Birdbrain by Johanna Sinisalo

empty. And, besides, for a trip like that you need money, shit loads of money. The last time I’d borrowed money from Daddy Dearest was for the deposit on the flat, and it had been so humiliating that I’d sworn it would be the last time. The moment he heard about me leaving my job the family coffers would be locked shut for ever.
    A banker’s draft? A loan? And who would guarantee it?
    I understood immediately that there was no point mentioning any of these problems to Jyrki. Discussion of the matter would be shut down straight away.
    But I really wanted to see this through. This was a chance to do something for once. By myself. For myself. Well, almost by myself but without Dad’s helping hand in my face everywhere I went — in more ways than one.
    When Mum left and we stayed with Dad, the words I heard most frequently from his mouth went something along the lines of ‘A spoilt little brat like you will never make anything of yourself in the world.’
    Makes you wonder who did the spoiling.
    If I did this, nobody would be able to order me around or tell me what to do ever again.
    And just then, with the inevitable logic of a dream, part of everything that I wanted to put behind me materialized righl before my eyes.
     
Jyrki
    A guy in his early twenties approached our table. Not washing his hair for a week was clearly not a problem for him. He was dressed in provocative baggy trousers, and the smile on his face was probably supposed to be one of friendly condescension but succeeded in looking as grim as framed rictus of agony.
    She noticed the approaching kid straight away and tried to avoid contact by pretending to look around but soon realized that he was walking towards us with all the determination and tact of an oncoming tram.
    He parked himself by our table, leaning backwards with mock self-assurance, and said something that was a mixture of familiarity and disdain. She stared at the table and grunted almost inaudibly. Everything about the kid’s body language said he was doing this just to torment her; the lack of any genuine desire to talk to one another was painfully obvious.
    The punk’s eyes lit up like traffic lights: first came the rejection, then the need for revenge and finally the spark of glee that might result from his upcoming counterattack. A hand appeared out of his pocket, and he thrust it towards me. I heard something along the lines of ‘I don’t think we’ve met. Hi, I’m Heidi’s brother Jesse.’
    I had to take hold of the paw and say my name, although the kid had made it clear the formality was just another way of taking the piss. I made our brief handshake firm enough that he should have spent the next minute or so blowing on his knuckles. After composing himself for a second, the conversation continued with a comment sucked through clenched teeth:
    ‘Jyrki, mate, I thought you’d have higher standards in the girlfriend department.’
    I looked at her. Her head was drooping, her black hair hiding her eyes at the sides.
    I looked at the little twat, smiling as broadly as I could muster.
    ‘Funny you should say that,’ I said. ‘We’ve just decided to go off to New Zealand and Australia together. For months. Far away from this sleety shithole of a country.’
    The kid’s eyes betrayed a look that told me the revelation had really hit the spot. No real answer came out of his throat. Stammering a pathetic ‘Good luck, mate’, the wannabe macho man left the table, walking in an absurdly laboured wide gait, presumably in an attempt to look cool.
    She raised her eyes from the tabletop and noticed that he’d gone.
    ‘So that’s your little bro,’ I said.
    She nodded.
    ‘Not exactly on the best of terms,’ I said.
    She shook her head.
    ‘So what does our young Jesse do then?’ I asked.
    ‘Nothing.’
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Can’t be arsed to get up, but find just enough energy to throw back the quilt and have a slash in the bog.
    Sometimes you just can’t see the