Marcie &; Me

Marcie and Me
I loved Marcie from the moment I set eyes on her. She walked into our
classroom and passed right through the stunned silence to the back of
the class and seated herself with self-assured grace upon the hard
wooden seat. I stared back at her. She looked at no one, but proceeded
to remove her books and pencil case from her bag. She had the most
colourful pencil case I had ever seen and it was full of multi-coloured
pens and fruit-smelling erasers. Her hair was long and auburn and she
didn't have it in plaits or bunches like the rest of us. She left it
loose and flowing: she looked like an angel. She even wore make-up. Her
uniform didn't seem to be regulation; it was long and flowing, covering
her creamy skin from the top of her slim neck, right down to her
slender wrists and ankles, and she wore it with such confidence and
poise. I couldn't take my eyes off her and neither could the boys in
the class. Where she had come from, nobody knew. The other girls
sneered at her with pure jealousy, but I kept on staring at her, taking
in her every move, admiring her every gesture. Suddenly she looked up
and her eyes caught mine. I wanted her to smile, but her green eyes
blazed at me and I hastily turned to face the front.

Miss Wycombe introduced her to us - "Let's all welcome Marcie
Abrahams," she said simply. We all said hello, but I said it loudest of
all and directed it straight at her, hoping she'd notice. During the
lesson I glanced back at her as often as I could. She was chewing gum,
but not in a nasty way. Her mouth moved like a giraffe chewing on
leaves; she was so elegant and wonderful. Miss Wycombe was asking us
questions about different countries around the world. Marcie put her
hand up several times and answered nonchalantly and correctly. We
gasped in amazement. How did she know these things? She was truly
fabulous. I made a concerted effort to answer some of Miss Wycombe's
questions, so that Marcie would notice my intelligence.

The break time bell rang and we all eagerly gathered up our books.
Marcie, I noticed, took her time. I shuffled my books slowly into my
bag, hoping that everyone would hurry up and get out of the room so
that I could be left alone with Marcie. Eventually it was just the two
of us, and I hovered at my desk. "I'll take you to the playground, if
you like," I gushed. Marcie didn't look at me. "I don't play," she
replied and drifted out of the room. I ran after her. "What do you do?"
I inquired. She stopped in her tracks. "Why don't you come and find
out?" She twisted her lips in what appeared to be a smile and my heart
missed a beat. Oh my God, I was going to be her friend.

I bounced along beside her as she casually strolled through the
playground and up onto the bank of grass. "Um, we're not really allowed
on here," I said. I'd been caught on it a few times and the break time
monitors had always told me off. "Good," she said and sat herself down
on the grass. The sun was beating down, hot and bright, and she lifted
her face to it. "Do you smoke?" she asked, pulling out a packet of
cigarettes. I shook my head. "Don't you think you should start?" Her
wry smile conveyed an amusement towards me. I snatched a cigarette from
her and waited for her to strike the match and light me. Her eyes
caught mine as she reached across and she smiled a knowing smile, her
hair brushing my cheek. She lit her own cigarette and laid herself back
down. I choked my way through the first few puffs and then decided just
to hold it between my fingers and pretend to smoke it.

There were a few children in the playground who had spotted us on the
grass bank and were madly pointing our way. Cheryl, perhaps the most
annoyingly self-righteous break time monitor of them all, strode up to
us and, with her hands on her hips, squeaked, "You two are not allowed
on the grass and I am going to have to report you to Miss Wycombe."
Marcie glared back at her, her mouth twisting in that wry and amused
smile. "Who are you?" squeaked Cheryl and waggled a finger at Marcie.
Marcie sat up and beckoned Cheryl towards her. Cheryl plumped herself
up and walked uncomfortably towards Marcie. As she tentatively
approached, Marcie leaned up and grabbed Cheryl's hair, yanking her
bulbous head down sharply. "My name," breathed Marcie right into her
podgy face, "is Satan." She laughed animatedly and I sat mesmerised,
astonished and in awe. She thrust Cheryl's head away from her. Cheryl
looked incredulous and, aware of the crowd that had gathered, summoned
up some courage to say, "Well, my name is Cheryl Hughes and I will be
reporting you." Suddenly Marcie began to growl and bark at Cheryl, who
jumped away, surprise on her ruddy face. Marcie kept on barking and I
laughed loudly and joined in, barking and yapping as fiercely as I
could. We both barked ferociously, spitting at Cheryl and the crowd,
who were watching with wide-open mouths. Marcie flicked her cigarette
at whining Cheryl, who tried to move, but without much luck. The sparks
flew over her uniform and she fussily attempted to brush them away.
Marcie then sauntered with incredible confidence through the crowd, who
parted without much hesitation, and I followed right behind her. She
had stopped laughing by the time we got to the toilets. I clapped my
hands in glee, but she just stared in the mirror and splashed her face
with water.

Marcie took me to her house after school that day. It was a huge house,
with a swimming pool in the garden. Everything was immaculate, almost
stark. It was eerily quiet, and Marcie didn't call for anyone when she
walked in. She made us a couple of fruit smoothies and we sat out on
the deckchairs, soaking up the afternoon sun. I rolled down my socks
and pushed up the sleeves of my uniform. Marcie stayed just as she was,
her entire body covered. I looked at her oval face, quite serene and
unmoved. She didn't give much away with her face unless she laughed.
She had on a thick layer of foundation, which I thought was very grown
up of her and I made a note to try on some of my mother's when I got
home.

I asked lots of questions; I wanted to know all about her. She didn't
seem like an average twelve year old. She was so blas? about everything
and had a vast knowledge about the world that I wanted her to share
with me. Her parents weren't in today - they worked long hours and she
told me she liked it that way. She said that she had been brought up in
Spain, where her parents had let her do what ever she had wanted. She
spoke with a slow and melancholic tone about the adventures she had had
out there, and never rose to the urgency in my voice, begging her to
tell me more. I listened in awe. For a while we sat in blissful
silence, and I listened to her breathing, watching her face, her eyes
closed and her beautiful snub nose, turned up towards the sun, and I
said to her, "My name's Charlotte." She didn't open her eyes, but
reached out her hand to me, which I grabbed hold of and clasped
tightly. "Well, Charlotte," she said, "you and I are going to be the
best of friends." I shuddered with delight and knelt down to kiss her
on the cheek. "Always," I whispered.

We lay still again for a moment, and then suddenly Marcie pulled hard
on my arm, lifting me off the deckchair, and threw me headfirst into
the swimming pool, jumping in after me. I came to the surface, gasping
for breath and laughing. She took hold of me and we tumbled through the
water, splashing and flinging ourselves about. Marcie was a strong
swimmer and overpowered me with each tumble, but I was enjoying her
company, revelling in her playful mood. "See how long you can hold your
breath," she yelled at me through my delighted squeals, and she plunged
my head under the water. It felt like an age before I reached the
surface and, as she pulled me up, my arms and legs flailing
ridiculously, I spluttered and took a deep breath, before she took me
under again. My heart was beating in double time, and I felt myself
choking. I felt her hand on my head, pushing me further under. Suddenly
she pulled me back up. I gasped for air. "Again?" she laughed. I
couldn't manage to talk, let alone breathe, and before I could answer,
she pushed me under for a third time. My mouth was open and I took in a
huge gulp of water. I tried to scream, but her laughter drowned out my
noise. I felt my arms go limp and my mind went black.

I woke up on the side of the pool, with Marcie sitting cross-legged
next me. "You blacked out," she said with her graceful air of
nonchalance. I coughed and spluttered, turning over to throw up. Marcie
stood up and walked into the house. I dragged myself up, wiping my
mouth. She was in the kitchen fixing herself some dinner. "You have to
go now," she said, without looking at me. I picked up my bag and headed
for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said. There was no reply, so I
let myself out.

When I walked home I felt like I was walking on air. Marcie was my
friend. I didn't have many friends at school, mostly out of choice. I
simply couldn't abide the girls in my class. I purposefully kept myself
separate from them, tending to spend time alone. School had been a drag
up until now. Now I felt that if Marcie was at school, I had a purpose
to be there too. I got home, slipping through my parents' view - they
were entertaining guests anyway - and flung myself on to my bed. I
jumped up and pressed play on the tape recorder. With my music blaring
out, I danced and sang at the top of my voice, feeling a rush of energy
surge right through me. Life was going to be different now. I heard my
sister, Emma, banging on the door, yelling, "Shut up!" I laughed at her
effort and yelled back, "You shut up!" When I felt thoroughly exhausted
I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes to think of Marcie. She filled
my thoughts, with her auburn hair flowing out behind her and her
twisted smile grinning back at me. "You and I are going to be the best
of friends," I heard her silky voice say, and I drifted off to
sleep.

There was a logical synergy between Marcie and me. We did everything
together. People noticed us - at school they were scared of us. We
smoked where we wanted to, kicked who we wanted to, spat at who we
wanted to, and said what we wanted to. We ruined the other children's
games and stole sweets from them. Everyone was jealous of Marcie and
me. It made me shudder with anticipation and excitement when we
strolled into school together and people parted the corridors for us.
After school we went to Marcie's house and talked about things that we
found important. She told me about sex. She told me that men want to
have sex all the time and that women have to say yes to it, otherwise
they get beaten. I was curious about sex. She showed me where a man put
his penis and I told her no man would ever be putting his dirty stick
near me. She told me that I would become a real woman when it happened.
I told her I would wait and decide when I wanted to become a real
woman. She told me I didn't have a choice.

Sometimes after school we went down to the bowling alley, where the
other kids would hang out. We would walk past and knock over their
drinks, or take their shoes when they weren't looking and throw them
out of the toilet window. But what we liked to do best of all, was to
sit and smoke in the ladies' powder room. We would hitch ourselves up
onto the side next to the porcelain basins and swing our legs back and
forth. We never bowled, we just sat in there and waited for the ladies
to come in and use the sinks. They would frown at us, but we would just
smile sweetly, and say, "Good evening!" or "How do you do?" We would
pass them the soap and then hold out our hands for a reward. When the
ladies left their coats and hats in the cloakroom, Marcie would jump
down from the side and rifle through the pockets, taking powder and
perfume. "Look at me," she would exclaim and pose like a lady, a stolen
hat upon her long auburn locks. She always looked beautiful. Then
someone would come in and we would run out, giggling, stuffing our
stolen gems into our pockets and sprint all the way up to the end of
the road, where the lights began to fade. There Marcie would leave me.
She would become agitated and tell me she had to get back to her
parents. They would be expecting her. When we parted I would sometimes
turn back to catch a glimpse of her, and more often than not she would
be running as fast as she could, her long skirts flying in the wind
behind her.

Marcie sometimes became tired and irritable. She would hide her head in
class, covering her heavenly face, growling at anyone who dared to talk
to her. She would look weary and even like she might cry, but I thought
maybe she was just playing a game. I wanted to be with Marcie always
and hated it when she ignored me. One day she pushed me away. "Don't
come back with me tonight," she said, after I'd jumped up and down at
the prospect of going round to her big house to play hide and seek.
With that she'd walked away from me, her shoulders slumped and her feet
dragging. I wanted to run and grab her, to spin her round and make her
laugh. That evening I went home to torment my sister.

One day, for no apparent reason, my parents bought me a kitten. It was
a cute little thing, all grey and fluffy with huge blue eyes and big
paws that it would trip over. I called it Jake. I took Jake round to
Marcie's house one evening in his little box. "I've got a cat," I said
and opened the box a fraction so Marcie could see in. She didn't get up
from where she was seated, her legs curled under her on the velvet
sofa. "So what?" she replied. "It can be our cat," I said, taking Jake
out and holding him up in the air. "He can be our pet and we can play
with him whenever we want." Marcie stared at Jake, and he stared back
with his huge blue eyes. Suddenly she picked up her shoe and threw it
straight at him. He yelped, his claws digging into my skin, and made a
dive for the floor, scurrying under the table, where he sat quivering.
"Ow!" I yelled. "That hurt." "See," said Marcie, getting up, her face
twisted with a smile, "he doesn't really love you."

She strolled into the kitchen and tapped her fingers along the plastic
work surface. The rain was thundering down outside, and Marcie turned
away from me to stare out of the window. I watched her for a while,
then got down on my knees to try and coax Jake out from under the
table. "Why don't you like Jake?" I asked when I eventually had him
held in my arms again, his tiny body shaking. Marcie glared at me and
then at the cat. She walked slowly up to us, whispering, "Calm down,
Jake, I won't hurt you. You'll be safe with me." Jake struggled in my
arms, but Marcie reached out and began to stroke his head. "There, you
see," she said softly, "I'm gentle really." Her eyes met mine. "It's
just that Charlotte seems to love you more than me. She's got a new
friend and poor Marcie has to sit all alone in this big house, while
Charlotte goes off to play with you." I gasped. "No, Marcie, no," I
bleated. "That's not how it is at all." I spontaneously dropped Jake on
the floor and flung my arms around her. "I love you," I said. Marcie's
arms went round my waist and she hugged me back very hard. I winced
with the pain. All of a sudden I felt a huge rush of energy, and her
arms wilted as I pulled her from me. "I'll show you how much I love
you," I said.

Grabbing Jake's tail as he tried to climb up the curtains, I pulled him
down. Spying a large knife in the rack in the kitchen I took hold of it
with determination and threw back the patio doors to reveal the closing
night and the tumultuous rain. Jake was again squirming in my arms and
his huge blue, innocent eyes stared up at me. I could feel Marcie move
up behind me. "Come and watch," I said, ushering her out into the rain.
It fell hard and fast upon our heads and already I was soaked. I held
Jake's body down against the wet ground. Looking up at Marcie, I
declared, "Nothing will come between us, Marcie. Never." The knife fell
sharply into the kitten's body, winding him at first and making his
gangly legs shudder. He let out a terrified, yet pathetic meow, but the
second strike halted his mewing altogether and his body lay limp,
helpless and wet on the patio. I stood up and hugged Marcie. Her body
was shaking too, and she was soaked through. "I did it for us," I said,
wiping the hair from her face. "We're always going to best friends
forever, you and me."

I still hadn't met Marcie's parents. They were always out, she said.
She told me she liked it that way. Sometimes when we were at her house
Marcie liked to play hide and seek. Sometimes she would run all the way
up the road and I wouldn't be able to find her for about an hour. She
would come back laughing and tell me I was a useless seeker. One day
she told me to hide. There was a large cellar in her house and we had
never been in there, but I was scared and excited by what might be down
there, so, as she started counting, I quietly opened the bolt and
tip-toed down the old stone steps. The room was cluttered up with old
children's toys. Seeing an old wooden door, I passed by the stack of
toys and pulled on its handle. It let out a slight creak, but opened up
to reveal the perfect hiding place. It was dark and small, and I knew
it was going to be the last place she would look in; she'd probably
think I was too scared to venture into it. I settled myself in and
pulled the door shut. I couldn't see a thing in the pitch black, and,
though I was shivering in the cold and damp, I resolved myself to stay
there for at least half an hour before she gave up.

After a while I heard the top of the cellar door open. Oh well, I
thought, at least I tried. But there were no footsteps down the old
stone steps. I'd baffled her! After what seemed like another half hour
I was beginning to get very uncomfortable. I shifted my bottom against
the cold stone floor, but nothing seemed to be particularly
comfortable. All of a sudden I heard voices coming from upstairs. A
man's voice bellowed out: "You dirty little slut!" I pulled my arms
around myself, terrified. The cellar door opened again. This time I
heard two sets of footsteps come down the old stone steps - one heavy
and meaningful, the other apprehensive, almost dragging along. I peaked
through one of the holes in the wooden door. Marcie suddenly appeared
in my line of vision. She looked so frail and scared. My Marcie,
scared. It wasn't possible.

It was then I saw him. I saw his stomach first, taut and bare. He was
in a suit, with his shirt undone, and his tie draped over his
shoulders. He had dark hair and a broad jaw. He seemed so big compared
to Marcie. Marcie was cowering in front of him. I stayed absolutely
still, hidden in the darkness. Out of the blue his huge hands struck
her once, then twice across the face. Marcie stayed silent, her throat
stifling a whimper. Then the man took off his belt and, in a ferocious
voice, he told her to lean over. She did so and I saw her usually
sparkling green eyes right in front of me, full of fear and hatred. The
belt struck sharply against her fragile back five times and with each
strike she clenched her teeth, a low groan ejecting from her lips. I
felt my palms sweating, even in the damp, and, though I closed my eyes
with each strike, I could feel her pain. Silent tears started rolling
down Marcie's face. I could not move.

The man took off his trousers and instructed her to lie on the floor.
Marcie did as she was told, her face emotionless, and I shuddered as he
laid his huge weight on top of her tiny body. Silently at first he
ground himself into her and I turned my face away, my eyes shutting out
the horrible sight, but my ears were taking in every moan and swear
word that he uttered from his filthy mouth. As quickly as he had
started he finished and heaved himself up off her. Marcie pulled her
skirt down and lay still. The man hauled her up roughly, and violently
gathered her tiny face into his square, crude hands. "You are no better
than she is," he spat at her. Abruptly he marched her towards the door
where I was hiding. I shuffled back as far as I could, my heart bearing
irregularly and my teeth chattering with fear. My head was spinning -
he would see me. But he stood back and, as if she'd done it a thousand
times before, Marcie opened the door very slightly and slid her way in.
Her hands reached out immediately into the darkness and I grabbed hold
of them. I thought she would scream, but she fell into my arms, silent.
The door slammed shut behind us. "You're a piece of shit just like your
mother," said the man through gritted teeth and his heavy feet began to
make their way back up the old stone steps. The cellar door shut and
Marcie's body sunk against mine.

She didn't speak at first. I kept my arms tight around her. Eventually
her hands reached up to feel my face. She swallowed. "That's my
father," she said. I didn't know what to say, so I clasped her tighter
to me and she cried. I don't think she'd cried much before. She sobbed
into my shoulder and I stroked her lovely auburn hair. "I'm going to
kill him one day," she said matter-of-factly. She fumbled around in the
darkness and pulled something up in front of my face. "It's a knife,"
she said. "One day, when he comes to get me out, I'm going to stab him
with it." My fingers touched the blade. It felt old and rusty.

We sat in silence again, hugging each other. I was feeling so tired,
but I dared not fall asleep. My mind was going round in circles.
Eventually I took a deep breath. "I can help you," I said, feeling
strong. Marcie touched my face again. "You don't want to get involved."
"But I'd do anything for you," I said. And so our plan unfolded. We
waited for him to come down the old stone stairs again. We could hear
his heavy drink-induced breathing and sat motionless as he approached
the wooden door where we were hiding, ready and waiting. "Time for you
to get your idle ass to bed," he said in a singsong voice. As he threw
open the door, I lunged at his legs and sank my teeth deep into his
thigh. He let out a yell, and reached down to pull me off. Marcie
jumped on his back and plunged the knife into him. He yelled again and
flung his arms above him to grab her, but she slid off and scuttled
over to the corner of the cellar. The knife fell to floor and I let go
of my grip on his legs and snatched it up. He stumbled back, his eyes
full of disbelief, and I ran at him, thrusting the knife into his bare
stomach. His huge frame plummeted to the floor and I struck him again
and again, until Marcie yelled, "He's dead, he's dead." I threw the
rusty knife at him and ran to Marcie, who was shaking violently. I
gathered her up in my arms. "We killed him," I said triumphantly and
felt another surge of energy rush through me. Marcie sat with her arms
held around her knees, not looking at me, so I stood up and pulled his
enormous, bloody body, with all the strength I could muster, into the
small dark hole. I banged the door against him several times and his
body contorted, until the door shut properly. I pulled the bolt across.
Marcie crumpled into a heap. I looked at her for a while, shaking my
head. She looked so small and pathetic.

Having picked up the knife, rubbed it clean and wrapped it in a piece
of cloth, I made my way upstairs to the kitchen and disposed of it in
the bin. I washed my face and hands in the bathroom and stared at
myself in the mirror. I brushed aside a fleck of blood from the corner
of my mouth and smiled at my reflection. It was well past my time to be
home, so I picked up my school bag, calling out, "I'll see you at
school tomorrow, Marcie," and shut the front door behind me.

Marcie didn't come back to school. There were rumours that she'd gone
mad or had been taken into care. I walked past her house a couple of
times and saw police cars there. I saw her face at the window and I
waved, but she just stared back at me with big, doleful eyes and I
carried on past. On the fourth afternoon I went and sat on the bank
opposite her house. There was movement in the house and I heard
screaming. I lit up a cigarette and drew on it thoughtfully. After a
while a policewoman brought a forlorn and tired-looking Marcie out of
the house and ushered her into a police car.

I ran across the road and pressed my face against the window. The
policewoman took hold of me. "I just want to say goodbye," I said.
Marcie let the window down and stared blankly at me. I leaned forward
and kissed her on the cheek. "You'll never be beaten again," I said.
She attempted a wry smile, but her eyes were full of tears. "Neither, I
think, will you," she said and we fixed our eyes on each other as the
car pulled away. I watched it go off into the distance, Marcie's auburn
hair shimmering in my view as the sun glinted upon it. Her father's
corpse was brought out on a stretcher and I waited as they put it in
the ambulance. Then I went home to have my tea.