by Andrew Daddo
As hard as he wanted to train and really shove it up his dad, Hendrix wasn’t feeling it. He couldn’t seem to relax on the track or off it. Normally he’d find a rhythm in the workouts, but his gut held tight to an angry bubble just below the surface, and he couldn’t seem to shake it.
He worked harder than ever, but the numbers weren’t getting any better. On the first couple of days he was just missing his daily targets, but the closer they were getting to the championships, the further away he was from his father’s expectations. He spent more time in the hyperbaric tent after training, more time on the oxygen deprivation mask when he was working and sucked up more pure oxygen when he was recovering.
Hendrix felt like he was trapped on some hamster wheel; the harder his father pushed, the harder the wheel was to turn. Hendrix worried that if it went on too long, he’d be lucky to get his legs spinning at all.
He’d plateaued, just as Emily had wondered if he would. Athletes get to a point where that’s as good as they’re going to be, and without something extra, or some kind of breakthrough, that was it. Hendrix knew his plateau was probably good enough, but his father didn’t live in the world of probablys.
His dad became more and more agitated as the number of missed targets grew. He pushed Hendrix harder through training and lectured him longer afterward. It was relentless.
‘How are you feeling? What’s hurting? Does it hurt more than yesterday?’
Recovery massages were longer than usual, and where they’d been quiet before, the whole time he was at Hendrix to relax, to loosen up and let go.
‘Breathe it in, son,’ he’d say. ‘Bring in that nice, clean blue oxygen and get rid of the shit. Breathe out the negativity, Drix. Breathe in the clarity. Bring in the possibility. Just breathe. That’s it. That’s the way.’
Instead of making Hendrix feel better, it made him yearn for Emily. He was sick for her.
After dinner, Hendrix waited for his father to get up from the table to clear his plate.
‘I’m out,’ Hendrix said, just loud enough to be heard.
‘Sorry?’ was all his father said without turning around. Hendrix took a breath. ‘I’m done. You always said run because you love it, but I don’t. Not anymore. In fact, I hate it. I hate this, I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate that I can’t do normal stuff. It’s crap. So, I’m done.’
He refused to look at his dad, directing most of what he said to his glass of water.
‘What? What the hell do you mean?’ His father turned slowly as Hendrix spoke, watching him carefully. ‘What normal stuff can’t you do?’
‘Anything,’ said Hendrix.
‘Like what? What do you want to do? What’s all this fun you’re missing out on?’ He moved forward to the kitchen bench and spread his fingers out wide, straightening his spine. ‘You want to go out and get pissed or something? Have a big time with your mates? Is that it? You want to throw away a dream because it looks like everyone’s having more fun than you? And who do you reckon will be having the most fun on top of the dias? Er, you will. You know why? Because all your friends will want to be you. Fact. But you want to go out and get on it instead, do ya?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fine. If that’s what it takes, get on it.’ He went to the fridge and pulled a beer out.
Hendrix had been through this a bunch of times in his head and hadn’t seen it going that way. ‘That’s not it.’
‘So what is it? Your girlfriend?’
‘Yes,’ Hendrix blurted. But then, ‘No. Yes, partly.’
His dad smiled ruefully. ‘I can imagine which part.’
‘Jesus, Dad,’ went Hendrix. ‘I just want my phone. I want to talk to her, see how she’s going.’
‘Run better and you can have it.’
‘I told you. I’m not running anymore.’
His dad smiled again, but not with any warmth. ‘That’s a shame, Drix. That’s the way to get your phone back. One good session. First thing, tomorrow morning. You’re just flat, mate. It’s normal. You feel like you’ve peaked, but it’s your body taking a breather before everything comes together. We’re so close, don’t fuck it up now.’
‘We’ve never been further away.’ Hendrix wasn’t sure if he was talking about running or his father.
His dad pulled his head back and frowned. ‘I don’t even know what that means. It doesn’t make any sense.’ He made a stack of noise getting the plates and cutlery into the dishwasher, a sure sign he was livid. ‘Go to bed, get some sleep, let’s finish this in the morning. You can have your phone after training, that’s a promise. I give you my word.’ He gently thumped his heart and pumped his fist. ‘You get your phone tomorrow, if that’s what it takes.’
Hendrix wanted to call bullshit, but his heart wasn’t in it. He wanted to stick to his guns, to throw it all away and be done with running. Yet, somehow he ended up in his bedroom having agreed to train in the morning.
How’s he do it? thought Hendrix. How’s my dad always manage to stitch me up?
Hendrix lay on his bed, fully clothed, listening to his father potter about the house. He didn’t get any less pissed off the longer he lay there; if anything, it got worse. He thought about going to confront him again, but knew he’d be talked off the ledge because that’s what always happened. There’d be some shit about breathing out the anger and breathing in the possibility.
He heard the toilet flush, the sound of running water as his old man either washed his hands or cleaned his teeth. The shower’d start next. Why was it always the same thing? Every day, every night. Nothing changed. Ever.
Hendrix hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t even thought about it. He slipped his runners on, grabbed his wallet from the desk and crept out of his room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t question the rights or wrongs of taking a couple of fifties from his dad’s wallet on the kitchen bench. With the shower going strong, Hendrix walked out the front door.
He headed for South Melbourne, a head full of steam, trying to get his thoughts in order, prioritise his priorities. Regardless of the angle, the focus always came back to Emily. She had literally turned his world inside out. And he was sure he could have managed his relationship with her and with his running, had he been allowed.
So if he couldn’t do it with his father’s blessing, he’d happily manage without it.
Given the time of night, Hendrix hadn’t expected anyone to rush to the door, but a light eventually came on.
‘Yes?’ came a voice. It was Anna, clear as day. He knew she’d say come back in the morning.
‘Oh, hi, Anna. It’s Hendrix. Sorry it’s so late.’
The door opened. Only it wasn’t Anna, it was Astrid. Her voice could have been Anna’s. Her look, definitely not.
‘Hendrix? Wow. Is everything okay?’ She looked somewhere between tired and confused.
‘I know. Sorry.’ He glanced at his watch; it was past eleven. ‘Hey, um, woah, it is late.’ Hendrix knew how he sounded and probably looked but didn’t care. ‘I just have to talk to Emily. I thought it could have waited ’til morning, but it can’t. Sorry.’
Slowly opening the door, Astrid studied the boy. He looked frayed, hair all over the place, face taut with longing.
‘Nah, you’re right. Come in, Hendrix. It’s cold.’
As she stepped aside, Hendrix relaxed. The hard part was over. She’d get Emily for him, or better, he’d go up and surprise her. Rub her head, rouse her with the gentlest butterfly kisses. Hendrix hung in the hallway, waiting for Astrid to give him some direction. She closed the door and walked past, motioning for him to follow.
‘It’s nice to finally put a face to the name. You’re pretty much exactly as Em described you.’
He wasn’t sure about the answer for that, smiling sheepishly instead.
‘Um,’ went Astrid, when they got to the kitchen. ‘So you know, right?’
‘What?’
‘Anna and Emily aren’t here.’
Hendrix felt like he’d been gutted.
/> ‘Oh yeah, right.’ He tried to sound like this wasn’t news. ‘I forgot.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Astrid watched the way his eyes shifted around the room, as though he had a million thoughts trying to surface at the same time. ‘They’re in Benalla, Hendrix. You didn’t know that?’
Her heart fell for him as his mouth slopped open.
He rocked from one foot to the other. ‘No. Um. It’s a bit weird, but I haven’t had a phone for a while so we haven’t been talking. So, like, why are they there?’
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Astrid could tell that while he was talking, his thoughts were going bush.
‘Sit down, Hendrix. Just for a minute.’
He sat at a stool at the kitchen bench and leaned in. Astrid spoke slowly. ‘Do you want something? Some water maybe? Tea? Is everything okay at home?’
He took a glass of water and listened as Astrid explained how Emily and Anna had gone a few days earlier, and about Emily’s treatment.
‘I’m pretty sure Anna’s been in touch with your dad, so I thought you must have known, but obviously not …’ The sentence trailed off as she bit her bottom lip. ‘I’m really sorry, Hendrix.’
He felt like he was suffocating. ‘Dad must have forgot. We’ve been so busy, you know? There’s a big race coming up and …’
He lost traction with what he was saying as his father’s betrayal started to drop on him. He hung onto his breath and let his head fall. Hendrix eventually exhaled, hoping some of the hurt would go with it, but he was wrong. The next breath caught in his throat and he rubbed his eyes as if he was tired, but it was so much more than that. It was like his heart had stopped. As bad as the hurt was, he just felt so stupid.
Astrid watched, unsure how to help. ‘Do you want to call her?’
He nodded without looking up. He was dissolving. Had they broken up, is that what had happened? His brain was scrambling thoughts like a merry-go-round, up and down and round and round. What difference would it make if Hendrix had known she was in Benalla, or not?
Astrid dialled the number and was first to speak. Hendrix watched on, seeing but not really hearing.
‘Hey, Eddy, it’s Astrid. Sorry it’s late. Can I chat to Anna for a second? Everything’s fine. Yep, just want to talk for a sec.’ Astrid put her hand over the receiver and gave Hendrix a little nod. ‘Eddy’s an early riser, needs his sleep.’
Hendrix looked at his watch. It was so late. After a quick hello but no explanation for the call, Astrid handed the phone to Hendrix.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s Hendrix. I’m sorry it’s so late.’
‘Hendrix? Is everything okay?’
‘I don’t know,’ was all he could muster as he wiped his eyes.
‘What is it, Hendrix. What’s happened?’
‘I thought you were here, in South Melbourne. When did you leave? No one said anything about going back to Benalla. Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
He should have known. If Emily couldn’t tell him, Anna should have found a way, that was pretty obvious.
‘Your dad didn’t tell you?’ said Anna.
‘What? Dad knew? How would he know? Did you tell him you were going?’
Astrid looked on, and from the look on her face, Hendrix suspected she had a fair idea what might have happened.
Anna started backpedalling. ‘Maybe, yeah. I think I mentioned it to him.’ She waited for him to speak, but Hendrix had nothing. ‘Actually, I did. I told him we were headed north. Maybe I didn’t make it sound like a big deal at the time, so it might have just slipped his mind. Maybe he misunderstood, and thought it was just for a quick visit.’
Hendrix was on a ledge, teetering. Astrid patted his free hand.
‘You’re not saying you moved back to Benalla?’
‘No,’ went Anna, with a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know. Em’s getting treatment, you know she’s not well.’
Hendrix was having trouble putting it all together. A week ago his life literally could not have been better, now he barely knew which way was up.
‘How long will you be there? Are you coming back?’
‘Yep, we’ll definitely be back.’ It was as if she could feel his hurt. ‘Hey, Hendrix, I’m so glad you’ve called, she’s dying to talk to you.’
Hendrix heard a mobile ring in the background.
‘Hang on, Hendrix,’ went Anna. After a rustle of sheets and a bit of a reaching grunt, she said, ‘Your father’s calling me, Hendrix.’
‘Don’t answer it,’ said Hendrix. ‘Shit. Please don’t answer it.’
‘Is everything okay, Hendrix?’ Anna sounded worried.
Hendrix slumped at the bench and buried his head in his hands, listening, trying to work it all out. ‘I’m fine,’ he said eventually. ‘I just want to talk to Emily.’
The mobile stopped ringing in the background. ‘She wants to talk to you, too. Don’t hate me, but can you talk in the morning? She’s asleep. She’s exhausted. The treatment’s pretty intense and I won’t wake her. She’s going to be so happy you’ve rung.’
Hendrix was buoyed and bummed at the same time. ‘Is she okay? What’s the treatment? I have no idea what’s going on.’
‘Emily can fill you in about it all tomorrow. She’s going to be fine, Hendrix. Emily’s got spunk. She’ll be perfect in no time.’
He wanted to say how much he missed Emily, that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That he was miserable and couldn’t run and felt like half of him was missing without her, but his voice betrayed him. Dropping his head, he passed the phone back to Astrid.
After a short chat she rang off. ‘I’ll tell him. Love you, Anna. Talk tomorrow.’
If Hendrix thought he had no idea of what he wanted to do, he’d been wrong. Things were suddenly clear for the first time in ages.
Eddy tried to make it a bit funny. ‘Your rockstar boyfriend called last night. Late. Really late.’ But he got the tone wrong, so his joke never actually made it to funny.
‘Whaaat? Why didn’t you wake me?’ wailed Emily. She was at her phone immediately, fingers flying across the glass.
‘You needed your sleep, Em. A few hours wouldn’t change anything.’
She sent the text, staring at the phone, waiting for the word Delivered, then for the three little dots flickering, saying the response was coming. ‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘Come on.’ Then, ‘There you are.’ The dots were working. He was there, finally. How many texts had she sent, waiting to hear back? But the reply surprised her.
He’s not here. If Hendrix is with you, tell him to call me, now.
Quick as she could type, Emily sent:
Who’s this, then?
Paul, Hendrix’s dad.
No emojis, no hint of emotion. To her it read pissed off.
Emily took her phone and found her mother. ‘What’s going on,’ she said, holding the screen up in her face.
‘Yes, that,’ she said. ‘Big story. Lots going on, actually.’ Then she filled her in on what she knew, which wasn’t that much, before making a swipe across her phone and handing it to Emily. It said ‘Astrid’ on the screen.
‘Well, good morning,’ went Astrid, all chirpy, like she was part of a secret.
‘Is he there? Put him on the phone,’ asked Emily, beyond excited.
‘He …’ She was drawing it out. ‘… was here. But he left early.’
‘He stayed the night at yours? Where’d he go? Did he go home? He couldn’t have, because his dad’s trying to find him.’ She could barely get the words out. ‘Is he coming here?’
‘I’m not sure, Em. He was gone before I got up. He left a note though, which was nice. It said, Thanks, you’re Ace. I didn’t think anyone said that anymore. He’s a good ’un, isn’t he.’
‘Yes,’ said Emily. ‘I really think he is.’
‘If I hear anything, I’ll call you or your mum. Love you, Em.’
What Astrid hadn’t let on was the rest of the note: Please don’t say anything –
I’m on the 7:05 to Benalla.
Orange juice, croissant and yoghurt: the breakfast of champions. He couldn’t find a banana at the train station, but he had enough to rekindle the memory of his last breakfast with Emily.
Should’ve showered, he thought, taking a whiff of his armpit. Should’ve got a toothbrush and deodorant. Should’ve grabbed a bag with jocks and socks. Should’ve done a lot of things. But he’d bolted before thinking.
The world blurred by. They were quickly out of the suburbs and into hard-baked farming land. Lines of trees squared the paddocks, cows hung in the shade on the edges, sheep didn’t seem to care where they were. Hendrix put his feet up on the opposite seat and closed his eyes. He’d slept in Emily’s bed at Astrid’s, cuddled her pillow, imagined her being in bed with him. He thought he might even be able to smell her in the sheets, that somehow she’d lingered in there. Then his dad crashed the party in his mind, scowling and ferocious. His toolbox wasn’t big enough for what he needed to deal with his father, so Hendrix left him behind. Only, he didn’t see it as running away from his dad. He was running to Emily.
For the first time in ages, Hendrix could breathe again.
He imagined her at the station. Standing at the platform, neck craning, looking this way and that, trying to watch all the doors at the same time. He might see her first, duck below the level of the window and trick her. Jump out just as the train started to take off again. Or better, emerge from a cloud of steam, so she’d be there waiting, looking for him, but not see him getting off. She’d be gutted. The music would weep. As the train left the station, as the whoosh of steam cleared, he’d be there in a silhouette like a remnant from an old movie.
It’d be great, thought Hendrix, but this isn’t a steam train and he’d never do that to Emily.
At Seymour, Hendrix had to change trains for the Albury line. The wait was long enough to grab some chips, a drink and a chance to change his mind. He knew if he jumped off the platform he was on, and crossed the tracks to the adjacent platform, he’d be back on the Melbourne line. Maybe it would be enough to call from the public phone, to let his dad know what he was doing. He wanted to, it was the right thing. But texting would be better, something he couldn’t do without his phone. Hendrix knew if it came to talking, his dad would try and coax him back to Melbourne.