by Scott Monk
Which probably meant he was a loner like me most of the time.
‘That’s kinda like the Thunderjets, y’know,’ I said. ‘They used me then dumped me. The only people who stood by me were my brother and a couple of the guys like Marc Hingley. Shows you how much my friendship means to some people.’ I breathed out hard. ‘Absolutely nothing.’
‘I heard about the stabbing. Is it true about Barry Wheeler?’
Barry Wheeler. He sure was popular at the moment. Everyone was talking about him. It made me sick. I really needed that cigarette now. All that was missing was a flame. Were there two sticks handy?
‘Yer, he did it. Knifed the poor old guy then ran. Tried to frame me for attempted murder.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘Eventually.’
‘So that’s why you’re out of the Thunderjets?’
‘No, I’m out because I wanted to get out. Wheeler attacked the guy to try to get me back into the gang.’
Elias shifted his seating. ‘What’s it like being in a gang? Is it like the movies?’
‘Nope, nothing like them. Don’t get any wise ideas. A movie is over in two hours. Running with a crew is a six-to-eight-year commitment if a guy doesn’t get out soon enough. And usually when they do they’re in jail or close to being in one. Wheeler’s on his way already.’
After hesitating, Elias asked, ‘Did you ever get scared?’
‘Nah,’ I said, putting the smoke back in the packet. ‘Bombers aren’t scared of anything.’
Elias knew I was lying.
‘Yer, okay. I did get scared. But only when I was alone. Gangs give you this sense of power, y’know, when you walk down the street together. You ain’t scared of being jumped or nothing. But when you’re alone, man, that’s when a lot of guys wet their pants. Bombers by themselves are protected only by two things — their left fist and their right fist. And when twelve kids from Campsie or Bankstown trap you in an alley, those two fists might as well be feathers. That’s why people like me have to watch our backs all the time. I’m alone. The Jets aren’t my shield any longer. And there’s a lot of wannabes out to make a rep for themselves — from outside gangs and inside my old gang.’
‘How are you going to deal with Wheeler then? Won’t he use some of those wannabes to get at you? A lot of them are here at school. Won’t that mean trouble?’
‘Might. Might not. If any punk wants to earn his stripes by taking me on, let him. He’ll regret it. Nobody’s gonna take me down. It’s as simple as that. Even though I’m outta the gang I’ll keep up my image here at school by pushing round a couple of kids occasionally. Wheeler and the Jets will come after me for sure if they think I’ve gone soft. So if I, y’know, say “Get lost, geek” to your face, don’t take it personally.’
‘As long as you don’t say “Get lost geek” then hit me, that’ll be okay,’ Elias smiled weakly. He still didn’t trust me.
I tried to ignore it. ‘You could probably floor me if I did anyway.’
‘As if.’
‘Don’t kid yourself. That sixty kilo frame of yours could scare — what?’
‘A few nervous chickens.’
‘Yer, but they’d be chickens with tattoos. Don’t overlook that point.’
We laughed politely. It was forced, but a relief. I hadn’t laughed since the basketball game. Memories of dobbing Wheeler into the police, the midnight meeting, one shredded assignment, my bag up the flagpole and Husk’s silent warning made Monday more miserable than ever. Besides, Elias was the first person I’d talked to in a long time not involved in any part of this entire mess. And he’d never spill his guts. He was still a geek and me, a bomber. My influence over the playground was greater than his.
The conversation staled and I quickly flicked through my memory for bits of info on Elias. ‘Who was that photo of in your room?’
‘Which one?’
‘The one by the bed. A Lebanese guy about seventeen.’
Elias’s eyes dropped to the ground as he drew in the dirt with a twig. ‘It’s Joe Saad.’
‘Joe Saad from The Tower Club? Wow. He’s changed a lot. I didn’t recognise him. You two still friends?’
‘Yer, the best.’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘He’s in France for a week. He’s on his way to see his grandfather in Beirut.’
‘He’d be close to finishing school, wouldn’t he?’
‘Finished last year. He’s going to join the navy when he returns from overseas. He’s already a cadet and all that macho stuff.’
‘I can imagine Joe a navy man. He always was a gung ho kind of guy.’
‘Maybe too gung ho.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing. I don’t want him joining the navy, that’s all.’
I waited for an explanation. None came. I reckoned Joe might have been Elias’s only friend.
‘Remember how he always used to bring a broom and a roster of things to do at The Tower?’ I said, uneasy with the silence.
‘Only because we had nothing else to do,’ Elias smiled.
‘Nothing? We did a lot of things — played soldiers, read comics, threw rocks at girls and flew the fastest ships through deep space killing aliens. Kid stuff, sure, but it was more than nothing.’
Elias’s face warmed with forgotten memories. ‘The Solar Runner was the quickest heap of boxes ever to jump to hyperspace, wasn’t it? And you were the best pilot to escape a sun going nova.’
‘Yer, but you were the best gunner from the Academy,’ I said. Visions of nine-year-olds Captain Mitch Jarrett and Elias Eagle-eye Batrouney caused us to laugh. ‘See, you did enjoy it.’
‘Yer, I did.’
‘What a blast.’
‘Those were the days.’
Before high school and my dropping Elias as a friend. Before a kid came up to me and said, ‘Ever heard of the Thunderjets?’ Before drugs and booze and social expectations. Before we were forced to grow up. What changed us to make us treat each other like strangers? What made friends become enemies once they reached high school? Why’d we live up to so many lies? So somebody cool would notice us? Talk to us? Be our friend? It was all a con.
‘Hey, have you been back to The Tower since primary school?’ I asked.
‘Once,’ Elias answered. ‘But it didn’t feel the same. I was the only one there.’
‘Wanta go to The Tower this afternoon? For old times’ sake?’
Elias looked at me suspiciously. ‘Yes, okay,’ he said. ‘What’s so special about it?’
‘It’s the only time in my life I’ve been happy. I want to find out why.’
CHAPTER TEN
We stopped by Elias’s house after school to pick up of couple of old BMX bikes. Standing at the back of the garage, caked in red mud, nothing about those bikes had changed in four years. When we were eleven the bikes had been enormous. Passers-by always laughed as we rode down the street, barely reaching the pedals and steering by our fingertips. Now, at fifteen, their size was exactly right.
The ride to Beaman Park was a good kilometre. On the border of Earlwood and Marrickville, you needed to cross Cook’s River to reach it. The park was part of a long reserve running along the polluted waterway. It was cosy, sheltered and heavily populated with trees. Picnickers with young families entertained themselves with swings, seesaws and games of chasies. No one cared about The Tower. It belonged to us alone. It was a landmark to say this was our space, just like knights and lords during the Middle Ages. The footbridge over the river gave us a moat and drawbridge to defend, and Flinders Road behind us an escape route if any big kids stormed our fortress and kicked us out.
That only happened once. One day, a Wednesday I think, we were minding our own business when these high school bullies with more zits than brain cells rode down to Beaman Park on their metallic steeds. They wanted to check The Tower out as a possible smoking haven from their parents. When we returned from buying lollies from a place we nickn
amed the Wog Shop (long before political correctness was ever heard of) they set their dog, Mallet, onto us. Cornered, we gave in and left the bullies to savour their victory with nicotine. But they swallowed their smoke rings when Sean returned with fellow Heart Pirate, Joel, to teach them a few lessons about chivalry. Rule one was simple: Sean and Joel were in year eight; the bullies — seven. Sean and Joel outranked the bullies. That meant they had bigger friends. The bullies left.
When I reached high school the next year the same bullies tormented me for the first two weeks. That was until I joined the Thunderjets. As for the other guys (those who hadn’t been accepted into private schools or moved), they were bagged until the novelty wore out or they found a safe place to hide during recess.
I didn’t know how many old Tower Clubbers lived in Marrickville any more. They’d all gone their own ways once high school started. I guessed four or five still hung out around the place, all unrecognisable faces in the school’s production line. None of them hung with me though. Hey, I didn’t blame them. They were good kids. I was a bomber.
Chucking our bikes on the grass, Elias and I walked over to the huge gum tree still housing The Tower in its canopy. It looked smaller now, and ugly. Wooden walls once strong now warped with age in the overcast light. Branches stabbed through open windows curtained with cobwebs. Steps we had hammered into the trunk rotted in a pile at the tree’s roots, their nails rusted into pins. The vision was a letdown. My youth and happiness were inside The Tower’s walls. Now neglected, it had lost its magic. No one played in there, dreamed the same dreams I did or looked out its second storey and saw the kingdom of Sydney ready to be conquered. The Tower was little more than a refuge for bugs and pigeons wanting to escape the rain, not a place to be free and innocent.
‘Is this The Tower?’ Elias asked, picking up one of the steps. ‘We never would’ve let it get like this.’
‘Joe’d have us all on repair duty if he saw so much as a splinter.’
‘And him on kitchen duty,’ Elias grinned.
‘Not that he cooked anything. Remember how he used to pinch a couple of bucks from his old lady’s purse and buy a couple of plastic spoons and a tub of ice cream from the Wog Shop? We’d all sit there after doing the chores and dig into the half-melted Neapolitan.’
‘That’s right,’ Elias laughed. ‘That was until I spewed my guts up one evening after eating three-quarters of a tub. My parents rang up Joe’s and complained how their son was corrupting my healthy diet.’
‘Yer, and remember the times we’d race along the river trying to beat each other?’
‘We pretended we were racing dirtbikes. Joe, you and me would line up to find out who was the fastest. I always won because I came here every morning before school to practise.’
‘You did? You never told anybody that.’
‘We never told each other a lot of things.’
Elias looked away.
‘Yer, I’ve been meaning to talk to you bout that,’ I said, forcing the words out. ‘There’s a lot of things I want to say to you, Elias. Like: sorry. I thought being cool was the best way to avoid the bullying you went through. I never picked on you or anything. I drew the line at that.’
‘But your gang did. They were your responsibility. All you had to say was stop.’
I shrugged. ‘Yer. I s’pose so.’
‘You were my friend once, Mitch —’
‘I just said I’m sorry —’
‘No, let me have my say. I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.’
Elias stared at the thundery horizon and crossed his arms. He still wouldn’t look at me. ‘A few years ago we were friends,’ he continued. ‘We’d spend days just goofing around together, like racing our bikes. Sometimes we’d stay at each other’s house or go on holidays down the coast. Joe was my best friend but you were my second closest friend. I looked up to you, Mitch. You always seemed to know what to do. You always stuck up for the rest of us guys whenever there was trouble. Then we went to high school. You joined the Thunderjets and forgot me. Didn’t you care your gang was bullying me, Mitch? Didn’t I mean anything to you?’
‘Of course you did.’
‘Then why did you treat me like that?’
‘Everything changed, Elias. I couldn’t help it.’
‘What changed? Was it me?’
‘No, it wasn’t you.’
‘Then who?’
I sighed deeply. ‘Me.’
Sitting down against the tree trunk, I started throwing rocks towards the river. I felt like an idiot. Elias was right. I never took responsibility for my actions and people got hurt. People like Elias. And Sean. And Allison. And, if she was still alive, Mum.
The confession startled Elias. He was ready for a fight, or, at least, a lie. He wasn’t expecting the truth. Unsure what to say, he sat down across from me and probed my eyes to see if I wasn’t having him on.
‘It’s the truth, man. I changed. My life changed. My mother died and I didn’t know who to turn to. I joined the Thunderjets because they were the only ones who listened to me. No one else seemed to care.’
‘What about Sean?’
‘Sean was a wreck. He couldn’t help himself.’
‘Your father?’
‘He started drinking. Never been off the booze since.’
‘Never?’
‘Never. That’s what made it harder on me and Sean. We had to look after Allison and an alcoholic. I couldn’t stand it after a few weeks.’
Elias picked up a stick and started drawing circles in the dirt again. He felt as uncomfortable listening to my story as I did telling it.
‘What happened then?’
‘That’s when a Jet called Cougar slapped me on the back and said he wanted to be my buddy. Everything in my life just became more and more screwed up after that: school, home, drugs …’
The last word echoed loudly in our minds and I left it at that. Elias probably knew I smoked marijuana for a while but the fact made me uneasy. I wanted to forget that part of my life.
‘But my mum’s death isn’t an excuse for how I treated you, man,’ I added. ‘That was years ago. I should’ve stopped the bullying by now. I was wrong. All I can say is I’m sorry.’
Elias stopped drawing for a moment to weigh the truth of my words. Bringing up my mother’s death cooled his anger. In a way, I wish it hadn’t. I deserved an ear-bashing. Especially one from him.
‘I guess you’re not the only one I’m angry with,’ he said. ‘I’m angry at a couple of the other guys for ditching me too. I thought we’d all be buddies forever, Mitch — you, me, Joe and everyone else from The Tower Club. We all swore it before we began high school. But it never worked out that way. We met new people and drifted apart.’
Elias snapped the stick he was holding in two and threw the halves away. ‘Sometimes I wish I could be nine again when The Tower Club was still together. But it’s not the Club I miss, it’s the friends.’
He stood up to dust himself off.
I joined him.
‘You don’t have any friends, do you?’
Elias looked at me with spooked eyes. He prepared to give the same spiel he had at school about how his friends didn’t go to school with him no more, but swallowed the lie.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Not even Joe?’
‘Well, maybe Joe.’
‘Maybe?’
‘He’s got other friends now. I call him occasionally, but I get the feeling I’m part of his past rather than his future.’
‘So that’s why you don’t want him to join the navy? He’s the only friend you’ve got.’
Elias nodded.
I realised then that he and I were the same. We were loners. But not happy ones. But at least I had Sean. Elias had nobody.
Being a loner was tough on a guy. Whereas I chose to be one, Elias didn’t. The whole school was freezing him out because he stuck to himself most of the time. I guess he brought some of it on himself though. Saying
people were fake and artificial was wrong. He probably thought the same thing about me before today. Maybe he still did.
‘Times have changed a lot, haven’t they?’ I asked.
‘Yer, a real lot.’
A group of four kids, aged about eight and still innocent, pulled up at the riverside and watched us. Beaman Park belonged to them now; a place after school to swap basketball cards and talk of saving pocket money for that elusive Michael Jordan card locked away in a trader’s glass cabinet. They were just like every other group of eight-year-olds. I envied that. No one cared what colours they belonged to.
I sauntered over to them. ‘Hey, you guys. You ever been up there?’ I asked, pointing to The Tower.
They turned to each other before one shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘Any reason why?’
‘It’s haunted.’
Elias and I grinned.
‘It’s not haunted,’ he said. ‘Just forgotten. We built it.’
‘Didn’t somebody die in there though?’ a second kid asked.
‘Not as far as we know.’
That haunted rumour again. The backfence gossipers scared their children away from The Tower to stop them falling and breaking their necks. It was stupid. Let kids be kids.
‘Would you go up there?’ I asked.
The second guy hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I would,’ the first said, ‘because I ain’t chicken like Stewart.’
The other guys paid out Stewart for being a wuss and I saw myself again. Elias was an older version of Stewart. Everybody picked on him then dumped him once they reached high school. I hoped this kid was spared the same fate.
‘Yes I would,’ Stewart defended himself, trying to reclaim his status just as Elias did once. ‘I’m not scared. It just doesn’t look safe.’
‘If it was safe would you use it as a hang-out?’ Elias asked.
The eight-year-olds discussed it and said they would, but their parents were too busy working to help. Just like my old man.
‘We’ll help you,’ Elias offered.
‘Thanks,’ they said suspiciously. Kids these days were more careful with strangers than we were. Now, everybody needed to grow up quicker.