Repeat After Me

Chapter 3

The Geelong football club players and all the support staff got stood down until games resumed. Mum heard it on the news, before dad returned home from work. His face looked solemn, even when he said, 'it won't be for too long. They're saying four weeks, tops. The country needs some kind of entertainment.'

The Premier of Victoria announced we weren't going back to school for all of term 2. We all had to stay home. Wash our hands. Cough into the crook of our elbow. Go to the doctor if we had a sniffle.

I spent my school holidays upstairs in my bedroom drawing and reading art books Mr Colter had leant me. Every night I looked up how many new infections of coronavirus there were in Australia. Otherwise, I tried to stay away from the news or social media as it was all too anxiety provoking.

Dad didn't know what to do with himself. He'd gone from being crazy busy and always needed, to almost nothing. Sometimes I'd hear a footballer calling with a hamstring or ankle problem and he'd give them advice over the phone. Dad walked around the house with AirPods in his ear, just in case one of them called. Even though he wasn't officially working, he wanted to make sure he was available. I suspect the AirPods also blocked out the noise at home. Since I'd been little, dad had always worked five days a week, as well as match day, so I figure it was hard for him being home all the time, all of a sudden.

Dad made us leave our shoes at the door and he had a little wooden box by the entranceway, where he told us to leave our wallets and keys after we'd been out. I heard him telling his brother, 'I can take the next month as annual leave and still have my regular pay coming through, but after that, we'll have to wait and see.'

He encouraged mum to wear latex gloves and a facemask when she went out shopping for non-perishable foods. She gave us nightly updates of her visits to Aldi and Costco and Coles and Woolworths. She told us about where she had found pasta or rice or tins of tomatoes. The highlight of her day was the checkout girl who'd told her to go to the greengrocer's door at Woolworths to get a 12 pack of toilet paper. She cleaned out our linen closet and it became a backup pantry.

Josh would ride his bike to a local park and hit a tennis ball against a wall to himself, until the parks and playgrounds were shutdown. Then they closed the beaches. This is when I realised, this shit is serious. The pit in my stomach drilled deeper and deeper and I carried foreboding with me like a body bag.

Being stuck at home with my family all the time became unbearable. I found a way to escape out the laundry window. I set my alarm for 1am and walked the forty minutes into the city. I took the busy roads where someone was more likely to stop if they heard a girl screaming. I wasn't afraid. I've got a solid build and a shoulder-length haircut. St Kilda Road can be creepy in the middle of the night. There's dark patches under the plane trees and the business area is eerie. I kept my wits about me and listened out for footsteps, pleased that I had a backpack full of spray cans and I could spray a guy in the eyes with paint and he'd surely go blind.

I found my way to the UUS and had a look around with my torch. I had a proper look at Asten's painting. He really was talented – the concept, the size of his work and his choice of colours made me feel like an amateur. I walked up to the laneway near Desgraves Street to see how my latest work was faring. What I found surprised me. There was a little pasteup in the bottom right-hand corner of my work. 'Ace meeting you. Get in touch.' Asten had written his mobile number and signed his tag name 'Mis-Match'.

I looked at his message for a few moments in disbelief. I never thought I'd hear from him again. He seemed flighty, sure of himself, friendly, but not especially interested in me. He hadn't given off the sort of vibe that it was ace meeting me at all. It was almost as though he met random people and took them down to the UUS every night. I felt flattered that it had been something nice for him too. An unfamiliar happiness took a joyride in my chest.

I wrote his number in my sketchbook, triple checking to make sure I'd copied it correctly. Then I walked towards Hosier Lane. I'd been all pumped an hour before to paint, but his message has rattled me. Guys don't usually take an interest in me. Most guys make me feel like a pegboard and they can see right through me to the pretty girls. 'She has a solid build,' my father said. 'I just wish she'd be interested in something,' my mother said. 'Who are you ever going to meet?' Golden Boy said.

I'd heard my parents talking late one night. I sat on the stairs so they couldn't hear me. 'What are we paying all this money for?' my dad was saying. 'She's not engaged with anything. She's an average student. She hasn't got any friends who come around twice. Maybe she'd be better off at a public school. Maybe there'd be more kids like her.'

'Don't be silly, she's fine. She'll come into her own one day,' mum said.

So this sudden interest from Asten was a completely new feeling. It made me flushed around the neck, my army jacket felt warm and my chest felt fuzzy. My hands were jittery and I couldn't hold the can steady enough to spray with control.

I was annoyed at letting him have such an effect on me. He was just a boy after all. I hadn't even been able to see him properly in the dark. He was probably ugly. And he talked so much, like he was pissing words in the wind. I wasn't even that comfortable in his presence. What's to say he likes me in that way anyway? Maybe he just wants a painting companion or a watchdog. Maybe he likes my work. There was no need to go and get myself all excited over what was bound to be absolutely nothing.