Ecstasy

Chapter 67

Calla:

  I stared at the screen. It seemed to waver under my unfocused vision. The black letters stood out starkly against the white background. Clenching started in my stomach and I tried to take a deep breath, but it tightened its grip on my lungs.

"Relax, Calla."

I sighed and dropped my head to the desk. "I don't know what to do."

Mum looked over my shoulder at the computer screen. "You don't have to do this now. Leave it for tomorrow."

I looked up, she was back standing at the kitchen bench. Carol passed her one wet dish after another and the plates clanked together as Mum dried them.

"No it's due in by 11 tonight. I have to fill it in or I miss the first intake period."

She shrugged. "So you miss it. You know your father and I don't think you need to go to uni."

I grumbled. A noncommittal sound that should have appeased her.

"Honey, we talked about this. If you want to do tertiary school, TAFE is always an option."

I looked back at the screen of the laptop. "I know."

"Just don't feel pressured to decide on something right now. There are other intake periods in the new year."

Honestly, I knew what I wanted to do. I remembered when I first got the idea in my head. Tyson had put it there.

I was lying in that tent and the air had smelt like smoke and Easter. Tyson was lying beside me and had started twirling that strand of my hair again. My sketch book laid deserted beside me. It was quiet for a moment, a break in our conversation, both of us processing.

"What do you want to do?" he had suddenly asked. I turned my head to look at him and found him doing the same.

"When you grow up?" he clarified.

I smiled, the question seemed so small in that tent, so innocent. But out there, in the real world, it was so big.

"What do you want to do?" I countered back.

He smiled, and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. "I asked first."

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself smiling again. "I don't know. Mum's always wanted me to do something with numbers. I'm better at numbers than words."

He pushed a strand of hair off my face and behind my ear. "What do you want to do? You must have some idea. Calla Stevenson always has a plan."

I did let myself smile then, he knew me already.

Before I said it, didn't think I knew what I wanted to do. But when it did come out I was sure it was what I wanted. "I want to help people. Like me."

He laid an arm over my waist and wriggled closer. I lifted my head and he slipped his other arm beneath it. The action was so intimate but it felt so casual. I could feel his pulse in the crook of his elbow through my neck, and it was steady, and if I held my breath I could feel it match mine. His eyes were intense, but soft at the same time–was that even possible? "People with dyslexia?"

I nodded and my hair brushed against his arm. "Youth mainly."

He rolled closer to me and I lost sight of his face. I tucked my hands between us and rested them on his chest with my forehead.

His chest rumbled when he spoke. "Have you ever considered social work?"

I thought for a moment. "Like helping troubled kids?"

"Yeah," he said. His chin moved against the top of my head as he spoke. "You've helped me."

I looked up at him then, and grinned. "Yes, because you're big trouble."

His smile was light and cocky, but his eyes were serious. I reached up and kissed him. It was then I realised the meaning of the word intimate. The kiss was deep and soul-searching, and unlike anything. It wasn't sexy, or lust filled, it was as if we were the only two people left on the planet.

"Calla?"

I pulled myself out of the memory of that kiss, that incredible kiss, and turned to look at Mum. She was staring at me from across the dining table, the tea towel slung over her shoulder, her arms crossed in front of her. She must have been calling me for longer than I realised. My mind was too far away.

"Sorry." I tried to shake my head and dislodge the memory, but it stuck on repeat.

I remembered when we surfaced, I was sure his expression mirrored my own. His eyes had been heavy lidded, and on first glance it looked like he was drunk. He looked like how I had felt. I think that was when I had started to fall, hard. I remember without discussion we resumed our previous position of the embrace, where I felt like I was wrapped in a Tyson cocoon. I sighed into his t–shirt and breathed in his scent.

"What about you?" I had asked. "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

"I don't know." He seemed to hesitate. His self assurance slipping away so quickly, like sand falling through fingers. "I always wanted to do something with my music. But I don't know how to get there."

I remember my voice and how it was so sure. "You'll find a way. I know you will."

I blinked and looked up at Mum. I knew I wanted to do it. I knew I wanted to go to university. I wanted to help people. I wanted to make a difference. Like I hopefully made a difference in his life. I knew I wanted to do it, I just wasn't so sure I could. High school had been hard enough, what would uni be like? Were my grades even good enough to be accepted? How would I cope? The campuses must be ten times the size of Murwillumbah State High and I had trouble navigating that. And there's no such thing as remedial classes in university. What if the professors picked on me? What if I couldn't do it?

"Calla," Mum called again. She must have recognised the panic in my eyes because hers softened. "If you want to do it, do it. There will always be help, if you need it."

I placed my fingers back on the keyboard. "I know."

She came around the table and pulled out the chair beside me to sit.

"So–" she said, and turned the laptop closer to her. "Which one do we like more? Southern Cross University, or Griffiths?"