Chapter 2
Before we get to Jack's reaction to my sudden exclamation, I guess I need to sort a few things out. Namely, who Jack is.
Explaining him is pretty difficult, it's like being asked to describe a member of your family or your best friend, you know them so well it seems incredible that someone doesn't know their full story like you do.
Jack, for almost as long as I can remember, has always just been there. Like the ugly lamp in the lounge room that remains part of the décor year in and year out because no-one can be bothered getting rid of it. OK, that's not very nice, Jack isn't the ugly lamp he's like… the teddy bear you've had ever since you were a baby and which is now tucked away in a box up in the attic. You don't need your teddy every day, but it's still comforting to know it’s there if you need it.
My brother met Jack at Little Athletics when they were both 8. Jack was the first person to ever beat Matt at anything, an event which I think was very good for him. My brother, bless him, has a tendency to get a big head about things and, if he's not watched, has an annoying habit of surrounding himself with yes men and women who sing his praises and generally inflate his already substantial ego. Matt has two saving graces, though, the first is his ability to laugh at himself and the second is his friendship with Jack.
Matt, after watching in disbelief as the new kid smashed his high jump record, went to congratulate Jack and, being the boys they were, they ended up in a tussle in the mud, by the end of which they were best friends. I don't pretend to understand the bonding rituals of guys, all I know is that the strongest ties are usually formed after some sort of violence has occurred. I remember asking when I was little who had won the fight that had cemented their position as the greatest of mates and receiving scornful looks in reply. Apparently that wasn't the point of the exercise, maybe there wasn't a winner, I don't know.
However, if I had to guess who had won I wouldn't know which one to put my money on. They are so evenly matched it is ridiculous. They are both big buggers, height-wise, standing about a head over me, and they both play on the University's football team, the Grove Rovers, so they are pretty built. This is a purely clinical analysis, by the way, clearly I don't check out Matt and Jack, but the fact that they are tall and have footballers’ arms are obvious things that, as this is an explanation, I don't feel should be left out.
Matt has similar hair colouring to me, although his definitely leans more towards the brown end of the scale, and his eyes are a sort of light brown. He wears his hair in a shaggy pile which I would think would be a disadvantage on the footy oval, but he doesn't seem to mind. I think he tries to pass it off as a style, but I, and those who know him well, know that it has ended up looking like that because he's too lazy to do anything with it. Including brushing.
Jack, however, wears his dark brown hair quite short although he follows Matt's example of not bothering to do much with it, letting it instead stick up at all sorts of random angles. On special occasions he uses gel to achieve…exactly the same effect so I don't know why he bothers. His eyes are this amazing light blue and pretty incredible. This is not to say I've spent time gazing adoringly at his eyes or anything yucky like that, it's just that they are so blue and piercing you'd have to be blind not to notice them.
Well honestly! This is my brother and his best friend we're talking about! I'm not going to describe them as good looking, they're not hideously deformed and they seem to stack up the dates so they must be passably good looking. What I think is really going on is a little case of their personality corrupting their looks. You know when you see a good-looking guy and then find out he's a complete jerk and he suddenly 'looks' different? His features haven't changed, but you start noticing all the faults and his personality has somehow leaked onto his looks making him incredibly ugly. Matt and Jack are the opposite of that guy. They're just good people and seem to garner friends wherever they go. They're friendly and affable and guys and girls are won over by their charm. Believe me, I've seen it happen. Girls are only passably interested at the start of the conversation, but, a few minutes later, they're completely hooked.
If you're thinking they're players then I've described them all wrong; they're not characters from an American teen movie. For a start they're 20 years old and, although incredibly immature in some respects, are a bit more together when it comes to girls. They don't treat them like dirt, but the whole dating thing is never taken particularly seriously either.
Matt and I are closer than any other siblings I know. That is not to say that we are sickeningly good mates all the time, that would be bloody ridiculous. Oh no, we fight as much as the next brother and sister, but, underneath it all, we'd do absolutely anything for each other. My relationship with Jack is harder to describe. He's been a constant fixture in my life since I was six, a comforting and solid presence, but not someone I really think that much about. I know that sounds a bit dismissive, but that's the only way I can think of describing him. Refer back to the teddy bear simile, if you will...
Once the pair of them had turned eighteen, Matt and Jack had moved into a flat together near the university and happily begun their lives as popular, single, 'it' boys around campus. A couple of years after that, however, before they'd become too cosy in their bachelor pad, I finished grade 12 and began attending the same university as them. The obvious thing to do, according to my parents, was for me to move in with the boys. Bet they loved that phone call! But, honestly, they were really good about the whole thing and, in a couple of weeks, had moved all their junk out of the third bedroom which they used as a storage/study/anything else room, and hidden away all the porn. Well, that is to say, I hadn't found any porn yet, but I'm not naïve enough to assume it isn’t there somewhere.
Despite the occasional waft of male musk, I love our flat. It’s kind of pokey, my room is the smallest one and there is pretty much only room for my bed, my bedside table, a small bookshelf and my stereo, but it seems like just the right size for us. The whole place is a simple rectangle with the dining room/living room and kitchen all merged into one large room and then the four other rooms lining the far wall. The bathroom is furthest on the left, then comes Jack's room, Matt's room and finally my little box is tucked into the corner on the furthest right as you entered the flat. Furniture and decoration are pretty sparse, but we've done our best and the random mess scattered about ensures that it always has a 'lived in' feel to it.
Anyway, back to the bit where I burst into Jack's room. He was sitting on his bed, his back propped against the wall, a book open in his lap. A slight lifting of an eyebrow and then a slow glance up, his expression, when it was revealed to me, one of extreme bemusement, rewarded my announcement that I needed him. The look on his face abruptly changed when he caught sight of me, however, and he dropped his book and got to his feet in a way that could only be described as alarmed.
"Tally? What's wrong? What's happened? Are you alright?"
Jack has always called me Tally. I asked him why once and his answer has always stuck with me. 'It's because,' he'd said, 'your family call you Natalia and your friends call you Talia, but I'm stuck somewhere in the middle of those two groups.' He'd created, I guess a whole new group to put himself in when it came to me and a nickname to go with it.
"Wow, you're good," I said in surprise, impressed with his ability to see something was wrong. "I haven't even told you-"
He interrupted me, gesturing towards my face. "You look awful. Why've you been crying?"
Then I got it. OK, so I'm no movie actress. If I cry then I cry properly. None of that tears dripping off the dead centre of my eye and then falling prettily down my cheek nonsense. No, like any other normal person on Earth my tears come out from the sides and the middle and every which way and dribble down merging with my nose and sometimes drifting off into my ears depending on the angle. My nose runs like crazy and the skin beneath my eyes blows up like a puffer fish and turns a nice bright pink to match my nose and bloodshot eyes. Get the picture
yet? I'm not a pretty crier.
Plopping down onto Jack’s bed I began to tell him the whole story. Beginning with my horrible day at uni, I let the whole thing just roll out, no holding back. He sat beside me, listening intently, his face getting steadily angrier and angrier as I went on. When I told him about what had happened at Rory's party he swore softly under his breath and when I began to cry again (we'd reached the 'what's wrong with you?' stage of the story) he wordlessly passed me a box of tissues, but didn't take his eyes from my face.
In short, he was the most attentive, kind listener and I felt so vindicated by his anger on my behalf that I gave him a quick hug when I'd finished my story. His arms tightened around me ever so briefly and then he let me go. Knowing me for so long means, of course, that he's aware of my touching phobia and he's always been careful to give me a light pat on the back or a quick hug, but nothing more, whenever the situation warranted a touchy, feely moment.
I stared down at the used tissues in my hand and wondered how I was going to break it to him that his kind consideration of my need for space needed to be turned on its head. Obviously misinterpreting my silent contemplation as despair, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration and said,
"Look, Tally, I know you're miserable now and everything, but, honestly, you're better off out of it. He's a complete jerk and doesn't deserve anyone, least of all you. You get that right?"
I nodded mutely, but didn't lift my eyes and he sighed uncomfortably. I thought I heard him mutter, "This is Matt's job," but, in the next second, he gave me a soft bump with his shoulder which made me look up him. "Come on solider. Buck up," he said kindly. "Tomorrow is another day, everything will look better in the morning, and all those other upbeat clichés.
Seizing upon the moment, I grabbed his arm and looked at him with wide eyes which, fortunately for my performance, still had tears swimming about in them.
"Jack," I croaked out, "I need you to do me a favour."
He looked a bit taken aback, but, to his credit, he wasn't fooled into promising he'd do whatever I asked which is what I'd been hoping for. Instead he said cautiously, "I'll do what I can."
This was it, the moment I threw my dignity to the wind. I took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, not because I was trying to act sweet and innocent, but because I honestly couldn't bear to see the look on his face when I told him my idea.
"I need to learn," I said in a very small, quiet voice. "You have to teach me…" I faltered here as the whole thing was really just too sordid to put into words. I thought I had a good grasp of the English language, but I had no clue how to put my dilemma to him.
"Teach you…?" He prompted.
"Teach me it!" I finally choked out. "What happens when you actually like the…touching and the….the…fondling and the…it, you know." I had never been so embarrassed in my life. The age old 'you could have fried on egg on my face' adage actually seemed kind of plausible I felt that hot and flustered. But - would you believe it? - Jack still hadn't cottoned on to what I was on about. He looked at me completely blankly and I could almost see his mind whirring as he tried to connect the bits.
"I can't put out!" I finally screeched. "You have to teach me how to put out. Sex, Jack, sex and all that comes before and after, do you get me?"
And, finally, he did get me.
"Jesus Christ, Tally!" He leapt off the bed and stood in the furthest corner of the room, his expression verging on horrified. "You can't be serious!"
I stood up as well, but didn't go towards him, considering his reaction to my idea he might have panicked and jumped out the window if I got too close.
"Just listen to me, please," I begged. "It's not as awful as it sounds." A damn lie by the way, it was exactly as bad as it sounded. "Being so scared of physical contact all the time is holding me back. I want to enjoy being with guys, but I can't at the moment. The only way I can see round it is to be taught what it's like by someone I trust."
"When you're with the right guy I'm sure it will happen anyway. You can’t force it," Jack, rather predictably, stated. Poor guy looked as uncomfortable as I felt; spewing talk-show-quality chick advice couldn't have been doing much for his masculine ego. However, I couldn't spare any sympathy for him at that moment, I had to focus all my energy on convincing him
"I don't want to wait that long," I said petulantly. "And what if I never find the right guy because I’m too chicken to get close to him? I could drive my perfect man away through being such a prude."
I could see that I wasn't convincing him. It was time to up the ante.
"Fine!" I stormed, grabbing my mobile out of my pocket and scrolling through the address book until I found Brad's number. "I'll just call my ex then and tell him I've changed my mind and he can have his nasty way with me after all."
Jack's face darkened and he took a hesitant step towards me. "You have more self-respect than that, Tally," he said seriously.
"Do I?" I asked shrilly, my finger still hovering over the call button. "Because I don't know anymore. I'm so desperate, Jack, I'll go out to a pub and latch onto a random guy. I'm sure someone out there is prepared to teach me what I want to know."
"Give me your phone." He held out his hand and, after a moment, added, "And your car keys. You're not going to call Brad and you're not going to pick a bloke up at a bar."
I clutched my phone more tightly, glaring at him defiantly. "You're not grasping the situation here. It's you or the next guy I see. I'm anyone's tonight, but I had just enough sense to come to you first."
Jack stepped back into his corner looking as if the world as he knew it had come crashing down around his ears. He searched my face intently, looking, I suppose, for any sign that I was joking. 'You wish buddy,' I thought grimly bringing my finger closer still to the call button.
"You're serious, aren't you?” He asked as our stand-off dragged out another few seconds. “This is surreal! What about Matt?"
"Yes, I'm serious, and what about Matt? This isn’t anything to do with him. Please Jack."
It was perhaps the little wobble in my voice as I resorted to begging that made him heave a deep sigh then, and close his eyes briefly.
"Give me your mobile and your keys," he repeated. When I hesitated he continued, "Go wash your face and calm down. If, in the morning, you still feel this way then…" he stopped and the moment dragged on, the air crackling with tension. "…then I'll consider it."
I felt like leaping into the air and punching my fist in celebration, but I restrained myself and, instead, meekly handed over my phone and keys. As I dropped them into his open palm I pressed my fingers against his briefly and whispered, "Thank you."
"I haven't said I definitely will yet," he cautioned, but we both knew that he had all but lost the battle.
Feeling suddenly exhausted I followed his advice and went into the bathroom to give my face a good scrub down. Catching sight of myself in the mirror I saw that I really did look awful; pale, but with red blotches here and there on my face and with watery, bloodshot eyes. How could he have resisted me for as long as he did?
Staggering into my bedroom, I pulled my pjs out from under my pillow and quickly immersed myself in their fuzzy warmth. Pulling my hair out of its ponytail, I crawled between the covers and snuggled into the softness of the mattress.
I was wiped. Exhausted physically and emotionally.
As I lay there, I heard the front door slam and my brother's heavy footsteps walk into the kitchen. A moment later the tap in the kitchen started running and I smiled, picturing Matt cupping his hands under the tap just like I had done at Brad's not so long ago.
Thinking about Brad made a big bubble of unhappiness rise up through my chest and constrict my throat. Turning my face into the pillow I whimpered in pain against the smooth material.
Dimly, I heard Jack's door open and the boys greet each other. Matt asked whether I was home and, when Jack answered in the affirmative, the familiar footsteps came towards the door. They halte
d abruptly, however, as Jack called out that I was asleep.
"Asleep?" Matt asked disbelievingly. "It's not even 9 yet."
"Yeah, I know, but she looked pretty wiped when she came in, she said she was just going to go straight to bed."
Oh how I loved Jack at that moment, what a mate. I knew it would have taken a huge amount of effort to lie to his best friend like that. I hadn't strictly told him not to tell Matt about my break up with Brad, but he obviously knew to leave it to me to deal with.
Yep, I'd definitely picked the right guy to be my teacher.