by Harry Cook
35
Fin
My life feels like a nightmare. I’m sitting at the bottom of the stairs with my suitcase in front of me, a coffee in my hand and a plate of toast that I’ve taken two nibbles of. Dad is in the other room speaking quietly to Mum.
I’m going to Re-Souled.
Apparently Dad wasn’t away on business assessing some crappy crane. He was away arranging my spot in the programme.
I’m set to go for a week. Then, depending on how “well” I do, I am to either act “appropriately” or I have to change schools or move to Aunt Carla’s for time-out and another of my “fresh starts”.
I’m too confused to cry. Too heartbroken to rage or scream. I feel nothing but numb.
Last night with Rye was the most incredible night of my life. But getting bombarded with frantic texts at four a.m. from Dad freaking out not knowing where I was and demanding I come home wasn’t exactly a fairy-tale ending to my first time.
Having to dash out of our love nest, my head in a scramble from Dad’s onslaught while trying to garble at a dead-to-the-world Rye that I had to go was horrendous. I’ve got no idea if he registered what was going on. It made no sense to me either.
When I’d arrived back at the house, I thought of waking Elliot up but figured there’s no point. Dad took my phone off me the minute I walked through the door. I didn’t even get chance to text Rye. He sent me to bed, saying we had a big day ahead of us. I guess I was meant to rest, but I didn’t sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. My veins are pumping with adrenaline and anxiety and I can’t sit still.
Some horrible corner has been turned and I’ve decided there really is no winning this war. Mum and Dad think I’m broken. That I need fixing. Just as I was on cloud nine, now I’ve crashed back down to earth and straight into an inferno. I’m all out of fight.
When Mum and Dad come back in the room Mum’s obviously been crying and Dad has this weird look on his face. Sort of like apprehension. Like he’s not one hundred per cent sure of himself.
“Ready?” Dad asks, his head low and his voice softer than normal.
I shrug. Truth is, I have never felt more devastated in all my life. I’ve never felt more worthless, more utterly unlovable in my sixteen years on this planet as I do right this very second. I decide to try one more time.
“Do you remember when I was a kid and all I ever wanted was to listen to musical soundtracks or Cher albums?” I ask, giving a choked-up laugh at the memory.
Mum and Dad look at one another, then at me and then at the carpet.
“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to like me for who I am,” I say, letting a couple of tears escape and hit my jeans.
Dad glances up and what I can only describe as a shadow of doubt crosses his face.
For the first time in my life I see through his tough exterior to who he really is. A man who’s always feared anything that seems to be out of his control. He’s scared.
“We do love you, Fin,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. “I know you might not see it right now, but we are doing this for your own good.”
I shake my head and I’m about to stand when Mum comes over and sits next to me.
I feel her arm against mine and it’s trembling slightly.
She takes my hand in hers and I see her wipe her eye like she’s brushing a speck of dust away. It’s obviously an inconvenient time to have second thoughts.
“I love you,” Mum says.
I turn to look at her. I want to look into her eyes and see if I can see any of that love she’s talking about. I look and I look but I can’t get past the sudden sheer anger I’m feeling. I’m furious at her and at Dad and this entire situation. A resigned, low-banking rage that makes me want to scream.
I blink twice, stand, breathe in slowly, then take my suitcase and walk out the front door to the car. I don’t turn back. I say nothing. I keep walking until my bags are in the boot and my seat belt is buckled.
The sun is above the treetops when Dad gets in and starts the engine. I feel the car shift slowly forward when there’s a bang on the window.
Elliot is standing there and knocking like he wants to break through the glass.
“Open the door, Fin,” Elliot says, still knocking like a lunatic.
Dad stops the car and lowers the passenger window.
“What is going on?” Elliot says, leaning through the window like he’s considering hopping in. “Where . . . Dad, what’s going on? Where are you going?”
Dad’s about to reply when I see him stop and stare beyond Elliot to where Poppy, of all people, is standing, looking pale and terrified yet at the same time oddly badass.
“Hey, Fin,” she says, leaning in next to Elliot. “Hi, Mr Whittle.” She’s looking at me and then at Dad, slowly tilting her head like she can’t quite fathom whatever the hell is happening right now.
“Please step away from the window, you two,” Dad says, his hand on the handbrake.
I hear the back door of the car open and Mum climbs in. I glance around at her; her gaze is distant and she seems far away.
“Dad, seriously,” Elliot says, his voice pleading, his eyes desperate. “Where are you taking him?”
I’m out of words. I have no clue what to say but I lean forward to block Dad from view as best as I can. He’s started the engine again.
“Elliot, I’ll be fine,” I say, biting back the pain bubbling in my gut. “Pops, I need you to tell Rye how sorry I am.” That’s when the tears hit. They hit fast and don’t stop. “And that I really do love him.” I say the last bit almost under my breath. I don’t want Dad to be a part of this. This isn’t his story. It’s mine.
36
Fin
An ominous, heavy gate bears nothing but the number “17” engraved on a large metal plaque.
It lets us know we’ve made it to the right address.
Dad opens his window and presses the buzzer, which takes a few tries before it jolts to life.
A scratchy noise is audible through the intercom.
“Hello?” Dad says.
Another crackle.
“I’m . . . My son, Fin, is here to start the Re-Souled programme and I –”
The gate shudders and slowly opens, revealing a dismal building beyond. It’s honestly prison-like. Grey walls, big black doors and not a patch of greenery in sight, this is quite literally like walking into a nightmare. There’s no sign, no elaborate gesture to let us know that this is a place to destroy the lives of queer kids. It’s just so grey. Unnervingly grey. Even the leaves on the trees seem washed out of colour.
Dad finds a space to park near the entrance. Mum is silent and none of us knows what to say as Dad turns off the ignition. Deep silence.
Thankfully the quiet is broken by a knock on the window and a man, maybe mid-forties, short, dark hair, round spectacles and a bulbous nose, waves at us like we’re in a fish tank.
“Hello,” he says as Dad lowers his window.
The man is grossly cheerful amid all this greyness. He won’t stop smiling and it’s freaking me out.
“You must be Mr and Mrs Whittle,” he says, leaning in the car with an outstretched hand. “And you are Fin I take it?”
He looks to me and his smile wanes at the sight of yet another rebellious child.
“We’ll get you straightened out in no time,” he says. “Pun wholly intended.”
He laughs at his own joke, but none of us moves.
“I’m Greg. President of Re-Souled and ping-pong world champion.” He chuckles again. “I’m not serious.”
Yeah, I gathered.
“Let’s head in and I can give you the tour.”
Mum, Dad and I get out of the car and follow him inside, my one duffle bag slung over my shoulder.
Inside, the entry hall is one long corridor with a sign that says “GOD IS LOVE” on a beam overhead. How ironic given that I feel anything but loved right now.
“Here at Re-Souled the total number of our young gu
ests at any given time never exceeds ten. We like to ensure we have all of our attention focused on a small group to achieve maximum results.”
Mum takes a peek in one of the rooms and I can’t tell if the look on her face is one of fear or plain indifference at how boring this place is.
Dad follows a few paces behind Greg and seems to do a double-take at everything his eyes land on.
“The days are very straightforward. Both figuratively and literally,” Greg carries on and I consider taking off my shoe and lobbing it at the back of his head. Could he be any more absurd?
“We start each day with an hour of prayer followed by a group meeting discussing scripture and the word of the Lord.”
We turn a corner past a dining room and head out of a set of double doors and into a bricked yard.
“All meals are served in our cafeteria and we have regular group activities outside to impose a sense of masculinity for our young men and femininity for the young women.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes so hard I feel dizzy.
“Is something the matter?” Greg asks.
“A lot, actually,” I say, which sends Dad’s eyebrows up into his hairline. It’s a warning, loud and clear.
Greg smiles in this patronising way that both infuriates me and creeps me the fuck out.
“You’ll settle in soon enough, I’m sure,” he says, shutting me down.
I look at Mum but she won’t meet my eyes.
Greg gives us more of a rundown of the day-to-day insanity that is the Re-Souled programme before we’re back at the entrance hall.
“I’ll give you a moment to say your farewells. Remember, Mr and Mrs Whittle, when you see your son next, he will be back to his old self, so have no fear.” Greg smirks and stands to the side.
I really want to scream but my mouth feels as dry as a desert. Up until now I’ve kept myself fairly composed but panic is shooting through me and I want to get out. I want to smash a window, break down a door, run as far away from this hateful, soulless place as I possibly can.
Mum and Dad don’t look too brilliant either. The blood has actually drained from their faces.
“Please, I –” I start.
“Just give it a try,” Dad interrupts with forced enthusiasm, as if I was a little kid and he was trying to persuade me to stick at football training. “It’s not for long. A few days. It will do you good. They know their stuff.” He glances down, looking anything but certain, hesitates for a moment but then turns and leaves.
Mum and I stare at each other and I can see the battle going on in her head. Her eyes are shiny and she looks exhausted.
“Fin,” she says, taking an unsteady step towards me.
I take a step back. Does she really expect a farewell embrace?
“Fin, give it a couple of days. If it’s not working out, call me and I’ll come and pick you up. Straight away.”
Is she kidding? I want to leave now.
“Just . . . a couple of days,” Mum begs as she leans in and kisses me. I feel a tear hit my cheek and realise it’s hers.
I hold myself together as she stumbles away.
Greg is still standing there, arms folded, as if other people’s distress is his favourite spectator sport.
I barge past him into a grey corridor and sink to the floor.
My heart hammers, my ears echo with the white noise circling me.
My eyes blur and pulse into darkness.
I can’t do it. I can’t do this.
37
Rye
I grab my phone like it’s a winning lottery ticket about to disappear down the drain.
But I’m disappointed when I see who it is.
Instead of Fin telling me what the hell’s going on, it’s Aunt Sandy. She’s created a chat titled “Sandy’s Surprise Party” and then promptly left the group.
Helpful.
I put my phone down before burrowing my face into my pillow. I manage to turn my head before I actually suffocate myself and catch a glimpse of Fin’s firefly jar glowing to life. I feel another pang in my chest.
Life has a funny way of punching you in the face at the exact moment when you feel like you’ve got a bit of a spring in your step.
Thelma’s snoring is earth-shattering even for her, so I head out to the back yard and sit on the deck, listening instead to the laughter of a family of kookaburras overhead somewhere.
“Hey, Rye-bread,” Mum says from behind me.
“Hey,” I say. “Where’ve you guys been?”
“Carl’s gone home to get a clean set of clothes.”
“Hopefully pants,” I say.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Mum says. “And I got you this.” She hands me a small paper bag.
“This had better be a cookie,” I say, taking the bag and immediately realising it’s far too light to be a cookie. Dammit.
I open up some crumpled tissue crumpled paper and peek inside.
“Rose quartz,” Mum says with an eager look that can’t help but make me smile. It’s so innocent and full of hope. “Great for the love life.”
I smile. “Thanks, Mum.”
I’m turning the pale pink stone in my hand and letting the light catch it when I hear the front door being battered like a piñata.
“RYE!”
I go to find Poppy standing looking like she’s been running, which can’t possibly be true because you won’t catch Poppy running outside of a P.E. class.
I open the fly screen with a creak and find Elliot, Fin’s older brother, standing next to her, also breathless but less so than Poppy.
“My god. Is there a grizzly bear on the loose or something?” I say, looking Poppy up and down to make sure we’re not all about to be mauled.
“Funny,” Poppy says, clutching her side. “But no. We need to talk.”
At which, she barges past me and heads straight for my room. This must be serious.
Elliot stands awkwardly for a moment before reaching out to shake my hand. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, returning the gesture and motioning for him to come inside.
I don’t know what’s going on but I feel weirdly on edge.
“What the hell is happening?” I throw at Poppy because I can’t look at Elliot. His features, his stance, everything, are so much like Fin’s, and it hurts my eyes.
“It’s Fin,” Poppy says, her breathing calmer now. “He’s gone.”
“Yeah, I figured that this morning when I woke up and he’d upped and left,” I say, my tone venomous as a brown snake. I’m really not in the mood.
Poppy looks up at me, puzzled. Elliot seems tired and panicked and wired all at once. Like his body can’t quite process what his mind is thinking fast enough.
“Do you know where?” Poppy asks.
I roll my eyes. “Sure, Pops. That’s why I’m feeling so cheery.”
She ignores the sarcasm in my voice and Elliot cuts in.
“Rye,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Mum and Dad have sent Fin away somewhere. It all happened this morning. We have no idea where, or, or . . . or . . .”
“What?” I ask, my voice catching in the back of my throat.
Guilt washes over me like a bucket of cold water.
“What, and nobody knows where he is? Surely you of all people should know something. I mean, you’re his brother!” I say, practically yelling.
But Elliot stays calm, not letting me project all my anger on to him. “I never expected them to send him away. I mean, they moved him here. I didn’t expect them to offload him somewhere else.”
“Call June!” I scream, my blood boiling.
Frantically, I start searching for my own phone because everyone is moving at a glacial pace and it’s driving me insane.
“She’s on her way,” Poppy says, slumping into the chair near my bed.
At last, I unearth my phone and dial Fin’s number. Five times. It goes to voicemail five times.
“Shit!” I shout, feeling utterly crushed as I hit c
all on Fin’s name yet again.
But I get nothing. Nothing but the same voicemail over and over.
*
By the time June arrives I’m sitting on my bed, my knee bouncing up and down like it’s trying to detach itself from my body.
It’s a miracle I haven’t had a panic attack yet, but at least my body is cooperating with me for now.
“Okay, I think I’m up to date with everything,” June says, rolling her sleeves up.
Her and Poppy shuggle up next to each other on the beanbag chair near my bed.
“Sweet,” Elliot says, looking between the two of them and smiling.
“What is?” Poppy says, taking June’s hand in hers.
“The way . . . I mean. You.” He stammers a bit. “You look sweet together.” He blushes and then stares at the floor.
“I’m glad Fin had you,” Poppy says, letting the poor guy off the hook.
“Has,” I say. “Can we get back to what matters here?”
June brushes her hair behind her ears. “Did he say anything to you, Elliot? Anything about where he might be going?”
“No. I don’t think he even knew he was going until today . . .” Elliot shakes his head. “He looked so scared and –”
His voice chokes out a hiccup and he puts his head in his hands.
We all look at one another, unsure of the best course of action.
“It’s gonna be okay, you know,” I say gently, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Because it has to be okay.”
Even so, all I can think to do is to try dialling Fin some more. We’re all just listening to a pointless ringtone, when June gasps and launches herself out of the beanbag.
“Re-Souled,” she says, clapping her hand over her mouth.
“No way,” I say, dismissing the idea as my stomach flips over and over. “Fin’s parents aren’t exactly gay-friendly, but they’re surely not that crazy.”
“I’d put money on it,” Poppy chimes in. “It makes sense. Just look at how Fin’s dad’s been behaving since he found out about you guys.”
Elliot lifts his head and looks between all three of us. “Re-Souled?” he says carefully. “You’re right. Dad had a booklet from there.”