Troy’s Possibilities

by Rodney Strong

  A while later Emily woke screaming. When I went into her room she was sitting bolt upright in bed, hyperventilating. It took me a full five minutes to coax her into lying down again. As I sat next to her, stroking her hand soothingly, she haltingly told me what had happened. How she met up with Cat, and they had eaten at a place on the foreshore. The two guys had offered to buy them drinks, but Cat said no since she’d got a bad vibe from them. When the girls left the men followed them, and grabbed them and dragged them into the sand dunes.

  I could hear the terror in Emily’s voice as she replayed the night. In one of my lives I’d volunteered at a suicide hotline – ironic, given how many times I’d thought about or tried suicide – and I recognised the feeling of helplessness she felt, the victimisation, the loss of hope. I was pretty sure Emily was strong enough to come back from this, but I couldn’t take the chance – not with Emily, one of the few constants in my life. My real life.

  ‘Talk to me, Troy,’ she begged. ‘Anything to get his voice out of my mind.’

  So I did. I started with general stuff, things I’d read online, anecdotes from my life. At some point when she had drifted away I told her about the girl, the one I didn’t save – my twelve-year-old daughter Victoria. When my voice faltered I sat for the rest of the night, rubbing Emily’s back every time she cried out, soothing words the only comfort I could offer.

  Sleep eluded me, thoughts of all the pain and loss I’d experienced too real and raw to allow rest. At the start I’d wondered how I could cope with it all without going crazy. Maybe it was already too late.

  The one with the brother

  Life went on. I heard from Emily that Cat was coping by ignoring what happened and throwing herself into work. She no longer worked at the café, but had a job at a clothes shop. Emily gently suggested Cat might like to see me, then not so gently told me to get off my arse and go talk to her.

  I said I would but I didn’t mean it. I had broken my knuckle, two of them actually, so my hand was bandaged and splinted and hurt like fuck.

  Emily slowly recovered. She had the occasional nightmare, although that was helped by the sleeping pills her doctor prescribed. She didn’t realise it, but I kept a close eye on how many of them she had.

  I’ve said the list of things I care about is short, and it is. But Emily is near the top. There would never be anything more than friendship between us, but she has stuck by me all this time, and she may be slightly crazy, but she’s my kind of crazy. I would do anything to protect her; she would say I saved her from a far worse attack, but all I thought about was how I could have prevented the whole thing. If I hadn’t been obsessing over that stupid fucking sand sculpture I would have heard her calling out earlier, and then she might not be a shell of who she truly is.

  Steven showed up at the front door one night. ‘Hey,’ he said, shuffling nervously on the doorstep.

  ‘Hey,’ I replied.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  I opened the door wider. We sat at the kitchen table. He refused to meet my eyes and I wondered what was going on. It didn’t seem like he was going to tell me anytime soon, so I got the vodka down from the top shelf and poured us both a glass.

  His eyes widened when I put one in front of him. ‘But I’m only sixteen.’

  ‘Okay, but I don’t have all night for you to tell me what you want, so drink the vodka and talk, or drink the vodka and fuck off. Either way, just drink the damn vodka.’

  He looked at the glass for so long I wondered if it was his first drink, then he lifted it to his lips and drained the whole lot in one go. Immediately he had a coughing fit and his eyes watered. ‘I’m more of a beer guy,’ he said when he could speak again. I rolled my eyes and he grinned, then looked serious again. ‘I want to know if you can teach me.’

  ‘Teach you what?’

  ‘Jess and I are going out.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ I said.

  ‘Only I’ve been thinking about that night, about what Elissa said you did to those guys.’ He paused and I waited. ‘Look, man, I’m not a fighter. If I’d come across those guys raping my sister I would have shit myself. I couldn’t have helped her.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ I said.

  ‘I would have tried, but I’ve never been in a fight.’

  ‘What does it matter? It’s over.’

  His hands were shaking slightly. ‘Like I said, Jess and I are going out.’

  I suddenly got it. ‘To be honest, most of what happened was adrenalin.’

  ‘But you saw what was happening – there were two of them and you didn’t hesitate.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I admitted. ‘But if I’d stopped to think about it I probably wouldn’t have.’

  ‘That’s bullshit.’

  ‘So you want me to teach you how to fight?’

  He looked at me eagerly. ‘Yeah.’

  I poured myself another drink. He pushed his glass over the table hopefully but I shook my head. ‘Make a fist,’ I ordered.

  Confused, he clenched his right hand into a fist.

  ‘Congratulations. You know how to fight.’

  He looked down at his fist then over at me, clearly disappointed.

  ‘Look,’ I went on, ‘I know enough to get by but I’m not a teacher.’

  ‘Fine.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘Thanks for nothing.’ He strode to the door.

  Fucking teenagers. ‘Wait.’ He stopped. I got up from the table and went over to him. ‘Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?’

  He looked away, at his shoes, the wall, the fridge, anywhere but at me. Then he met my eyes. ‘I don’t want to be a coward,’ he said, and there was something vulnerable about the way he said it.

  ‘Then don’t be.’

  ‘Okay, cool, thanks,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘Being afraid of a fight doesn’t make you a coward. In fact, it makes you smart. I was scared when I got to the top of that sand dune.’

  ‘But you kept going,’ he insisted.

  ‘Because it mattered, because it was my friend.’

  ‘But what if I can’t do that? What if someone attacks Jess and I’m too afraid to do anything about it?’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I told him. After a few seconds he did. ‘Picture Jess in your mind. Can you see her?’ A smile played across his face. ‘Okay, imagine a man grabbing her, shoving her to the ground, tearing at her clothes.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Imagine he pins her hands above her head and pulls down his pants. He’s about to fuck her, he’s about to hurt – ’

  ‘Stop it!’ His eyes blazed and he raised his fist.

  I waited for the light to go out of his eyes and his hand to relax. ‘I think you just answered your question.’

  ‘Fucker.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I agreed.

  He wiped his brow. ‘But I still don’t know how to fight.’

  I sighed, suddenly over this conversation. ‘Look, I can give you some pointers on which martial arts or boxing classes are the best, but there’re only three things you need to know about fighting so listen up. If he can’t see, breathe or walk then the fight is over, so aim for his nose, his stomach, or his balls.’

  He looked stunned, but there was something in his eyes like he’d burned the words into his brain.

  ‘Okay, I’m a busy man so get out.’ I pushed him into the hallway and we walked to the front door.

  ‘Mum and Dad want to come around and see you, to say thank you.’

  ‘Tell them there’s no need.’

  ‘They won’t listen to me.’

  ‘Make them listen,’ I said bluntly.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re being so shy about this. I’d be milking it for everything.’

  The media had been around but I’d told them that because the matter was before the courts I couldn’t comment, which was partially true. In reality I didn’t deserve the attention.

  Steven paused on the front step. ‘Elissa’s back living at home. She’s pretending she’s ok
ay but she’s not. I thought maybe you could talk to her.’

  ‘She’s strong. She’ll get through this.’

  ‘How do you know what she’s like?’

  ‘She has to put up with you, so she must be strong.’

  ‘Wanker,’ he said and went out the door.

  I thought of calling something out, to get the last word in, but closed the door instead.

  Back down the hallway I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. The reflected face was covered in broken lines, the shadowed eyes with faded colour. I stayed in front of the mirror for a long time, hoping each blink of the eyes would change the perspective, bring hope or acceptance, but nothing ever changed.

  Yet Steven’s visit had given me an idea. When Emily got home later I suggested something. She seemed hesitant, but the following Sunday I woke up to find her standing at the end of my bed dressed in tracksuit pants, a running singlet and running shoes.

  Over the next two weeks I taught her how to fight. Not the Hollywood montage type where you wash cars or do 1,000 push ups a day. The real-life version where I showed her the dirtiest, most effective ways to inflict pain on a man, how to break fingers, gouge eyes and break kneecaps with the minimal amount of force. At the end of the two weeks she threw away her sleeping pills and slept well for the first time since the attack, albeit with a couple of drinks to help. I still watched her like a hawk.

  The one with the revelation

  ‘What the fuck are we doing here?’

  Emily ignored me and kept pushing. I grabbed the wheels and hauled backwards, and our progress shuddered to a halt.

  ‘Troy, let go!’

  ‘No. This is stupid. I want to go home.’

  She gave up and came around to the front of the chair. Her face glistened with sweat and she panted from the effort of pushing a dead weight uphill. Her normally groomed hair was tangled and damp, and the singlet top she wore clung to her stomach.

  ‘No,’ she said calmly. ‘It took me weeks to get you to agree to this. We’re not stopping now.’

  ‘Why don’t you leave me alone!’

  She leaned forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. ‘Because, you moron, I’m all you’ve got left. Your parents died at the same time your legs did, and you’ve driven away everyone else. If I go you have nothing.’

  I looked down at my wasted legs and felt the world darken around me. ‘I already have nothing,’ I said thickly.

  She released one shoulder and the next instant my cheek exploded as she slapped me. I stared at her shocked. ‘Are we clear?’ Taking my silence as consent, she walked around the back of the wheelchair and began pushing. This time I didn’t stop her.

  It took a further five minutes of manoeuvring before we reached the lookout. The warm breeze did little to cool us down, but the lookout had a roof which protected us from the sun. To the south was the ocean, and in the distance the tip of the South Island. To the north was the harbour, dotted with white sails and surrounded by hills. I couldn’t see much of it from my sitting position, but I’d been here plenty of times.

  ‘Okay, we’re here. Now what?’ Bitterness had wormed its way into my voice a year ago and now was such an integral part of me I couldn’t remember how I sounded without it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Emily admitted. ‘I actually didn’t think I’d get you this far.’

  ‘You hit me.’

  ‘It’s been a long time coming,’ she replied.

  ‘Did you enjoy hitting a cripple?’

  ‘I don’t enjoy any of this, you bitter, nasty, foul-mouthed son of a bitch.’

  ‘Then why don’t you join the long list of people who fucked off?’ I shouted.

  Before she could reply a bunch of runners came up the steps and leaned on their knees, panting like dogs. Even though I was never a runner, it served as another reminder of what I couldn’t do. One of them asked Emily to take a group photo of them and she obliged, directing them into the best set-up, then clicking a few pictures on a phone. They thanked her then set off again. I was still seething.

  ‘I am going to fuck off.’ She rounded on me. ‘Right after I say this.’

  My mouth opened, then shut straight away. Of course she was going to leave. Everyone else had. A tiny part of my brain told me it was my fault and I told it to shut the hell up.

  Emily took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. ‘You have every right to be angry – what happened was terrible – but you’re still alive. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just fucking stop it. Because this is your last chance. When I’m gone, I’m gone. That’s it – I’m not going to spend the rest of your life watching this.’ She gestured at me. ‘You have a choice, right now! That way is self-pity.’ She pointed south, where white caps rode to the beach in ceaseless churning. ‘That way is life.’ She pointed north, where civilisation crept up hills, nestled amongst green. ‘If you choose north then come and find me. Otherwise enjoy what’s left of you.’ She stormed off.

  ‘Wait! How am I going to get home?’ I shouted after her.

  ‘Your arms work,’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘You can’t leave me here!’ I screamed, slamming my hands on the arms of the chair.

  She kept walking.

  I waited for her to come back, but as the seconds dragged into minutes it became clear she was gone. I clenched my hands, looking for something to throw or hit. Anger reduced my vision to pinpricks. I sat there, perfectly situated between north and south, life and not. I’d wished many times that I had died in the accident rather than ending up in this chair. I had full mobility from the waist up, but the crash might as well have paralysed my brain. It’s lives like this that are the worst. Waking up every day expecting to be okay again, waiting for the next blink to take me out of this Possibility, and with every passing day hope draining away, and acceptance growing that this was my real life.

  I looked south for a long time. To the left of the mass of land in the distance was the horizon, endless flat space where sky met world, but its beauty was wasted on my darkness. Reluctantly I dragged my eyesight to the north. It was closer, broken by structures and hills, but it seemed more out of reach. Emily was right. I’d been so consumed by bitterness I’d driven away all the people I cared about, or who cared about me. She was all I had left. My last link to finding a way back, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to take it. I don’t know why she’d stuck around for so long. Probably pity. Even before the accident it seemed strange that we were friends. I didn’t deserve her, but she was going so that was okay. I’d be alone and that’s the way it should be. Maybe this was a Possibility, maybe real life. Either way it didn’t matter – I still woke up every day knowing that the death of my parents was on me. I was the driver, distracted by my phone, failing to see the red light. The chair was punishment, a 24/7 reminder of my stupidity.

  The view exploded at me, and I flinched. When I looked back a cat crouched on the wall staring at me. It was a tabby, with a streak of white from its neck down to its tail.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  She sat down and licked a paw.

  ‘I don’t believe in symbolism,’ I told it in a calmer voice.

  She yawned at me.

  ‘You’re just a cat.’

  Apparently she took offence, turning her back and licking herself.

  ‘A stupid coincidence.’

  She paused mid-wash, her tongue poking out towards me.

  ‘You’re probably not even real,’ I said pettily.

  She crouched, and leapt from the wall onto my lap, the motion pushing my chair back a little.

  ‘Jesus!’

  She sniffed at my legs, then my t-shirt. I picked her up and dropped her on the ground, but she wasn’t having a bar of that, immediately jumping back up. I tried once more, this time throwing her halfway across the lookout. She landed on all four paws, trotted back across and for a third time landed on my lap.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  She had a collar
with a nametag. On one side was a phone number, the other her name: Maddy. ‘Leave me alone,’ I told her. ‘Maddy.’

  She ignored her name and kept sniffing me. Apparently, paraplegics are catnip to cats.

  ‘Fucking hell, cat.’

  She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me expectantly, staring in the unblinking way that cats do. Suddenly she hissed at me, leapt onto the north-facing wall and disappeared over it.

  The timing of the cat’s visit was troubling. I don’t believe in a higher power, or supernatural shit, but given what I’d gone through it was hard to dismiss the thought that some things aren’t mere coincidences. A soft breeze blew thoughts across my mind. My stomach clenched at the thought of Emily out of my life. My only – my last – friend. I suddenly realised I did have more to lose. Also, out there somewhere was the real Cat. She’d come around soon after the accident, and I’d been cruel to her. My face flushed with the memory of nasty words I’d said.

  I gripped the chair firmly, wheeled around and pushed myself down off the lookout. I hadn’t gone more than twenty metres before I saw her leaning against a fence, triumph written all over her face.

  ‘I thought you were going,’ I said.

  ‘Like I would,’ she replied smugly.

  ‘I fucking hate you.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Emily replied. ‘You love me.’

  I shook my head and blinked…

  And stood in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees, the only sound the wind moving branches and leaves. The sun was high in the cloudless sky and sweat trickled down my shirtless back. Did I remember to put sunscreen on this morning?