At home, Mum and Henry are still on the couch, watching a different movie. I go back upstairs into my bedroom, close the door, and once again plant myself on Tomas’ mattress. I don’t want to get up from it – not while it still smells like him.
23
It must be the hottest day all summer. There are two fans blowing in the kitchen and two in the lounge room, but they just puff the hot air through the house.
‘I wanna go back to school,’ I say as I enter the kitchen.
I’ve shocked Mum, who’s pulling a wet tea towel from the freezer. ‘You wanna go back now?’ she asks with wide eyes as she drapes the towel over the back of her neck.
‘Yeah. It’s just one more year. And it’d be good to have my HSC as well.’
‘What’s changed your mind?’
‘Just feeling good about it, I guess,’ I say.
‘Well, all right. I’ll give the school a call when the teachers go back next week.’
I give Mum a kiss on the cheek then head out the front to meet Kalyn and Jarny, who are waiting for me in Kalyn’s ute. We pass some campervans and cars towing trailers as we drive down the mountain and turn into the camping ground. Most of the campers have left, heading back to their own towns and their own lives, leaving us behind until next summer. Troy’s camp is still here, though, and he’s standing at his fairy lights as we pass.
‘Come round tonight,’ he calls as we slow down. ‘We’re headin’ home tomorrow!’
‘After the men’s group, brother,’ Jarny shouts back to him.
We drive along the dirt tracks and follow the road into the bush, ending our drive at the fence by the lake. Unloading the canoes from the back of the ute, we carry them to the water. Jarny and Kalyn share one while I climb into the other, and we paddle across the lake to where the men are gathering at our spot on the bank.
I step into the shallow water and pull the canoe onto the sand. The sausages are cooking over the little bonfire and their smoky delight fills the air. Finding my painting behind its rock, I take it to paint beside Kalyn and Jarny, and we are silent. I bring the brush to the brown paint on the cardboard and add some more dots to my turtle’s shell.
Uncle Charlie arrives with his grandson, Will, who works at the community centre on the Mish. Uncle Charlie calls us all over to the bank, and we each make a sausage sandwich and sit on the sand. In a circle, we introduce ourselves and speak about what we want to get from the men’s group this year.
When it comes to me, I say, ‘I just want to stay connected. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong here, but I need to stay connected to my mob.’
Uncle Charlie tells us a story about this rooster he owned when he was a boy. He speaks about how his rooster was always horny and tried to have sex with the other chickens, like a dog in heat. We just laugh, mostly at the way he tells his stories. Usually they have morals, but I think this time he just wants to have a laugh.
After the chat, some of the men and boys go back to painting. Some go for a swim in the lake. Some throw a line in and fish. I just stand in the shallow water and bring a handful of water over my head. I listen to the birds who speak in the trees. I listen to their sounds as they flutter from branch to branch and fly away. I listen to the sound of the water against my legs and feel its coolness in the summer heat.
‘Jackson,’ Uncle Charlie says, finishing up his sausage sandwich. ‘Come for a walk with me, son.’
I follow after him, dripping water, wearing just my football shorts. We walk along a little pathway through the bush, and I slow my pace to Uncle Charlie’s after I catch up.
‘Where’s Uncle Rex today?’ I ask.
‘Oh, he was feeling a bit sick today,’ Uncle Charlie says. ‘He’ll be right, though.’
We come out of the bush onto another bank. We are alone, and I don’t hear the men or boys from the group, or the campers up the lake.
‘I heard you had a fight with Jarny,’ Uncle Charlie says.
‘Not a fight, just a punch, really.’
‘Did he do something to you?’ he asks, turning to see me. His eyes are brown and dark, surrounded by the dark brown of his skin.
‘No, I was just angry because of something he said. But we’re all good now.’
‘Usually, when we call someone something, like what he called you, it’s because we don’t understand. And when we don’t understand, we get scared. So we try to make things normal again and we attack what’s making us scared. It just makes things worse.’
He takes a seat on a flat rock overlooking the lake.
‘So, you know what he called me then?’ I ask.
He points to the ground beside him. The anxious feeling is returning to my stomach as I take a seat on the ground.
‘Come sit, Jackson,’ he says. ‘You were always different when you were a little boy. You saw things differently from the other boys. You liked to paint and tell stories, just like me, just like your mum. And your art was always different, because you saw things other people didn’t, and you expressed your art in a different way. I know you didn’t always fit in. All I’m saying is we are connected, all of our people, even if sometimes you don’t feel like it – we are all connected.’
That fucking lump is returning to my throat.
‘There’s this shame,’ he continues. ‘It’s took our people by the throat long ago. If we don’t let ourselves be who we are, love who we are, where we come from, it’ll strangle ya until you can’t fight it no longer. You know what I’m saying, Jackson?’
I nod. ‘I just don’t know if I can do it,’ I say. ‘It’s really hard sometimes.’
‘Jarny probably didn’t help,’ Uncle Charlie smiles, placing his hand on my shoulder. ‘But you’ve probably hated yourself before, maybe for a long time. Maybe you still do. But those who love you, they love you no matter what. That’s just how we are. We were all taught to love each other, unconditionally. One mob. All right?’
‘All right,’ I say, but my voice quivers. ‘But can I still be connected? If I’m . . . you know?’
‘There’s nothing that can keep you from your culture, if you truly want it,’ he whispers.
Uncle Charlie stands and I stand with him. He wraps his arms around me and we hug. It is the best hug I’ve had since Tomas left.
‘Oh look,’ Uncle Charlie says, breaking from the hug and pointing to the lake. ‘Umbarra. Your totem.’
A black duck swims across the lake. He’s alone, just floating there.
‘He’s letting you know he’s here to look after you.’
I nearly giggle at the thought, but it’s nice to see him floating there. Maybe he is actually looking out for me.
We join the rest of the group back at the bank. Uncle Charlie leaves with his grandson, and the other men start to leave. I finish the brown dots of my painting and plant it there behind the rock again. It’s close to finished, but there’s still some work to do.
Me, Jarny and Kalyn set off across the lake on our canoes. The water is so clear beneath us that I can see the darkness of the lake’s floor. The weeds and sunken branches show themselves in the deep.
On the other side of the lake, we can already hear the music playing from Troy’s camp. We pull the canoes onto the sand and hide them in the bushes.
‘Boys,’ Troy says at his campsite, greeting us with handshakes and half-hugs. ‘Our last hoorah. I’m sorry we got no beers left.’
We take a seat with Troy and his father. Matt and Andy have left, and so has Jasmine. The night comes and Levi waltzes over from his camp. I’m surprised to see he’s still here. He blushes as Troy teases him for spewing up a few nights ago when they drank together.
This night is cooler than most recent nights. We move our chairs closer to the fire, because me, Jarny and Kalyn are still just in our football shorts. I half-expect Troy to bring up the whole situation of the photo he took of me and Tomas, or even just bring up how gay I am, but he doesn’t say anything at all, or treat me any differently. He’s just normal
bogan Troy, which maybe isn’t so bad.
Before long, Troy sneaks off with Jarny to the bushes to share a joint, after Kalyn and I refuse them. To be honest, I think getting high would just remind me of Tomas, and then I’d get sad and be all emotional about it.
‘I’m heading home,’ Kalyn says to me with a yawn. ‘You coming?’
‘Nah, all good. I might just sit by the fire for a bit,’ I say.
He leaves and it’s just me and Levi there.
‘Are you hungry?’ Levi asks. ‘I think we got some leftover sausages and chops.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply, jumping to my feet. I follow Levi past Troy’s fairy lights and through the camping ground. He uses his phone as a torch to guide our way.
We arrive at his camp and his parents are snoring in their tent. He opens a container and pulls out a plate wrapped in foil, peels the foil back then hands me a sausage. It’s cold and covered in hardened fat, but I eat it all. He hands me another, and we sit on the ground beside his dying camp fire.
‘Reckon youse will come back next year?’ I ask, finishing off my second sausage.
‘I’d say so,’ he says. ‘My mum really liked it. I kinda don’t wanna leave.’
‘But you get to live in the city.’
‘Yeah, but I get sick of it.’ He finishes off his sausage and reaches over to drop the plate back inside the container. ‘It’s nice to get away from the traffic and sirens, and planes going over your house every hour.’
‘Yeah? I dunno, just seems like there’s this whole world out there that I haven’t seen yet.’
‘That’s how I feel about home too,’ he says, ‘until we go away again. Then it’s like seeing a whole new country.’
I turn and gaze upon Levi’s face. His pale skin is turned orange and black by the night sky and the flickers of dying fire beside us. Our eyes meet and his face falls soft. He leans in, moving in slow-motion. I lean in too. Our lips look for each other and come close enough to kiss. I do want to kiss him, but he’s not Tomas.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I think I kind of have a boyfriend.’
‘Oh. Yeah, no worries.’ He smiles, and I smile back.
‘I’ll catch ya round, Levi. Maybe next year,’ I say as I stand. He stands with me.
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Thanks for the sausage.’
I walk back to Troy’s camp. He and Jarny aren’t back yet. Then it all comes to me. I’ve figured it all out, just like that.
I head to the road. I walk fast up the mountain and onto the main street of the Mish. I don’t stop even though my legs are burning, because I need to talk to him. I need to tell him.
I make it back home in no time. I tiptoe up the stairs and they creak with every step I take. I walk into my room and close the door, kick off my shoes, drop my pants, pull my shirt off my body and throw it onto the growing pile under my window.
I fall onto my bed in my underwear and reach for my phone, which rests on my bedside table. I turn it on and find Aunty Pam’s number.
Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe he doesn’t even want to talk to me, because he hasn’t called me. Maybe I could drop my phone and sleep, but I need to tell him.
I dial Aunty Pam’s number and put the phone to my ear. It rings and rings and rings, then there’s an answer.
‘Hello?’ It’s Aunty Pam’s voice.
‘Hey, Aunt,’ I say. ‘Sorry to call so late. Is Tomas there?’
She sighs. ‘Hold on.’
I wait as the muffle of the phone drones and drones.
‘Jackson?’ Tomas asks. His voice sounds the same through the phone.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Sorry I haven’t called. I’ve just been busy with volunteering and lookin’ after these kids and getting ready for court.’
‘That’s okay. I’m sorry too.’
There’s quiet for a moment. I can feel my heart beating through my whole body.
‘I need to tell you something,’ I say, almost whispering. My voice quivers.
‘What?’
‘I’m gonna try to enrol back in school,’ I say.
‘That’s great. Good for you.’
‘And . . .’ I take a deep breath and swallow. ‘I’m gay.’ The world fades from my chest and I feel like a whole person for the first time in I don’t know how long. ‘I also wanted to tell you that I’m gay.’
Tomas chuckles on the other end of the line. ‘I’m happy for you,’ he says. ‘Can I let you in on a secret?’
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘So am I,’ he whispers. ‘I’m gay as fuck.’
I focus on the cushioning of my bed against my back as the smile grows stronger on my face and the tears race to my eyes. I listen to his breaths as they come to my ear. I feel different through my whole body, like I’ve become not just a whole person but a new person. We stay quiet for a moment.
‘I don’t know if it’s just relief, but I think I’m ready to tell my mum,’ I say.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. I might be.’
I hear his smile through his breaths. ‘That’s great. I’m glad.’
‘What about you?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ he says.
Maybe we can do it together on the same day. I smile at the thought and close my eyes.
‘I missed your voice,’ I say. My eyelids are heavy.
‘I missed yours too.’
We’re quiet for another moment. I don’t mind the silence, because I know he is still there.
‘You know what,’ he says. ‘I actually wrote another story for a comic book . . .’
‘Don’t you mean graphic novel?’ I tease.
He snickers. ‘Yeah, whatever,’ he laughs. ‘But I wrote the story, and I did some of the sketches, but I was thinking you could redraw them since you’re a better drawer? If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I’ll do it. Just mail them to me.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ I wonder if he’s smiling as widely as I am.
‘Oh, by the way,’ he says. ‘I saw this ad on TV, for this new show called Cleverman.’
‘Cleverman?’
‘Yeah. It’s about this Aboriginal superhero,’ he giggles.
‘Damn. They beat us to it.’
24
I sit with Mum at the desk in the principal’s office. Mum wipes the sweat from her brow, fanning herself with my folded enrolment papers.
‘What the hell’s takin’ ’em so long?’ she asks, with a sharpness to her voice.
‘Mum, you need to chill out.’
The door opens behind us and the principal, Mr Truman, walks in. He’s shaved his famous Tom Selleck moustache. Maybe he’s having a mid-life crisis or something. Following him into the office is Susan, the school counsellor. She gives us a smile as she sits in the chair beside me. Last through the door is Michael, the Aboriginal Liaison. He wears a black shirt with Aboriginal designs on it and stands to the side of the principal’s desk, folding his arms.
‘Sorry for the delay,’ Mr Truman says.
‘Don’t you mob have any funding for air conditioners?’ Mum snaps.
‘Mum,’ I interrupt, placing my casted hand on her forearm.
‘Sorry, Kris,’ Mr Truman says. ‘Actually, our funding is pretty tight at the moment. Unfortunately, we don’t get as much money as the private schools.’ He turns to me. ‘But I’m pleased to hear Jackson wants to return to school to do Year 12. There’s just the issue of the assault charges . . .’
‘The court threw them out,’ Mum says.
‘I’m pleased to hear his charges were dismissed,’ Mr Truman says, forcing a smile onto his face. He turns to me. ‘Despite that, it’s possible some of the parents might be concerned that if we let you come back to school, you might put the other students in danger.’
‘That whitefella called him an abo. Of course he punched him. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t,’ Mum says, which brings a smile
to the corner of my mouth.
‘Whatever the case, I think the best course of action would be for us to put in place some strict rules for Jackson, as well as some strong supports. This would help erase any worries the parents’ committee might have.’ Mr Truman shifts his gaze to Susan. ‘Jackson, you know Susan?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m glad you’re coming back, Jackson,’ Susan says. ‘Just following on from what Mr Truman said, we want to make sure we’re giving you some strong supports while you’re here, so that we can keep you on track with your schoolwork and keep the other students safe. Not that we think you’re dangerous, but as a school, when one of our students has an incident like yours, we want to make sure we do everything we can to help. So, what I’d like is for us to have a session each Friday afternoon and Monday morning. Just half an hour, doesn’t have to be long. Does that sound okay to you?’
I nod. ‘Yeah, that’s fine.’
‘And I’ll be checking in on you,’ Michael jumps in. ‘You know where my office is, so you can come and see me whenever you need, or if someone says something to you in class and you get angry, or even if you just feel like you can’t sit in the classroom. Just come to my office and we’ll have an apple or something.’
I nod and I realise I’m not forcing the smile onto my face. ‘Sounds good,’ I say.
‘Well, Jackson,’ Mr Truman says as he stands, ‘we look forward to having you back when we start on Tuesday. Bring those enrolment forms with you, yeah?’
‘Thanks,’ I say as I shake his hand, and as I shake Michael’s and Susan’s hands.
I follow Mum back through the corridors, which are lined with lockers. We walk out to the carpark and load into the Toyota Camry Mum impulsively bought a few days ago with the money she got from selling some of her old paintings.
We get back on the road, kept cool by the icy air-con of Mum’s new car. We head for the Mish, but get held up by some roadworks on the highway. Ahead, they are re-tarring the road. I spot some of the workers just hanging out in their high-vis, resting by a ute in the shade. I realise one of the lazy workers is Ethan. His red beard is looking thicker, and he’s all sweaty. As we begin to move along the road, I feel the urge to wind down the window and shout something at him. Racist dog comes to mind. But I don’t bother. I might strain my voice if I yell, and it is really not worth it.
The Boy from the Mish Page 18