by Andrew Daddo
Seriously? thought Hendrix. He was lucky to get as close as he did!
When the scoreboard posted the official placings, Hendrix punched the air. Not only had he won, but Ethan had tied for third. Hendrix picked him up off the track and the two of them shared an awkward half hug.
‘Mates goin’ to State,’ Ethan huffed. ‘We’re going to get school colours!’
Hendrix looked up to his dad who let a very small fist pump turn into a thumbs up. Both hands. He was happy. Then he made a walking signal with his fingers. Keep moving, keep walking. Keep that oxygenated blood flowing. Move. Breathe. Recover.
Hendrix knew the message and moved from runner to runner. ‘Well done.’ ‘Good on yer.’ He looked for Emily on the fence but couldn’t see her, so he kept moving. Dad was back in his seat, iPad out. Hendrix knew he’d be entering the data, the times and the names. By day’s end he’d have googled them all and started a folder for the ones that mattered.
Hendrix looked for Emily as he walked. He left Ethan laughing with another runner and moved to the fence to stretch out. He couldn’t see Emily anywhere. It’s not as if he’d won for her, but she felt like part of the prize.
His dad had packed up and looked ready to go. The race was only part of the process, recovery was just as important. Hendrix loitered, hoping to find Emily before they left, just to say goodbye. He couldn’t see her anywhere and guessed she must have either gone home or to the toilets. It didn’t make sense. Why leave? He went to where she’d been sitting in case she came back, and was surprised to find her in her seat, head down on her knees like she was hiding.
‘Hey, Emily,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that bad, was it? Reckon I should have won by more, eh?’
She barely responded. Her head moved, but seemed to sort of loll to one side as opposed to coming up. Hendrix thought how weird it was, that she may have been asleep. He stood in front of her, and placed a hand gently on her shoulder, giving a little squeeze. ‘Wakey wakey, hands off snaky,’ he laughed, hoping to get at least a smile back. His father’s short, sharp whistle pierced the air. Hendrix knew it was time to go, that he had to get his head into an oxygen mask and his legs into cold water as soon as possible. He looked over at his father and waved. He was at the gate to the track, hand on hip with the other shaking the keys in the universal sign language for ‘Hurry up’. Hendrix waved to him and mouthed ‘Coming’.
He gave Emily another gentle shake.
She groaned. She was actually asleep. Amazing, thought Hendrix. He shook her again. ‘Emilyyyyy. Time to wake up.’
Emily was able to get her head up enough to cradle it in her hands, but she didn’t open her eyes to look at him.
‘I need help,’ she whispered.
‘Wake up,’ sang Hendrix. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Help me,’ she said, slightly louder. ‘Hospital. I have to go to hospital.’ It was clearly a stitch-up. What a play, thought Hendrix, this girl is a cack.
‘Me, too,’ went Hendrix. ‘Get me some new legs after crushing these ones in that race.’
His dad was out of patience and heading for the two of them.
Emily raised her head, and half-opened her eyes. ‘Hendrix. Please help me. I have to go to the hospital.’
She looked awful. The colour had drained from her face, even her lips were ghostly, and it appeared as if someone had turned the lights off around her eyes, making them quite dark.
‘Hey, buddy,’ said his dad from a distance. ‘Better go. You know the drill.’
Emily’s head was back on her knees.
‘She needs help, Dad.’
‘You’ll need help if you don’t hurry up. Say goodbye.’ His tone was short, and he stayed a good distance away. ‘Hello, there. And goodbye. Let’s go.’
Emily’s head listed to one side as the words, ‘Help me,’ drifted up.
His dad came closer and looked at her. ‘Jesus, Hendrix,’ he said. ‘She on drugs? The St John Ambos are here to deal with this stuff. She’s their responsibility, not ours. We’ve got to get to the beach, get you in the cold water. Our plan doesn’t include silly little girls who wag school and take little pills.’
‘Hospital.’ Emily fought for the words. ‘Not drugs. Hospital.’ She looked up again. Pale. Fragile. Pleading. ‘Hendrix. Please.’
‘Dad.’
‘Who is she?’ his dad growled. ‘Anything could be wrong with her.’
‘I dunno, Dad. She’s kind of a friend. She wants us to take her to the hospital.’
The one clear thought in Emily’s mind was to get to hospital so the doctor could see what was going on. ‘Please, yes. Hospital. Childrens. Dr Harr …’
‘Dad?’
Emily tried again. ‘Call Dr Harr … ington.’
His dad still looked pissed, but worried. ‘Get the St John guys. Now. What drugs did you take,’ he said, reaching for her wrist.
Hendrix stared at his father. ‘Let’s just take her, Dad. She’s saying the Children’s Hospital. I’m sure of it.’
He hopped over the fence and sat next to her. ‘Can you walk, Em?’
‘I think.’ She nearly fainted with the relief of help.
‘Get the car, Dad, please.’ Emily got her hands to her seat and let Hendrix lever her to a standing position. She didn’t open her eyes or lift her head. She looked drunk, like she’d been queen of a goon festival.
Hendrix’s father didn’t move. He eyeballed his son, clenching and unclenching his jaw, making the muscles pulse. The headshake said what he didn’t.
‘We won, Dad. I won. This is how I want to celebrate.’ Hendrix had hold of her. She was unstable and bending over, but he managed to get her moving in the direction of the exit.
His father leaned in close to Hendrix and hissed, ‘That was barely a race. Only two of those kids were any good, the rest were fucktards. The next race is coming and we have to be ready.’
Hendrix kept moving, helping Emily along the fence to the gate. ‘Dad. We can take her to the hospital and get her tended to. Then we can do the recovery.’
Dad dropped his head, then shook it. ‘Okay. I know it sounds harsh. I know. But seriously, Hendrix, this is not our shit. We take her, get her seen to, and we go.’
Hendrix nodded to his father. ‘Emily. Have you got your phone? Can we call your parents?’
Emily seemed to move a little better. It could have been having his dad on her other side helping her along.
‘Mum will meet us,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t open my eyes. Please, I have to go.’
His dad shook his head again. ‘Drugs,’ he mouthed. ‘We drop her, and leave.’
At the hospital, there were lots questions and not many good answers. Hendrix’s dad was on edge.
‘No, we don’t know what’s happened. No, we don’t know what drugs she’s taken. No, we’re not related.’ The same questions from the nurse, then a doctor.
Hendrix got hold of her phone and eventually worked out the code from Emily’s mumbling. He tried her mum first, but the call went to voicemail. He texted, but got no response. It was the same when he tried the ‘Dad’ number.
Hendrix tried to talk gently to her. ‘Did you take drugs, Emily? What did you take? How much?’
Emily shook her head and tried to explain, but it was coming out in bits, like listening to a conversation through speakers that kept dropping the signal.
The longer it took for nothing to happen, the more agitated his father became. The only Harrington the receptionist could find in the hospital directory worked in Oncology, a completely separate part of the hospital. Paul called the number and wasn’t surprised to find the doctor unavailable. He left his and Emily’s details and tried to reconcile his feelings about the situation.
It’s not that he didn’t care. Paul’s concern was Hendrix, not this random who looked as if she was in the middle of an overdose. It wasn’t just recuperating; they needed to discuss the race. Every stage had to be managed – which muscles hurt and what felt good. There were a
million lessons to be learnt from a race, even against second-rate talent, and Paul knew that with every passing minute, finer details would be forgotten.
Besides, the girl was in a hospital, so she was in good hands.
It was awkward for Hendrix, sitting next to Emily but with no real idea what to do. They were still in the emergency department in a row of plastic chairs waiting for a doctor to see her. She was leaning forward in the same way she had at the track, head on her forearms. He could hear her breathing, now. Long, slow breaths. Maybe the hint of an asthmatic wheeze, something in her nose making a little whistle. It sounded laboured, but maybe he was aware of it because things were so quiet. Occasionally Emily would moan. He thought his dad would be weird on him for rubbing her back, like he’d think there was something going on. He was sitting on Hendrix’s other side, taking up lots of space, grinding away on his phone, forcing great gusts of frustration out through his nose, occasionally from his mouth as well. He’d sit for a while with his legs straight out the front, then he’d pull them back underneath him and lean forward, then back again, and forward, a jumble of constant, aggressive movement.
‘We’ve got to go,’ his dad said with finality. ‘This is ridiculous.’
Hendrix didn’t even look at him. ‘Just wait for the doctor, Dad. They said it wouldn’t be long.’
‘We did what we said, it’s not as if there’s anything else we can do.’
Hendrix moved his hand to Emily’s back, moving it gently across her shoulders. He could feel the little bumps of her spine, the line of muscle on each side and the outline of her shoulder blades. He felt guilty as he touched her bra strap.
Emily let out a small groan. It was from deep within, as if she was sleeping.
His father looked up from his phone, grunted, shook his head in a ‘so that’s what’s going on’ way before going back to the reception desk.
‘Gently,’ whispered Emily. Hendrix used his fingertips, letting them glide up and down her spine, one finger on each side. ‘Mmmmmm,’ came the moan again.
His dad was back. ‘Doctor’s on his way, finally.’ Hands on hips, he stood in front of the two of them.
Hendrix kept his hand moving because it seemed to help. If nothing else, he liked it. He liked her.
‘When he turns up, we’re off.’
Hendrix nodded. He kept at her back, lightly using the pads of his fingertips one way, dragging his nails across her t-shirt in the other direction. When his dad sat down again, it was heavily, making the row of grey plastic seats jolt. It raised a grunt from Emily, to which Hendrix gently shushed.
His dad put on a big show of folding his arms across his chest, slipping his fists under his biceps, making it look like he was flexing. He kept at the muscle in the corner of his jaw.
None of it helped.
When Dr Harrington showed up he went straight to Emily, squatting in front of her with a hand on her shoulder. Hendrix put his hands in his lap.
‘Emily?’ the doctor said.
‘Ahh, Dr Harrington,’ she moaned.
‘You having a headache, Emily?’’
‘Uh, huh.’
‘It’s a good one, eh?’
‘The best,’ she groaned.
‘Can you look at me? Can you lift your head?’ He looked at Hendrix and gave him a move-along nod. Hendrix got up, stepping aside, but tried to stay close enough to hear. He heard the doctor ask if there was anything different about this headache. Emily nodded.
Hendrix was gently pulled away by his father. ‘She’ll be right now,’ he said.
Hendrix couldn’t hear the conversation between Emily and the doctor, and was surprised when he was asked to find a nurse and a wheelchair. His dad said he’d do it, leaving Hendrix to stay and watch. He inched closer, hearing the doctor say something about running new tests. Again, Emily nodded without lifting her head. The doctor gave her a pat on the back and started dialling his phone. He rolled a finger at Hendrix, and said, ‘Rub her back, mate. I think she likes it,’ then stood aside for him.
As soon as the nurse got back with the wheelchair, the doctor had her loaded and they were off. ‘She’ll be alright,’ he said. ‘We’ve got hold of her mum. You can stay if you like, but you’ll just be waiting. There’s a cafe down the end, there. This might take a while.’
Emily didn’t wave. When she was transferred from the seat to the wheelchair, she barely raised her head. Hendrix could see how pale she was, that her lips and skin were almost blue. After she was wheeled away, he didn’t challenge his father’s tug on the elbow.
In the car, Hendrix said, ‘What do you think, Dad?’
‘No idea,’ he muttered. ‘Looked like drugs, but maybe not. Sugar rush? Dehydrated? Migraine, I’d reckon. Don’t know. She’ll be alright, the doctor said as much. Now, get your boots off, you’re going for a swim.’
Hendrix went through the motions of recovery, even though it was basically pointless. In nothing but briefs and a t-shirt, he inched into the water on tiptoes, trying to keep as much dry as he could for as long as possible. Once the water level got past his speedos, he knew he was deep enough. Normally he got a rush from the cold water on his muscles, but this just felt cold and empty. He was stuck on Emily, what might be wrong with her. They should have stayed. He looked back to the beach to see his dad on the walkway, phone in hand, tapping and swiping as if he was doing Morse code.
When Hendrix was finally called out of the water, his were teeth chattering. He ached, his feet hurt and his legs were closer to blue than pink.
‘Got a text from her mum. She said Emily’s okay. She said to say thanks.’ He didn’t look up from the phone as he said it.
Hendrix rubbed at his feet with the towel. ‘Is that it? Did she say anything else?’
‘Not really. That’s pretty much it. Nice of her to get in touch, though.’
‘Can I see the text?’ Hendrix had a feeling there was more to it, that his dad was holding something back.
‘Deleted already. Sorry. Didn’t think it was necessary. Next time, eh?’
Home and a very hot shower. Food and rest. Hendrix checked all his socials for some mention from Emily. Nothing on Snapchat, no new Instagram posts. Very little of interest from anyone.
His dad stuck his head in the doorway once the lights were out. There was a glow around his bald head from the hall light, giving him a bit of a halo.
‘Good job today, District Champion.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
His dad stayed in the doorway. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?’
‘I don’t,’ said Hendrix.
‘Yeah, okay,’ was the reply. ‘It looks exactly like you don’t have a girlfriend from here.’
‘She is a girl. And she is a friend, but that’s it.’
‘Yeah, well. I might have misjudged it today.’ His dad shifted from one foot to the other. ‘You have to understand you’re my priority, over anything and anyone else. It’s you. Number one, okay? And she wasn’t on drugs.’
It was good news to Hendrix. He was about to ask how his father had found that out when he said, ‘The timing’s pretty shit, Drix. Just saying. You’ve got your whole life to chase skirt, but now is the only moment for life to chase you. Stick with what we’ve worked for. It’s best, believe me.’
When Emily finally managed to get some thoughts in order, the first was, What the hell?
That headache had been the motherload, considerably worse than anything that had come before. When her mother told her she’d been in and out of sleep for three days, Emily was stunned. She had no memory of it, including the fairly constant barrage of tests and prods and probes.
Even though the worst was over, Emily still felt like her head was gummed up with damp sawdust and if she moved, even the tiniest bit, the sawdust pulsed and swelled to twice its size. She’d had a dream where she was completely paralysed by the fear of moving, but scared not to move in case she was paralysed.
The last thing Em remembered was
the start of the race, after that not much at all. She woke up in hospital with her mum by the bed. A sad smile came with a ‘Welcome back.’
Mum looked so tired, her eyes dark, hair tied back, like she used to in Benalla. She tried to tell Emily what had happened, but there was nothing concrete to say until the doctors had collaborated the test results. She brightened the littlest bit when she said, ‘And your boyfriend brought you in. That’s good.’
My boyfriend brought me in, considered Emily. It had to be Hendrix.
Mum’s smile warmed further. ‘Didn’t hang around though. Shy, eh?’
‘I dunno.’ She so wanted to talk to her mum but struggled to find the words. ‘He’s not really my boyfriend. He’s just a nice guy, I think.’ She wanted to ask if he’d been in to visit. ‘S’pose he’s a bit shy,’ she offered after a while.
Her mum gently squeezed her hand. ‘I texted his dad to say thanks for helping you. He said no worries, hoped you were well.’
Dr Harrington said it would take some time to sort through the results. He wasn’t up for wishy-washy half answers, despite Emily’s mum being desperate for information. He promised to let them know when he knew something, and not before. Everyone waited; there was nothing else for it.
Even after the headache stopped, the tests continued. And as bad as it was for Emily, it was torture for her mum. She knew that headache flew past the others for intensity. When it was over, a new air of caution surrounded Emily. Everything was ‘gently, gently’, whereas before the blowout, she’d felt like her life was somewhere back near normal.
Dad and Siss came down from Benalla so they could wait it out together as a family. Every time Emily woke up there were three hopeful faces staring at her. If she moved, someone jumped; if she asked, everyone answered.
Aunty Astrid popped into the hospital from time to time and managed to break the mood, but mostly it was shit.
No matter how many times Emily asked her mum or dad what was going on, the answer was an almost embarrassed, opaque shrug. The friend in her neck was a riddle and it looked as if Dr Harrington was caught between how to fix it and how to stop it blowing up again.