Measured Psychosis (abbrev.)

The Measured Psychosis of a Middle-Class Twenty-Something Year Old at a Time of Personal Crisis

Bleep. Bleep. The wail of the telephone’s hold reminder jolted Lauren from her thoughts.

“Hi Mr Kerr, I’m sorry about the wait, it won’t be much longer.” She put him back on hold before he could complain, then buzzed herself through to the Property Manager’s extension.

“John, Mr Kerr’s still waiting on line two, weren’t you –?”

“Still waiting? Why didn’t you tell me he’d called?!”

After a click Lauren watched the lines connect on her console. Now she wasn’t just forgetting to relay messages, she was forgetting to put waiting callers through. She reached for her water bottle and gulped down a few mouthfuls, then lowered her head to rest on the cool granite of the desk.

She’d have to do a test. If it was positive, she’d take care of it. After all, what would her life become if she let it happen? Everything on hold - working for enough money for week-to-week (there was no way she’d sit and live off the government, no matter what) – it wouldn’t just be on hold, it’d be over.

God, imagine what her Mum would think - imagine it! She was hard enough to please already. Something like this and every look, every word from her would be preluded by their understanding of her Mum’s disappointment. It couldn’t be fixed, only prevented.

She would have to take care of it, if it was positive. It was that simple.

“Ahem…”

Lauren’s head snapped back up to face a middle-aged couple holding a property list.

“Oh, I’m sorry, can I help you? You’re interested in properties for sale?” She stood and shook hands with both of them, hoping that she could eclipse their somewhat bizarre first impression of her with dazzling service.

“Yes,” smiled the woman after a brief pause, during which she seemed to decide to trust Lauren to handle their enquiry. “We’re from Sydney and we’re looking for a holiday home down here – it’s such a lovely place.”

Lauren accepted the compliment for the town automatically and went on to lead them through the properties populating the windows of the store. What was wrong with the woman’s mouth?

“A home to fit the whole family on holiday?” asked Lauren.

“Oh no, just for the two of us,” the woman chuckled.

It was like there was a split in each lip, the half closer to the opening of her mouth smooth and the other somehow rougher.

“Ah, a place to get away from the kids, huh?” Lauren joked.

The woman had painted them on, Lauren realised! Well, there’s one way to deal with disappointingly thin lips.

“Oh no, we never had any kids – there’s the sure-fire way to shorten your youth!” The man grinned at Lauren jovially before pointing out a riverside chalet to his wife.
Lauren looked at the couple’s trendy clothes and botox-flattened wrinkles. Middle aged, playing the property market, and childless. A financially secure end of the line.

* * *

It was a half-day, and Lauren asked John to lock up before she started toward the chemist. The fifty metre walk lasted a lifetime in the warm humidity of the afternoon. Every face she passed was careful not to look at her. How considerate they all were, to pretend they didn’t know where she was going. No doubt they knew why, too. She could feel their irises slither to the corners of their eyes as they passed her, just out of her vision. Lauren lowered her gaze to the footpath, hoping that her shame could be grounded in the brick pattern below her feet.

“Lauren? Hey!”

Lauren looked up and halted when she recognised Katie, an old friend from her junior high school years, holding her youngest child. From her wrist stretched a coiled leash made from a body board leg rope, the other end attached to a child who pulled against it with all her might.

“Hey Katie, how are you? How’s little Rae?” Lauren began the game of old-friends-meet-again while she eyed the stretch marks peeking out between Katie’s singlet top and miniskirt.

Katie was trashy. She was twenty, a year younger than Lauren, and had a four-year-old, an abortion (she told the father it was a miscarriage) and a newborn. Katie lived in government funded housing with her latest boyfriend who, last Lauren had heard, threw the assumed father of the four-year-old through a Colourbond fence for visiting. Katie, of course, had an AVO out against this first father, but invited him over regularly.

Katie didn’t work, didn’t go out with friends, didn’t play sport, didn’t do much, in fact. She sat at home where she watched Austar (a necessity even if you regularly couldn’t afford milk) with her latest heartthrob, cashed in child support payments, chatted on the internet and complained about the hide of people who invited her out – they knew she couldn’t find a babysitter!

She’d been pregnant at fifteen, a mother at sixteen. Was twenty-one still so young?
“Anyway, I’ve gotta go, but come online sometime and we’ll chat.” Katie yanked on the leash and headed away again.

Lauren shook her head and stepped into the chemist as the automatic doors parted for her. A blast of cool, dry air assaulted her as she entered and she pulled her work blazer over her shoulders before beginning to explore the aisles. She caught a glimpse of Linda Chapman, who rented 17A Swann Street, over in the makeup section. Aside from that the store was relatively empty.

They’d be kept with the ‘Women’s Hygiene’ products, just beyond the baby needs area. Glancing at the shelves as she passed, she noted the different varieties of baby formula, stacked in enormous pastel-soaked tins. What a waste of money – she’d breast feed rather than fork out for a second-best supplement.

Lauren stopped walking, straightened her spine and flipped her hair back over her shoulders. She shouldn’t need to put in an effort to realign herself with reality. She made a point of keeping her gaze on the small boxes on the shelf ahead until she reached it. She grabbed the most expensive package and quickly made her way to the counter.

The girl waiting to process her purchase was about Lauren’s age, perhaps a little younger, with long blonde hair and a pretty face. The pregnancy test seemed to grow to gargantuan proportions as Lauren handed it over. Why was the counter so open? You’d think that in a chemist they would be more private; after all, people had to come here for all sorts of embarrassing ailments. The smile of the girl as she scanned the box was far too significant and Lauren found herself raging about client confidentiality in her head as she slapped the money down and snatched the paper bag out of the girl’s hand. She stuffed the siren into her handbag and hurried out of the store without waiting for her change.

* * *

Lauren turned on the radio to drown out the insistent tick of the right-hand indicator as she waited at the T-intersection near her home. Pulling her water bottle from her bag, she drained the rest of its contents and tossed it on the floor of the passenger seat. It was just after three o’clock and the road was filled with mothers bringing their children home to the sprawling suburbia to the left. The housing development had been built specifically with the two-point-six child family in mind, and the streets were constantly filled with people movers and bicycles.

Finally Lauren pushed through the long line of family sedans and stationwagons. They should really install lights at this intersection. It would make it much easier for people like Lauren to return home to their apartments or out to the nightclubs and pubs further along.

* * *

After reading through the instructions for the third time, Lauren set them gently aside. She didn’t really need to read them at all, the test was pretty self explanatory and even if it wasn’t, who hadn’t seen enough of it on-screen?

Picking up the little stick she sat down on the toilet. She tried to ignore the splashing sound and the warm droplets that bounced off the plastic onto her hand. Well, the extra water today had worked. At least now she’d finally know.

When she was finished, she pulled out a pile of toilet paper and laid the pivotal object on top, washing her hands and quietly closing the door as she left the room.

Eight minutes. She pressed the buttons on her watch, setting the timer - but she wanted to be sure - nine? No, ten. Ten minutes should do it. It was better to be sure.

* * *

Lauren stared at the test.

Cool relief tickled at her nape, unnoticed, as the cavernous void inside her abdomen collapsed and folded in on itself.