Micah Johnson Goes West

by Sean Kennedy

  “Leave it to you to bring up the morbid side of surf culture.”

  “And my work here is done. How are Dad and Alex?”

  “They’re good. Waiting for you to play a game so they can brag about you appropriately.”

  “There’s no way Alex would brag about a Dockers player.”

  Joanne laughed. “I think you’ll be the exception.”

  Hearing that made Micah feel a little warm and gooey inside—the nice way, not the “have to run to the toilet and unleash the furies of hell” way. “Maybe I should send him some merchandise, then, if he’s such a fan.”

  A wicked grin appeared on his mum’s face. “Do it! And I’ll make sure I’m recording him when he opens it.”

  That would be a sight to see. And it only made him feel more homesick. He knew he better sign off before his mother cottoned on to it. “Okay, Mum. It’s almost dinnertime here. The Mitchells are doing a barbie.”

  “Okay. Enjoy yourself. Tell them I said hi.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “I love you too, Micah.”

  Micah deactivated the call just in time. He buried his head in his pillow and allowed himself the indignity of tears.

  IT WAS the smell of the barbie firing up, and a gentle knock on the door that woke Micah. He sniffed appreciatively, anticipating the delights of the meal to come and yelled, “Come in!”

  Rhonda Mitchell cracked open the door. “You decent?”

  Micah sat up. “What on earth do you think I’m doing in here?”

  “I don’t know.” She threw the door open and walked in. “I’ve had two teenage boys. I’ve learnt not to be surprised by anything.”

  “Gross.”

  “Yep. Were you asleep?”

  “Yeah, I dozed off.”

  “I was thinking you were avoiding us.”

  “No, not at all,” Micah yawned. “I’m looking forward to the barbie.”

  “You better. I think Pete has enough down there to empty an abattoir’s stock.”

  Wow. Rhonda was really coming up with the stomach-churning statements this evening. “Lucky for me I’m starving, then, I guess.”

  Rhonda smiled, but she didn’t make any attempt to leave.

  Micah sat there, not knowing what to say.

  Rhonda opened her mouth, ready to speak, and closed it again.

  “Okay, Rhonda, spit it out.”

  “I was just wondering, are we doing enough to make you happy?”

  Micah wanted to groan, but restrained himself. He just didn’t need another well-intentioned Mitchell deep-and-meaningful right now—hadn’t Sam already fulfilled the quota for the day?

  “You guys are doing everything for me,” he said. And it was true. They had welcomed him into their family, taken him out and showed him around the city, fed and watered him. Well, all of them except Dane, and he wasn’t exactly going to tell Dane’s mother that. If Sam knew, she most likely knew as well and was reading him the riot act in private.

  Rhonda sat on the end of his bed, and he guessed he was in for the long haul. “But you don’t seem happy.”

  He obviously wasn’t hiding it as well as he thought he had, if this was his second intervention in as many hours. Time to add a little truth to the lie to make it more believable. “I’m homesick. There’s nothing anybody can do about that. I miss my family. Even my dad’s stupid dad jokes, my mum’s ability to invade privacy on every level, and my little brother being his usual smart aleck self.”

  “You’re right. There’s not much we can do about that. Although Pete has an appalling amount of dad jokes he could inflict upon you. But if you ever need to talk, you know where we are.”

  “I know.”

  She sighed. “I don’t actually think you do, because you never have.”

  “I’m a guy, remember? We don’t talk about our feelings. Even the gay guys.”

  “Oh, wonderful, stereotyping.”

  “There is one thing you can help me with.” Micah offered her some bait.

  “What?” Rhonda leaned forward eagerly.

  “Feeeeeed me,” he moaned.

  She rolled her eyes, but left him to tidy himself up a bit before he came down to join them.

  “HERE HE is!” Sam’s girlfriend Maia said as Micah finally made an appearance. She handed him a beer, and he took it, grateful for any kind of social lubricant that would make getting through the next few hours easier. Not that it was a chore to see the Mitchells; it was just knowing that they were aware of his “depressive state.” He would have to make a real effort to be “on” and assuage their fears just a little bit to give him more breathing room. “I was starting to think you had gone back to Melbourne.”

  No such luck. But Micah plastered on a smile. “Only in my mind.”

  She gave him a sympathetic arm rub. “Maybe we could go to Freo next weekend. There’s at least some old buildings there that might remind you of home. Unfortunately the city of Perth believes in knocking down any building that wasn’t up before 1960.”

  Sam and his dad were fussing over the meat and being manly men. Dane was scowling at one end of the patio table, and trying his best to look like he didn’t belong there. Maia sat in between him and Dane, seemingly unaware of the waves of hostility going from one to the other.

  “What have you guys been up to today?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Dane mumbled.

  “For a swim,” Micah said, trying to be more sociable.

  “Did you swim a lot back home?”

  “Not really. Didn’t live that close to the beach, and well, to put it bluntly you have to travel a bit out of the city to find a nice beach. Not like here.”

  Maia smiled cheekily. “Better watch yourself, there. You actually sound like you’re appreciating something about Perth.”

  Micah took a swig of his beer. “Shit, you’re right. I take it back.” He smiled to let her know he wasn’t being totally serious.

  “If you hate it so much, then why stay here?”

  Maia and Micah stared down at the other end of the table. Dane stared back at them defiantly.

  “It speaks!” Micah mumbled.

  “Dane!” Maia admonished him.

  “What?” Dane said. “I’m just asking a question. He hates it here. We’ve taken him in, and he puts down everything.”

  “I don’t think cracking a few jokes about Perth is putting down everything,” Maia said.

  “What, he can’t talk for himself?”

  “Sure I can,” Micah said. “But anything I say you’re not going to listen to.”

  “You got that right.” Dane jumped to his feet, almost overturning his chair, and stormed off.

  “Honestly,” Maia sighed. “You’d think he was thirteen, not eighteen. Teen angst has hit him a little late. Don’t worry about it, Micah.”

  Micah wasn’t worried about it. At least, not when it came to himself. He was more worried about the effect Dane’s behaviour could have on the Mitchells. It certainly wasn’t pleasant for them.

  A couple of teammates popped by, just in time for food. By then, Dane had returned. He kept to himself, watching from the corner as the footy boys talked boisterously among themselves. Micah felt sorry for him, and even considered approaching him and trying to include him.

  But he’d been snapped at enough by Dane for one day. He chose to bond with his teammates instead.

  BUT THAT night as he prepared for bed, Micah began to feel guilty again and decided to knock on Dane’s door.

  “What?” came the muffled response.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No!”

  Well, you couldn’t be more emphatic than that. But Micah shrugged to himself. “Okay, coming in!”

  “No way!”

  “What, are you wanking or something?”

  “You wish, you perv!” The door opened a crack, and Dane peered out at him. “What do you want?”

  “I just think, we have to live in this house together for the foreseeable
future. Shouldn’t we call a truce or something?”

  “How about you just ignore me, and I’ll ignore you?”

  Micah groaned. “You know your family aren’t going to go for that.”

  “Well, they know we’ll never be best friends.”

  “Yeah, believe me, that’s never going to happen.”

  Dane looked pissed, as if he couldn’t believe that someone wouldn’t want to be friends with him. He obviously wanted the power to lie with him, and to be the hater not the hated.

  “Can you go away now?” Dane asked.

  Who the fuck was this guy? “You do know the area outside your door is a public thoroughfare, yeah?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Just that I’m not trespassing on your property, dude. I mean, I could stand here all day.”

  “Will you just fuck off?”

  “All you have to do is shut your door, and you’re totally alone.” Micah knew he was being annoying, but Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, Dane was asking for it.

  “I’ll know you’re on the other side.”

  “Yeah, so be quiet when you’re wanking, or else I’ll hear you.”

  Dane slammed the door in his face, and Micah laughed loud enough for him to hear.

  At least he had stopped being homesick for three minutes.

  But there were still twenty-three hours and fifty-seven minutes left in a day.

  Chapter 3

  ISSUES AT the Mitchell house with Dane aside, and also if you discounted missing life back in Melbourne, life in Perth couldn’t be thought of as that bad. Especially now that training seemed to be paying off, with his body growing leaner and stronger, the coach and the coaching staff being happy with his progress, and the preseason only days away. Micah had been told to expect he probably wouldn’t be named as part of the team—most rookies weren’t. In fact, a lot of rookies were lucky if they played five to ten games their first season.

  And Micah being Micah, he let himself already believe that he wouldn’t be chosen. He still trained as if he would, because otherwise what was he there for? But he refused to even entertain the notion that he would play. It was a philosophy that had served him well in the past. If you expected the worst, you were never disappointed. In fact, he was sure Simon Murray had said it to him once. And if it wasn’t, then it definitely sounded like something Simon would say.

  As soon as he got into training on Thursday, the assistant coach he had the most rapport with approached him and led him aside. Instantly, Micah was on edge—it was never a good sign.

  “So what’s up, Nate?” Micah asked, nervously adjusting the strap on his gym bag. “Don’t soften the blow. Just tell me.”

  Nate sized him up, his arms folded. He relaxed a little, and sighed. “Okay. You’re not making the cut this week.”

  For all he had told himself he wouldn’t, Micah still felt like he had been punched in the gut. He cleared his throat so it wouldn’t croak and give away he was upset. “That’s okay. I didn’t think I would.”

  “You’ve been doing really well. But the first game, even in the preseason, is pretty strenuous. Both physically and mentally. We just think it’s a bit too much for you right now.”

  “You don’t think I can take the pressure?” Micah asked.

  Nate clapped his hand on Micah’s shoulder and let it rest there. “Come on, mate. You know it’s your weak spot.”

  Micah knew it better than anybody. But he didn’t like other people thinking it of him, even if it was true.

  “I understand,” he said, in a monotone that still managed to give away he wasn’t happy.

  “You’re not out of contention for next week, believe me. So don’t start underestimating yourself. That would be the worst thing you could do.”

  A ruckus was happening in the change room. Micah and Nate both turned to see the other rookie, Daril Warnit, who was surrounded by a mass of teammates cheering him on excitedly.

  “Okay,” Nate said. “That’s the other thing I had to tell you.”

  “Daril’s playing.” Micah let him off the hook.

  “Yeah, well, it’s kinda obvious now.”

  “You think he can handle the pressure?”

  “We think so.”

  “Well, good for him.” And Micah actually meant it. He could only imagine how excited Daril would be. And he would have handled it much better if Micah had been picked to play before him. So Micah put on his big boy boots and entered the change room, heading for his locker. He swung his bag under the wooden bench and made his way to the edge of the crowd.

  They fell silent when they noticed him standing there, but Micah didn’t let it stay that way. He crossed immediately to Daril, his hand outstretched. “Congratulations, mate.”

  Daril shook it. “Thanks, mate.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be playing next week, Johnson,” Jimmy Hall said. He clapped Micah on the back, and Micah almost stumbled. The man had half a foot on him and about twenty kilos.

  The boys began to disperse to their lockers, and Micah was left standing with Daril. They had been each other’s lifelines when they first came to Perth. Daril had even christened them the “tokens,” as they joked about being the token gay and token Aboriginal on the rookie list. It had given them something to bond over, especially when it came to the media and the fans who were placing the new boys under heavy scrutiny. Especially Micah, the latest and only the second (that was known) gay in AFL history.

  “Jimmy’s right,” Daril said. “They won’t let you rest long.”

  “Who knows? They have their reasons, and they’re probably right. I was shitting myself at the thought of maybe starting this week.”

  Daril snorted, opening his locker. “I’m going to have to take some Imodium on game day so I don’t.”

  They both burst into giggles, and quickly hushed each other.

  “I’m really glad you’re playing,” Micah said.

  “I can’t wait until we both play.” Daril held up his hand for a high five.

  Micah slapped it, and their hands clenched as one. “Us tokens have gotta stick together.”

  “You said it, mate.”

  Micah kept the smile on his face, even though it was torture.

  MICAH’S BODY was aching almost as much as his heart when training came to an end. He was limping off the field when Daril yelled across to him. “Hey, Micah! Someone asking especially for you!”

  The other guys couldn’t help but glance over interestedly, wanting to know who was singling Micah out for the first time. They had their usual groupies, who turned up regularly, and gobsmacked hero-worshipping teenage boys who hung on their every word and thrust out team merchandise for them to sign, but always managed to slink away if Micah was in the group with them and it was his turn to sign. None of the guys ever said anything about it, but one day Micah had seen Sam approach a small group and have a heated exchange. Although Micah had asked him what it was about when Sam jogged back to them, he evaded the question and immediately moved on to another group who wanted his attention.

  Was it Micah’s very first gay groupie? He grinned to himself as he walked over to Daril, who was signing a football.

  His heart sank a little when he saw the young kid beaming up at him. He looked all of about ten, and Micah could just imagine the ribbing he might get, no matter how lighthearted, from the other guys.

  “Hi,” Micah said, leaning over the railing to bring himself down a little to the kid’s size. “I’m Micah.”

  “I know who you are!” the kid gushed.

  The woman standing next to him, obviously his mother, grinned. “Maybe you should tell him your name, honey.”

  “Oh! I’m Carter.”

  “He’s your biggest fan,” Carter’s mum added.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Micah could see Daril laughing to himself as he moved on to his next fan.

  “I think you might be my only fan, so you’re definitely number one,” Micah told him.

&nb
sp; “The kids at school make fun of me for liking you,” Carter said matter-of-factly. “But they also make fun of me because I’m gay too.”

  Micah was sure his eyes were bugging out of his head like Daffy Duck seeing a train coming towards him, but he replied just as evenly, “You’re out at school? How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  Carter looked thirteen like Micah looked sixty. “Wow, that’s really brave of you. I couldn’t imagine being out at thirteen.”

  “You weren’t much older,” Carter pointed out.

  “I was sixteen. Almost seventeen.” Fuck, that seemed so long ago. “And I was outed.”

  He remembered Dec once saying to him that he could never have imagined being out at high school, but it showed times were changing when people like Micah and Emma were out at a younger age, and now Micah was seeing the same thing already. It didn’t mean things were blissful for those who were queer, but at least they were progressing. He just hoped Carter wasn’t finding it as difficult as Micah had.

  “There are idiots,” Carter admitted. “But I’ve got some good friends.”

  “That’s all you need.”

  “Plus people like you,” Carter’s mum said. “You’re such a great role model.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” Micah was sure he was blushing. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

  She shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”

  “Are there any other gay players?” Carter asked. “You can’t be the only one.”

  “Carter!” his mum cried, but he looked unabashed.

  Micah didn’t even know how he could field this one. “I’m sure there are. But I haven’t met any of them. They have to choose their own time to come out, just like you did.”

  Carter nodded, then turned around excitedly. “Look at this!”

  On the back of his guernsey was Micah’s number, and the name “JOHNSON” stitched across the back.

  Micah almost lost it there and then. All he could say was “wow.”

  “He had it custom made online,” his mum said.