Push Me, Pull Me

by Vanessa Garden

  “Back in ten minutes,” I mumbled over my shoulder before storming out the front door. I needed ten minutes to gather myself before I said something truly horrible that I’d forever regret. After all, Dad’s behaviour wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help it any more than I couldn’t help feeling like a cold heartless stone of a human being.

  “Let me help you to forgive her…”

  I crossed the dried lawn, neglected now that Mum was gone, trying hard to ignore Mrs. Patfield’s words that replayed inside my head like a bad remix of a rapper’s song, and praying I hadn’t woken up Jay when I’d allowed the screen door to smack shut behind me.

  After cutting through the back roads, I came out the other side of Soul Street, one back from the main strip in town.

  Martin always knew how to boost my mood, even if it meant copping an earful of Madeline talk. Actually, right now, I almost welcomed talk about his annoying girlfriend. Anything to get my mind off all that had occurred in the last hour.

  Martin’s easy bantering with his customers, along with the ice cool air-conditioning that swept over me as soon as the store’s double doors slid open, loosened my bunched up shoulders almost instantly.

  “Hello, McFly,” I said, ambling up to the counter where Martin was bagging up a customer’s batch of Marlon Brando movies.

  Martin glanced at me sideways and whispered, “You had me at hello.” The customer, Mr. Wilkes, a pensioner who had served in the Vietnam War and had a prosthetic eye as a result, knew about our little movie quote game, and as he backed out through the sliding doors, in his husky smoker’s voice he said, “Sayonara, Dr Jones…” followed by a fake-eye-bulging mwahaha laugh all the way out.

  “That man is the official king,” I said, shaking my head in awe and inhaling deeply of the popcorn air.

  “That he is. So what’s up, kid?” Martin asked after taking a swig of what appeared to be green sludge in a cup. From across the counter it smelt like a swamp.

  “What on earth are you drinking?”

  “Spinach juice. Madeline says it will get rid of my unsightly pimples.” He gestured to his entire head with his hand in a circular motion. I narrowed my eyes, leant in, and found one measly zit on the side of his chin, barely noticeable.

  “Your skin is fine. Wow, first the gym, and now health foods. What’s she got planned for you next, Botox?” When I saw Martin’s pained expression I put a hand over my mouth, my big mouth, a dominant family trait that I’d inherited from Dad’s side, a genetic defect otherwise known as the ‘Milton Mouth.’

  “Sorry, Martin. I’ve had a weird day and I’m in a shitty mood. You look great. Seriously. And Madeline must be pretty keen if she’s taking such an interest in your…um…health.”

  Martin’s eyebrows danced as he ran a hand through his wavy blond hair.

  “Maybe when I’m all hot and ripped you’ll finally see through that nappy and milk-bottle haze and take me for the man that I am.”

  I rolled my eyes. Just then, right on cue, a determined, steely-gazed toddler, trailed closely by his worn-out looking mother, burst into the store screaming, “Wiiiiiggles!”

  “That’s highly unlikely,” I said, my eyes following the kid. “Jay’s got the terrible twos now so the haze will only get thicker.” I sighed. “Maybe we’ll do that thing where we get married if we’re both forty and single.”

  Martin made a face before his hazel eyes skipped over my head to the doorway, where another customer had just entered.

  I hoped it wasn’t Madeline. The drama of her overhearing Martin and I planning a marriage in our forties was something I could do without.

  “Hey,” said Martin, all up-beat to the new customer.

  When I saw who it was—Byron—my pulse hammered as if I was touching his hand all over again. Keeping my head down, I pretended to be selecting a chocolate bar from the counter so that I could eavesdrop.

  “Hi.” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you had any work going.”

  From the corner of my eye I watched as Martin took a sip of his swamp drink and swallowed before shaking his head. The way his left cheek suddenly twitched told me the stuff tasted awful, but he covered it by beaming an easy smile.

  “Not at the moment, mate, we’re just not busy enough.”

  I heard a zip. Byron got a wallet out of his pocket and handed over a slip of paper to Martin. “Well if anything comes up I’m at the Donny Vale Inn or you can call me on this number.”

  “No worries.” Martin was using his I’m-a-cool-guy voice to impress the stranger.

  “Don’t let them overcharge you,” I blurted out all of a sudden whilst fondling a now very warm Cherry Ripe bar between my fingers.

  Recognition shone in Byron’s eyes and his lips widened into an easy smile. “Hey, it’s you, from the bookstore.”

  I grabbed a strand of my hair with my free hand and started fiddling with it, but tossed it aside when I realised the act was drawing attention to its frizzy-ness.

  “Yep, it’s me.” Then I remembered how he’d seen my chin wobble and then watched me get run over by a pram, and wished I could have lied and said no, that was my strange twin who doesn’t get out much. “Make sure Bob doesn’t charge you tourist rates. If you’ve just moved here he should be giving you half-price, being a live-in and…stuff…” My voice trailed off awkwardly.

  “Thanks.” Byron nodded once and threw me a smile. My face was getting warmer by the minute beneath his thoughtful gaze. “But I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying.” He looked down and started checking out some new release DVDs on the display shelf. I wondered how he could have afforded to stay at the pub all this time when he didn’t have any work.

  Martin’s eyes were on me, I could feel them boring into me like laser beams without even looking up. I’m sure his brows were raised in surprise and he was preparing to hammer me with questions about the Tea ‘n’ Tale saga.

  The chocolate in my hand was melting beneath its foil wrapper so I stuffed it at the bottom of the box while trying my best to look anywhere but at the shocking scar on Byron’s face and neck. It was like a magnet for my eyes.

  “So, maybe I’ll see you,” Byron said, adjusting his guitar case strap, the same guitar case I’d seen in the bookstore at my table. He gave Martin a quick nod and walked out the door.

  Martin and I stared after him.

  “What a try-hard,” said Martin, his face screwed up on one side. Behind that twisted face, though, I knew that he was busy comparing himself to Byron in things like height, weight, bicep size, and hairstyle. No matter how many girlfriends Martin had gone out with, he was always trying to improve himself in some way, as though deep down he felt he wasn’t good enough for anyone. Something I’m sure he’d inherited from years of being told by his dad that he was useless and weak. I’d never told Martin this, because he tended to focus on the good memories of his dad—despite how few there were—but I’d actually gotten down on my knees the night his dad died in a car accident and thanked God for taking him, because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could have handled watching my best friend, who was thirteen at the time, nod his head in agreement and say sorry whenever his dad called him an idiot or stupid.

  “Absolute try-hard,” Martin repeated, bringing me back to earth and of course, back to thinking about Byron.

  “I know,” I said, shaking my head, completely lying, before I left the counter and walked the aisles to search for something good to watch. Twenty minutes later, after getting lost in a plethora of movies, I returned to the counter with three DVDs in my hands. I’d chosen some Eddie Redmayne films. He was my latest film crush. As I stacked them onto the counter, I noticed that Martin had a funny look on his face.

  “What? He’s like one of the best young actors around, you know, only he doesn’t need to do all that…that tabloid stuff to get ego strokes like all the others.”

  “Whoa there, Nellie, he’s a good actor. You like him. I get it,” said Martin. Then he laughed and started
humming an annoying tune.

  “What?” I asked, trying to restrain the huffiness in my voice, but he just smiled in that ‘I know something you don’t know’ sort of way.

  I reached over and took the DVDs from his hand after he’d deactivated the security tags. He was still humming and smiling like a clown, but now he was leaning against the counter, his hands forming a steeple beneath his chin.

  “What is wrong with you?” I asked when I couldn’t take it any longer.

  Martin’s smile gave way to an expression of secrecy. He glanced around the store before leaning in close.

  “Hey, you know that guy who came in, Mr. Fauxhawk?”

  “Yes?” I almost shouted, before realising how desperate I sounded. So I slouched against the counter and mumbled, “What about him?” while pretending to read the blurb on the back of one of the DVDs I’d hired.

  “Well, while you were over there perving at the so aptly named Mr. Redmayne, he came back.”

  I glanced up in time to catch Martin’s eyebrows dancing a complicated looking jig.

  The determined toddler from earlier tossed a brightly coloured DVD at the counter then let out an ear-splitting scream when it missed and fell to the floor. The kid’s mum made a shushing sound and whispered promises of chocolate in the car.

  “And?”

  “He asked for your name.”

  Chapter 5

  “Maybe he wants to Google you to see if any naked pics of you show up.”

  That was Martin’s theory as to why Byron had asked for my name. Me? I wasn’t so sure. I liked to fantasise that he was interested in me, but I hadn’t been looked at by any of the local town boys in so long that it was hard to believe that this hot stranger with the dangerous scar could have any sort of crush on me. He didn’t even know me. We didn’t know each other.

  Two weeks had passed since he’d asked for my name and seeing as I hadn’t heard from him or received any more flowers at my door step, my fantasies about Byron falling head over heels for me and reciting Lord Byron poetry to me by the light of the moon were fading fast. The fact that those same two weeks had been a blur of bad days at home made it all the harder to spare thoughts on him anymore. Though from time to time, very late at night when I couldn’t sleep, he crept out from the corner of my mind to indulge me with imaginary kisses and whispered secrets. Oh how I lived for those nights.

  The miniature bottle of rum from the wedding proved to be a huge spanner in the works, catapulting my father back into the body of a desperate man, secretly ringing his friends and whispering late-night orders through the kitchen phone when he thought I was asleep.

  On the first Saturday in December, Dad’s third week of drinking straight, I’d had enough.

  I was sick of seeing him start each morning with a permanent grimace on his face, clutching his head, and stinking up the house with all the disgusting smells that came after a night of hard liquor. Jay and I needed to get out of there.

  “I’m using the car to take Jay to the beach,” I called over my shoulder from Jay’s room while I helped my little brother wiggle into his swimmers and rash-shirt.

  “Jay go swim with Woo-by.”

  I nodded my head vigorously. “Yes! We’re going to have so much fun. We’ll wear our goggles and watch the fish swim in the sea!”

  “Take your mum’s car,” Dad bellowed from the kitchen.

  The very idea of using Mum’s car caused goose bumps to spread across my arms and legs. No one had driven Mum’s car since she died. Not even Dad.

  “Nah, I’ll just take yours if you don’t mind. We’ll be back after lunch.”

  Jay toddled into the kitchen clutching his towel and his plastic red bucket and spade. He stopped at the dining table where Dad was barely keeping himself upright.

  “Jay and Woo-by and Daddy go swim.”

  Dad sighed long and deep before he reached out to stroke Jay’s golden curls. He gently cupped my brother’s chin in his large, red hand. The way he gazed into my little brother’s heart-shaped face, with so much tenderness, made my throat tighten so bad I could hardly swallow.

  “Daddy has to…go to work,” he told Jay before shrugging his shoulders at me. “You sure you don’t want to take your mother’s car? I suppose it’s yours now. I can start it up and make sure it’s all sorted for oil and water and fuel if you like.”

  Concentrating on shoving my towel, some sunscreen, two bottles of water, and Jay’s hat into my bag, I shook my head.

  “I’d rather take yours. Please, Dad.”

  Dad sighed and met my gaze, his eyes all bloodshot.

  “All right then, take the darn thing. Take it for the whole day if you want.”

  “Thanks.” I wanted to come around the table and plant a kiss on his cheek but I knew his face would be greasy and reeking of alcohol and sweat. “Are you really going to work today?” I asked when Jay moved out of earshot to watch a TV commercial that featured talking guinea pigs. “Because if you’re not, it would be kind of fun if you came along to the beach.”

  Dad closed his eyes and rubbed his stubble coated chin. “Not today, Rubes. I plan on going into town and grabbing a paper as soon as you’re out the door. It’s time I found some work again.”

  Though it would have been nice to have Dad with us at the beach, I much preferred that he was at least looking for work. It was a start. I flashed him what I hoped to be an encouraging smile.

  “That’s great, Dad. Good luck.”

  He smiled back, his face flushed with pride. Maybe he was actually going to do this. Maybe there was hope in our lives after all.

  ***

  But late that afternoon, all my hopes had been drowned in disappointment.

  The two hour drive to the beach there and back had been worth it. Jay had soaked up the sun, the fresh briny breeze, and the salty water like a little sea sponge and I had enjoyed it just as much. It was nice to step outside of Donny Vale for a few hours, check-out of sadness and anger and check-in to a little fun and happiness. Who knew building sandcastles and spending a couple hours beneath the sun’s warm rays could be so therapeutic? But returning home after the long, hot drive to find Dad sprawled out on the front lawn in his beige underwear, beneath the sprinklers, knocking back Marsala in Jay’s Thomas the Tank Engine cup, kind of murdered all the fun out of our day. His excuse was that nobody from the papers had gotten back to any of his phone calls.

  That night, after putting my completely zonked brother to sleep in my bed—my bed because he’d demanded it and I was too sunburnt and tired from the beach to argue with a toddler—and settling in for a night of television, Martin knocked on my front door.

  I hadn’t seen him in the fortnight since I’d visited him at the video store and I was so happy to converse with somebody who wasn’t either crying or whining at me, that I leapt up from the couch in excitement, complete with Aloe-Vera cream smeared thickly over my sunburnt skin.

  As I unlatched the flywire door, Martin pressed his face into it.

  “All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy.” Aha. The Shining. Good one.

  Without even skipping a beat, I responded with a line I’d been saving forever. “What if we could go back in time and take away all those hours of darkness and replace them with something better?”

  Martin pulled away from the door, his face twisted in disgust.

  “Man, Donnie Darko is movie-awesomeness, but whoa, deep, too deep.”

  He glanced sideways and motioned for somebody who was outside with him to come to the door. I heard a giggle and the clip-clop of heels before Madeline appeared at the door in nine inch heels and skinny jeans so tight I was certain they were the reason for her mammoth bust-spillage out of the top of her tiny pink halter. But who was I kidding? She looked amazing and glamorous and much older than her eighteen years.

  Self-consciously, I crossed my arms across my meagre chest, secretly wishing for more.

  “Hey, Madeline,” I said, trying my best to look friendly and easy
-going despite my mouth hurting from the strain. There were plenty of times before this where I’d tried so hard to find a friend in Madeline, much to her amusement. I’d secretly dreamed of a BFF, a like-minded girl to share secrets with, since I first learned the term in primary school. But I knew better now. Anyway, I had Martin, I didn’t need anyone else.

  Madeline glanced at Martin, who nodded his head in encouragement, before she turned back to me. She sucked in a deep breath between her teeth and lips so that it made a rattling, sucking sound. Something about the deadness in her half-moon hazel eyes made me shiver. What the hell was she doing?

  “A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

  Once I got over the shock of Madeline doing Hannibal Lector from Silence of the Lambs, I slapped my hand across my mouth.

  “I’m impressed,” I said, shaking my head, unable to believe what I’d just witnessed. It was a bonus seeing Madeline’s pretty face look hideous for once. “Wow. You sounded exactly like him.” I laughed and locked eyes with Martin. “She’s good.” A newfound respect for my best friend’s girlfriend warmed my insides. But the warmth didn’t last long.

  “I’m bored,” she whispered to Martin, loud enough for me to hear. She leaned her head against his shoulder and started to scratch beneath his chin with her long, pink nails. I shuddered and shifted my eyes away, more creeped out by those unreasonably long nails and this odd public display of affection than her impression of Hannibal Lector.

  “Do you guys want to come in? I’ve made some iced tea.” I was so desperate for company that I’d have gladly put up with Madeline.

  “No thanks, we’re actually on our way out.” Martin smiled a sly fox smile at me and nodded before adding, “To a gig.”

  I hadn’t heard about any new bands coming to town, but, then again, I was so out of the loop with the outside world that Elvis and Michael Jackson could have visited Donny Vale on a ‘Return of the Dead Tour’ without my knowledge.