âIâm lonely,â said my friend. Tears were running down her cheeks. Her mouth was too low in her face. 'I want a man.â 'You could have one,â I said. 'I donât want just any man,â said my friend. 'And I donât want a boy. I want a man whoâs not going to think my ideas are crazy. I want a man whoâll see the part of me that no-one ever sees. I want a man whoâll look after me and love me. I want a grown up.â I thought, If I could play better, I could turn what she has just said into a song. 'Women like us,â I said to my friend, 'donât have men like that. Why should you expect to find a man like that?â 'Why shouldnât I?â said my friend. 'Because men wonât do those things for women like us. Weâve done something to ourselves so that men wonât do it. Well - there are men who will. But we despise them.â My friend stopped crying. I played the ukelele. My friend drank from the cup.
Helen Garner, The Life of Art (via thelastwildeking)

















