Will

by Maria Boyd

  Click: no more Dad.

  Hundreds of images and with each flash an electric bolt. The music intensified the enormity of my pain. Ripping at the bandages that had been caked on for so long.

  Will?

  Ms. Sefton was beside me, her voice calling a halt to the images.

  Will, are you OK?

  What, miss?

  She was crouched beside me, whispering, eyes concerned. I frowned, disorientated.

  Aren’t you feeling well?

  It was only then I became conscious of my head in my hands. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

  Will, are you all right? You look upset.

  I looked around to see if anyone else was watching. Chris. I looked down.

  Will?

  I spat out each word.

  Yeah, all right, miss. I’m all right. Just leave it.

  Flight.

  I reached around and grabbed my stuff. I was out the door before she could say anything else.

  Will!

  That was all I needed. He must have still been helping Brother Pat move the gear back after the rehearsal. I kept on toward the gates. Exit was the only thing on my mind.

  Will! Wait for me!

  I heard his footsteps behind me break into a run.

  Will, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave school before Admin.

  For fuck’s sake, Zach! Do you ever shut up!

  Exposed. Ready to attack, destroy.

  But that’s the problem with you, isn’t it? You can’t shut up, you have to tell the world everything.

  No, Will, that’s not true. My dad says—

  Shut up about your fucking father. I’m so sick of hearing about him. Do you think you’re the only person in the world to have a fucking father?

  No, Will … I’m just—

  Jesus, he sounds like a king freak anyway. No wonder you are such a geek when you’ve got the father of all geeks showing you the way.

  That’s not very nice, Will.

  Nice? I’ll tell you what’s not nice! What’s not nice is opening your mouth about stuff that is none of your fucking business.

  By this time Zach’s normally ancient, innocent eyes had filled with tears. It should have been enough to shut me up. But I couldn’t stop. All I wanted to do was to hurt and I didn’t care who or what I hurt as long as I didn’t have to feel the pain myself.

  Don’t give me that look, pretending to be Mr. Fucking Innocent.

  What?

  You couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to go around pretending that you had friends. That’s it, isn’t it. You couldn’t keep your trap shut. You had to show off that you knew Mark was gay. Well, now the school knows about it. Good on you, Zach, you’re a real fucking hero.

  But Will … I really—

  Don’t bother, you reject! And you know what else? Don’t hang around me anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you.

  By this time I had found my way to the gates.

  Do you hear me?

  I looked up to see him standing in the middle of the playground, bag by his side, face crumpled. For one second I felt the urge to make him better again.

  Do you hear me?

  He called out a very husky OK.

  I disappeared around the gates.

  He was left in the middle of the playground. Alone.

  Bed

  That night I shut myself in my room and didn’t go anywhere all weekend. Mum kept asking if everything was all right. I told her I was feeling crook. Chris rang. Elizabeth rang. Mark didn’t ring. Zach didn’t ring. I wanted to be left alone in complete blackness, in a void where I didn’t have to think, where I didn’t have to remember, where there were no more images. I lay in bed in fear of the slide show starting again. But it didn’t. Eventually, under the doona, in the blackness, things became blank again.

  I convinced Mum I was too sick to go to rehearsals. I could tell she was concerned but she didn’t say much. I knew Brother Pat would be expecting me, but I couldn’t front this time. Mum rang him and said I was in bed.

  I wrapped the doona firmly around me and tried to sleep. I was vaguely aware of different voices outside my door, but each time I would roll over and eventually fall back to sleep.

  Sunday night I got up, had a shower and made it to the lounge just to try to decrease the Patricia Armstrong stress. She’d been trying to get me to eat all weekend. Sunday’s attempt was some sort of soup for beating the winter blues. It was healthy and full of vegetables and I couldn’t touch it. But I didn’t tell her that. So I sat and watched the telly and pretended to eat.

  One good thing was I didn’t have to worry about school. Mum already had that covered.

  Well, if you’ve been sleeping all weekend and can’t eat, you can’t go to school tomorrow. Musical or no musical! I’ll ring Helen and let her know that you’ll definitely be off tomorrow. If you’re not any better by the end of the day, we’ll make a doctor’s appointment for Tuesday.

  I left the doctor’s surgery with a certificate that declared I had a virus and was off for the rest of the week. It was one small victory because it meant, to Mum and the rest of the world, that I was legitimately sick.

  I didn’t know what I was. All I knew was that the world felt a hell of a lot better when I was asleep.

  On Thursday afternoon I heard something being slid under my door. I pulled on the doona even tighter and turned to the wall. I made up scenarios in my head about what the note contained: Elizabeth telling me how much she missed me. Zach saying he didn’t hate my guts. Mark telling me he understood why I’d acted like a dickhead again. And for a flicker of a second it was Dad, saying I hadn’t disappointed him, that he was back and everything would return to normal. It was only because I couldn’t deal with any more scenarios that I pushed myself out of bed and picked up the envelope. I found myself staring at my name written in swirly, old-fashioned writing.

  Dear Will,

  I am very sorry to hear you are ill. Your mother tells me you have a heavy flu.

  I wished to write and tell you how much support you have offered me over the past weeks throughout the musical. Even though I may not have openly acknowledged the reasons why you were initially involved in the musical, I of course knew. However, I always believe in giving people a clean slate, and I must say over the past weeks you have filled yours admirably.

  Your work with the younger boys has been marvelous. You have demonstrated kindness, good humor and great patience in your dealings with them. You have guided them masterfully and diligently, making sure they offer the best of themselves as young musicians.

  Your own skill as a musician is also worthy of note, not only on the guitar but also in conducting the band. You are in fact more talented musically than you realize. This is something I urge you to continue with.

  I doubt you are aware of just how much you have achieved in such a short amount of time. Your leadership capabilities are very strong and obvious, Will. People respond very warmly to you because you are open and friendly. Your dealings with young Zachariah Cohen in particular have shown compassion and brotherly care.

  I am aware that the musical was not the place where Will Armstrong ever thought he would find himself, but you have certainly lived up to the expectations of those people who spoke so highly of you. Congratulations, Will. I’m not the only person to have noticed this but I did think I should take the time to let you know and perhaps assist your recovery.

  We will all be very disappointed if we don’t see you tomorrow; however, if your illness prevents this from happening, please know you have all of our blessings.

  Yours sincerely,

  Brother Patrick Murphy

  I sat there for a good ten minutes on the side of my bed looking at the letter. At times it blurred. I was an emotional cripple, that much was pretty obvious. Who would have thought? I’d always assumed I had Brother Pat fooled into thinking I was in the musical for the love of it. I knew what this meant. As much as I would have loved t
o have pulled the doona over my head I knew I couldn’t ignore it. The slides started again but this time it was a different show: Brother Pat, the geeks, Elizabeth, Andrews, the chorus girls, the Freak and Mark. The last two slides kept repeating.

  The old bugger had worked his mysterious ways again and I bet he bloody knew it too.

  The incredible shrinking hypocrite

  The next morning I pried the doona off and pushed myself out of bed. I could picture Chris telling me how much I looked like shit. The way Mum was carrying on in the kitchen she would’ve obviously agreed with him. I managed to delude her into thinking I was on some heroic mission to save the musical and Brother Patrick couldn’t survive without me. The more she zapped me with her beams of pride the more I shrank into a very tiny hypocrite. Man, did I have her fooled. I only just succeeded in getting her to let me ride my bike to school. I told her I needed to clear my head. At least that part was true.

  I arrived just after homeroom and hid in the hall. I figured if I stayed out of people’s way, did my job and went home then I couldn’t hurt anyone else. Part of my gut kept nagging me about the unresolved stuff with the Freak and Mark. But there was only so much facing-up a guy could do in one day. Today was about keeping Brother Pat happy and me from having some sort of breakdown.

  Good to see you here, Will.

  I nearly fell off the stage. Brother Pat had appeared and was standing behind me.

  You don’t look too good, Will, maybe—

  I cut him off.

  No, I’m fine, Brother, really. You just gave me a bit of a shock.

  I stopped. And thanks for the note.

  Nothing but the truth, Will. Sometimes we all need a bit of encouragement to keep going.

  He began to arrange the music stands as we talked, and I automatically fell into helping.

  I said as much to your mother when I rang to find out how you were. I told her the young ones wouldn’t know what to do without you. Especially young Zach.

  He looked directly at me when he said it.

  He’s looked quite lost over the past couple of days.

  I busied myself with the stands, shrinking with each word.

  No doubt he will pick up when he sees you.

  I reduced even farther in size. The incredible shrinking hypocrite.

  Brother stood facing the hall doors and sighed appreciatively.

  Here they come, right on cue. Come on, boys, set yourselves up. Look who’s back!

  I looked in the direction of the Freak. I was sure he’d seen me because he was making it so obvious he hadn’t that he must have. He was either going through his bag or cleaning out his mouthpiece or looking the other way. His awkwardness was killing me. I had just decided to go over and tell him what an arsehole I was when Brother started with the school song for the St. Andrew’s Day service. Considering I was the guy who was leading them I figured I’d better not stuff up that job as well. I faced the band, made sure I didn’t look at the Freak and started. It was good to have an excuse to stop thinking and have something to do, even if I did have to wave a little stick at some geeks in front of the entire school. All my energy was going into getting the job done. I was too tired to worry about anyone and the potential for anything. Let them go for it.

  We didn’t have time for a break after the service. The band stayed onstage practicing for the run of the musical. I liked my state of unthinking and unfeeling and was determined for it to stay that way. I led the geeks through all the numbers and we sounded good. If I hadn’t been feeling so wiped out I might actually have felt proud.

  I sensed the change in atmosphere before I saw the girls arrive. Excitement and hormones buffeted the air. It wasn’t often girls found their way onto St. Andrew’s turf. I was aware that maybe I should be a little concerned about how the boys would react to Elizabeth, but I figured that she and the other girls were more than capable of looking after themselves. After all, they were only performing to Years 7 and 8 and they would have been snuck in the back way to avoid testosterone-driven groupies.

  I had plenty to do to keep me out of the way. Brother Patrick had given me a whole list of jobs, including making sure that everything was present and accounted for and in the right spot—meaning instruments, music stands, leads and amps—overseeing sound checks and the tuning of the instruments, and ensuring the sheet music was in the right order and ready to go. I wondered fleetingly how someone like me who did everything to make sure I had a low profile had become so high profile. But for the moment it didn’t matter because it kept me busy, and out of the way of the leading man and lady. Elizabeth did call out and ask me with her hands why I hadn’t returned her calls. Mark didn’t even acknowledge my existence.

  I was the only person in the hall who wasn’t pumped. Having the juniors there made it work. They were excited enough about missing out on school. The oldies from the homes were already in love with the show before it even started. It was exactly the type of audience you wanted for a practice run.

  The geeks were noisier than usual but, unlike most other times, I didn’t tell them to shut up. I sat back and happily let Brother Pat run the show. The Freak hid behind his trombone and didn’t move. I could hear Andrews delivering his third last motivational speech to everyone backstage.

  The lights went out and we started with the overture. Elizabeth opened with her first line and it was on….

  Only ten hours to go before it was over.

  One down, two to go

  Brother Pat seemed to think it was a good run-through. I wasn’t really watching, although I did notice that one of the Year 7 girls came on wearing the wrong costume, but I think that was about it. Most people were hanging around school or meeting up early before opening night. Me? I left school the way I’d arrived, slinking out, grabbing my bike and riding fast all the way home.

  After I’d had a shower Mum said I looked better than she had seen me all week. Which was a good thing considering I had some serious spade work to do with Elizabeth about not returning her phone calls. I couldn’t even think about the Freak and Mark.

  I tried to tell Mum I was happy to ride to school but this time she wasn’t having it. When we pulled up outside the hall I got myself and my guitar case out of the car. Foolishly, I thought I was safe. She leaned over across the seat and spoke to me out the window.

  Will?

  Yes, Mum?

  I am so very proud of all that you have achieved.

  I shrank to the smallest I had shrunk all day. Her eyes were glassy and she had one of those I’m going to cry smiles.

  I couldn’t deal with any more scenes or any more praise. If only these people knew what a hypocrite I was. I was only just keeping it together. I knew I had to make a speedy exit before she mentioned the D word.

  Thanks, Mum, I mumbled, then I grabbed my stuff and ran.

  Mum’s words stayed in my head. What did she mean, achieved? Yeah, I had achieved in hurting people and acting like a cowardly dickhead. And proud? Proud of what? It wasn’t as if I had transformed into bloody Chris! I mean, had she forgotten how I’d gotten into all of this in the first place?

  I changed into my muso black and made my way out to the band. The unfeeling, uncaring state that had got me through the day evaporated. My guts started to churn like they do before you have to sit a big exam or play in a soccer final. I walked toward the pit, telling myself to chill out. I looked over at the Freak and watched Mark do his final warm-up and my guts began to churn even more. I sat down, pulled out the guitar and knew that at least for the next three hours I was going to be safe.

  I wasn’t the only one on edge. Andrews was too, but considering this was all his doing I didn’t have any sympathy for the bloke. He was onstage throwing instructions with the accuracy and speed of one of those dart players from England.

  Everyone should be in their positions!

  Offstage and behind those curtains!

  Where’s the stage manager? Make sure that the props are where they should be
.

  You, yes you, get out of the wings, you can be seen!

  Right, band, two minutes until we start the overture. For God’s sake, someone give the kid with the clarinet a hand!

  OK, the lights are dimming and one-two-three, play …

  Brother Pat, on the other hand, looked as laid-back as any jazz player who’d been around the scene for fifty years.

  Right, Will, are you ready to go?

  Yes, Brother….

  I became anonymous in the darkness of the pit. I listened to the geeks start the first bars of the overture and for the first time that night I relaxed. It was nearly always like that with music for me. I knew for the next three hours I was safe, but more importantly I knew it was three hours where I wouldn’t stuff up. It was only when the whole audience stood and clapped and the house lights came on that I came back to reality and realized that the first night was over. There was no way anyone could not be lifted and carried around by the buzz in the room. It was like the kids were Hollywood stars from the amount of applause and whoops and hurrahs they were getting.

  The Year 7 geeks were all over themselves with excitement. Brother Patrick was pumping the hands of old boys who were offering their congratulations.

  The best one yet! The best one yet! he exclaimed.

  I could feel myself being carried away with everyone else. I figured after the last few days I was going to get on and ride for as long as I could. I watched Mark and Elizabeth kiss and hug each other, with Andrews, Brother Pat and Ms. Sefton right in among it. I was overwhelmed by a need to make things right. I watched Mark leave the stage and I followed.

  Round one

  Great show, Mark.

  I caught him just before he went into the change rooms. His face shut down as soon as he saw it was me.

  Thanks.

  I continued. Look, I’ve been away, I’ve been—

  He interrupted. Sick, yeah, Chris said you were crook. So how are you feeling now?

  His voice was distant.

  Yeah, no, better.

  I was no longer floating anywhere. It was pretty obvious that Mark wasn’t OK, and knew I wanted to apologize for being piss weak in front of everybody and not backing him up. I knew what I wanted to say but I couldn’t say it. Looking at Mark, I began to wonder whether saying anything was going to make any difference anyway.