Dear journal, It was a relief to tell Daisy Blue everything. Back home, I don’t have friends. I have acquaintances. I have ‘colleagues’. I have my homework circles, and clubs and societies, and my focus groups, and there is a girl called Tania who sits with me on the bus, and sometimes we lend each other fantasy novels. But I never really had somebody I could sit with and tell everything to . . . or even just eat chocolate with.
There was one boy, a while ago, who I thought could be a possibility as a friend. His name was Hamish Keith. We clicked, even though he was slightly less intriguing than I would have hoped, given his promising name. There is another Hamish Keith, who is a very famous art historian. When I first spoke to the boy Hamish I asked if they were related. Hamish hadn’t even heard of his eminent namesake. Can you believe it? I forgave him, though, and we formed quite a nice friendship. There was no kissing. We were simply companions. And it felt good to have a companion.
However, evidently, Hamish decided I was not ‘cool’ enough for him. He told his friends I was in love with him, and they jeered and teased me, and warned Hamish off me. Daisy Blue was one of them, as I remember. But that was a different world. When I reminded her of it, today by the pool, she did seem truly apologetic.
‘We did think you had the hots for him,’ she said.
I shook my head. ‘Nope, I just wanted a friend,’ I said.
‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, biting her glossy lip.
‘It’s okay. It was a long time ago. It was painful at the time, though, and afterwards I did feel quite lonely. Not that that has changed.’
‘You’re lonely? At school?’ asked Daisy.
‘Yeah, I guess I am,’ I admitted.
‘Me too,’ said Daisy.
‘What about Jasmine?’ I asked. ‘You two are inseparable.’ ‘I suppose,’ said Daisy, picking at the corner of one of her fingernails. I noticed that the perfect manicure of the early part of our trip had chipped away, and her nails were a pattern of bright pink and patches the colour of her actual nails. It was as though the real Daisy Blue was beginning to show through the varnish and the glitter.
‘Jazz and I are close,’ she said. ‘But I can only show her one side of myself. The shopping side or, you know, the Find Me a Supermodel side or whatever. I couldn’t talk to her about anything serious. Or sad. Or, you know, anything she wouldn’t understand. Like, I couldn’t tell her that I’m thinking of becoming a poet, instead of being on TV. She would think that was crazy. And plus, whenever she gets hooked up she totally disappears for a bazillion years. She falls way hard in love and I think she forgets I even exist.’
‘How could anyone forget you exist?’ I asked.
‘Aww, shucks, thanks mate!’ said Daisy.
Mate. Daisy Blue called me ‘mate’. A few short days ago I thought she was an alien; another species . . . She practically called me her friend. Life can take some crazy turns, can’t it? It’s funny. When you look back on history or read about it, you can usually see a logical explanation for events. This led to this, led to this, led to this turning point. While you’re living it, though, things can seem much more chaotic; much less planned and mapped out. I would never have believed a few days ago that Daisy Blue and I would have one thing in common to talk about, let alone that we would become friends.
It felt good being friends with Daisy Blue. It felt good to talk to her. It felt good to tell her everything. It was a relief.
So I told her what had happened that afternoon. I told her about me and Cody. I told her about our fight, and I told her how, afterwards, Cody came to find me at the hotel. I told her how he said that there was plenty of time and he wasn’t in a hurry and that he would wait for me, to finish school, to finish university, to become a journalist, and then I could join him on his international travels. I told her how I said that was such a long time to wait, to see him again. And how he said it didn’t have to be because Tasmania was part of the world and he was sure he could find interesting documentary subjects there.
‘He said he’d always wanted to travel to Tassie to make a documentary on the Female Factory at South Hobart, and the Port Arthur convict site.’
‘And what did you say, Paulina?’
‘I said that I thought that might be nice. I said maybe we could do some research together . . .’
‘Research, huh?’ said Daisy, smiling wickedly. I felt my face go scarlet. But I was smiling, too.
We sat for a while by the pool. I looked around me and I noticed something really bizarre, but kind of . . . perfect.
‘Daisy, did you know we are sitting underneath a banyan tree?’ I asked.
‘What’s a banyan tree?’ asked Daisy.
‘It’s a sacred fig tree. Buddha sat underneath one when he reached enlightenment.’
‘Are we enlightened now, then?’ asked Daisy.
I laughed. ‘Hardly. But maybe we are on our way,’ I said.
‘Well, as long as we are on our way,’ said Daisy, sleepily. ‘Coz life is a journey, don’tcha know.’
‘That it is,’ I said.
We lapsed into silence. Me and Daisy Blue, by the pool at the hotel. We waited for Wayan and Cody to join us for satays on the barbeque. We waited for the sun to go down and the air to cool. We waited for what was coming next.
Paulina