by Emily Bourne
She leans against the wall as guilt weighs her down. How could I ever think I’ve been so mistreated? She grits her teeth as her eyes slit and sting. I am a spoilt brat.
Proud
JAZZ lands at Eddy’s office and knocks on the door. After a few moments, footsteps sound closer from inside.
The door opens, and Eddy pops his head out. “Jazz, everything ok? I’m just in a session with someone at the moment.”
“I don’t have any real problems,” Jazz blurts out, her arms flailing at her sides. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”
Eddy takes her hands and clasps them in front of her. He locks eyes with her. “Just breathe.” He demonstrates a slow breath in and out. “Breathe.”
Jazz inhales and exhales in time with Eddy.
Eddy squeezes her hands and nods to a seat by the door. “Take a seat. We won’t be long.”
“Ok,” Jazz whispers and sits down, feeling as fragile as glass.
Eddy returns inside, closing the door. Jazz listens to the murmurs of the conversation inside but doesn’t pick up any of the words. She rubs her heart and bats her eyes dry.
After a few minutes, the door opens and Ferg walks into the hall, his head down to not meet Jazz’s gaze. He waves a hand behind him, saying, “Thanks, Eddy,” as he continues down the hall.
“No problem,” Eddy says, stopping in the doorway. He looks to Jazz. “You want to come in?”
Jazz slouches. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted like that.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“It was rude. And you probably have something scheduled for now.” Jazz rushes off the seat and backs down the hall. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed I could just come here.”
Eddy steps into the hall, beckoning her closer. “I told you my door is always open.” He smiles to himself. “Well, not literally, but you can always stop by. Now, c’mon. Come inside.”
Jazz sighs and nods, following Eddy into his office. He shows her to a couch, and she perches on the edge.
“You can relax,” Eddy says, leaning against his desk. “Are you nervous?”
Jazz anchors her elbows on her knees and collapses her face in her hands. “I shouldn’t have any right to feel cheated.”
“What makes you say that?”
Jazz lifts her head, sliding back on the couch. “I come from a privileged background and I’ve complained about things not going my way my whole life. What gives me the right when people like Myra have suffered so much?”
Eddy gently pushes his palms out. “Slow down. You’re allowed to have feelings and have things upset you. Your emotions are valid.”
“They come from a place of being spoilt.” Jazz huffs at the carpet. “It’s like I’m seeing myself for the first time.”
“You can’t put yourself down. You can only have the experiences life throws at you. How can you know lives like this exist if you’ve never encountered them before?”
Jazz meets Eddy’s eyes, and she ponders the thought. “I guess that’s true.”
Eddy sits on the desk and his thin lips create the warmest smile as the green of his eyes play against the sunlight.
“Something about you is very comforting.”
Eddy lets out a breathy laugh. “Thanks. I should be honest and say I’m aware you’re Darius Abadi’s daughter.”
Jazz sucks in a breath, her back snapping rigid.
He lifts a hand. “It’s ok. If you’re running from something you’re allowed to be here, just as much as anyone else.”
“It’s all confidential in here, right?”
“Of course.”
She relaxes her posture. “Ok.”
“I’ve been to one of your gyms. Swanky.”
A limp smile curls her lips. “Thanks, we try.”
“It was just too upmarket for me, so I had to leave. Sorry.”
Jazz shrugs. “If you weren’t comfortable.” She can’t help looking around the shabby office.
“It was while I was studying at university,” Eddy points out. “I live in Province and so it was close by.”
Jazz feels her demeanour change around him, her uptight, professional service persona wanting to take over, because he’s ‘one of us.’
“You’re from Province?”
“It’s the only part of Maiden City my parents deem appropriate to live. Apart from Sovereign Hill, that is.”
Jazz bites her lip. “I’m from Sovereign Hill. What do your parents do?”
“They’re doctors. They’ve always worked around the clock. I was on track to be like them, but I wanted to slow down so I could focus more deeply on my patients. Then came this place.” Eddy rests his hands on his knees and asks, “What is it like with your parents?”
Jazz’s arms curve around her mid-section, her body closing in.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddy blurts. “Your mother. I’m sorry, I know from the media your mother’s no longer with us.” He clears his throat. “My condolences.”
Jazz tilts her head to the side, face stony. “It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t make it any less of a loss.”
Jazz turns to Eddy, her eyes weakened by tears. “It was my fault.”
Eddy’s gaze intensifies, his chin dipping as he waits for her to continue.
“If I never existed, she’d still be alive.”
“Your existence didn’t kill your mother.”
“She died giving birth to me.”
“You can’t blame yourself. Have you always felt this way?”
Jazz swallows dryly and nods.
Eddy moves to a chair, leaning towards her. “Did your father put the blame on you?”
“We don’t talk about her.”
“Recently? Or did he never tell you stories about her?”
“I know she was a jazz musician, that’s where I got my name, and I know she was excited to be a mother...” Jazz frowns at the dismal memories. “But that’s about it.”
“Have you asked your father to share more about her?”
“Not since I was young.” Jazz hugs herself tight, picturing her father’s face. “He always looked so pained when thinking about her. I didn’t want to keep making him sad. I didn’t want him to blame me. Outright blame me for her being gone. I didn’t want him to connect the dots... but I know he already has.”
“You’re putting too much pressure and guilt on yourself.” Eddy pauses, waiting for her to meet his eyes. “Your father has never said the words, ‘it’s your fault,’ has he?”
Her shoulders droop as she tugs on her knees. “No.”
“What makes you think it’s acceptable to live your life with that burden? What would you say to someone else who told you they were living this way?”
“I’m not an unfortunate case like other people. I still get to live my life.”
“But are you?” Eddy counters. “You came in here saying you don’t know what you’re doing with your life. What makes you feel incomplete?”
“Incomplete?” Jazz pauses on the thought. She’s never investigated that missing piece, always covering it with work, hoping it would fill the void. “Myra must have gotten me thinking about it. In another life she could have been me. And her sweet baby boy. He just awoke something in me. Something I never let out.”
“Tell me more about that side of you.”
Jazz sighs, resting against the couch. “Maybe because I never had a mother, I wanted to protect myself against the idea of children.” She bites her lip and plays with a lock of hair. “I want to make my father proud. I want to be part of the company and be worthy in his eyes. But that means playing the game like a man. No emotions. Just business.”
Eddy clasps his hands over his face as he blows out a laboured breath. “Wow, there’s so much to unpack there.” Jazz winces at his reaction and he’s quick to add, “You’re not wrong. There’s no right or wrong in how we navigate life. It’s about what we learn.”
“So, what should I learn?”
“That’s for you to work out. Is business the only thing you and your father bond over?”
“Bond?”
“Do you have any other things you discuss? What about jazz music? Do you ever sit down and listen to it together? To remember your mother?”
Jazz cuts her breath short. Her eyes fog. “As a little girl, I played one of her recordings, and my father stopped the music and took it away.”
“Oh Jazz.” He leans over and touches her knee. “I’m so sorry.”
Her voice breaks, “He took her away.”
“Is that when you stopped asking about your mother?”
Jazz sniffs, wiping her eyes and nodding.
“Here,” Eddy says, offering a box of tissues.
“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling three tissues.
“You want to get close to your father through the family business?”
“My father is a very important man and many people seek his advice. He fought for his place in this city. He worked his way up in a society that initially didn’t accept him, and his success is to my advantage.” She swipes a tissue under her eye. “The only way I know how to talk to my father is through the company. I want him to be proud of me and be happy I’m alive.”
“And you feel you can’t be your real self to do that?”
Jazz tilts her head, mouth dropping open as she lowers the tissue.
“You said you have to work with no emotions and play the game like a man,” Eddy reminds. “Side-stepping the offence that men don’t have emotions, the more important takeaway is that you feel you can’t be your true self to make your father proud.”
Jazz utters the beginning of words, trying to form a response, until, “Perhaps it was easier?”
“Do you want to run the company?”
“I think so.”
“Not sure?”
“I used to be.”
“And being here changed that?”
Jazz looks to the ceiling but can’t deny her answer. She looks to Eddy, finding herself smiling. “Yes.”
Eddy smiles back. “And you’re happy about that?”
Her smile grows. “Yes.”
“Would you like adding thoughts of your mother back into your life?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“You enjoyed interacting with Taz. Does being around children remind you of her?”
“I was told she was a very compassionate person and had very fine-tuned maternal instincts.”
“Something you hid from yourself?”
“It was too hard recognising parts of her in me.”
“But you’re ready to change that?”
Jazz puffs out a breath. “Definitely.”
“Then perhaps volunteer work is an avenue you can take to honour your mother’s memory? You like being a part of this place?”
Jazz nods, and then her eyes round. “But it’s almost out of money. I can fix that. I can help.”
“Adrian would appreciate it.”
“I told him I would help.” Jazz looks at Eddy sceptically. “Does he know my last name? Who I am?”
“Adrian doesn’t follow the upper-class world. He has some issues with the class system. He’s never even seen a Collage page.”
“Oh my,” Jazz hushes. “We are truly from different worlds.”
“All the more ways you can help each other.”
“Oh, Eddy, thank you so much for talking this through with me.” She stands with an unsure expression on her face. “Can I hug you?”
Eddy lets out a breathy laugh and stands with his arm stretched out. “Sure.”
Jazz wraps him in a hug. “Thank you. Thank you.”
He pats her back. “My pleasure.”
“Do you have a phone? I need to call a doctor.”
Brave
“Gene, when did you get so good at this?” Holly asks as Gene gathers her silky blonde hair from behind her.
Gene smirks. “Would it be weird to say I practiced on dolls?”
Holly laughs. “Yes, but if you can actually make me look like a movie star, I don’t care.”
“I’m just glad for a real-life model,” Gene says, twisting parts of Holly’s hair into each other.
Holly giggles, playing with her necklace. “You think I’m a model?”
Gene’s eyebrows raise at her dumbness but goes with it. “Sure Holly. You’re the most beautiful girl in school.” He wasn’t lying. Holly was the it girl of Walsh High School.
“What are you doing with your hands all over my girlfriend, freak?” Rhett sneers, looming over the pair, puffing his chest.
“Calm down,” Holly says, waving him off. “Gene’s just doing my hair.”
“What are you, some kind of fairy?” Rhett says, loud enough for the entire schoolyard to hear. He laughs boisterously, holding his belly.
Gene’s back knots as Rhett’s friends gather, laughing and pointing at him.
“C’mon, Nancy,” Rhett says, stepping forward and shoving Gene. “You a little faggot, or what?”
“Rhett!” Holly snaps. “Leave him alone.”
Gene regains his balance, dodging Rhett’s next shove.
One of Rhett’s friends laughs, saying, “Aw, the fag don’t wanna dance with ya, Rhett.”
Rhett shoves Gene again, and Gene groans, pushing Rhett back and yelling, “Fine! Yes, I am.”
Rhett smirks. “Ha, what? You’re admitting it, you little queer?”
“Yes, I’m queer,” Gene replies. He leaps up on the bench, spreading his arms out wide. “Walsh High School, I’m Gene Williams and I’m gay!”
“Woo!” Holly cheers, clapping and smiling by Gene’s feet.
Rhett points to Holly. “You’re applauding this shit?”
“Of course.” She points to her hair. “D’you see what he created up here. He’s a genius.”
“With hair?” Rhett teases.
Gene leaps off the bench and lands in front of Rhett. “Yes, with hair.” He keeps his arms out wide, standing on tiptoes to reach Rhett’s height. “What of it? I’m gonna be a stylist.”
Rhett raises an eyebrow, looking back at his friends who are speechless, answering in shrugs.
Gene locks eyes with Rhett, waiting for the next hateful remark.
Rhett ignores Gene and looks to Holly. “You’ve got a lot to think about if you’re siding with this poof instead of me.”
Gene’s heart pounds in his chest. And a fifth colourful term. Rhett and his friends turn and walk away, and Gene feels his blood slow in his veins. Phew, no busted-in nose.
Holly jumps up and loops her arm around Gene’s and tussles his dark brown hair which swirls in waves atop his head. “Congratulations. You were so brave to come out.”
Holly’s friends circle them, throwing congratulations laced with giggles.
Gene pulls Holly closer. “You can do better than that loser.”
Holly rolls her eyes. “Not in this high school.”
That’s just dumb. Gene gestures to the bench. “C’mon, lemme finish your hair.”
Holly squeals as she sits. “Girls, do I look like a movie star, or what?”
As the girls agree with Holly and ask Gene if they can be next, his mind wanders to home. He came out at school. Could he be that courageous in front of his parents?
On the walk home from school, he practises his lines to his parents. He passes the small family homes lined by the sidewalk. Hamlet is the working-class area of Maiden City. His parents, and the parents of his classmates, work for the upper class that runs the city. Hamlet is nowhere near as bad as The Limits, but Gene knows in his heart he wants to get out of here one day.
“Oi, faggot!” Rhett’s voice booms behind him.
Are you serious? Gene groans as goosebumps sprout on his arms. He slows his pace and turns to see Rhett and two of his friends pacing towards him.
“Look, he responded to it,” Rhett’s right-side goon teases.
“No one makes me out for a f
ool,” Rhett grizzles, picking up Gene by the collar. “Especially in front of my girlfriend.”
Gene chokes, squinting as Rhett’s breath blows on his face. “Didn’t know you wanted to get so close,” Gene croaks.
Rhett tosses Gene backwards. “Ehck! You pile of pus.” Rhett moves in quick with a swift kick to Gene’s stomach.
Gene curls inward, coughing in pain as his stomach contorts.
Rhett’s friends laugh, cheering him on. Rhett kicks Gene again and then pulls him up to standing. “Don’t let me see you again,” he says in a mean whisper, and punches Gene below the eye.
As Gene hits the cracked cement, the boys jog away. Their footsteps sending pounding into Gene’s ears, strengthening the radiating pain in his face. Gene pushes his palm into his cheek and the pain sears into his forehead. He takes his hand away and somehow, it’s more painful.
After a few minutes, Gene picks himself up from the sidewalk and ambles his way home.
Gene’s insides churn as he walks through the front door.
His mother wanders out of the kitchen. “Hi sweetie, how was school?”
Gene dumps his bag by the front door and keeps his gaze low as he walks further into the house. “It was fine. How was your day?”
“Nothing special.” She walks close to him and tilts her head to find his eyes. “Gene, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She grabs his chin and lifts his face. She gasps at the shine on his cheek. “Is that a bruise? What happened?”
Gene reefs his head back, and a headache splits his vision. “It’s nothing.”
His father stands from his armchair, tossing his book on the side table. “What’s this nonsense, Gene?”
Gene groans. “It’s not nonsense.”
“Sweetie, just tell us what happened.”
Gene shrugs. “Some guys jumped me.”
His father moves in front of him, crossing his arms. “Did you strike back?”
Gene winces. “Strike back?”
“Yes, defend yourself.”
“No. I don’t see the point to adding to mindless violence.”
His father groans, turning his back on him. “Weak.”
“It wouldn’t have done any good,” Gene argues. “They outnumbered me.”