Read The Weight of Water Online
Authors: Sarah Crossan
Why can’t they see what’s happening?
Why don’t they notice the looks,
The smirks, the eye-rolling?
And why don’t they ask if I’m OK?
I’ll tell them I’m not.
I’m not a liar.
Or a
slag
.
Why do they always ask Clair
to pass out the books
And Marie to read her homework aloud?
They see what they want
Because if they didn’t it would be a lot of work,
And they don’t have time for this;
They have to mark, and teach, and stop the
Boys from killing one another
With their teeth and fists.
This is more important than spotting snickers.
But why can’t they just ask if I’m OK?
I don’t want to be secretive.
Mama and I share a bed.
Every night it’s her and me together.
There are just some things
I can’t say.
Mama isn’t a good listener.
Sometimes, when I speak,
And think I’ve said something,
Mama hears something else
Completely.
And the reaction is unexpected.
Like last week – I asked for money
To buy a tube of mascara.
She raised an eyebrow
And tapped her tummy.
I didn’t understand.
‘Vulgar girls – always having babies –
Don’t be one of those, Kasienka.
Be a good girl.’
Now someone tell me –
How can mascara make me pregnant?
So when I come home with fresh-chopped hair
I don’t tell her it was Clair in assembly
Sitting behind me with blunt scissors.
I tell her the teacher did it.
I tell her I got gum in it.
Because Mama won’t understand –
And she will find a way to blame me.
The story makes Mama laugh:
‘I told you that habit was disgusting.
But you never listen to Mama!’
Kanoro listens without saying,
Just ignore it
(which I can’t),
Or,
They’re jealous
(which isn’t true).
Instead he nods and says:
‘There is no hyena without a friend.’
And then: ‘What will you do?’
I like this question. He believes
I can do
Something.
So I tell him about my empty plan
To get revenge
On the hyena.
Kanoro looks sad and says:
‘Happiness should be your revenge, Kasienka.
Happiness.’
And though he is right,
It makes me feel worse
Because I do not know
How to be happy.
When he tries to kiss me
I do not open my mouth at all
And neither does he.
We kiss,
Dry lips on dry lips,
And it is nice.
But it is not enough
And I feel my mouth open
And his too.
And something that is not my mouth
Is inside my mouth.
And it is easy:
Kissing William is like
having a Haribo
In my mouth.
It is easy.
Kissing William
is just like sucking on a gummy bear.
William corrects my English.
Gently.
And smiles when I mispronounce things
Because he thinks the mistakes are cute.
And for the first time
Ever
I can be wrong
And it’s OK.
Better than that –
It’s cute.
And he thinks I’m clever too,
And asks for help with his
Simultaneous equations.
And when he gets something muddled
I smile
Because it’s cute.
And so it’s perfect.
We’re partners.
Me on numbers.
Him on words.
Love is watching
Love is waiting
Love is wanting
Love is worrying
Love is wishing
Love is willing
Love is whispers
Love is wet
Love is wordless
Love is Him
Love is Me
Love is We
Love is . . .
Love is . . .
Ah.
William.
We went on a school trip to Warwick Castle
But I couldn’t believe in that place –
So symmetrical,
So perfectly preserved,
So clean
It reminded me of Disney Land –
What I imagine Disney Land would look like.
I could make no sense of its shine.
When I tell William he agrees.
We both think castles should be crumbling
After all those years,
To prove they’ve seen
Real history.
And history is struggle
And war,
We think.
So he takes me to Kenilworth
On the bus with him.
To see the ruins in the rain.
Elizabeth
Kept her favourite here,
In Kenilworth.
And Time stood still when she came:
The Great Clock Tower
Stopped
For her
And they feasted and frolicked,
Elizabeth and her favourite –
Right here.
And it is the most romantic place I’ve ever seen:
Kenilworth Castle continuing to
Crumble, as it should,
in the rain.
Kanoro slumps on the stone steps
Of our old building
Clasping a piece of paper
In his fist
Like it’s a losing lottery ticket.
He pats the step
Inviting me to sit too.
We watch the traffic,
The women pushing prams and
The gangs in hoods.
I can tell from his silence that
Kanoro holds a heavy confession.
I think he wants to reveal the terrible tale,
The one he told Mama,
The horrible one I can’t know.
But it’s worse than that.
It’s Tata.
‘Your father’s address,’ he says,
Slipping me the paper
He’s been holding.
I take it,
Afraid to look,
Though I don’t know why.
‘Go alone, Kasienka.
Don’t take Mama Ola.’
‘Is Tata alive?’ I ask.
Kanoro nods
and
shakes his head.
Which might mean
Tata’s half dead,
Or should be.
The driver won’t reopen the doors
Once they’re closed,
Even when a man runs
To catch up
And raps on the glass
Begging to be admitted.
The driver doesn’t even look
Across at the man,
At the closed door.
He acts like he can’t hear him,
But we all can.
Someone has smeared something red
Across the window of the bus.
It smells of tomato.
It may have been a
Piece of pizza.
The woman next to me
Keeps muttering to herself
And laughing.
The children at the back
Shout at a passerby,
Words in a mixing bowl.
I ring the bell,
A small red button
On the metal post,
And in my head a booming
As I signal stop,
And in my heart a bomb.
When the driver slows
And pulls over,
I consider sitting back down
Next to the muttering woman
And the smeared window,
And getting off at a different stop
Where there’s nothing to unravel.
And no answers to fear.
A woman opens the door
To the squat house.
She is wearing slippers
And a pink dressing gown
Though it is still light out.
She is distracted by a noise inside,
The sound of a small child crying.
She turns away for a moment
And then looks at me again.
I tell her my name.
And some of my story.
She ushers me in:
She wants me to meet the child
And wait for Tata.
I know the sound of Tata’s whistling.
He’s over a block away
When I hear him coming
Carrying the melody.
When he sees me
He isn’t surprised – or pleased.
And neither am I, yet I say,
‘I’ve found you, Tata!’
A line I’ve practised for days.
For months.
Tata’s whistle I recognise,