says it’s the lads they must have mitched the match as well. Prick up. Sit up looking around.

They see us shout girleens, girleens! Decide they’re coming down to sit by us in our hidey hole. There wind’ll catch their fag smoke and take trace off into the sky with it.

Oh you two. I thought it was someone else. Oh right. But now we’re here lads shall we stay put? We laugh at that, she and me. And kind of rippley felt within for no good reason but this was something new. Some attention’s what we like. Noticed and worthy of these cool boys staying down with us.

Hey what’s that book you’re reading there? God how can you read books at all? Look at that three hundred pages an awful lot to read. Ye two are always really strange. What? You know using all long words. Sure you don’t know either of us I say. When did we last speak to any of ye she snippedys and not at all pleased to be made up posh or strange or anything far from their fine herd. Anything too like me. Well you know you don’t go out at all. Ye’re never down here with everyone else are ye? Oh drinking on Saturday night? When the guards come and chase you all away? I can’t resist. Hiding in the ditch sounds great craic. Ha ha you’re so funny says one turn his face from me with. Mumble mumble. At least we’re out having it instead of sitting home reading books thinking you’re so great. And how do you know I think that? But they’re not interested, saying to each other, have you them maths done and did you hear yer man got his hand broke in the vice down the woodwork room last night? Fuck. They cracked his knuckles. At least he won’t have to do the tests next week. Ha ha well for some. I’m going to be bollixed in Irish.

I’m needled now wishing they would go away. It’s enough and I’d like the quiet back. I turn. I start to read. I leave her for she loves to flirt it seems. Shallow stupid bitch. I’ll save for later suck-up jibes. Didn’t know you always had to be everyone’s friend. I suppose if being popular’s important… leave the rest unsaid. Annoy her. It’s her own thick fault.

In a while of mouthing I get up and walk off. She calling what’s up with you? I’m just going for a walk. Well don’t get caught or let us know. Cough loud if you see. Yes yes. I stroll. Feel the grass slit through my hands when I tug trail it. Sharp as ice inside the deeper finger and thumb crease. I am warming up the fire to think of him. Of my legs round him. Gloss and embellish. Gasped my name. Broke my heart. My longing longing. Not for him but I think so. I let it be. If only they knew it’d be revenge for everything. Pick a primrose. I like the touch it has the soft and smell and crush gently gives the best and lasting perfume on my fingers. Squeeze pollen falling on the ground and wipe that off on my skirt. The muck earth slithering under my feet. How would they ever understand my life is more than cider? Complex than that. Fuller deeper richer. Irritation that. Something. Not as good as me in the back of my head. In my silent they’re not so clever not so quick and rule the world anyway as if it’s fair. Think I’m too good. I am but would not say it to their face. Lucky for them. I’d annihilate. Champing at the. I would. Such. I would. Hey aren’t you the sister of yer man in our year?

Behind me in the thicket. Standing up against the light. I cannot see him very straight. The fella with the head thing. What? Yeah you are his sister I know you alright. Bristle bristle hair on my spine and on the back of my neck. You go on the bus with him or sometimes don’t you? My brother’s got a little scar on his forehead if that’s what you mean. Except it’s not that little, and all that bullshit story about the knife he says. It’s not. What? Bullshit as if you’d know anything just because you’re in his year. I wasn’t having a go. Yeah right. Yes. I see. Well. Don’t be so uptight. Oh fuck off I know what you lads are like in that year. And what are we like? You know. What? I know what you did to him so don’t bullshit me with you’re all interested and nice. All I said was you’re his sister nothing more and nothing less. Oooh defensive too. I amn’t. Yes you are and you lot should be ashamed. Why? I didn’t do anything to your brother if that’s what you’re saying. Oh didn’t you? I didn’t. I turn. I sit down. Let the morning drizzle in it’s shush I think now. I don’t want to talk to lads like him. The purpose is? I close my eyes and let him do the work if he wants. He can’t I wouldn’t. I would not. I’d almost sleep here but it’s much too cold. I’m sick with churning round the things ever said of you. And listen for him beat retreat he doesn’t. He must stand and look. Hmmm this one with his big ears. To win I sudden streak. I’ll be dumb-founding. And out of my throat comes a voice I don’t know that says in words my thoughts out loud. The lads in your year are fucking scum and bastards and thicko pig-ignorant culchies. What? They stink of hair gel on too thick and biactol that doesn’t even work. Your friends. The nice boys of your year. Pimply faces white as never seen the light and crusty lips and dirty hands. Think they’re all so cool and can piss on me and my brother but really they’re just desperate for someone anyone to give them a wank. Just leave me alone. But he didn’t answer. That voice already burning in what they don’t know for all their talk. What am I? God. Is that right. How would that be? But there’s some bit feels savage. That doesn’t know the wrong from right and sees the way to venge. I might. I am. I will.

I open my eyes. Do you know how to fuck? What? His red face. So it’s like this is what it’s like. What? Easiest do I ever did. He run scarlet. What? Spit settle on his lip I say let’s go for a walk. No risk for what will he answer ahhh and never no for sure.