the elderly couple holding hands like they’re holding each other up (
specifically
) and then the silence from the girl not wearing much at all (. . .) but her sunglasses are the biggest thing on her body and she has music shoved in her ears and she’s concentrating on moving the fat on her thighs to her boobs and the expression on her face, that concentration, is part of the poem too.
He said
Want your dummy?
specifically
. . .
So now, as she walks through the bus, up and down the aisle, running her fingers along the seats, sliding her feet along the floor, she makes a poem.
you like
only twenty
married in a church?
oh my God!
She likes how the words hit against each other sometimes, and other times slide in next to each other, so easily. The surprise of that. And she likes that it’s a secret poem, even to her, because she won’t remember it. And it will only exist for this moment.
The bus is flying, trees and scrub and houses hurtling past them. The road ahead is long and straight, and the end of it looks as if you might fly off a cliff, into the sky, into space, into the universe, into nothing, or something, or both.
The sun flashes on the grass, making a color across the sky like fire, and suddenly her stomach hurts, everything hurts, because she thinks of The Night Before The First Day Of Waiting, so she sits down next to Agatha and tries to send her mum messages with her head. If she can detach her head to go into the past, why can’t she detach her head so it will go to other places, too? She says,
SORRYMUMSORRYMUMSORRYMUM
in her head.
The mum in the seat across from them breastfeeds her baby. The dad fusses over them. Millie’s stomach pulls.
She looks at Agatha.
Have you got a family, Agatha Pantha?
Well, that’s certainly none of your business!
Who is in charge of families?
Millie asks.
What?
Agatha says.
The government, I guess!
Can you start one if you lose yours?
Just. In. Case.
You can’t just start a family! You’re four years old!
Seven.
You have to get pregnant first! And four-year-olds—
Seven.
Same thing. You can’t get pregnant!
Why not?
You have to get your! Your!
Agatha gulps.
Your monthly womanly visitor!
Are they from the government?
Good God, no!
Where from, then?
They’re not from anywhere!
Why are they called visitors, then?
That’s just what we say!
Who?
Agatha sighs loudly.
Okay, I give up! Someone from the government comes to your house and makes you a woman!
Millie eyes the breastfeeding mum and leans in close toAgatha.
Will they bring me my boobs, too?
she whispers.
Because I’m not going to take them.
That’s what you say now! You don’t want them, then you’ll want them, and when you get to my age, when they’re much longer than they are wide, you’ll just wish you were dead!
The dad opposite them leans over his wife.
Would you keep it down, please?
he says, pointing to the baby and putting a finger to his lips.
No!
Agatha yells.
Oi!
the bus driver says from the front of the bus.
Pipe down back there!
Agatha sits back in her seat and crosses her arms. Millie drums her fingers on the armrest.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
Millie whispers to Agatha.
It doesn’t matter!
Agatha whispers back, loudly.
Can I know?
Okay! I wanted to be taller! I wanted to be happier! I wanted to be a nurse! I wanted to have my own set of very good sherry glasses! Not the kind the queen would use, but something very good! That’s it! It wasn’t much to wish for! But none of it happened! Life decides what happens, not you!
Did you want to get married?
Marriage is never something you want! It’s something you do!
Millie fidgets in her seat. The bus driver keeps looking back at them in the mirror.
Did you and your husband love each other very much?
Millie whispers.
What is this, a talk show?
Will you be my Dot Four?
she asks.
What?
Shh!
says the dad.
Okay, okay
, Agatha says.
She’s the crazy one
, she adds, pointing to
specifically
) and then the silence from the girl not wearing much at all (. . .) but her sunglasses are the biggest thing on her body and she has music shoved in her ears and she’s concentrating on moving the fat on her thighs to her boobs and the expression on her face, that concentration, is part of the poem too.
He said
Want your dummy?
specifically
. . .
So now, as she walks through the bus, up and down the aisle, running her fingers along the seats, sliding her feet along the floor, she makes a poem.
you like
only twenty
married in a church?
oh my God!
She likes how the words hit against each other sometimes, and other times slide in next to each other, so easily. The surprise of that. And she likes that it’s a secret poem, even to her, because she won’t remember it. And it will only exist for this moment.
The bus is flying, trees and scrub and houses hurtling past them. The road ahead is long and straight, and the end of it looks as if you might fly off a cliff, into the sky, into space, into the universe, into nothing, or something, or both.
The sun flashes on the grass, making a color across the sky like fire, and suddenly her stomach hurts, everything hurts, because she thinks of The Night Before The First Day Of Waiting, so she sits down next to Agatha and tries to send her mum messages with her head. If she can detach her head to go into the past, why can’t she detach her head so it will go to other places, too? She says,
SORRYMUMSORRYMUMSORRYMUM
in her head.
The mum in the seat across from them breastfeeds her baby. The dad fusses over them. Millie’s stomach pulls.
She looks at Agatha.
Have you got a family, Agatha Pantha?
Well, that’s certainly none of your business!
Who is in charge of families?
Millie asks.
What?
Agatha says.
The government, I guess!
Can you start one if you lose yours?
Just. In. Case.
You can’t just start a family! You’re four years old!
Seven.
You have to get pregnant first! And four-year-olds—
Seven.
Same thing. You can’t get pregnant!
Why not?
You have to get your! Your!
Agatha gulps.
Your monthly womanly visitor!
Are they from the government?
Good God, no!
Where from, then?
They’re not from anywhere!
Why are they called visitors, then?
That’s just what we say!
Who?
Agatha sighs loudly.
Okay, I give up! Someone from the government comes to your house and makes you a woman!
Millie eyes the breastfeeding mum and leans in close toAgatha.
Will they bring me my boobs, too?
she whispers.
Because I’m not going to take them.
That’s what you say now! You don’t want them, then you’ll want them, and when you get to my age, when they’re much longer than they are wide, you’ll just wish you were dead!
The dad opposite them leans over his wife.
Would you keep it down, please?
he says, pointing to the baby and putting a finger to his lips.
No!
Agatha yells.
Oi!
the bus driver says from the front of the bus.
Pipe down back there!
Agatha sits back in her seat and crosses her arms. Millie drums her fingers on the armrest.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
Millie whispers to Agatha.
It doesn’t matter!
Agatha whispers back, loudly.
Can I know?
Okay! I wanted to be taller! I wanted to be happier! I wanted to be a nurse! I wanted to have my own set of very good sherry glasses! Not the kind the queen would use, but something very good! That’s it! It wasn’t much to wish for! But none of it happened! Life decides what happens, not you!
Did you want to get married?
Marriage is never something you want! It’s something you do!
Millie fidgets in her seat. The bus driver keeps looking back at them in the mirror.
Did you and your husband love each other very much?
Millie whispers.
What is this, a talk show?
Will you be my Dot Four?
she asks.
What?
Shh!
says the dad.
Okay, okay
, Agatha says.
She’s the crazy one
, she adds, pointing to
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