RU Mad @ Me?

BY Claire Wiltshire

She texts me in the arvo, about half past two. Guess that’s her lunch break. Writes stuff like “miss u sexy boy!” or “last w/end = gr8 :)”

Pointless stuff to remind me she’s there. Make me think about her and give her the response she’s looking for. A bit of flirtation, flattery, a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. But today I got better things to do. Bigger battles to fight. And I just let those messages keep rolling in, grimacing at each three-part beep.

That guy next door just won’t shut the fuck up. It’s been a rough morning, head feels like a bomb went off inside it – cleared the whole place out. I just want some peace, rest up for a change. Watch some DVDs, maybe knock the top off another one just to take the edge off.

But that short, stumpy, nosy bastard next door insists on proving his manhood with a power tool or two. All bloody day, he’s dragging, banging, yelling at his halfwit mate and arking up his dog.

And I can’t stand it. Turn up the telly, spend some time in another room with an old FHM. Nup. Can’t block him out. His voice is like a fly buzzing in and out of my ear. My phone rings. Can’t be anyone but her, not expecting anyone else. I slump myself in the general direction of the Acca-Dacca ringtone and there she is. Her embarrassed photo-face I used to think was cute but now just turns me off. I answer and regret it seconds later. “Can’t talk, sorry.”

What the fuck does this guy need to saw all day? Maybe he’s not getting any – the best he can do for kicks is cut things in half.

Ah, I can’t fucken stand it, not another second. I inhale deep, puff up and step into the back yard.

When I get to the fence, there he is, all geared up like he was expecting me. “Hey mate, you couldn’t keep it down could ya? I, ah, had a bit of a rough night’s sleep.” He looks right back at me with the recognition of someone who doesn’t like what they see. “Maybe if you didn’t have so many rough nights, it mightn’t bother you so much.” Smug fucker. “Fair go mate. It’s just the banging and crashing… I mean, do you ever take a break?” I laugh it off. Try and level with him. “Listen bloke, some of us have to work during the day. Got kids mate. You should think about getting your arse to work and you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” He rolls his eyes, shakes his head, looks off towards his great shed.

And it just builds up inside me, this accelerated rage. I can’t stop, it’s like I’m speeding towards an orgasm or something… it’s just the way he’s staring me down, his nasal voice… I pick up the closest thing next to me – a broken brick – bring it up fast and hurl towards his face so quickly he doesn’t see it coming.

It knocks him fair in the head and he falls backward, disappearing behind the newly installed wooden fence. “Faaaark,” he trails off. Suddenly calm. Car tyres squeal in the distance.

Shit, I think. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Not apart from the movies. Never been one of those guys that gets into fights. Not my bag.

I feel a wave of nausea come over me. Every limb aches like a fever. I dunno whether to run over and look or jump up and down yelping like a dog. Just stand there thinking. Help. I need help – to know what to do. I can’t even look at him.

I need to take my mind off things for a bit, ’til I can figure stuff out. I’m about doubled over, sick, so I race inside, get flat on my back on the couch. Start crying like a girl. She calls again.

“Are you OK?” Jesus. “Look, I’m not on my break any more. I just wanted to say hi.” I drop the phone on my chest, look up at the ceiling and tremble. Blank. Head spins, I wanna throw up.

And then the three beeps. I press OK and open another text. “talk 2 u soon ;) r u mad @ me?”