Seasons

Summer was golden. That’s how I remember it. Concrete buildings would all wash yellow with the sun’s rays, radiating heat that shimmered in the air. The grass in the fields dried into straw and cracked to pieces in the occasional welcome breeze. Ties were loosened, jerseys and blazers once more put into storage, ushering in the shorts and skirts that we all so adored. Brown hair was bleached blonde at the tips, and pale skin was burned raw then simmered into honey. Those were my summers. 

 

Dawn broke at some ungodly hour, sending light lancing through the window onto my face. I never could sleep after the sun came up. The roosters had just hit their stride, screaming their dominance to the high hills, but otherwise the house was quiet. I opened the screen and stood on the veranda, watching dew sparkle in the paddocks. I made breakfast, had a shower, put on my uniform. Everything done in the same sequence, day after day. Muscle memory, by this point. I could have slept through it all – leaving the house, dodging past kangaroos dawn the long winding driveway, walking past farm after sprawling farm until reaching that old dilapidated bus stop. All of the kids from the area caught the bus here, the last stop for the only bus to go so far out. It had a blue stripe.

 

The bus spat me out at the usual place, the short enclosed boulevard leading to the school gates. Even though it was summer, the air was still cold enough to raise goosebumps on my skin. I trailed my hand along the split log fence. My friend was waiting at the gate for me, as always, and we would sit beneath the tree for the half-hour before the bell rang. All of this was normal, comfortable. Except for her.

 

My friend said that she’d just come from the city, and that she was in the same classes as me. I was to show her around, show her the ropes. I made a stupid joke, and she smiled. She was wearing striped socks and had black hair. She was like nothing I’d ever seen. Her eyes were dark and burning and followed me everywhere, along with her too-red smile. She sat next to me when classes began, her shoulder brushing mine. I thought it was accidental, but only for the first few times.

 

At lunch she sat too close to me, pressing against my side. Her skin was cool but I felt altogether too warm, even in the shade. I could smell her, sweet and spicy at the same time, and it made me dizzy. The bell clattered at us to return to our books, our bodies standing from sheer reflex, but not hers. She pulled me down into the grass and pinned me with her eyes. My friends shot me knowing looks as they walked away, but I didn’t know what they meant. She wove clover through my hair and spoke to me in another language, and I stayed just to hear her voice. She plucked a hair from my head, wrapped it around her little finger. It looked darker against her white skin.

 

We walked along the sheer edge of the grounds, and she marvelled at the greenery.
So beautiful, she said. So full of life. It’s as if they go on and on and on. Like you could walk in and be lost to the world forever.
It’s just trees and grass, nothing special. I mean, just past there it’s an old folks home, and then a highway, then a bed’n’breakfast.  It’s pretty boring.
Boring? All I’ve ever seen is concrete and black tar, concrete and tar wherever you look. Not a breath of life anywhere to be found. Every day you’re surrounded by lushness and life, and you call it boring! I’m sorry, I didn’t know. She walked away, and I felt a hole were she’d been. I was pulled after her, trailing apologetically until I was forgiven.  As the sun burned low in the sky I turned towards the blue-striped bus and home. She walked beside me, silent, a question in her eyes that I couldn’t understand. I only knew that I had to go home. She bit her lip, and I couldn’t breathe. She kissed me in front of the school gates as the bell rang to send us home. I burned for her all night.

 

Summer bled to a pale autumn, and not much changed. Some trees lost their leaves, some their bark, but not many. Mostly just the days got shorter, the nights longer and colder. Her hand was cool in mine as she led me away from the classroom again and again. She would sing to me and draw me pictures, whilst the teachers marked me absent and my homework lay undone. She would brush against me casually, a hand or a hip. Her fingers were long and delicate, and I longed to lace them through mine. Each day as we lay under that tree I would try to kiss her again, but she would slip away with her smile on her lips, eyes invitation and challenge all at once. I chased her, but I was always one step behind.

 

The days were short in winter. I would wake up late to a clamouring household, and skip breakfast to run to the bus. The jackets and jumpers came back out, and I would take an extra in case she forgot hers. She never did. One day, she wasn’t at the gate. I thought she was absent, until I saw her through a classroom window, stained fingers placing a grass crown on another’s head. I tasted jealousy, hot and sour like bile on the tongue. I watched as she straddled him and her hair fanned out into a curtain that hid her from view. This time I understood. The next day she was waiting at the gates. 

 

I found a new routine, that winter. Some weeks I would be her creature. I would chase her, give her gifts, fulfil her every wish and whim, or taste bitter shame at my failings. I revelled in her laughter, and in the heat that fired my blood when she would touch me.  Others, I would fret and fume as her gaze favoured another. I vowed time and time again to make an end of it, to find someone else, to give up on her. I never did, because every morning that she waited at the gate was another chance to be with her, this wild mercurial creature. One night, my friend confessed to sleeping with her. I slapped him on the back, and then punched him in the face. It hurt my hand. He’d never even really talked to her. I slit my wrists that night, making a ladder of red that climbed my arm. I bled for a while, just to try it, then bound them up tight. I wore a jacket for weeks after that, and didn’t tell anyone, but I didn’t expect the scars. 

 

In spring, she was waiting for me at the gates.

 

 

Lost and Found

Back then, I was lost. I didn't know what I was doing, didn't know what I was looking for. Hell, I probably didn't even know that I was looking. I was in a pretty bad way, I can tell you. But then... well. Then I found Her. Or, perhaps She found me.

I was in Vegas at the time, I think. Maybe it was LA, I don't know. I was always moving, and most days I woke up not knowing what city I was in, let alone what state. I would stumble from one party to the next, flirting with everyone in sight and getting blackout drunk, waking up the next day in some stranger's bed. The hangovers were terrible, so I smoked or shot up until they went away, then got dolled up again to hitch a ride to the next party. Looking back, with the amount of strange cars and beds that I was hopping into, I’m surprised I wasn’t kidnapped or killed. There are only a couple things I remember with any clarity, all the rest is a blur. Things like standing on the beach in a stupid grass skirt, the smell of bile filling my nose. Some jerkwad, I didn’t even know his name, had puked down my top while he was perving on me, and I could feel the warmth oozing down my ribs. Or like sleeping with a lawyer in his penthouse apartment. He was crying the next morning, telling some woman how much he loved her and how sorry he was. There was a picture by the bed of him and a little girl. I hadn’t noticed the wedding ring, but if I had I wonder if I would have done anything different. I remember seeing myself in a mirror – at the hollows beneath my eyes, my cracked lips. I could feel my ribs sticking out and the needle tracks on my thighs, and I hated it. I looked at myself and all I could feel was this overwhelming hatred and disgust. I tried so hard to drown that memory.

The point is, I don't know where I was when it happened, which is funny, because I remember everything else about that night with such clarity. It would have been around 2am, because it was still dark and all the parties were in full swing. I'd left whatever shithole I'd been trying to pick up in because of a splitting headache, probably because I hadn't managed to bum any smokes or booze from anyone. Despite not having anything to drink my head was spinning, and nausea would come over me in waves. My stomach was cramping like a bitch, but maybe that was 'cause I hadn't eaten in two days. I started stumbling down this skanky little alley, the kind of place you wouldn't want to walk in, even in daylight. So I'm tripping over garbage and trying not to throw up, and as if that's not enough it started pissing down with rain. So I'm swearing and shivering and generally feeling sorry for myself, when I hear someone say my name. 

"Genevieve." Just like that. Not 'Gen', not 'Vivi or 'slut', but Genevieve. I hadn't heard someone say my name like that in a long time. I turn around and there's this tiny blonde girl behind me, peeking out from some huge iron doorway. In the haze of the rain and the dirty streetlights her pale skin glowed from within, and I might have mistaken her for an angel was it not for the nose ring and hotpants. Back then I would have gone with anyone who could give me a drink or a needle full of something good, but with her it was different. I felt drawn to her, as if there was some sort of invisible string tying us together, tugging on me. She smiled as I walked to her. A real smile, not wanting anything from me, just smiling for the sheer joy of it. The sound of the rain and the blaring traffic cut off as the door shut behind me, but that didn't concern me. Somehow I knew that I would be safe with her. She led me down this dinky little staircase into some sort of underground club. The lights were low and warm, just like the music, and the hubbub of gentle conversation filled the air. There was a throng of people, all packed into couches and around tables in that one room, yet it didn't feel crowded. I can’t explain it, but... It felt right.

“Hey Angel!” A tattooed man with electric pink hair waved us over. “Georgie just got done with a new batch of stout, you gotta try it.” Georgie, a guy with dreadlocks, was walking around with a keg of homebrew. The tattooed man looked at me and smiled, a relaxed grin of mismatched gold and silver. “You stick with Angel, little lady. She’ll steer you right.” A middle-aged woman in a pantsuit called out to us from another table, inviting us to play dominoes with her and a young vicar. As we walked through the room people kept calling out to her and, to my surprise, me.
“Her name’s not really Angel, you know. We just call her that.” The little boy showed me a card trick as he spoke, his grizzled mentor looking on in pride. Everyone - priests and gangers and hippies and suits, young and old and from all over the place – everyone was just chatting and drinking, playing games, debating and making out, laughing and signing. They all greeted us, carefree and cheerful, so far removed from the desperate drinking and frenzied fucking going on outside. I couldn’t understand how all these different people could be so relaxed and comfortable. When I asked the girl, she just looked at them all with this beatific smile on their face.
“These are the people who have found God.” She says. “As will you, when you are ready. Go through there, She’s been waiting for you.” She points to the back wall, to a doorway strung with red beads. I turned to ask her more, but before I can speak she kisses me on the cheek and slips away, joining an elderly gay couple and a biker in their game of rummy. I pushed through the curtain.

 All the lights were tinged with red, giving everything this deep blush. Every surface was draped with iridescent satin, making it feel comfortable and sexy at the same time. I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, and that's when I saw Her. She took my breath away. All the sound - the music and laughter from behind me – it all just faded to a muted hum. The colours in the room disappeared, all I could see was Her. She was sitting on this low-slung couch, barefoot and ankles crossed. She had this sleeveless red gown slit to the hip, with a flared collar and a hood that obscured Her face. The sheer fabric clung to Her in all the right places, highlighting the curve of Her bust and Her slender waist. Her limbs were long and shapely, elegant but still deliciously curvy, with fingers and toes ending in jewelled points. I stared dumbstruck. She was curvy and lush and jaw-droppingly sexy, so calm and comfortable in her own skin, something I’d never been. Then She spoke, and I nearly lost my mind. Her voice was rich and sweet like molten chocolate, and it surged and echoed like the ocean as it washed over me. As it thrummed through my body the swirls and shadows dropped from my eyes, and for the first time in forever my mind was crystal clear, unclouded by drugs. She stood and walked over to me, I could see that her skin was actually a deep, blood-red crimson.
“Genevieve. It’s good to see you.” She leant forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. The feeling of her lips remained burned into my skin, warmth spreading until it engulfed me utterly. The pain faded from my limbs, and the utter relief made me dizzy. She beckoned, and I sat across from Her, sinking gratefully into a bean bag. She pulled back Her hood and I was dumbstruck. She had long, jet black hair, and two golden horns that bent in the shape of a halo above Her head. What I'd taken for jewels on Her fingers and toes were actually gleaming claws.

We talked for a bit, but how are you supposed to make small talk with God? I mean, God’s supposed to see all and know all, right? But she asked me about my life, and seemed genuinely interested, laughing and groaning in all the right parts. I’d never had someone so genuinely interested in me, they only listened when they wanted in my pants. I kept sneaking looks at her, so very different to what I had expected.
"Surprised? You thought God would be an old man on a cloud, I suppose. Most do." Her chuckle was throaty and warm. "Let me ask you something, though. How could a crotchety old man ever dream up something as fascinating and devilishly complex as a woman?" She smiles cheekily at this, and then leans forward. "But then again, how could a woman ever think of something as wonderful and mysterious as a man?" As She spoke Her voice deepened and Her curves disappeared, to be replaced with the hard planes of His body. "I made you in my image," He says, smiling kindly. "I am woman, and I am man, both and neither at the same time, and you are all of you facets of me, and also so much more." Now it seems like He is something otherworldly, a silhouette of burning, incandescent energy, coalescing with a thunderclap back into Her sexy curves. "But this is more comfortable, at least for now."

"You know, a lot of people are angry with me. They ask why there is so much evil in the world, so much suffering. If I'm so all-powerful, why don't I do something about it? They make all these excuses for me, about 'free will', or 'working in mysterious ways', but that's just crap. It's really simple, actually. I'm not all powerful. I didn't make the world in seven days and seven nights, I didn't coalesce the stars out of space dust. All I did was drag you kicking and screaming from my own imperfection, and all I can do now is try to keep you from being dicks to each other." She smiles ruefully. "You can see how good a job I'm doing. Now you know. Is it disappointing, to have such an imperfect God? Maybe. Some people can't handle it. Some people call me the devil, as if your angels weren't cold copies of me. But this is all I can do. All I can do is reach out to whoever will have me." I felt... detached, cold, unfeeling. It was hard to believe anything, take anything in. I asked Her why. Why did she keep reaching out to us? Why didn't she leave us alone? Why was she still trying, when we are so obviously broken? Do you know what she said to me?

"Because I love you. I love all of you. It kills me, what you do sometimes. You kill and you lie and you steal, you hurt yourselves all the time. But you are my children, and I love you so so much." Then it's like a dam broke in me. Here was this gorgeous, sexy creature looking like nothing more than the Devil, but speaking only of forgiveness and love. I cried, I cried and cried, and She just took me in her arms and rocked me until I fell into a deep sleep. 

When I woke up I was wrapped in a red blanket. She was gone, as was everyone else. I walked through the basement, empty of anything but dust and cobwebs. I went up the stairs and left, and as I walked through that disgusting alley the sun broke from the horizon and bathed me in golden warmth. So maybe She was God and maybe She wasn't. You have no idea how many times I've wondered about that night, thinking maybe it was just a dream, a hallucination from all the crap I'd been putting myself through. But from that day onwards, whenever things got difficult, whenever things seemed hopeless - I always remembered that night, the warmth and comfort I felt, and I know that I am loved.