That's Why I Wrote This Song

by Susanne Gervay

  ‘What are you seeing?” I nudge Mum. ‘Superman?’

  That makes her laugh. ‘No, Pip. It’s a film we both want to see. French, with subtitles.

  Romantic. I’m suspicious, but Mum looks all right.

  Mum and Dad drop me at work. Karen’s doing the shift with me, so it’ll be fun. She’s staying the night, so we can work on our songs on Sunday. I love these Sundays—listening to our favourite tracks, playing a bit of guitar, creating new tunes, our own beats. Karen loves them too. For a day she doesn’t have to worry about her home or homes.

  My parent-teacher interviews are coming up soon too. More secrecy. I can’t tell Dad because he’ll find out about Eddie’s interviews. Mum’s in the middle of it. Lying is too complicated. I’m doing a lot of work shifts to get out of the house. The money is good too.

  I make sure that I have a pre-Dad early dinner and race off to work. It’s quiet in the store tonight, so I can listen to my favourite bands. The boss lets me go early. I walk home as slowly as I can. I hope Dad’s asleep, or busy in his study. Quietly I turn the key in the front door. Dad emerges from his study at the precise moment I walk into the house. Is it bad luck or is he waiting for me?

  ‘How was work, Pip?’

  ‘I’m tired, Dad.’

  ‘How’s the preparation for the school concert going?’

  I’m not listening. ‘Good.’ What’s wrong with him? Mid-life crisis? ‘I’m tired, Dad,’ I say again. He gets annoyed.

  Mum’s waiting in the shadows. This is some sort of set-up. She blocks any more questions. ‘Pip’s tired. Later. Later. Tomorrow.’

  Mum walks with me towards my bedroom. ‘He’s trying, Pip. You promised you’d give him a chance.’

  I didn’t promise that. I look at Mum. ‘What is this?’

  Mum doesn’t answer straight away. ‘Our counsellor wants to see you and Eddie as well.’ I tense up. ‘Please, Pip. We’re doing this as a family.’

  Did the counsellor say Dad had to wait up for me and ask me dumb questions? So he seems like a concerned father? Is Mum kidding? She follows me, giving me guilt and a headache. I just want her to leave me alone. ‘Sure, Mum. Anything you say.’

  As if I’m going to counselling. I flop onto my bed. I put on Insomniac Road and crawl under my blanket. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

  Mum is knocking on my door. There’s light streaming in round the edges of my curtains. It can’t be morning already.

  I put my blanket over my head. ‘Go away.’ The knocking continues. ‘All right, all right.’ I open blurry eyes and look at the clock. Why is Mum so aggravating? She can see I’ve got five more minutes.

  Breakfast is a ‘happy’ family scene—I don’t think so. Mum’s right. Dad is trying—very trying. Old jokes are not necessarily good jokes. Dad makes a few. Is he having a sea change? I’m going to make this breakfast quick.

  Dad asks Eddie and me the obligatory questions. School, music, sport. I give monosyllabic answers, but Eddie is talkative. That’s Eddie. You only have to give him a little bit of encouragement and Mr Positive shines through. He forgives everything and anyone.

  I get up to leave.

  ‘We’ll speak tonight,’ Dad threatens.

  ‘Great, Dad.’ I try not to let my lack of enthusiasm destroy the effect. ‘Got to go, Dad. The concert.’

  They’re waiting for me: a thousand scenes with singers who can’t sing and choirs that are out of tune and arrangements that sound like garbage. When will this concert be over?

  Monday. Report card dramas. Angie’s green eyes are tinged with red. She looks at me accusingly. ‘Dad blames me. “Why don’t you do as well as Pip?” he says. ‘Well, I’m not Pip, am I? You’re you and I’m me.’

  I try to be sympathetic, except I know that now she’s broken up with Christopher she spends a lot of time beside the wire-mesh fence, and talking to boys on her phone. I think she was studying her broken nail during that first exam.

  Karen tops Music, but she crashes in all her other subjects. Unluckily I’m at her dad’s apartment when the envelope is opened. The evil stepmother attacks Karen under the pretence of care. ‘How could you let your father down, after everything he does for you?’ She forces an expression of concern onto her face, resting her hand on Karen’s father’s shoulder. I stare at my feet. I wish she wouldn’t do this while I’m here.

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Karen uses her so-what voice. She knows exactly how to get up that woman’s nose, and her father’s.

  ‘You need to start listening, Karen.’ Her father is sucked right in. Men are idiotic. He doesn’t ask why Karen is struggling at school. Why she can’t find her books in her mother’s renovations and her bedroom filled with baby clothes. He doesn’t ask. Karen has given up defending herself. Given up trying. At least there’s no huge scene, because I’m there.

  Karen and I retreat into the garden. ‘Listen to her? That woman was having sex with Dad way before my parents split up. I don’t want to learn anything from her.’ Karen suddenly laughs. ‘That’s what I call working for your supper.’ She looks out towards the sailing boats, extending her arm. ‘And your harbour-view apartment.’

  ‘How can you stand it?’

  ‘I can’t.’ Karen kicks a rock that’s lying on the ground. ‘As if they care about my school report. Dad has his life. That woman has her plans. Mum has her life. She won’t even ask about my report. Everyone does their own thing. I do now too.’

  Irina does brilliantly as expected, except in her Music practical. ‘Not enough participation,’ Mr Connelly says. It’s great news: her father insists that Irina practises more. ‘For the study,’ he says in his thick accent. For our band, comes into my mind. Out of misfortune comes victory.

  Irina and I have to finalise the list for our birthday invitations today. People know about it but we haven’t officially invited anyone yet. Irina’s mother is so happy about cooking our birthday cake. It makes me feel good. But the cake is the easy part. The invitations aren’t. Right now I don’t need the drama over who’s invited or not. All our closest friends are invited, of course, but there are other girls who aren’t that close. There’s not enough room to have everyone at the party. We can ask girls we know won’t be allowed to come, and that reduces the numbers. Mum has said we can have a maximum of nineteen girls plus the four of us, Not Perfect, and Eddie as an extra, except he’s not staying. That’s it, but I know Mum. She’ll let us have a few more if it’s really necessary. So Irina and I have to get together today—but not at lunch time. That’s Not Perfect time. Nothing except exams is allowed to interfere with our band rehearsals. Not Perfect is sounding really good. Well, I think it is.

  The school concert is taking on monumental proportions. Karen and I have just finished the last arrangement this morning. She’s pretty unenthusiastic, which makes it difficult. Something’s wrong with Karen. She’s become quiet. It’s scarier than when she’s crazy. ‘Are you all right, Karen?’ She nods.

  Mr Connelly is impressed that we’re arranging Insomniac Road music into a choral song. I’m unimpressed. I wish we hadn’t said we’d do it. We’ve slowed the pace and created an original score for the drums. Irina can play anything on the drums. The instrumentals will be fine, because musicians understand music. Mr Connolly is going to play the piano.

  We test it out. I raise my conductor’s baton. The harmonies clash as Angie leads the sopranos on a collision course with the altos. Gradually the strings, piano, singers unite. Insomniac Road sounds smooth, emotional, personal. Mr Connolly approves. ‘That was good. Really good.’

  The day jerks through dramas and successes as everyone moves towards the concert. Finally Irina and I work out the birthday list in between practice sessions. Our Not Perfect lunchtime practice was rushed.

  As we walk towards our Music Home Room towards the end of the day, we hear the orchestra is playing Grieg’s Peer Gynt. It’s such an eerie melody. Like Grieg’s Norwegian forests and mountains. Writers live their music. There’s a solo flute t
hat wafts through the corridors.

  Suddenly Angie appears with red bandannas. She ties one around her head. ‘For Not Perfect. What do you think? They’ll look great with black pants and T-shirts. ’ Everyone has to wear black for the concert. School rules.

  I take one and tie it around my head. It’s not bad. ‘Angie, you’re a fashion genius.’ Angie beams.

  We bump into Mr Connelly, running to another crisis. ‘So how’s Not Perfect going?’

  ‘We’re getting there, Mr Connelly,’ I call out, but he’s already way down the corridor as we turn into our Music Home Room.

  Karen’s sitting on a desk, dangling her legs. It’s home time but she doesn’t show any sign of moving. I tease her. ‘No boys today?’ She doesn’t react.

  ‘I’ll e-mail the birthday invitations tonight.’ Irina heads off with Angie, who’s excited about the bandannas and the birthday party.

  I’m in no rush to get home and face Dad. ‘Hey, Karen. Do you want to go for a walk? I need a break from all this concert stuff. And from home.’

  Karen slides off the desk. ‘Okay.’ Her voice is flat. Her face is pale.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She looks blankly at me. ‘Sure.’ Karen seems even paler.

  ‘Can we do the cliff walk?’ The cliffs always make me feel better. They’re just past Irina’s and my cemetery walk.

  As we leave the school we get a few waves from girls, comments about bands and choirs. Mr Connelly is in his office working late as usual. We swing our bags over our shoulders. They’re light. No heavy textbooks to carry now the exams are over. We cross over into the parkland that hugs the coastline. There’s a cool breeze, but it’s not cold. We walk quietly beside each other. I start humming. Karen sings softly. I point out Irina’s and my stone angel as we pass the cemetery with its old crosses and overgrown grass. The air is tinged with salt and I breathe deeply. As we get closer to the craggy sandstone rocks we hear the ocean whirling. We climb over the uneven rocks, studded with tufts of grass and weedy yellow flowers. We clamber to the edge, peering into a whirlpool of white foam. Karen lies on her stomach. I lie next to her. The movement, whirling, diving, plunging, is hypnotic. We watch the water, letting the salt breeze engulf us.

  ‘Don’t you sometimes want to be a part of that, Pip?’

  ‘The ocean?’

  Karen shuffles closer to the edge. ‘The oblivion.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The nothingness.’

  I shuffle closer to her, so we’re touching. ‘No.’

  ‘It would be like dancing with the mermaids.’

  ‘There aren’t any mermaids down there.’ I lean against Karen’s shoulder.

  ‘There’s no dancing down there,’ I murmur. ‘There’s just dying.’

  Karen buries her head in her arms. Her body pulses up and down in sobs muffled by her hair.

  ‘Karen…’ I whisper.

  She turns to look at me. Her eyes are bluer than ever before. Her face whiter. ‘I don’t know what to do, Pip. No one wants me. I’ve got nowhere to go.’

  ‘You have.’ But I know she hasn’t. I think of Mum, Eddie, my father. Even he wants me.

  ‘There’s no place for me, Pip. No place.’ She hesitates. ‘Can I tell you something? You can’t tell anyone.’ She presses my hand. ‘No one. No one.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I think about it all the time, just disappearing into something beautiful. Not being. There’s nothing for me here.’

  My chest contracts with pain. ‘How can you say that, Karen? How can you? I’m here.’ I put my arm around her. ‘I love you.’

  ‘My parents don’t.’

  ‘They do. They just don’t show it. And you have Angie and Irina and…’ My voice races like I’m trying to catch up to her. ‘You write amazing music. Sing amazing music. People need to hear it.’

  She stumbles over her words. ‘No room in my parents’ houses…My mother left me…My father left me…The baby will replace me…’

  ‘Please, Karen.’ I hold on to her so tightly she gasps. ‘You can’t. You’ll ruin my life. Do you want to do that? Do you? Do you?’

  ‘No,’ she whispers.

  ‘Then promise. Promise, you’ll fight. We’re a band now. A real band.’

  ‘Are we?’ she stammers. ‘A real band?’

  ‘We’re Not Perfect.’ Suddenly, Breakers crashes into my thoughts. Breakers are crashing over fathers, boys, mothers who don’t fight for their daughters. The sea’s swelling up, like a hand. Carrying Karen, with her blonde hair flowing, right to the shore. I put my arms around her. ‘We’re going to the Breakers Festival.’

  ‘Are we, Pip?’

  ‘Karen, we’re going. Not Perfect’s going. We’re going. We’re going.’

  We lie there for ages, whispering the afternoon into sunset. Finally I take Karen’s hands, pulling her up, forcing the mermaids back into the ocean. ‘The Breakers Festival will be Not Perfect’s first road trip. Not Perfect will be there.’

  Karen’s eyes begin to focus as we walk away from the cliffs. A road trip is every band’s journey. ‘A road trip to Breakers. Camping in the fields, listening to music from outdoor stages. Two days. Bands, solos and out-there music. You want to come, don’t you?’

  Karen nods. ‘Yes.’

  I open my front door and push past Mum with a quick ‘hello’ and Karen and I go into my bedroom.

  Mum sticks her head into the room. ‘Is Karen staying for dinner?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, that’d be good.’ Go away, Mum. I go onto the Internet.

  ‘If you girls are hungry, there’s food in the fridge. Dinner’s at seven. Dad’s going to make an effort to be home early.’

  Dad? ‘Great, great. Bye, Mum. Bye.’ She’s gone at last.

  I search for festivals and they turn up everywhere. Every festival but the one we want. No, hold on. ‘The Breakers Festival’. There it is. I click the mouse quickly. Tickets, tickets. Where are they? Oh no, they’re nearly sold out. Wait—there’s been an extra release of tickets today. Just today. My heart thumps. It’s a sign. I’ve got to buy them now.

  Karen quietly watches me. I turn to look at her, but she seems far away.

  ‘The festival looks so good,’ I say. Her breathing is soft, slow. ‘Look, there’s Insomniac Road.’ She doesn’t react. Photos of Insomniac Road flash across the screen.

  How many tickets should I buy? It’s a lot of money. Insomniac Road. I shake my head. It’s for Karen. I’ve got money from work. I’ll get one for Eddie too. I press the ticket number. Five. I press the ‘Buy’ icon and put in Eddie’s card details. He’s given me a second card on his Visa account. The deal is that I just have to pay him back when I use it. Brothers are useful sometimes.

  The computer thinks for ages. ‘Hurry up. Hurry up.’ Have we got them or not?

  Tickets confirmed. ‘We got them.’ I’m breathless. Karen and I look at each other, then I hug her. ‘We’re going to Breakers, Karen.’ I feel her return the hug. ‘Breakers, Karen. Breakers.’

  We lie on my bed. I put Rabbit between us. Karen gently pats him.

  Now I just have to get all the parents to agree and work out how to get there and…Who cares? Nothing is going to stop Not Perfect from going to the Breakers Festival and Eddie’s going to be our driver and Karen’s going to be there because she can’t leave us. She can’t.

  Dad’s all right at dinner. Head-of-the-table stuff. Dinner is quieter than when it’s just Mum, Eddie and me. Tonight Dad doesn’t shout, or criticise Mum for buying the wrong brand of tomato sauce, or make other ridiculous accusations. There’s a visitor at the table.

  Karen and I press each other’s hands under the table. No mermaids. No. Karen’s cheeks have a slight flush now. Her eyes are starting to come alive again. We’re going to the Breakers Festival. Karen and I smile at each other.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Next day there are top-secret phone calls. Mid-morning discussions. Money promised for tickets. Buy
ing the tickets was the first step. We just have to work out the rest. Nothing will stop Not Perfect going to the Breakers Festival.

  Irina and Angie know about Karen. Not the full story. Not the mermaids. Karen seems okay again today. She knows we’re here for her.

  I’m in a determined mood when I get home. Insomniac Road is playing in my head. ‘Mum,’ I call out. No answer. ‘Mum?’ Oh, there she is outside Eddie’s room. I head towards her. She puts her fingers to her lips. ‘Shush,’ she whispers. Eddie has locked himself in his room. ‘Please Eddie, open the door. Nothing can be this bad. Please?’

  Finally it creaks open. Eddie’s eyes are red, his face frozen. ‘I’m sick.’ He slumps onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. Mum sits beside him, stroking his hair. Mum waves me gently aside. I sit cross-legged on the hallway floor, looking through the door opening so he can’t see me. Nervousness grips my stomach. Is Eddie sick? I glance at Mum and Eddie, look at the carpet, pull at the beige pile, survey Eddie’s geology collection, plumbing tools and fix-it manuals. Football trophies line the top of his bookshelf. There are posters and photos on the wall. There are pictures of holidays, friends, family. He’s proud of his door-length Playboy poster of a girl in a bikini. When I first saw it I told him he was a sexist pig, and he thought that was hilarious.

  He jerks out the words, one by one. ‘I…want…to…leave…school.’

  Mum speaks softly. ‘But you like school. Your friends are there.’ She murmurs, ‘The teachers like you.’

  ‘They don’t.’

  Slowly it comes out. Dad rang the school this morning to criticise them about the lateness of Eddie’s report. That was when he found out that Mr Positive hid the parent—teacher interviews. Hid his report. Hid his results. Dad was furious. He threatened the Principal with litigation if interviews weren’t arranged immediately. Dad was serious. He would take the school to court. The Principal caved in. The school caved in. The teachers caved in. Dad left work at midday. Teachers missed lunch or left classes. Interviews were held. Decisions were made. Eddie was not going to be a plumber. Teachers were going to demand more work from him. Eddie was going to perform. He was not going to be a failure. He was going to university to become what his father wanted.