Elise says. 'You're lookout, right? You see something, say something.'
'Relax,' I say. 'You and I, we're south-siders now, through and through. They'll never know we came from the north. We can even say we we're trying to escape to the north. Then they'll probably take us to a cathedral and show us pictures of our Lord and savoir or something. Then we can pretend we've seen the light, act all happy and shit and then they'll be happy. Fuck it, I don't know how things work. Did you ever go to church?'
'Fuck off!'
'Then who cares? We're dressed the part. Fuckin' stupid really, when you think about it. What the south-sider babes don't realize is that they appear more attractive than north-side sluts to men during times of war.'
'How do you figure that?'
'They got the wholesome image. And we got it now. Like it's a style or somethin' you purchase at Jay Jays. Ha ha. And you see: when men are made aware of their mortality - for instance, every time a bomb falls - and then are distracted, they'll suddenly find a more promiscuous women less attractive than ordinary gals. It's coz they're trying desperately to keep thoughts of dying repressed. They're trying not to think of death. Should they look deep into the eyes of attractive bombshells and dare to touch any tits they could be blown to bits. Owwwww. Right to the ribs, a quick jab, and he's down and out for the count. Coz we like animals when we screw, right girl?'
'Well yeah, but I don't get it? They're scared they'll die?'
'They think sex is something animalistic, and animals die, so they think that fucking is le petite mort: the little death. Unless - of course - they love having sex and take pride in it, then they'll still love the promiscuous babes because fucking them will increase self-esteem.'
'But we're in the south,' Elise says. 'So there ain't no guys here who take pride in having sex with a beautiful babe.'
'Nope,' I say. 'We in convent city. Vatican City?' - I shrug. 'And for all intents and purposes the devil actually lies within the detail of a strong, long, heavy skirt with perfect embroidery, or inside a fine hijab tapestry that hangs low like a lock of hair, like a curtain that wavers in the wind, inviting you to peek behind. The Catholic and Moslem guys watch the wholesome girls as though they're watching a peep show: to them it's intoxicating. All she gotta do is play with her hair, laugh, grin, twirl, spin: every step she takes is down a red carpet, she's a star attraction, all the more alluring if she's heavily disguised.'
'Wait! So when religious folk tell women to dress heavy because the woman's sexual lure is the principle cause sin in the world . . .'
'They should actually be telling the women to dress light,' I finish, grinning. 'Plus, whenever a female speaks she has a very distinctly erotic voice. The Catholic church once prohibited female cantors because of this. Know what, bet they're doing it again in the south.'
'Oh well,' Elise says. 'We're dressed heavy and that's a good thing, so we're all good, yeah? I'm thirsty. Could you chuck us a bottle?'
'Only got two left,' I say. I lift the esky off the back seat.
'What do you mean two?' Elise says. 'Then we got another esky, right?'
'No,' I say. 'We've been drinking all day. We're in the desert, girl. What do you expect? We'll stop at a 7-11 and pick up some Coke.'
'7-11!?' Elise yells. She pulls over, shaking her head. 'Amiel, we're in the south. There won't be any 7-11's down here. There won't be any McDonald's. There won't be any frickin' fast food joints. The only water available will be the holy water in churches. And we may not even be allowed into one.'
'Why didn't we fill the car with bottles of water then?' I ask.
'Because water costs a fortune up north. The fuckin' privatization of water means we're paying for every drop: don't you listen to the radio?'
'Relax,' I say. 'We got two bottles left. And then we got the Bacardis.'
'Oh yeah, right,' Elise says. 'Fine for you. You ain't drivin'!. You'll get pissed and you'll be laughing your head off and I'll be right next to you dying of thirst.' - she shrugs and pushes onto the road again. - 'We better find that safe-house today, or we're fucked.'
'Cacti have water in them,' I say.
'Ever seen a cactus in the Australian desert, Ami? I told you, this ain't America.'
'If we was Regent honeyeaters we'd just return to the flowers we ain't been to for a while: it's called win-stay with a long delay. We've been away from a water source for a long time and now we just gotta return. Return to where the sustenance is.'
'First you see bats, now you're seeing giant flowers?'
'They so pretty, babe. Petals like your lashes.'
'Ok, I'm turning the volume up again.'
'Wait!' I yell. 'I see lights. Just ahead.'
'Fuck! It's a truck. It's heading straight for us!'
'Do they see us?'
Elise pulls over to the left.
The truck approaches like a panther, roaring like a lion. Elise flicks the lights to flood: high beam so that the beam is practically solid.
'Whoooooooooooo!' A driver yells.
Then the truck slows and rolls past our car: 'You ain't gon' stop us you nuns! We're drivin' north! Call the fuckin' authorities, we don't give a fuck!'
I smile. Elise catches me and nudges my shoulder: 'Idiot,' Elise says.
'What?' I say. 'Pure blood northerners by the sound of it. Good on them, escapin' this fuckin' Catholic state.'
'But if they get caught they'll turn us in,' Elise says. 'They'll tell the authorities that a couple pale-skins are sneaking into the south.'
'We'll get tans,' I say, shrugging.
'You smiled: they saw your teeth. They know you're a vamp!'
'Maybe they think they in the north then,' I say. 'Floor it already: let's ride into the deep south girl.'
******
References
1 Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman - Britney Spears
2 Landau, M. J., Greenberg, J., Solomon, S., Martens, A., Goldenberg, J. L., Gillath, O., Cox, C., & Pyszczynski, T. (2006). The Siren's Call: Terror Management and the Threat of Men's Sexual Attraction to Woman. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 90, 129-146. doi: 10.1037/0022-3514.90.1.129
3 Burke, D., & Fulham, B. J. (2003). An Evolved Spatial Memory Bias in a Nectar-Feeding Bird? Animal Behaviour, 66, 695-701. doi: 10.1006/anbe.2003.2246
4 Me Against The Music - Britney Spears
5 Brave New Girl - Britney Spears
6 I'm A Slave 4 U - Britney Spears
7 My Prerogative - Britney Spears
JACKSON CURTIS – 10:10pm - December 17 - 2011
'It's like our first home,' I say, nodding to the camera. 'We're yet to leave school, most of us, and so we have never lived in our very own apartments or houses. We like it here, some more than others. Personally, I love it here. The rooms are great: three cheers for the interior decorator. Was there one, or several? Doesn't matter.
'I should fill you in, viewers: here's what they've asked me to do . . . what Big Brother's asked me to do that is. Notice how the living room, at the center of the house, has a higher ceiling than the other rooms*? Notice how the walls are white? There's a reason: the room is open, in a sense, more spacious and more inviting. People are less apprehensive about entering the room, and they feel freer in such a room than they would in a black-walled room with a low ceiling. Those are the rooms you'll find at the back ends of clubs, the rooms where strangers get to know one another on a more intimate basis. Those rooms are special too of course. But here' – I throw my arm out and move it around to indicate the room, as though my arm is