A Day in the Life of Kayla Green
Rachel Bowman
Copyright 2014 Rachel Bowman
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A Day in the Life of Kayla Green
Worst. Day. Ever.
I am going to kill them so far past dead it will scare the life back into zombies!
****
Let’s rewind a little here.
My name’s Kayla and the ‘them’ I’m so set on mauling right now are the group of men in my life officially known as ‘Dad and “the Uncles”‘. No technical relation; they’re actually my dad’s bowling team, but they’ve been mates for so long that when Dad was given main custody of me they all stepped in to help him out.
See, Mum’s a travel journo. It’s awesome getting to see the world when I go to stay with her for the holidays (she tends to lean towards the quirky side of fun so it’s never awkward or boring) but her career’s her passion. Without her there, the old men get a little intense. They take the old stereotypes way too far and their favourite is the old over-protective daddy routine.
They have rules regarding my life, mostly centred around my not having one, that will only end when I can beat ‘The Master’. A contest conveniently judged by embarrassing public pop-quizzes I have no say in or way to study for.
You’ll see.
****
Admittedly my first clue to how the day would go probably should have been the purple sequin clad sheep disco-dancing outside the old record store.
You might ask how I missed that, but in my defence the disguise was so garish it was totally above suspicion. And I said ‘record store’ remember? The place was so ancient I could totally believe that they’d hire someone just as outdated in some desperate bid to pull in shoppers. Which, intended or not, actually kinda worked. Uncle Mike was working it. (Not an image I’m ever likely to get out of my head now I know who was in the suit … but you’ve got to give kudos where they’re due and those old bones were way more limber than I thought possible.)
Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. It might be easier if I just started at the beginning.
****
It was Saturday morning and I was catching up with mum over Skype, something we always try to fit in when the time zones allow it.
‘It’s not even that I really like him that much,’ I said.
‘It’s just that he asked you out.’
‘Well, yeah. And he’s kinda cute in an awkward sorta way, but that’s not really the point. “The rules” are stupid. I’m old enough now to start dating. I shouldn’t have to turn a guy down because my dad and my uncles don’t want to grow up or let me do it for them. If I’m old enough to be making my own sandwiches I’m old enough to be making my own decisions, right?
‘That’s survival, darling. Your father can’t boil water and your uncles learned their cooking skills from him–don’t ask. Not the point. You’re missing the obvious: if you’re capable of making your own decisions, so is your father. As a grown man he doesn’t have to see anything that he doesn’t want to, and won’t. You have to go about it in a better way. What am I always telling you? A woman is always the master of her own house.’
‘Yeah, but that’s easy for you to say. You don’t live with him.’
‘Where did this boy want to meet you?’
‘The Mall, why?’
‘Did you tell him you wouldn’t be there?’
‘No, I was a bit flustered at the time and I didn’t really want to explain the whole–’
‘Did you tell your father or uncles that a boy wanted to meet you at the mall?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Then how would they know? There’s nothing suspicious about a girl going shopping. Making your own choices doesn’t mean you have to report them.’
When she put it that way I didn’t know how I hadn’t figured it out myself. She wasn’t kidding when she said she always tells me a woman is the master of her own house. I’m just surrounded by the old men so often I forget the second part of that lesson: real power comes from subtlety, a woman’s power to manoeuvre a situation unseen.
****
I got to the Mall a little early and ran into Jacob as he was arriving too; I won’t deny it was kind of awkward. Where do you start with these things? I don’t think either of us really knew, so we just sorta settled on walking around til a better idea came up. (It’s not my fault I’m a novice at this, OK? And FYI? Teen socialite movies do not show it like it is. Am I supposed to start chatting because I’m the girl? Or is he supposed to ‘break the ice’ because he’s the one who asked me out? There’s gotta be some kind of obligation on him, right?)
Apparently you really should be careful what you wish for. Our icebreaker came when we rounded the corner leading up to the old record store.
****
There was a big group gathered near the doorway and some old 70’s soundtrack was blaring over top of the shopping centre’s mood music. When we got closer, we could see what everyone was staring at. There was some kind of performer ‘rocking out’ (and I use the old-school term for a reason here) in a sheep’s head costume and purple-sequined jumpsuit (just to give you an accurate visual to share my later horror, think “Las Vegas Elvis” stereotype jumpsuit, complete with beer gut and a mop of disturbingly sculpted, greying chest hair that, at the time, I had seriously hoped was part of the costume). He pulled off everything from the Funky Chicken to what I’m pretty sure was at least half the choreography of Grease. If that wasn’t bad enough, he escalated from rolling hips and pointing fingers to showcasing the gut in full jiggle mode. The crowd got so into it that a lady, with her own 70s afro, actually came out and started ‘grooving’ with him and bumping her hip against his. That started everyone off, even Jacob and I got into it before Mall Security showed up.
As far as an icebreaker goes it was a pretty cool start to the date, and at least we had something to talk about now. (At this point I will admit that it was actually a highlight, until I discovered who was in the suit. Seriously, when a costume leaves so little to the imagination, it’s all entertainment until it’s a family member. Then you’re stuck with the nightmares. SCULPTED CHEST HAIR!)
Back to my story.
We were still laughing over the dance performance, and every time we started to calm down one of us would bump a hip into the other and it totally started us off again (maybe flirting isn’t so hard). It seemed easy at that point to trust the crowds to lead us along, so when we saw a whole mob of weirdly dressed people, we figured they knew where the entertainment was going to happen next and followed. Not as exciting as the store front disco. Turns out the cinema was having a Star Wars marathon. Still, it was better than nothing and Jacob seemed to know what a lot of the costumes were meant to be–I wasn’t sure if that made him some kind of nerd or if it was a guy thing, but I figured it was probably a little early in our relationship to start judging.
****
Since this was my first date, I was expecting at least a little cliché. I’m not knocking us as unimaginative or anything, but it’s one of those things where it’s so old and cheesy it’s cute and absolutely has to be done at least once. Just for the laugh at how corny a move it was, you know? So when he started to shift in his seat and raised a hand to fake ‘the yawn’ I maybe got a little excited, but I stared straight ahead (pretending I didn’t know what he was going to do so I wouldn’t spook him or anything).
 
; It never came.
There was this weird moment where over the sound of lasers ‘zinging’ on the big screen I swear I heard some sort of low rumbling sound, like the growl of some massive beast. But nothing like that showed up in that part of the movie, and after it finished Jacob sat stiff as a pole and didn’t try anything, not even once. Maybe Jacob really hadn’t been going to try something, but I swear I saw him start to. And there was definitely something suspicious in how stiff he got after that point in the movie. Like he was scared.
I couldn’t look around at the time because I didn’t want Jacob to think I was weird, but as soon as the movie ended and the lights came on I stood up and casually looked over at the seat behind me. It was empty. Everyone was shuffling in their seats getting ready to leave in that awkward way crowds do in small spaces, but I just caught sight of someone in costume ducking out the door early, like no true fan would do–and come to think of it, I’m not a huge fan or anything, but I swear I don’t remember there being any aliens in the franchise with the heads of bulls.
****
This was starting to get ridiculous. Ever since we left the movie my date has been acting like I’m contagious. He’s become totally paranoid too.
I’m getting that horrible feeling that I know who was in that bull’s head now, but I swear it can’t be. They always travel in a pack when they’re pulling stunts on me, and there is no way they could even know about this. I didn’t even know I was going on this date until I left. No, it had to be some random pulling a prank on a couple of teens.
You see how well I can delude myself sometimes? Yeah... no, I didn’t really believe me either, but hope has gotta count for something, right?
I figured that there had to be nothing safer than lunch at the food court. Now I know that sounds naive because there are heaps of pranks people can pull at a meal, but look at it my way, there were two big things going for this place:
Open public room where the crowds were really spread out.
And all the costumed Star Wars fans were still tucked away in their marathon, so I’d see a barnyard head coming from miles away.
Not that my luck ever works that way.
Jacob started to relax again and we got our meals with no problems; honestly Macca’s wasn’t my first choice, but it was cheap and I wasn’t letting my date out of my sight.
Unfortunately, we were back to awkward again. We both concentrated on eating our meals in silence, only flicking a glance and shy smile at each other every now and again.
Then guess what?
Some huge commotion happened at the far end of the room. I looked over because, seriously, who doesn’t? But I swear it was only for a minute.
The disco lady who had danced with Uncle Mike back at the record store was having a screaming match with some stranger who’d tripped her or something and made her drop her meal. It looked like they were going to fight, but Mall Security was already there, pulling them apart.
Which is when I heard another yell, right beside me.
Jacob was a mess. It looked like someone had dumped their entire meal over his head. I looked around, but the closest thing to a suspicious costume a guy with his back to me in an old detective style trench coat. I couldn’t see much of him, but he had a full meal in his hand so it couldn’t have been him. And honestly, it was more important to check that Jacob was OK. He wasn’t.
The only blessing was that the incident had done the impossible, broken the ice for the second time that day. Jacob was completely pissed off and I got to be sympathetic and pissed off on his behalf, which at least got us talking again.
Funny how these things work.
I suggested we go blow off steam at the arcade and as far as dates go it was a great idea. What I didn’t mention was that my main reason for suggesting it was because it was in the same outside courtyard as the sports bar.
The incident had confirmed what I’d dreaded all along; the old men had decided to pull a pop-quiz on me and had stumbled across my date instead. Already armed with the props, they’d turned their sabotage on Jacob.
But if they thought I’d let them get away with it, they really didn’t know the girl they’d raised.
I left my date thumping croc heads with a giant mallet and excused myself to the bathrooms. Then crossed the courtyard to the sports bar.
****
Sheepish. That’s what they were. And I’m not talking Uncle Mike with the sheep’s head on his lap.
All four of them were gathered round the bar in full costume, laughing and planning their grand finale. For the first time I saw what they’d all chosen up close.
Uncle Mike was just as horrifying as I’d first described; Uncle Baz had a bull’s head on his lap, partially sparing me the view of the old gladiator costume that went with it, and he was flicking a switch that made the eyes glow red; Dad was, incredibly, decked out in a pink panther costume, covered in a trench coat with pink face paint instead of a proper head; and Uncle Drew was dressed as a frumpy old grandma complete with curly wig, fake boobs and over-the-top drag-queen makeup.
I stood before them with my hands on my hips and watched as the laughter died down.
‘You look like your mum when you stand like that,’ my dad said.
I stared him down some more and the Uncles shuffled to their feet looking sorry for themselves.
‘But I didn’t even get–’ Uncle Drew was cut off by the others dragging him out the door. (I was thankful, because I seriously didn’t want to know what he’d pull in that get up.)
Only Dad stayed behind.
‘Your mother’s flight came in a couple of hours ago, she was going to make it a surprise, but she was talking to you from the airport this morning. If you want to see her tonight, I’ll call her to pick you up.’ he said. He was more casual and amused than apologetic, but I have to expect that from Dad. If you didn’t get the idea from the costumes, the men in my life have no shame.
That’s when I heard a scream from outside and realised, too late, that my uncles fit that last bit just as much as my dad. They’re never apologetic over having fun.
‘Pretty girly scream,’ dad said. ‘We’ll have fun with this one.’
‘Dad!’
‘What? Do you really want some kid who can’t handle your family? We were going easy on him too.’
I hate to admit it, but he’s right.
That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to kill them though.
****
‘You know what’s weird though?’ I’d taken dad up on his offer to see mum.
‘Hm?’
‘I thought the old buffoon spy movies were more your thing than Dad’s.’
‘… Heh-heh… I guess your father picked up a thing or two from me after all. Statistically it was always possible something would stick.’ Mum’s nervy laughter, slight rambling, fidgety hands and sudden inability to look at me sealed the suspicions I hadn’t realised I had.
‘If I go upstairs I’ll find the 70s ‘fro you’ve got stashed up there, won’t I?’
I don’t know how I expected her to react… No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what I was expecting but it definitely wasn’t what I got. There was no hesitation, no nerves, no sheepishness. She straightened confidently and relaxed back against the doorframe with a direct gaze and sardonic smile that suddenly reminded me that my mother hadn’t built a career in front of the camera by being an open book.
Oh.
‘When dad talks about beating ‘The Master’ he’s not actually talking about himself in dramatic third person is he?’
‘Not likely. Really, it’s taken you long enough to absorb my lessons.’
‘Lessons?’
‘Or apparently not… How long have I been telling you that a woman is always the Master of her household?
‘All this time you were the one behind this?’
‘Of course, there are some things only a mother can teach her daughter but we don’t spend enough time together for me to really teach you r
ight. I had to get creative.’
I’m blinking, but the ‘nuh-duh!’ look on her face isn’t changing.
The woman really should have been a spy.
Scratch that, I’m looking over at the coffee table now and I can see from here the Peter Sellers as Clouseau marathon she’s got set up for us. It’s enough to make me think what unleashing her on the world would be like, and her role model makes me glad she chose the camera life.
It also makes me wonder how I missed the obvious for so long.
####
Thank you for reading my short story, A Day in the Life of Kayla Green. I really hope you enjoyed it and would love it if you left me a review with your thoughts.
Rachel.
About the Author
Born in Perth, Western Australia, Rachel Bowman is a student of Edith Cowan University. She is finishing a BA with a major in Writing and a double minor in Children’s Literature and Editing and Publishing.