Upside Down Page 2

  “You watched The Thomas Crown Affair last night too?”

  I nodded and added a dash of skim milk to my coffee. “Pierce Brosnan is kinda dreamy.”

  “I’m still catching the bus with you to your place this arvo, right?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Then I’m going to say something to him when we get on the bus this afternoon.”

  “Who? Pierce Brosnan?”

  “No, you idiot. Headphones Guy.”

  I was positively stricken. “You absolutely will not!”

  “I absolutely will too,” she replied, smiling evilly as she stirred her coffee. “I’ll get a name so at least we can stop calling him Headphones Guy. And find out what he actually does so you don’t have to keep making up the weirdest jobs ever.”

  “If you do, I’ll be so embarrassed I’ll be forced to quit and move and join the witness protection program.”

  Merry stared at me. “Siri, what is an overreaction?”

  “Siri, don’t answer that, so help me fucking God.”

  “Jordan,” Mrs Mullhearn chided me from across the staffroom, not even glancing up from her iPad. She was two hundred years old and was the scary librarian from every school kid’s nightmares. “What have we said about using the f-word?”

  I deflated. “That it’s only necessary in emergency situations.”

  “Was it an emergency situation?”

  I frowned. “No. Sorry.”

  Merry barely hid her laughter the whole way out, and I nudged her with my elbow. “You will not speak to Headphones Guy on the bus this afternoon, or Lord Jesus fucking help me I will die.”

  Mrs Mullhearn looked up this time with a frown, and I gave her my best ‘sorry’ face, but we all knew I wasn’t. Sorry, that is.

  Merry laughed and teased me the whole day. By the time work was done and we were waiting for the bus, I was about to hyperventilate with anxiety. But then the only thing possibly worse than Merry actually speaking to my Headphones Guy on the bus was Headphones Guy not being on the bus at all.

  “He’s not here,” I whispered as we walked up the aisle. We managed to get a seat for both of us and she could clearly see there was no guy on the bus with red headphones.

  “It’s your fault,” I told her. “You jinxed me. And now I’ll be left wondering all weekend what happened to him and if he’s okay because he was upset yesterday, or what if his grandad did die, or what if something horrible happened and he’s in hospital? It could be like While You Were Sleeping, only him with someone else because you jinxed me.”

  Merry looked me in the eyes and held my gaze. “Jordan, breathe. I’m sure he’s fine. You’re fine.”

  “And you’re making me go to this meeting tonight where I may as well just wear a sign with FREAK written in neon fucking letters.”

  “That’s not true. Everyone there will be the same as you. You’ll see.”

  “How do you know? You can’t know. That’s an improbable equation, and you’re just guessing and that makes you a lying liar that lies, and that’s worse.”

  Merry took a deep breath. “Alexa, please add Valium to my shopping list.”

  An hour later, after I’d changed outfits three times and had to put my head between my knees and do some deep breathing exercises so I didn’t freak the complete fuck out, Merry actually got me to the meeting. It was being held in a small function room out the back of a hotel on Elizabeth Street. It was busy with drinkers and partygoers, and I might have even drowned my anxiety in vodka if I wasn’t almost freaking out already. There were about seven or eight people there, though I was too nervous to make eye contact or even look at anyone, really. Until Merry made me stop and take a breath.

  She faced me, took my hands, and gave them a squeeze. “Look around the room. You’ll see everyone is just like you. It’s fine, you’re fine, okay?”

  I took a breath. My lungs felt too small for air but too big for my chest, but I looked around the room and found the person at the front who was obviously running the meeting, smiling with a clipboard in his hands, and I wanted to positively die.

  “Oh fucking fuckity motherfucking fuck,” I whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “There was probably another reason why Headphones Guy wasn’t on the bus this afternoon which might not have had anything to do with you or your ability to jinx me,” I managed to say before running out of breath. My next line came out high-pitched and squeaky. “Because he’s standing at the front of the room.”

  Chapter Two

  Hennessy Lang

  I was nervous but excited, like I was before every meeting. I’d attended similar group sessions for years but this was my fifth time as host and organiser. I’d only been in Surry Hills for six and a half months and on leaving behind my North Shore support group, and discovering Surry Hills didn’t have one, it was suggested I start my own. It was only early days, but the turnout had been good and consistent and positive, and that was all I could hope for. I wasn’t a huge fan of the venue, but with short notice and basically zero budget, I couldn’t very well complain.

  Some familiar faces arrived. The women: Bonny, Leah, Sabina, and Nataya. And the two guys: Glenn and Anwar. The very first meeting I’d had, only two people turned up. Leah and Sabina. Then the next meeting Anwar made three, then by meeting four we had six. And this meeting saw two new people walk in. They came in together and could have been a couple, I wasn’t sure. I certainly didn’t like to assume. But by the way she smiled with ease and how he looked to be almost hyperventilating, I got the impression he was here for himself and she was his support person.

  She was shortish, maybe five feet one, and had a piercing in her cheek punctuating her dimple. She had a short black fringe and her hair was in Princess Leia buns on the sides of her head; she wore a mustard coloured knee-length skirt and a purple cardigan. She looked friendly and fun and I liked her before I’d even spoken to her.

  He, on the other hand, looked like a ball of nerves. He was tall and trim, and he had a bit of a beard happening. His brown hair was short, he wore dark blue jeans and a yellow sweater and bright yellow shoes. He looked a little familiar, and he also looked like he was two seconds away from having a full-blown panic attack.

  I knew what that was like. I’d been in his shoes before.

  She had her hand on his arm and was saying something to him but he was shaking his head, so I went over to them and gently interrupted. “Hi.” I stood back enough so as not to crowd him, my tone friendly, and I smiled.

  He looked at me with wide eyes and a slightly horrified expression. “Oh God, motherfucking fuck, he’s speaking to me.” He put his hand to his forehead and glanced at the door.

  The woman grabbed his arm but smiled at me. “Hi, I’m Merry. Yes, like the Hobbit. I actually spoke to you on the phone earlier this month.” She spoke and smiled like the guy freaking out beside her was an everyday occurrence. “I told you of a friend of mine who could use some encouragement. Well, this is him, this is Jordan.”

  I remembered the phone call, and I made eye contact with him then and he nodded quickly and shoved out his hand. “Hi. I’m Jordan O’Neill,” he blurted. “I’m her weird friend, she should have introduced me as that, if she didn’t already tell you that on the phone. Slash awkward, introverted nerd… Geek also probably fits, though mostly for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. I mean, the other Star Treks are fine and I don’t disparage anyone for liking them—Janeway and Picard are credible—but I just prefer Sisko as my captain, even though his rank was only commander in the beginning because it wasn’t technically a ship, but he was totally a captain. If we had to choose captains. Unlike literary captains, such as Dafoe’s Singleton. Good fucking Lord those barbaric times, I wouldn’t last a day.”

  “Breathe, Jordan,” Merry said with a kind tone.

  He took a breath, then made a face. “Sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous.”

  “It’s fine, Jordan,” I said, trying not to smile. Because wow. “M
y name is Hennessy. Yes, like the cognac,” I said, mirroring Merry’s introduction.

  “And I’m Jordan. Like Michael Jordan or the country Jordan. Or the cute guy from New Kids on the Block. Depends what you’re into, I guess.”

  “I like all three of those Jordans,” I said with a smile. “And you’re allowed to be nervous. It’s fine and completely expected if this is your first time.”

  “Well, I am nervous. Obviously. And I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here. Well, not not supposed to be here. I’m not sure I want to be here,” he said, making a pained face again. “If I’m ready to be here.”

  Merry put her hand on his arm and looked up to his face. “Jordan, just one meeting,” she said calmly. “If it’s not for you, then we never have to come back.”

  He nodded again and his eyes set with determination. “Okay, okay. One meeting.”

  “Jordan,” I said. “You’re more than welcome to just sit and observe. You don’t have to talk or say anything. Just listen, and when and if”—I gave him a pointed look—“if you’re ready, you can join in. Only if you want to. No pressure, okay?”

  He swallowed hard and let out a breath, then he nodded again. He really did look familiar, and I was going to ask him where I knew him from when the sound of a scraping chair behind me caught my attention. People were taking their seats, which was my cue to start the meeting.

  I smiled at Jordan and Merry. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.” I went back to the table with my clipboard and pulled up a seat while everyone settled into theirs. They all looked at me expectantly, so I began. “Thanks for coming along tonight. We’ve got some new faces,” I said, not really wanting to draw attention to Jordan but not wanting to ignore him either. “So I’d just like to start by saying that this is an open group where we’re all free and safe to express what we’re feeling and share our experiences without judgement or criticism. This group is aimed at asexual and aromantic people or anyone who might be questioning or curious.” I deliberately didn’t look at Jordan. “But we’re inclusive to everyone on the queer spectrum and their support people, regardless of their sexuality.”

  Everyone smiled at me, well, except Jordan. He blinked a few times and took some deep breaths. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “My name is Hennessy, and I’ve been attending support meetings for asexuals for a few years. I’m not an expert, by any means, but these meetings are a safe space where we can talk and laugh and gripe and discuss things that are relevant. There are no right and wrong questions or answers here. Outside of these group meetings, I’m actually kind of quiet. My closest friends might disagree,” I said with a bit of a laugh. “But for the most part, it’s true. I understand it can be daunting to talk about things here in this group, but whatever is said in here, stays in here. Okay?”

  Everyone nodded again.

  “So, tonight I wanted to talk about sexual identification and social media.” That earned me a few smiles and a few sighs. “On one hand, it can be a great source of information and research, and even a platform for acceptance and finding community. If you’ve googled support groups—such as this one or one like it—you can see you’re not alone and there are other people who are going through the same things as you, and that’s tremendously important. But then on the other side, you have what might be conceived as an oversexualised society. We see repeatedly, we’re told repeatedly, it’s shown, it’s implied, it’s blatant that sex equals love. That we’re not complete without it. That sexual intimacy is the pinnacle of all relationship goals.”

  I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. “We’re living in an age of dating apps and swiping left or right. Of Twitter and Tinder and Grindr and Instagram, where everything is sexualised to sell. Where beauty is an illusion, Photoshopped, and Botoxed in the name of perfection for one goal: sex. And let’s not even start on movies, books, hell, even music film clips are R-rated now. And to 99% of the population, it works. It sells, right? And it’s ingrained into each generation that sex equals love. Sex equals marriage fulfilment; I’m pretty sure even most churches say that marriage needs to be consummated and is for the sole purpose of procreation.” I shook my head. “I mean, really. Fuck that noise.”

  That earned me a few chuckles and even Jordan smiled.

  “But we know different. Sex doesn’t equal love. Sexual physicality is not the finish line; being sexually intimate with someone is not the only expression of our emotions. Except society thinks it is. Society and, by association, social media tells us sexual intimacy equals love. And the crux of this representation is that sexuality is normalised, mainstream. Which means asexuality is the opposite of that. Stigmatised, and anyone who doesn’t want sex, doesn’t like it, isn’t attracted to it, or is even repulsed by it, is labelled as not normal.”

  I looked at each of their faces. “When I was sixteen, I told my then-boyfriend, who also happened to be my best friend, I wasn’t comfortable fooling around. And I certainly didn’t want to have sex. He thought I might have just needed more time or maybe I was scared of being gay. Maybe there were a dozen possibilities but he couldn’t fathom that I just…” I sighed. “I just wasn’t interested in that aspect of a relationship. And you know what he said?” I smiled sadly. “He laughed at me and asked what was wrong with me. He said he thought about sex all the time. He said all normal teenagers thought about sex all the time and that gay guys thought about it even more. He dismissed me, laughed, and made jokes at my expense. And I can tell you, it didn’t get much better as I got older and told other people. But there it was, the one word that would haunt me for years.”

  A few people nodded. I didn’t even have to say it.

  Normal.

  “There’s a difference between normal behaviour and normalised behaviour,” Nataya said. “Normal is subjective. And by whose definition should we fit anyway? Do we take normality from people like my grandma who is horrified by just about everything we see on the internet, or do we take normality from guys who think it’s normal and completely okay to send dick pics to people they’ve never met?”

  “Oh my God, that shit has been so normalised it’s expected,” Leah said. “And it shouldn’t be. It’s just all about sex, sex, sex.”

  “Exactly,” Glenn said. “I tried Tinder and well, I matched with quite a few women, but as soon as I told them I’m not looking for a sexual relationship, it was over. Then I tried the ‘asexual equivalent,’” he said, using air quotes. “And there are still people who think you’ll change. Or they expect you to change. Or God, Glenn,” he said, mimicking a high-pitched voice, “it’s just sex. If you were a real man…”

  Anwar groaned and rolled his eyes. “It never fails.”

  “Yes!” Bonny said, throwing her hands up. “Oh my God, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told I’m frigid or cold or unreceptive. That something is fundamentally wrong with me. I’ve had guys from dating apps try to ‘convert’ me, if you know what I mean. Telling me if I just relaxed, I’d enjoy it.” Leah and Sabina both nodded.

  “That’s not okay,” Anwar said, frowning.

  “That’s never okay,” Merry agreed.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you, Bonny,” I said, making direct eye contact. “Nothing needs fixing and most certainly can’t be converted. I hope you were able to leave that situation.”

  “Oh yeah,” she reassured. “I was fine, thanks. I mean, we’ve all had people, men and women, tell us we just haven’t found the right person yet, right? Or we’re just not ready or we haven’t hit our peak yet, but look out when that happens, because sex is awesome!” she said, rolling her eyes.

  Most everyone nodded and sighed, because yes. We’d all had those things said to us at some time. “And that, in itself,” I continued, “is a form of normalisation of sexualised behaviour. We become normalised to expect to have these views thrown at us. We’re becoming normalised to their behaviour.”

  And so began group discussions on the semantics of
the definition of normal, and then online dating sites and forums and the importance of sites they felt safe and comfortable in, where they could talk about their asexual or aromantic orientation. People were busy swapping weblinks and talking about which chat groups they were in when I chanced a look at Jordan.

  He had sunk back in his chair, his face half cast in shadow. His expression was sullen, even a little lost. I couldn’t tell if he was listening intently or if he was a million miles away, though my guess was on the latter. Merry was fully immersed in the group discussion, laughing with Nataya so Jordan was kind of by himself, and I thought it might be a good time to ask him what he thought of the group meeting, if he thought it was relevant to his needs.

  “Jordan,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear but without disrupting the group chat.

  He turned to face me, like he’d been snapped from a trance, and that’s when I saw a tear escape to run down his cheek. He scrubbed it away and shook his head, but I was on my feet already. I pulled up a chair on the other side of him and took his hand, encouraging him to face me, away from the group.

  “Jordan,” I said gently. “Are you okay? Is there something you need to talk about?”

  He shook his head but his eyes welled with fresh tears and he started to cry.

  Chapter Three

  Jordan

  I didn’t even notice that the room had cleared out. Merry had pulled up a chair at my side, but Hennessy sat with his knees between mine, holding my hand while I cried.

  I fucking cried.

  Through my stupid, traitorous tears, I caught the end of a silent conversation between Merry and him, my Headphones Guy.

  Hennessy.

  And then Merry rubbed my back before she walked out, and Hennessy squeezed my hand. “She’s just gone to get you a drink of water,” he said gently.