Life in Outer Space

by Melissa Keil

  Mike scowls. ‘Radley, give Sam and me a minute.’

  ‘But I –’

  ‘Adrian, I need to talk to Sam. Alone.’

  Adrian glances between us. He looks hurt for all of four seconds, before he shrugs and disappears from the room.

  Mike sits on the cold floor beside me. ‘I’ll buy him a burger later. He’ll get over it.’ He sighs. ‘So. How trashed are you?’

  I give my toes an experimental wiggle. Pain cascades from my extremities to my eyebrows. On the upside, I can still move my toes, so I don’t think I’ve suffered any permanent neurological damage. Under the icepack, my jaw feels – well, pretty much like it’s received a roundhouse kick from a giant black-belt.

  ‘I am awesome. Really, really great. I see now how much fun this is. Dunno how you’ve gone almost a whole year without it.’

  ‘Sam, you are a knob. This was your best plan? Seriously, dude – what plans did you reject?’

  I laugh. Everything hurts.

  Mike lifts the icepack and frowns at my face. ‘So which movie inspired this piece of brilliance?’

  I attempt a scowl. ‘Not everything in my life is inspired by a movie, Michael.’

  Mike stares at me.

  ‘Karate Kid.’

  ‘Course.’ Mike clears his throat. He shakes his head. He takes off his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose. ‘You’ve really been … worried?’

  I manage to turn my head, but the rest of me refuses to budge. Mike is focusing somewhere on my feet. ‘Yeah. I have. We all have. Look, I know we haven’t really talked about it. The whole, you know, you liking guys thing. But it’s okay. If you and this Travis guy, or whatever … I mean, if you’re thinking I’m gonna get all judgey –’

  Mike’s brow furrows. ‘Sam – English?’

  ‘Well, just that, I know it’s probably weird for you … being into someone … a guy or whatever … especially one that seems like a giant tool, but –’

  Mike stands in one sudden motion. He looks like he’s not entirely sure which way to move next. ‘You think I like … Travis Azumi? Like, like like him? You think Travis and I –’

  Mike closes his eyes. He is silent for approximately eight seconds. When he eventually speaks, it is a barely audible growl forced out through clenched teeth.

  ‘Sam. Listen carefully. I do not like Travis Azumi. Not like like. Not in any other way like. Travis Azumi is, quite probably, the biggest knob-head to ever walk the face of this planet. Or any planet. Travis Azumi. Is. An. Arsehole.’

  ‘You … are you sure?’

  Mike snorts. ‘I am goddamned one hundred per cent positive of his arseholeness.’

  ‘Then, I don’t understand. Why did you quit?’

  Mike slumps against the lockers. I manage, somehow, to pull myself into a sitting position, despite the determined protest from my entire body. I hold the icepack in place and move my jaw carefully beneath it. Miraculously, my jaw is still attached to my face.

  ‘Mike, come on. It’s me. I’ve watched you play Peter Pan on stage, remember? Green tights and all. It can’t get worse than that. Just tell me.’

  Mike laughs tiredly. ‘Self-Esteem through Drama. Man, that sucked arse.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject. Talk.’

  Mike sinks to the floor beside me. He takes the icepack from my hands and he peers at my face again. ‘You’re gonna bruise. Lucky he didn’t knock out a tooth.’

  ‘I’ll live. Stop deflecting.’

  Mike closes his eyes. ‘Sam, look – this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Face it. I suck at pretty much everything else. I get that you don’t notice. You coast through school and you’re gonna be a famous movie guy some day – but I have to bust my arse to get anything close to decent marks. I can’t do anything else. I’m not good at anything else. I don’t even know if I want to do law, not that I have much shot of getting in anyway. I have no idea what I want to do. I know it sounds dumb, but … karate is the one thing I’ve always been good at.’

  ‘So …?’

  He grimaces. His face looks like someone is jabbing him with a bayonet.

  ‘Mike?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘What?’

  Mike buries his face in his hands. ‘I failed my second-dan test,’ he whispers.

  It takes me a moment to sort through the karate-belt knowledge in my head. ‘Wait – you took your second-dan test? When? And why didn’t you tell us? We always come and watch you.’

  ‘Beginning of the year. And I would have told you. But then Azumi showed up.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he hated me. From day one. I dunno why. Maybe cos around here, it’s no secret that I like guys. Maybe cos the first time we met, I kicked him in the face. Who knows?’

  I try to process this information with the seriousness it obviously deserves. I try to remind myself how important it is to my best friend. How this stuff has sent Mike on a downward spiral of gloom that has lasted almost an entire year. But then I think about how freaked I’ve been, all the explanations that have been running through my head, all the worst-case scenarios I’ve been contemplating –

  And I lose it.

  I laugh. My rib cage feels like it is being squashed in a giant nutcracker. My jaw hurts. My stomach hurts. The cuticles of my fingernails hurt.

  I laugh. I believe tears may be streaming down my face, but my face is frozen under an icepack so I’m not sure. ‘You kicked him in the face?’

  Mike grins sheepishly. ‘Yeah. There was blood. I think he was pissed. But Sam, he’s my senior. He’s in charge. I had a bad feeling from the second he showed up. I knew he had it in for me. And I was right.’

  With some effort, I rein in my laughter. ‘Okay, so he’s a massive tower of suck. My guess is because you’re the only black-belt here who would’ve been a threat. You’re awesome. You know that. But I don’t understand why you couldn’t just go someplace else? I know you’ve been here forever, but it’s not like this is the only karate school in Melbourne.’

  Mike sighs. ‘Yeah. I know that. Thing is, Sam – what if he isn’t just a massive homophobic tool? What if he’s right? What if I deserved to fail? I trained as hard as I could. What if that’s not enough? If I stuffed this up, the one thing that I’ve always aced – then how do I know I haven’t just been fluking it all these years? How do I know –’

  ‘Mike. Seriously? You can’t. You don’t. No-one knows anything.’

  Mike is silent. ‘That’s all you got?’

  I grin. ‘Yeah. Pretty much.’

  Mike leans back against the lockers. He closes his eyes. And he starts to laugh. ‘Dude. That was the worst inspirational speech ever.’

  ‘Well, I’m saving the truly awesome stuff for my movies. But so … this doesn’t have anything to do with a guy?’

  Mike rolls his eyes. ‘Believe it or not, I am doing okay with that. Actually … sort of more than okay.’ His face takes on this goofy lopsided smirk-thing that I’ve never actually seen before.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Mike shrugs. The goofy smirk-thing doesn’t quite disappear, though.

  ‘Mike, are you … is there someone …?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s new, but I think … yeah.’

  I try to keep the disbelief from my voice, but I’m pretty sure I am unsuccessful. ‘Who?’

  Mike looks sideways at me again. ‘Noah?’

  ‘Who’s – hang on. The guitarist? From Camilla’s gig?’

  Mike grins. ‘Yeah. He’s … cool. We’ve hung out a couple of times this week. He’s nice. Really nice. Kind of like me, but not at all like me. It’s weird. Good weird.’

  ‘But Mike – how?’

  Mike shrugs. ‘I liked him. So I asked. Not all of us are as hopeless as you.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Mike spins around to face me. He shakes his head tiredly. ‘Samuel. You’re probably the smartest person I know. You know … I love you, in a complete
ly non-gay way. But you are also a frakking retard.’

  ‘What did I do?’

  ‘That’s kind of the point.’ Mike crosses his arms. ‘Maybe no-one else can see past the whole Tin Man thing, but I can. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for months, but you are losing your mind and I’m on my way to developing a brain haemorrhage.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re –’

  ‘You. Camilla. The fact that your eyes pretty much turn into googly hearts every time you look at her.’

  I stare at Mike. He stares back at me. He raises an eyebrow and I know, in an instant, that there is no point arguing. ‘You … know?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s been painful to watch.’

  I sink onto my back again. It feels slightly dramatic, but also the most appropriate thing I can think to do. ‘Do you think she knows?’ I whisper.

  Mike snorts. ‘Doubtful. You aren’t exactly Mr Open Book. You forget, though – I know you. And I can’t watch you make yourself this miserable anymore. What hurts you hurts me and all that. Believe me, it’s the only thing that’s stopped me from punching you in the face for being so hopeless. I’ve done everything I can. But dude, the kissing-Allison episode was, like, a last-straw moment. I’m out.’

  ‘Hang on – what do you mean, you’ve done everything you can?’

  Mike groans. ‘Sam, come on! I left you alone with her every Friday. D’you know how hard it was to get Adrian out of your house? I avoided being anywhere when there was a chance you two could be alone. It’s not my fault you’re useless.’

  ‘Mike, why the hell didn’t you just say something?’

  Mike laughs. ‘Dude. I’ve known you for half my life. And when it comes to sticking your neck out of your comfort zone, you are as skittish as a frakking baby gazelle. I was sort of relying on you to figure it out on your own. You know, without your brain exploding first. Guess that was too much to hope for.’

  ‘So that’s why you haven’t been hanging out with me as much?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I thought that was obvious. And it would’ve been, if you weren’t such a moron. The Camilla thing, and, you know, all this stuff too. Trying to get a handle on school and … figure out my life and stuff. It’s been a weird year.’

  I struggle to my feet, my legs jelly-like beneath me. Mike stands up and grabs my arm, steering me to a bench in the middle of the room. I sit, transferring the icepack from my bruised face to my battered ribs.

  ‘So. You thought about actually talking to her?’ he says.

  ‘I can’t! Mike, it’s Camilla. Why would she give a rats that I’m … I’m …’

  ‘Crazy about her?’ He shrugs. ‘Maybe cos you’re her friend, and she’s your friend? Maybe she might actually want to know that you have feelings for her? Maybe you should let her decide how she wants to deal with it?’

  The idea of having that conversation with Camilla fills me with the kind of mortification reserved for naked-in-public dreams and parent sex-talks. Where would I even start? What would I say? How would she react? Camilla isn’t harsh. I know exactly how she would deal with it – try to be nice and then run as far as she could. It would be awkward and horrible and I’d have to move to Bolivia just so I didn’t have to look at her every day and know that I messed things up so badly.

  ‘Mike, I can’t. It’s not like that. It’s different.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘Different cos … Camilla’s supposed to move to New York or Paris or Berlin. She’s supposed to just pass through.’

  ‘According to who?’

  ‘According to all laws of the known universe. I’ve seen this movie, Mike. And I know how it ends. Camilla is supposed to ride out of town on the back of a motorcycle with that muscled cop-dude with the giant gun and the moustache, and I’m supposed to be the comic-relief convenience store-clerk who gets his face chainsawed off as he’s cowering behind a dumpster.’

  ‘Jesus, Sam –’

  ‘But Mike, it’s okay. Really. I’m dealing with it. I just need to let this weirdness run its course.’

  ‘I … are you sure?’

  I focus on my feet. ‘Yeah. I am. Camilla is my friend. And I can’t do anything to wreck that, Mike. For as long as she’s here … she can’t not be my friend. I just need to deal with the other stuff and move on.’

  Beside me, Mike stands. He holds out his hand. I consider staying right here in the change room for the foreseeable future. And then I grab his arm and let him pull me to my feet.

  ‘Sam, whatever you’ve decided – stop torturing yourself. Cos I really don’t want to have any more of these moments with you in the bathroom. It’s kinda girly.’

  I laugh. I think it sounds worn and tired. ‘Okay. But same goes for you. You need to promise me something. Actually, two somethings.’

  ‘Which are?’ he says carefully.

  ‘One – that you’ll let me help you with whatever school stuff you’re freaking out over. There’s no point having a nerd for a best friend if you don’t take advantage. And two – that you’ll come back here. You’ll start training again, and you will kick Travis Azumi’s arse. Otherwise I will be forced to do it myself, and dude, seriously, I’m not built for arse-kicking anyone. I actually enjoy all my ribs right where they are.’

  Mike takes a deep breath. He shakes his head, and he looks at me with his customary Mike-mask. But beneath the blankness, I know that he is grinning.

  •

  In the movies, the hero’s triumphant return is, as a rule, a cause for celebration. There are carnivals or fanfares of some kind. Mead is poured, or at the very least there is a keg. Typically a band will be playing, made up of various aliens, dwarves or non-specific grateful townsfolk.

  I am not sure if any of my movie heroes have had to suffer the indignity of being dumped onto their mother’s floral couch while their friends bury them under kitchen towels of ice and bags of peas and one sad-looking frozen chicken breast.

  Camilla is kneeling on the floor near my head. And she is scowling. ‘Really. This is what I’m reduced to? Swooning in a sickbed waiting for my menfolk to return from battle? I’m just glad your mother is out.’

  She frowns and touches my jaw. Her fingers are fever-warm but feather-light. Beneath them, my face aches.

  ‘Sammy, tell me you at least conquered the monster?’

  Maybe I am still concussed; maybe the self-preservation part of my brain is still pissed with me. But I reach up, for just a moment, and I wind a strand of her long hair around my fingers. She looks at me with those wide, kind eyes, and my chest feels exactly like someone has punched it again. I am not sure I’ll ever understand how her eyes can do that.

  I run her hair between my fingers for four seconds. And then I let go. ‘I think so. Pretty sure it’s been conquered.’

  She looks at me for the longest moment. And then she nods and moves away.

  Allison sits gingerly on the edge of the couch and adjusts an icepack over my forehead. She grimaces. ‘Promise me that is the last time I’ll ever have to use the phrase Sam is going to fight in a conversation.’

  ‘Yeah. I’m surprised saying that out loud once didn’t cause a crack in the space-time continuum,’ Adrian says, dissolving into snorts at his own hilariousness.

  Mike leans over the back of the couch and gives my ribs an experimental jab. I wince. ‘Can we all agree – if anyone has a concern that relates to me, please, for the love of all that is good – do not enter my karate school. Or any karate school. Anywhere. Ever.’

  ‘Sam?’ Camilla says from her perch on the piano seat.

  ‘Yeah, okay, fine. Consider that the last time I get kicked in the face for any of you.’

  My friends buzz around me, poking at my bruises and recounting my arse-kicking in painful and embellished detail. I close my eyes as the babble of four familiar voices drifts around me – the four people who I would choose first as allies in the event of a zombie or asteroid or alien apocalypse.

  I have kissed one, obsessed over
one, punched one in the face, and been punched, repeatedly, for another.

  I am not sure if I will ever understand anything. My guess is probably not. But right here, for just this brief moment, I decide that really, I couldn’t care less.

  A sort-of dance scene with fifty billion Marilyn Monroes

  I am not sure if having your face almost broken counts as a rite of passage. I suspect it’s probably a rite of passage only for a certain sort of people, like pirates, or Klingons. All I know is once my bruises heal, everything returns to normal. And yet, nothing is really the same.

  I throw myself headfirst into school. Or at least, I try to. It suddenly feels like every spare moment of my life is filled with commitments: serving as a rent-a-crowd in various dingy bars and band rooms for The Annabel Lees or for Noah and James, or tutoring Mike, or getting a crash course in Japanese horror movies from Allison. Some of the movies are cool, although I think their screenplays might lose something in translation. Juggling my parents also proves to be a pain in the arse, since their social lives have exploded as well. My father actually has a spoken-word recital. Turns out he’s been writing for years. Mike and I trek out to hear him in a Brunswick cafe. Dad’s stuff sort of makes me want to surgically remove my eardrums, it’s so arse-numbingly awful. But he seems happy. I guess I am not the person to judge.

  After some prodding, Camilla does show me her writing. I can read enough music to know that her songs aren’t just simple piano tunes; her compositions are incredible and layered. Her lyrics are amazing. It’s weird, because I’ve never been much good with poetry, but even her obscure stuff sort of makes sense to me.

  Camilla is working hard to conquer her pathological stage fright, even letting herself be dragged up with a guitar at one of Noah and James’s gigs. Despite her being pale and shaky, it turned out to be a great set. She’s still too freaked to let Henry hear her music, but I have faith she’ll conquer that too. She really is going to be brilliant some day.

  Camilla is also busier than ever; the dance committee goes into overdrive, and the volleyball team unexpectedly makes it into the C-division semi-finals. We still spend a bit of time on Warcraft. But apart from hanging out with everyone else, the two of us spend less and less time alone together. I know this is the sensible course of action. But every now and then I’m struck with this raw, dull ache – a sort of sadness, or nostalgia. Every now and then, if I allow my mental focus to slip, I catch myself looking at her face and forgetting how to breathe. I guess these things take time to fade completely. I think this is probably normal. I don’t allow myself time to contemplate it.