They were getting confused.
“Because, I don’t like girls in that way. I always thought they were pretty and nice, but it wasn’t until I started hanging out with Peter that I started to realise I don’t want to be with girls. And the reason I know that I don’t want to be with girls is because I want to be with Peter.”
Their faces were impossible to read.
“So, I said Peter wasn’t my friend because he’s not. He’s my boyfriend.”
Silence. I could feel my face going red and I was sweating. I’d never been so honest with my parents before, it would have been a shock to all of us even if I hadn’t dropped such a bombshell.
“I’m sorry I lied to you so many times and I’m sorry that I made you stay up late so many times worrying if I was safe, or even alive. And I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, but Peter needs me. I’m all he has.”
My mother put her hand on mine.
“Well, we might not approve of your choice of… partner, but we love you, Hamish. We’ll never stop loving you.”
My dad was pulling a funny face, the kind of face he pulled when he saw two blokes kissing on TV. The kind of face I pulled when I had to clean the tractor. It wasn’t a get-the-fuck-out-of-my-house face, like the one I was sure Charlie’s parents would have pulled. It was just a slightly uncomfortable, slightly sick face. He was obviously having a much harder time accepting.
But of course he would. My mum used to live in the city, she probably had gay friends. My dad had lived his whole life in the country, he probably wasn’t even convinced that gay people really existed.
“Oh and, for the record,” I said, “no, I’ve never taken drugs, and Peter has never even offered me any because he doesn’t do drugs anymore. Yes he smokes, when he can afford to, but I’ve never even tried a cigarette, and yes, he does drink beer sometimes, and I had two bottles once with him and he didn’t drive me home, I walked, because Peter may have made mistakes, but he’s not a total idiot.”
My mum smiled a little bit. “I’m sorry we didn’t believe you.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I didn’t give you any reason to believe me.”
Dad still looked uncomfortable so I excused myself and went back to my studying. Not long until the HSC, only a matter of weeks.
I wondered what Peter was doing, wondered if maybe we could have studied together. Then I realised that Peter was, quite possibly, never going to show up for school again. He hadn’t made any teams and now all his friends wanted to beat the shit out of him. Wasn’t much of an incentive.
23.
I spent the next day working on the farm while my parents politely ignored the subject of my sexuality. I knew they were having trouble adjusting and all that, but I really could have done with some reassuring words. Some sort of comfort from the people whose job it was to tell me that everything was going to be okay. But they didn’t fulfil their parental duties in that area.
That afternoon there was a storm. The skies finally let go of all the water they had held onto since Charlie Parker had died in that car crash. The dry, cracked dirt surrounding my house quickly turned into muddy puddles. The roads became steamy as the water pummelled the tarmac and instantly evaporated from the heat. The noise on our tin roof was almost deafening. My dad was so happy, he nearly cried. The farm was finally getting enough water without it costing us anything at all. Somehow the rain alleviated some of the tension between the three of us. It seemed like things were finally going right. Unfortunately, I still had to face Monday back at school and the rain certainly wasn’t going to help things there.
Despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t have, Peter Bridges showed up for school that day too. And I wish to god he hadn’t.
When I got up that morning, I could hardly function, I was so nervous. I couldn’t remember ever being so nervous in my life. I wondered how many people at school knew; how fast the news had spread. Would everyone be talking about it? Would my teachers know?
I had woken up an hour earlier than my alarm and no matter how slowly I tried to do everything I still ended up at the bus stop well before the bus pulled up.
Thankfully, when the other kids joined me, nobody was pointing and staring, nobody was whispering behind my back. I started to think that maybe I was overreacting, that maybe it would all be fine. But I should have known the loser farm kids would, of course, have been the last to find out.
I walked up the path to school, past the basketball courts and the oval. Nobody was outside because of the rain that was still cascading from the sky. I passed the grateful water tanks and still nothing happened. I really thought it might all be okay, that maybe those idiots were so drunk they didn’t remember anything at all.
But as I passed the change rooms attached to the hall, I saw the first sign that everything was not going to be okay. In big, red melting letters someone had spray-painted ‘Pete is a fag’ over the doors to the boys’ change rooms, as if to warn all those who entered. I walked past as quickly as I could, partly because I was worried that whoever did it was still hanging around but mostly because I knew if I looked at those words a minute longer, I would have started to cry.
Nobody was in the quad. People were huddled under the few shelters trying to stay dry, except for those couple of idiots who thought it was funny to run through the rain and then spend the rest of the day shivering in class wondering what the hell they were thinking.
I didn’t know where to go. I certainly couldn’t sit with Martin outside the Science staffroom, I didn’t think there was any chance in hell that Peter would come to school and Annie still sat with the girls at lunch, and they were too close to the football players so I definitely couldn’t go to her. I didn’t want to sit by myself; alone, I was an easy target.
Instead, I hid in the boys’ toilets. It was pathetic. I felt like an idiot. And what’s sad was this definitely wasn’t the first time I’d ever hidden from bullies in the bathroom. I hid in a cubicle and wondered what the hell I was going to do. If only I’d known Peter was at school that day, I wouldn’t have spent so much time worrying about myself. I should have known it would have been way worse for him. I was already a freak and a loser, things couldn’t get much worse for me. But Peter was a different story. School was where he went to get away from the bullying. School was where he was safe. Now he didn’t have anywhere.
I heard some boys come in. They were laughing. I couldn’t tell what they were doing but I was sure it wasn’t good. They were in my year; I recognised some of their voices from the beach that night. I was terrified they would realise I was there. I tried not to breathe loudly but I felt like a person in a horror film hiding from the murderer in the house.
“Take all his shit out,” one was saying.
There was a lot of chuckling and rustling and I wasn’t really sure what was happening.
I heard the bell ring and, somewhere deep inside, the nerdy me was worried about being late for class. The guys outside obviously didn’t care about being late for class. It was a few minutes before I heard them leave, and a few more before I managed to find the courage to step outside the cubicle.
Then I saw what they had been doing. God, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, but in the urinal was a backpack. The contents had all been pulled out and they had fucking pissed all over them.
That was Peter’s backpack; the tatty old black thing that he only ever wore on one shoulder. It was so humiliating. I was so embarrassed for him. And you know what the saddest part was? He had his schoolbooks in there. Actual books he had been planning to write in and study from for the HSC. I hoped that was because of me; I hoped it was my influence on him that made him bring those books to school that day. But, either way, it was worthless hope because he was never going to be able to use them now.
I left the bag there. Maybe I should have rinsed it off and given it to him, but I didn’t want to go near it, and, more importantly, I didn’t want him to know what they’d done. I thought that maybe if I ig
nored it, then it would all go away.
I was late for first period. It meant that everyone watched me walk in. I didn’t know if they were staring at me for being late or because they knew.
It wasn’t until recess that things got really bad. And by really bad, I mean absolutely awful.
I timidly walked outside, tossing up between hiding in the bathroom again or trying to find Peter and taking the rest of the day off. We could have gone to the beach, even in the rain. I would have swum to the red buoy if it meant saving him from that day.
The douchebags from the football team who had attacked us were slouching around in the quad. A few of them had bruises on their faces. The rain had slightly subsided but they were still getting wet. It didn’t seem to faze them. They were waiting for someone, and I was pretty sure I knew who. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched. I wish I’d done something to stop it, but it happened so quickly.
Peter came walking towards them. He didn’t have his bag and he was wearing his hoodie to try and cover up his face, but even from that far away I could see that he looked even worse than me. He didn’t look upset though, or scared, or even concerned. He just wanted to cross the quad. I guessed he thought he was standing up to them. No one ever stood up to them. Not even Peter Bridges.
“Oi! Faggot!” one of them called out.
There were more than five of them this time and where the hell were the bloody teachers?
Peter ignored them, he kept walking. He was so fucking brave.
“Oi, Pete you fucking cocksucker!” yelled another.
“You ever set foot in this school again and we’ll fucking kill you and that piece of piss boyfriend of yours.”
Peter smiled, and then grabbed that shithead by the collar and pinned him to the wall.
“You won’t touch him again, do you understand me?” he said, and I just wanted to kiss him. Defending my honour like I really was his proper boyfriend.
“Oh yeah, what are you gonna do? Stop all of us? You may think you’re tough, Pete, but we outnumber you ten to one.” He sniggered. “One and a half, if you count that string bean ladyboy you’re fucking.”
Peter let go of his collar. The other boys laughed. I hated their laughs.
“Don’t try and kiss me again,” the boy said, straightening his shirt.
Peter smiled again and then punched him full in the face. I hoped he broke his frickin’ nose. And, of course, fucking Mr Anderson chose that moment to show up.
“What is going on?” he demanded, and the group separated.
“Pete jumped us,” one of them said. “I think he fancies Jacob.”
“Tried to sneak up behind him,” another said.
I realised that most of the school had gathered around to watch the display. I wished I was able to do something.
Anderson made the other boys clear off. I watched them smirk their way to class. All except the one with the punched in face, he wasn’t smirking; he looked like he had been hit in the face by a bowling ball.
“That was your last chance, Pete,” said Anderson. “You knew one more incident like this and you would be expelled.” I thought Anderson could have at least tried to look disappointed.
“Whatever,” said Peter, rain dripping from his hair.
“Come on, to the principal’s office.”
“I know the way,” he said, shrugging Anderson’s hand off his shoulder. And it was true; Peter probably spent more time in the principal’s office than any other room in the school.
I watched him go, so did Anderson. I thought he would walk straight to his car but he didn’t, he went into the office. Who knew, right?
The rest of the school had already gone back to class and I was left sheltering under the awning. I hadn’t even heard the bell. For the second time that day, and in my life, I was late for class. I chose to go to Maths rather than follow Peter to the principal’s office. I should have followed him. I should have backed his side of the story; that he was provoked, that they were threatening him. But I convinced myself it wouldn’t have done any good.
I still had to sit next to Martin in Maths because there were no other seats. He moved his chair around to the side of the desk like I had some sort of disease he didn’t want to catch.
I thought about the principal expelling Peter, and I wondered what the hell he could possibly do with his life now. I didn’t write anything down all lesson, I was too busy worrying. I even worried that Peter might catch cold from getting wet like that. Half an hour into the lesson, I stood up. Totally without warning, I didn’t plan it all. I just stood up like a frickin’ jack-in-the-box.
“Is everything okay, Hamish?” my teacher asked.
“Can I go to the bathroom?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said, turning back to the equation on the board. A few people giggled.
I ran outside, catching a glimpse of Martin’s face as I left. He looked more confused than disgusted.
I sprinted to the office to find its door was closed. I tried listening for Peter’s voice inside but there were too many other people around. So I walked away and eventually found myself at the front of the school, where all the P-platers parked their shitty cars. I started jogging a little. I didn’t think anyone saw me. I really couldn’t have afforded to get into any more trouble, but right then, I really didn’t care.
At first I thought he was already gone, but then I saw his shitty parking job at a forty-five degree angle to the curb and knew he must still be at school.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Hamish?”
I turned around. Peter was walking out of the school, taking his keys out of his pocket.
“I came to make sure you were okay,” I said.
“I’m fine. Jesus, stop acting like I need looking after.”
“You do need looking after, look at you!”
“I’m fine, for fuck’s sake, I just got expelled, give me a fucking break!”
He opened his car door.
“We need to talk about this.”
“We really don’t need to talk about this. Look, Hamish, I’m fine. Everything will be fine.”
He smiled and it was a genuine smile. And, again, I really believed that everything might be okay, somehow.
I’d get into uni and so would Annie. We could all move to Sydney together and get a shabby little apartment and Peter could get a job somewhere as a football coach or anything that required someone who was really good at lifting heavy things.
“I’ll see you around, Hamish,” he said as he shut the door and started the engine. “Now get back to class before you get expelled too.”
I almost got in the car with him. Sometimes I wish I had. But instead I went back inside.
I’d been gone at least ten minutes from class. My teacher gave me a strange look when I walked back in. A look that asked me why I’d taken so long but she didn’t want to embarrass me in front of the class.
“You took your time,” someone said.
“Probably went to screw his boyfriend in the toilets,” said another.
My teacher shushed them. That was all. And she went back to the board.
At the end of the day, I walked back to the bus stop. No one had cleaned off the graffiti. No one had even covered it up with newspaper.
I went home to an empty house. My parents were working in the rain and the mud. Instead of hiding behind a pile of books, I joined them. They found it hard to hide their surprise but they didn’t question me. For the first time, even I enjoyed getting covered in mud. It filled my wellies and covered my shorts and I couldn’t have cared less. There were a hundred other things I could have been doing but, just once, I helped them willingly. We ate dinner together outside. Bread and butter dipped in vegetable soup. They talked about their hopes for the next harvest and I believed them. Well, at least I believed that they had hopes; whether or not they would come true was a totally different thing.
24.
The next day at school was better. There
was some whispering, some pointing and staring, but nobody really spoke to me, so that was back to normal at least. I avoided walking past the boys’ change rooms and instead took the long way around the Ag farm demountable. I was on my way back to the bathrooms to hide when I saw Annie Bower. She was alone, waiting in line at the canteen. I grabbed the opportunity and walked over to her. It hadn’t occurred to me that people were probably talking about her too. It was no secret that once she’d started dating me, her social standing had almost completely dissipated. Some people had said it was a result of the accident (post-traumatic stress disorder or perhaps a head injury that had impaired her judgement). And now this. Now they all assumed that her boyfriend, who was already the second weirdest guy in the school (see how I didn’t forget Martin there?), had been cheating on her with another boy. Poor kid couldn’t catch a break.
“Annie,” I said, standing beside her in the line. The people behind us thought I was pushing in.
“Hamish! I heard what happened yesterday, are you…” Then she saw my still considerably purple face. “Oh my god, Hamish! What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “Can you come over this afternoon?”
“Sure, I’ll catch the bus with you,” she said.
And that was lovely of her because, as you know, school buses are gross and they smell. And she probably could have gone with her friends in their car and listened to pop music but instead she caught the bus with me.
Unfortunately, the canteen line was a very busy place and there was bound to be someone there who recognised me.
“Oi fagboy!” they yelled. “Back of the line!”
Before I had a chance to do anything, Annie had turned around to face a boy who, until very recently, she had probably called a friend.
“Listen, you idiot, you know your precious Charlie Parker? Yeah, he was gay too. In fact, he was Peter’s boyfriend, so why don’t you shut the fuck up and go back to jerking yourself off, since that’s all you’ll ever get.”
I was as dumbfounded as the guy. We had similar stunned mullet expressions on our faces.
I Had Such Friends Page 19