Une Auditrice

I'm sitting in an attic watching two boys make music. I'm cross-legged and quiet in the corner on an old piece of carpet; they tower above me like giants, their faces lit up from below by a golden halogen lamp, their hair glowing faintly from a dusty Velux behind them. The sound is cacophonous, apocalyptic; the screeching amp permeates my eardrums whilst the battered blue drums pound out a heartbeat out of synch with my own. Their concentration is pure and all-consuming; I am not there. My silence is absolute. They are enthralled and so am I. I could sit for hours and bathe in their noise. I could sit for hours watching the fine bones move under the skin of their hands like the keys of a piano. Watching the cymbals open and close like clapping hands, watching the errant ends of guitar strings quiver in the air like a cat's whiskers. The sound envelops me whole. I feel it through my whole body.

I am always the listener, a quiet watcher. A watcher of men. Sat on the ground watching thumbs tap controllers and swivel joysticks, eyes fixed on screens split into two, or four, and no quarter is mine. I have spent countless hours watching boys play SNES and PES, Sega, Supermario, PS3, WWE, COD. Yearning for the controller but, when once in a blue moon it's passed my way, politely declining. Watching boys on the street on skateboards, bikes and rollerblades. Watching boys playing football in gardens and on TV. Watching boys play rugby and cricket, shoot bb-guns and catapaults. Watching boys fix things, dig things, break things. Make fire. Change gear, flick the indicator, check the wing-mirror. Watching bands play on stage; watching two boys play in an attic.

It seems to be a recurring pattern. Is it just me? Or is it inherent, perpetual, an experience shared by all girls who, by choice or by chance, live their lives surrounded by boys and brothers. Have I chosen this? All the neighbourhood kids were male, by chance; but it was I who chose not to stay inside with my sister. I have chosen this, this passive role. A female accomplice, an assistant to boys building, playing, creating. A side-kick. Laughing at their jokes and being warmed by their cameraderie. Admiring the quiet male love that rests between them, unspoken.

 Amongst them, I too am unspoken. And I don't mind. Amongst girls my lips run too fast, I crow too loud, say too much. Nerves, showiness, a desire to fit in. Amongst boys there's no need; I don't fit in but rest on the periphery, quiet, content. Myself. A wallflower, head slowly nodding in time to the beat of a snare drum, petals tremouring in electric waves of sound.

In the attic I'm watching two boys play music. I play no part in this. I do not feel left out. No. I am privy to this private performance. They are playing just for me. Audience implies a large group of people, no? What is the singular, feminine form? An auditor? An auditrice? I am this. This is what I am.