NOTE: I originally wrote this in two and a half hours as part of the Queensland Core Skills Test, the exam which helps determine university places for Queensland students (it's not as intimidating as it sounds; fully half of it is multiple choice).  We had to write something about rites of passage.  I was allowed to take the rough draft home, and I let it sit for a few months, superstitiously afraid that reading it would affect my results. But I'm feeling more confident now, so I've revised it, re-written it and ... well, here it is.

On Saturday, Susan's daughter Courtney came home with a tattoo on her navel.  Courtney showed it off proudly.

"It's symbolic," she told Susan, "it's about frailty.  Delicacy.  Life."  The spell was broken when she jumped up and down in delight.  "Isn't it cool?  I can't wait to tell Lisa."  Courtney ran into the kitchen, a difficult task in platform shoes, and seated herself by the phone.  Before she could start dialling, Susan had slammed down the receiver.

"Why, exactly, have you done this?" she demanded, wondering how she could keep this from Courtney's father.

Courtney rolled her eyes.  "Mu-u-um," she wailed, extending the word by two extra syllables and a tone of vague derision, "I've told you, it's symbolic."

"Of what?  Stupidity?  Courtney, what about your degree?"

"What about it?  Mum, no one is going to ask to see a barrister's navel."

"What about your father?"

"What about him?"

"He's off in Canberra trying to do something about delinquent youth, while his daughter is out getting herself a tattoo!  What do you think he'll say?"

"He'll say, 'That's nice, dear' and go back to Canberra."  Evidently deciding htat the conversation was over, Courtney picked up the phone and called Lisa.

Some hours later, Susan wandered into the kitchen, where Courtney was now talking to Adam, her gay friend. ("Come on, Mum, every girl has one.  It's like, compulsory.")  Courtney hadn't heard Susan enter and despite herself, Susan stopped to listen.  "Yeah, of course it hurt," Courtney was saying, "what, did you think it was like a biro? ... No, I'm not disparaging you ... uh-huh ... yeah ... well duh.  It's not like she'd understand.  You'd think someone who lived in the sixties would empathise.  It's like she was born forty..." The conversation turned to Adam's new boyfriend and Susan slipped out.

Lying in bed she thought about Courtney's comments.  What right did Courtny have to judge her, she thought irritably.  Courtney hadn't raised a child.  Courtney hadn't kept her marriage together for twenty years.

That thought sobered Susan as she remembered John's gorgeous secretary.  At least he comes home, she reminded herself, but she had to admit that she wouldn't be surprised when he didn't.

Susan had made sacrifices for her marriage.  She had stopped working, stopped reading books, stopped writing stories ... eventually she had stopped thinking at all, becoming the perfect suburban wife.  She had even stopped reading the newspaper when John had asked her to.  Susan thought of Courtney and the tattoo which symbolised her allegiance to ... to what?  Rebellion?  Individuality?  Her generation?  Fashion?  And Susan, by her lack of tattoos, chose to be associated with what?  A husband who didn't love or respect her?   A lifestyle that bored her?

Had she chosen at all?

She had almost completed her first novel when John aksed her to stop writing.  He had read the manuscript (without her permission) and objected to the main character, a young hippie woman with a tattoo on her shoulder.  Susan had loved this character, enjoying her courage and strength, but John said she was too "radical".  He was already a rising young political star, and he didn't want to be jeopardised by a wife who sympathised with the counterculture.

Susan realised that, in a way, Courtney was like her character.  Highly idiosyncratic, but special.  Strong. And fun.

Susan wondered what Courtney would do if her mother got a tattoo.  Susan wondered whether she could finish her novel, tucked away in a box.  Susan wondered whether Courtney would want to read it.

She didn't particularly care what John would think.

END

If anyone's interested, Courtney was named after Courtney Love, the lead singer of Hole.  One of my friends is a big fan of Love, and she was in a panic about the QCS.  When we opened the stimulus booklet, containing pictures and texts relating to the themes, the first thing we saw was a big picture of Courtney Love.  Melanie says it was a sign from God.

Questions, comments, criticisms: elizabeth_barr@yahoo.com.au

Copyright (c) 1999 Elizabeth M. Barr.  All rights reserved.

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