002 Appetite
Sally tells everyone that she’s a nurse. Even to the point of having it artificially inserted into conversations. Say if someone were to ask her if she has a dog, she might reply, ‘I love all sorts of creatures. Being a nurse, you’d have to. But no, I don’t have a dog.’
The thing is, she isn’t really a nurse. But she does work in a hospital. She’s actually one of those lab people that handle blood samples and clean petri dishes. But she’s planned on studying to become a nurse so that one day she can tell people that she’s a nurse and it would actually be true.
It was last night that a guy – Jack or John or someone – bought her a drink. Or two. Or a few. She can’t remember. She had told him that she’s a nurse. He seemed rather impressed by that. By the end of the night, she had given him her number. Maybe he’ll call her. Maybe he won’t. But it won’t really matter either way.
She doesn’t plan to be alive by the end of tonight. She doesn’t plan on ever becoming a nurse anymore.
Sally clocks off work at 4:30 pm today. She goes home to her apartment and turns on the TV. After a shower, she goes to her desk and writes a note.
Dear mum and dad
Please look after the cat for me.
Love
Sally.
The cat looks at Sally while she is folding the note. The cat doesn’t understand. Sally gets dressed after that. She puts on a bright blue singlet and a pair of jeans. In the mirror, she stretches her jeans as if to check how it would hold up should she get six months pregnant somewhere during the night. Before she leaves, she waters the plants on the window sill of the kitchen. Then she puts on a brown leather jacket, says ‘meow’ to the cat and leaves. It is 6:05 pm.
By the time she gets to the city, it’s 6:47 pm and by 6:50 pm, she is eating a Big Mac meal. She has sweet and sour sauce for the fries. She eats the fries first. Always does. She figures that a cold burger always tastes better than cold fries. A lot of people would agree with her.
She had asked the 16 year-old boy at the counter what makes the special sauce so special. He looked at her for a few seconds, confused, then said, ‘I think it’s the pickles.’
At 7:24 pm she is going through a KFC Variety Bucket, silently complaining that there isn’t enough variety. She eats all the Crispy strips and the Hot and Spicy pieces. A woman on the next table says ‘You must be hungry.’ Sally dangles an Original recipe piece in front of her face and says ‘Yeah. You want some?’
At Oportos she asks the girl at the counter ‘You know how you can have one, two or three pieces of chicken on your burger, well can you make me one with six?’
The girl, looking puzzled but satisfied that Sally isn’t joking about the request, says ‘I’ll go ask the manager.’
‘If you can’t do me that, I’ll settle for two of the large Bondis. But only one chips’
The time is now 8:14 pm and Sally is starting to feel sick.
After a Long stack of pancakes at 9:45, Sally is no longer really there. The next three hours are a blur.
A Whopper and a Bacon double cheese at 10. Two K’babys sometime after. Then something something something. Whatever.
She has a wait before the pizza gets delivered to her bench by the harbour at 12:58 am. By then she looks like Death but the pizza boy doesn’t ask any questions. There is so much to eat. She’s full – past full. But she wants more. She’s looking past satisfaction, past satiety. There are theoretical points where pleasure turns to pain and then pain becomes an overwhelming numbness. And then you become nothing. When you take in everything, you become nothing.
There’s a young man sitting on the next benching watching Sally. By now it’s painful even to watch. Sally begins to cry.
‘I’m eating my way to Nirvana,’ she says to the young man.
‘But gluttony will get you to Hell,’ he replies.
She begins to smile. She didn’t consider that. Her smile turns to a snigger. A small breath is released into the air. That opens the floodgates.
First it’s a solid chunk. It may be the shawrma. Or a piece of all-Australian all-beef pattie. Then more solid chunks. The smaller bits. Then liquid follows. Warm, yellowy, acidic. Sally can taste and smell everything that rushes out of her mouth. It falls to the ground, splashing all over her. The rest of the world has disappeared. She is an open sewer pipe. She is Linda Blair exorcising herself. Sally feels her stomach collapsing on itself. Then her head starts spinning. Vision blurs. She’s out.
When her eyes open next, she is lying on the grass. Sally feels cold and wet. The young man is standing over her, looking down on her.
‘Am I dead?’
‘It doesn’t look like it. I called the ambulance. They’ll be here in 10 minutes. But they told me that 15 minutes ago.’
Sally tries to get up, but can’t.
‘Just stay down til they get here.’
‘I have to go home and feed my cat,’ she says, crying again.
‘I don’t think you’re in any shape to. Oh, and some guy named Jack called you on your mobile. I told him that now is probably a bad time.’
‘Yeah,’ says Sally, ‘now probably isn’t such a good time.’
Sirens ring. A flock of birds flutters above her head. Sally wonders if there is any pizza left but she knows better than to ask.
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