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| Clever Girl... >> Writing >> Mr Perfect... >> I know I called you here... This is around chapter 100 or so (out of 120 ;)). Don't worry, they're mostly shorter than this, a page or so long. ;) I know I called you here for a reason, but... Three days had passed since what I would go on to refer to as 'The Obliteration', and, unsurprisingly, things were yet to be resolved. I hadn't spoken to Joseph properly since the Tuesday it had all happened, and my mind had been going crazy ever since. I'd tried to distract myself with pizza, drunkenness, and the few friends I had who had never met the boy who had broken my heart, but none of it was working. As I stepped off the bus into the impersonal buzz of Elizabeth Street I dialed his number. "Joseph, it's Victoria. Are you free any time today?" There was a puase. "Um... I don't know..." I took a deep breath. "I really need to talk to you." "Oh... erm... okay. Where do you want to meet?" "Somewhere in the city? Or near my house, it doesn't matter. It's up to you." "Well, I'm taking Elil to the doctor's this afternoon - I can meet you then, if you like. I'll give you a call." "Okay, thanks," I said, hanging up the phone. I was meeting my friend Kalai for a movie and lunch. After the movie we wandered around the city for a while, me constantly anticipating Joseph's call. Kalai had never been fond of Joseph, and certainly didn't appreciate me planning my life around him. She'd always suspected a little more lay beneath the surface of our relationship than I was quite willing to let on. Finally, at around 2:30pm, Joseph called. He told he Elil would be seeing a doctor in Glebe at 4:30pm, so could we meet at Broadway at around that time? Joseph didn't have time to detour into the city. Okay then. Kalai and I decided to being our walk to Broadway, anticipating it would take about an hour or so. Along the way we grew tired, so sat upon the steps of some official sandstone building along George Street - somewhere close to the Central Station end. Somehow, I think I was telling her about my decision to limit my use of makeup to lipstick, our conversation turned to the issue of my superficiality. Kalai told me there was little point in just wearing lipstick - what sort of statement did that make? So long as wore any makeup at all I was perpetuating an anti-feminist agenda. Why did the way I look matter at all? It shouldn't matter. I didn't know why it mattered, I told her, but it mattered. People would judge me based on the way I looked. If I had nice hair, good clothing, and a seemingly pretty face, people would judge me more positively than they would if I had ratty hair, tracksuit pants, and an ugly face. People liked attractive people, I guessed. But why did I seek mass approval? Kalai asked. Why did I need everyone to love me? There was a pause. "Well..." I began, composing my thoughts. "I guess I don't need that anymore. I've come to realise that all I want, and have ever wanted, is to be loved. It's just that, when I was younger, I felt as though I had to be loved by the whole world, like a popstar. And now... I just want one person to love me. Because if it's the right person, that's all that matters, right?" As the words tumbled out of my mouth, a flash of recognition came over Kalai's face. She looked at me, almost with pity. "You're laying all your hopes on Joseph, aren't you?" By this point I was well-practiced in the art of nonchalance. "No," I said. "No, you are," Kalai insisted. I was hardly going to spill out the contents of my heart. "I'm not," I insisted. "Then why are you so insistent on meeting up with him today?" she asked. "We have to talk about stuff," I said, in what I hoped was a cool and calm tone. "I'm not particularly pleased with him at the moment. We have issues we need to sort out." It was the truth, and although Kalai nodded, I think she knew there was more to it than that. Whether that was because I was blatantly obvious or because someone had told her, I can't say I know even now, but I can make a pretty educated guess. We eventually made our separate ways, and I continued my hike to Broadway to meet Joseph. I arrived just before 4:30 and sat down in the food court to wait for him, reading some essay notes on postmodernism to keep myself occupied. Joseph wasn't there at 4:30. Or 4:45 either. I called him. He was running late. I read, and waited, and as the clock continued ticking my phone continued beeping, as message after message from Joseph, telling me he was going to be just that little bit later, arrived. Eventually Joseph himself, accompanied by the characteristically rude Elil, who didn't even say hello before he sauntered past on his way to the doctor's, arrived. He rushed off to buy himself a drink before returning to sit down opposite me. "Sorry I'm so late," he said. "That's okay," I said, smiling weakly. "I've done twice as much reading for this essay now than I'd done before you arrived." "What's it about?" "Postmodernism." "Oh. Cool." There was a pause. "This orange juice is really nice," Joseph said heartily. "Can I have some?" I asked. "Sure." Joseph handed me the cup. I took a sip. "My mum makes juice just like this," I said, handing the cup back to Joseph. "Really? Go team Victoria's mum!" I smiled. There was a silence. I broke it by laughing softly. "I know I called you here for a reason, because I had something to say to you, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was." "That's okay," Joseph said nervously. "I mean," I looked down. "I mean, I know I'm putting you in a strange position here... I'm asking you to play a dual role of sorts, I suppose." I laughed nervously, looking up at him. "You know, you're both my friend and the person who broke my heart." "I didn't break your heart, Victoria." Yep, sure, whatever he wanted to believe. "I guess," I choked on the words. "I guess I just wanted to know... why." "Why?" "Why we're not together. The real reason." There was a silence. Joseph sighed. "You want the honesty truth? Because you're not going to like it..." "Of course," I said, as though it was obvious. "Honesty might hurt, but honesty is important." "Well," Joseph played with his hands, kneading them together. He slammed them down on the table and laughed a short, unamused laugh. "I just feel like I'm destined for really big things. I don't really want to go out with anyone who isn't perfect." Perfect? "But nobody's perfect," I said in bewilderment. "But perfection is a subjective thing, so I could find my perfect person," Joseph replied, with his usual overdose of self-assurance. The boy was insane. "Don't you remember the lyrics in that song?" I adopted a breathy, American accent. "What's paradise? It's a lie, a fantasy we create about people and places as we'd like them to be." I dropped the accent and looked at him with as much earnestness as I could garner. "The same goes for perfect people." He smiled. "Well, you know, I think I'm a pretty eligible bachelour, and that's what I deserve." That's what he deserved? Someone better. Someone not... me. But what was so terribly wrong with me, I wanted to scream. What was so goddamn inherently unlovable? How could he turn to me for everything he needed, call me every single fucking night, tell me I was pretty, but no, I wasn't fucking good enough for him. But I... I loved him. Joseph laughed nervously. "You don't love me, Victoria," he said, shaking his head. "You just think you do." He could read my mind. But I still wasn't fucking good enough for him. "Seriously Vic -" he reached out and touched my arm with a smile. "You don't know what love is." What right did he have to tell me who I did and didn't love? And how did he know that it was me who didn't know what love was? Maybe it was him, with his stupid mile-long lists of what constituted the perfect girlfriend, an amalgamation of attributes no one ever seemed able to meet - except, of course, random hot girls on the streets. They didn't have to meet those exacting criteria. "I... I..." I sighed. "I do." Love wasn't about stupid lists. It wasn't about who could beat whom in a game of squash, about who had the high distinction average, about who had the tightest ass. Love was about the connection. Joseph himself had said that only 3 days beforehand. What the fuck was so terribly wrong with me? Joseph had said over and over again that he wanted a girl who would give to him, a girl he could trust, a girl he could relate to. Well who the hell embodied those qualities better than I did? "You... you read my diary," I said weakly. "Did you read my letter to you?" "What letter? he asked. "The one I wrote to you. Did you read it?" "I can't remember it." "Oh." There was a pause. "So... what did you do today?" he asked. "Went to the movies. With Kalai." "Did you have fun?" "Yeah... I guess..." I said softly. I wasn't perfect. Elil returned, coming up from behind. "Joseph, I'm ready to go now," he said petulantly. Joseph smiled at me apologetically as he stood up. "Gotta fo... See you though..." "See ya," I said, standing up as we bid adieu. I wandered off to the bathroom to fix up my appearance before I went home. I looked in the mirror. Shit. I looked like... well... shit. In front of Joseph and Elil, of all the superficial bastards in this world. I put on lipgloss, tried to fix my hair... it was no use. I wandered morosely down the escalators, down the street to the bus stop, dragging my feet like the heroine of some dull, dejected love song. Finding a seat on the bus I noticed a couple out the window, holding hands and kissing. Fourteen or so, maybe fifteen? Fuck them, I thought. What did they know about love? They probably didn't love each other at all, not like I loved Joseph. They were probably just in it for the sex and would break up in three weeks or so. I felt like throwing knives at their feet. Why should people who had never known what it was like to care about someone so much be given love when I was given nothing? I had tasted love, like one of those 'try before you buy' stands at the supermarket. But unfortunately I wasn't eligible to buy. Because I wasn't perfect. back |
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