Another Night in Hell a work of Fiction by Saara (Saara Tarjavaara) The title speaks for itself. In this case itís Canberra, but Hell is where you hang your hatÖright? I have barely been in the door five minutes when the phone rings. ëItís probably Rita, again,í shouts my flatmate from the other end of the house. Apparently she had rung at least ten times while I had been at this job interview, ëWhat was so important?í I wondered out loud, ëI dunno, she said it was REALLY important,í was my flatmates reply, which in Rita-speak, meant guys were involved. I sigh heavily as I pick up the phone, of course itís Rita and before I can manage a ëWhadda you want?í, she is telling me that some guy I met once at some party wants me to meet him somewhere by nine oíclock, can I make it? Again I sigh thereís no use telling her Iím feeling dead tired and shitty, or that I have at least a million other things to be doing, the words ëCouldnít we do it some other time?í were like water off a ducks back to Rita. There was, in her mind, no other time when it came to guys. Here dinner magically appears, steaming, before me as my flatmate waves cutlery under my nose. Confused I sit in silence, through one ear I hear Rita cajoling me, ëCímon, what else will you be doing tonight?í, while the other is subjected to the parental, ëCall her back, eat. Your dinnerís getting cold.í Still silent I pick up a fork, ëCome on! Itíll do you good.í I put it down again, ëEat!í They donít even seem to notice that I have not replied to either of them yet. Rita: ëYouíll be single forever if you donít get back out there.í Suzy: ëYou never seem to eat what I cook for you, itís all that crap you fill up on during the day.í Rita: ëOne broken heart does not disqualify you from the human race you know, look at meÖí Suzy: ëEAT!!í Finally I can stand it no longer, ëPiss off!í I hiss through my clenched teeth and Suzy retreats puppy-like into the kitchen, only to begin noisily banging saucepans and slamming cupboard doors. Rita presumes I am talking only to Suzy and so continues to prattle away, ëIím sorry.í More doors slam, ëSORRY! Thanks for dinner Suze.í One hand over the receiver, the other hastily shovelling food into my mouth. Unwanted guilt made my apology a terse one, and Suzy sniffles loudly amongst mutterings of domestic angst. God she acts like my mother sometimes. Ritaís still trying her hardest to convince me to go out, ëCímonÖitíll be great. Itís Lachlan after all. You remember Lachlan donít you? Blue eyes? Guitarist forÖwhat was the name of that band?í Suddenly, like one of those Biblical paintings, I see the light, ëOh god. Lachlan? As in Lachlan Lachlan? ShitÖRita. Shit.í Lachlan huh? Fuck. Before he moved to Perth he was seriously one of the hottest specimens of manhood around. Not that Iíd have ever known him from a bar of soap until that party Rita mentioned before. Some party. There I was, drunk and miserable because once again I was all alone, when the sleaziest, scummiest guy I had ever seen, and Iíve seen some shockers, took my loneliness as an invitation. He came right up and stuck his horrible, slimy tongue in my ear whilst his hand attempted to snake itís way into my pants. I slapped him hard, which he seemed to enjoy, as he followed me around for the next twenty minutes until I finally lost him in the kitchen. I was about ready to end it all with whichever kitchen utensil was handiest, when I looked up into the bluest blue eyes I had ever seen and took the hand that belonged to them, ëCome with me,í said the eyes. And I did. That was Lachlan. Sigh. I am still enjoying my reverie when Rita brings me back to earth, ëWell?í I can almost hear her tapping her foot impatiently from several suburbs away, ëWhy not?í I say before the thought is even there. She swears heíll be there at nine, ëthereí being some bar in the city, ëZekesí or ëZedsí, something ëZí anyway, and we hang up after agreeing to meet on the next bus. Fifteen minutes. I run around like a headless chook, desperately trying to find clothes, shoes and make-up, smokes, keys and my wallet. I ruffle my short hair in the mirror, ponder the need for six-weekly trims and shouting goodbye to the unappreciated chef I sprint to the bus stop in too-high-heeled boots. As Iím running I catch my reflection in a shop-front, I laugh aloud when I notice that due to a wobbly heel Iím running like some drunken drag queen. Handbag flapping, skirt awry, lipstick from here to eternity. The bus is late so I sit down to smoke a cig and fix my lippie, the air is still icy in early Spring so my hands shake a little as I light up. We arrive in town at ten to nine, giving Rita just enough time to pick up one of our fellow passengers as he disembarks and drag him to ëZeldasí with us. I sit nervously by the door, sipping my vodka tonic and wondering what I will say to Lachlan when I see him again while Rita ëgets to knowí her companion. Around us brawls break out over pool tables and under-aged drinkers vomit discreetly under their tables before passing out, ëClassy joint Rita.í I grumble, but her tongue is too busy to retort. I stare blankly into space until the next time I look at my watch it is ten oíclock, and Iím all alone. Rita skipped off earlier, arranging to meet us/me at some party somewhere, dragging some guy by his tongue after her. Already so annoyed with her by then I just nodded vaguely to her directions. Just on half-past I finish my drink, pick up my bag and head out the door and onto the street. I try not to, but I end up scanning every guy who walks past me for those blue eyes. Men really suck. I finally get on a bus which the driver assures me is heading in the right direction for this party only to disembark a few minutes later in the wrong direction. To make matters worse the driver screeches to a halt propelling me and my too-high heels down the aisle, I stumble down the steps and onto my knees on the asphalt outside as the bus pulls away into the night. Red-faced now that the entire bus has seen my underwear, and already pissed off with Rita for dragging me out in the first place I practically lose it when I notice my torn tights and bleeding knees. Then I try to walk. That heel which wobbled so amusingly earlier this evening has now bent backwards some forty five degrees. If it was a fancy-dress party Iíd make a great victim of domestic violence. I almost laugh at this thought, but cry instead. I hate my life. It turns out Ritaís given me the wrong address for the party anyhow, or maybe I just wasnít listening, because I have only stumbled fifty metres or so when I first hear it. I keep following the sounds of breaking glass and making merry until Iím there. The birthday girl is so hammered she calls me ëMummyí and drags me in a headlock down the hall to her bedroom where lo and behold I find Rita, and Lachlan. Rita and Lachlan naked I should say. The crowning glory of my evening. I slam my fist into Ritaís face before she can even open her mouth, and my next thought is of alcohol. Lots of it. People seem to be fucking or fighting everywhere I go, the toilet is broken and there are no chairs left except for those still smouldering in the hearth, so I sit in the sink with the birthday girls hidden stash of vodka. Most of the partiers seem to be a few years younger than me and though it isnít much, when a drunken Goth calls to his friends that someoneís mother is in the sink, I feel it. I find my friend James in the lounge room complaining loudly to those whoíd listen (nobody seems to be) that the music is shit house. I can tell heís just pissed because he hasnít gotten laid. Yet. Not two seconds later a pre-pubescent nymph wafts past him and heís gone, so I take his place on the floor. I survey the scene for a while, and see a guy who looks about my age standing by the door, he disappears and when he reappears at the door he is wielding an axe and roaring like a Viking. After I stop laughing he tells me he has just lost his job and is a bona-fide gatecrasher, I wonder if he has ever displayed homicidal tendencies. Later on that night he confides in me, of all people, saying that he is a pagan. All I can do is smile and nod, thinking at least heís not a Satanist. The same Goth whoíd called me a mother before flounces into the lounge and dramatically hurls his wine-glass into the fire-place; after throwing himself behind the couch he reappears, sobbing, to scattered applause. Tearfully he throws his head into the nearest empty lap, mine, and begins to regale me with his tales of woe. I wait until he has fallen asleep, or passed out, gently lift his head and leave him there. Half of his face seems to be on my skirt so I head for the bathroom to rinse it off, there I find Rita, gingerly bathing her bloody face. I am so drunk by now that I have totally forgotten what happened earlier, she doesnít seem to realise this as she hides her face behind her hands as soon as she sees me, and begins to apologise profusely. I am feeling generous, and though I know Iím mad at her for some reason, I place my hand upon her shoulder in a somewhat regal manner and grant her my forgiveness. She scuttles out the door and has just fallen into Lachlanís waiting arms when I remember that I hate her. I slam the door and climb into the tub with my very empty bottle. Bitch. My wallowing in self-pity is interrupted by some guy wanting to piss in the sink, I graciously grant him permission with a wave of my hand. After heís done he thanks me, and I laugh at this. Barely able to stand he peers into the darkness where I lay and tells me that he thinks weíve met before, I snort derisively, how original at three am. He insists he knows my voice, so I sit up and stare at him until I am able to focus, ëBen?í A pause, ëYeah?í. Another gatecrasher Ben is the ex-boyfriend of my flatmate Suzy. Whom she still holds a candle for. Poor Suzy I think, remembering the shrine she erected to him in her room. Ben climbs into the tub next to me and hands me a joint which we share. I tell him that I always liked him, they would have had such beautiful children. He kisses me. I enjoy kissing him for a few moments, then pull back, alarm bells ringing. Suzyís Ben. We kiss again before I can stop it. I hate that whenever I kiss someone I compare them to you, his lips were softer than yours, and tasted like cigarettes. He says heís sorry, he just had to do it, and I understand. We sleep in the bath after awkward sex. And when I wake up in the morning and he is gone, I sit in the bath, smoke a cigarette and think about you. Created on Fri, 26 Sep 1997 and last modified on Sat, 20 Dec 1997.

LOUDonline - http://www.loud.net.au - Fri, 10 Apr 1998