by Tina Shaw
‘Dude?’ It was Ajax, looking at me expectantly. Daniel, as usual, was staring gloomily at the board.
‘What?’
‘Did you see what I just did?’
My eyes focussed on the board. Checkmate. Leaden. But did I care? No. Because Roxy was only a few metres away, standing up and smoothing down her flippy skirt, getting ready to go into class.
That day I followed her home after school. Don’t ask: I’m no pervert. It was just one of those impulsive moments. One minute I was sliding on my helmet, thinking about pizza toppings and whether pepperoni or plain ham is better, when Roxy walked past. I watched her hop onto the waiting bus outside school and the bus chug off with a fart of diesel smoke. Then, in a robotic kind of daze, I found myself puttering along on my Vespa behind the bus.
She lived in an old place at the end of a dead-end street. The house needed a paint, and its big old veranda was sagging at one end. A car was rusting out the front. Weeds were growing up out of the bonnet. Which was a shame, because it was a Ford Prefect.
There was a bush reserve at the bottom of the street, right across from Roxy’s, and I parked my Vespa behind a clump of toi-toi, so I could spy on the house. Yep, seventeen years old and spying on a girl. How pathetic was that? I must’ve been well hidden, because at one stage a little kid, carrying a carton of milk, ran past me out of the bush and didn’t even see me. It made my heart skip, though. I hated doing this, but I couldn’t help myself.
I didn’t hang round long. Nothing was happening at Roxy’s place. The house was shut down like a sunken navy frigate. I pushed the Vespa through the reserve, and discovered it opened onto another street which was obviously where the kid had come from.
The next night, when Mum thought I’d gone to bed early, I headed out instead on my Vespa. There was something about Roxy’s house that drew me back.
It was dark by the time I got to the reserve. Lights were on in one of the two front rooms and the curtains were open. I could see right inside the lounge: a couple of big sofas and a TV going. Roxy walked through carrying something. Then a light went on in the left-hand room. It was obviously her bedroom. It gave me a quiet thrill, seeing Roxy there.
She had her back to the street. Then Soundgarden came blasting out the open window, really loud. When I listen to music I put on my ear plugs so nobody else can hear it. I like to have the music to myself. Roxy obviously liked to share.
A man shouted from somewhere else in the house: ‘Roxy, turn that noise down!’ But she was just standing there in front of the stereo, nodding her head. Maybe she didn’t even hear him. A man walked quickly across the lounge, then he was in her room and suddenly the music dropped several decibels. The man walked out again, just as quickly. As soon as he was gone, she turned the music back up again.
It was like watching a play.
The man stormed back. I could tell he was really mad now. He shut down the music altogether and started jabbing at the air in front of her. ‘It’s time you learned whose house this is, young lady!’ I was only a few metres away and could hear every word. ‘You’re doing it deliberately – aren’t you! Well, it won’t work.’
Roxy put her hands on her hips. Even from where I stood, it looked like she was spitting. ‘How could I ever forget, when you’re always ramming it down my throat!’
They shouted at each other for a while, then the man stormed back out of the room. Roxy flopped face-down onto her bed.
Then I realised she was crying: I could just hear her. The sound was carrying softly out into the quiet street. I thought of her on that bus, how it had looked like she was crying. It made me feel protective, as if I could help her in some way.
Suddenly I felt bad all over again. Really like some kind of pervert. I ducked my head, thinking about what to do next, and looked at my Doc Martens, all scuffed and dusty. The dark bush ticked away behind me. There I was, standing behind a bunch of toi-toi, spying on a girl. Bloody hell. I felt like a nine-year-old peeking through a bathroom window at a naked lady. And a great weariness came over me. I had to get home.
Then I found myself looking straight into the face of that kid with the milk.
‘Christ!’ My heart bumped in my chest. ‘What are you doing?’ I hissed.
‘What’re you doing?’ The kid was pretty cocky. He didn’t have the milk with him this time.
‘It’s none of your business,’ I said, starting to push past him. I had to get away.
‘I bet you were spying on Roxy,’ he whined.
That made me pause. ‘Look,’ I said in a reasonable voice, and after all he was just a little kid; I was the older guy here. ‘Listen, I don’t know who this Roxy person is, I was just having a leak, all right?’
That seemed to mollify him, and he watched as I pushed up the Vespa’s stand with my foot. I made sure I didn’t look towards Roxy’s house again.
‘Where’re you going now?’
‘None of your business,’ I threw over my shoulder.
‘Gonna have a leak somewhere else then?’
Cheeky little bastard. ‘It’s dark out here. Haven’t you heard of the bogeyman? You should get home before he shows.’
Puffing now from the effort, I pushed the Vespa through the dark bush and got out into the other street.
Despite being caught out by the kid, I was thinking about love. Not the soppy stuff you see on TV, but real love, where maybe the other person doesn’t even know how you feel about them, but it’s there anyway, deep down and real. And it springs up out of nowhere, so you don’t know what’s happening at first. It feels a bit like you’re coming down with a flu. You feel a bit off-balance.
That was how I felt in the days after I saw Roxy at the bus stop.
Now a line was playing in my head like a crappy pop song: How can I get close to Roxy? Because right then that was the most important thing I could think of. I want to get close to Roxy.
3
Me and Roxy, at the pictures. It’s a romantic chick-flick, but kind of intelligent. I’ve just slid my arm over her shoulders and her knee is pressing against my leg … no, must concentrate – on chemistry.
I was sitting on a stool, fiddling with a pipette while most of our group was bent over deionised water and flasks. Ms Gretelbaum, our chem teacher, had temporarily vacated the room, so most people were just killing time. Except for our group, which was industriously working on the exercise.
‘But then, get this, she burnt him off …’
‘Yeah?’
‘Totally.’
Voices were wafting into my consciousness. Ah, the cool guys – slouched across their desks over by the windows. I could just see them in a few years’ time, working in shiny law offices or accountancy firms. Then they opened their mouths again and spoiled the image.
‘She’s probably a dyke.’
‘No way.’
‘Way,’ said the other guy, then mentioned Roxy’s name.
My ears burned chilli-hot. I felt like going over there and punching out their lights. Isn’t that what you did? Punched out somebody’s lights? I didn’t even know what that meant. But I felt sick. It was like they were dissing my girlfriend.
‘Hey, Griffen,’ one of our group wheedled, ‘are you planning on contributing at some stage?’
That, I ignored. They were perfectly capable of finishing the thing without me. But a plan was forming in my head. A plan to get myself one step closer to Roxy. I just needed a little bit of help.
I was sitting in the kitchen eating a peanut butter sandwich when Ryan came in. He went straight to the fridge and started rummaging around. He took some stuff over to the bench and started making a sandwich. One of those deluxe affairs that Ryan likes to eat when he gets back from burning rubber and scaring old ladies. Mum wasn’t due back from work for a while, so we’d be eating late again.
I chewed my sandwich, keeping an eye on Ryan. Lately he didn’t say anything to me unless I spoke first. We had this sort of unspoken agreement that we didn’t have anyth
ing in common, so why bother. My brother was a jock. And in his opinion I was a nerd and a dork. Plus I was sick. That was pretty much how it was laid out. Black and white.
I forget when it started to be like that. We used to be okay. We’d play cards in the kitchen on crap TV nights. 500. Poker. But things were different now. Maybe it happened after Ryan started high school, a year behind me, and suddenly it wasn’t cool to have a nerdy brother.
But today I needed Ryan. There was nobody else I could ask. All my mates were in the nerdish category, so I reasoned that a girl like Roxy wouldn’t be caught dead talking to any of them. Ryan, on the other hand, was Mr Cool himself.
He must’ve sensed something was up. He glanced over his shoulder at me, raised an eyebrow, and went on building his sandwich.
How could I put it so I didn’t give too much away? And could I trust him? He was my brother, after all; I liked to think that with something important like this, there might be some blood loyalty between us. Not that there was much evidence, though. I was taking a big risk.
He brought his sandwich over to the table and sat down opposite me. My own half-eaten sandwich looked pathetic compared to his monster. I laid it down and looked at him. His blond hair was spiky with gel. A thin silver ring gleamed in his eyebrow. When had he got that done?
‘What?’ he said through a mouthful.
‘There’s this girl–’ I started.
He snorted, deliberately choking on his food. Half a gherkin flew out of his mouth onto the table. He put it back in. We didn’t stand on ceremony with each other when Mum wasn’t around. Still chewing, he looked at me with a grin.
‘What, has a girl been picking on you, faggot? You want me to get her to lay off?’ He really knew how to make a guy feel small.
I picked up my own skinny sandwich and looked at it in a way that I hoped would seem cool and detached. My fingertips were pressing into the soft bread and I told myself to relax. My heart was beating faster, though. I could feel the throb of it behind my eyes.
‘You know about girls,’ I said.
Another snort, this time of acknowledgement. Ryan had had his first girlfriend at thirteen. Usually he had two girls on the go at the same time because, as he said, he couldn’t decide between them. And besides, he wasn’t into commitment. Other girls called him on his cell. One even sent a picture of herself in a bikini.
‘There’s this girl,’ I tried again. ‘I really want to ask her out, but … I was thinking …’
I had his attention now. He was eyeing me over the top of his humungous sandwich, lettuce and ham and cheese sticking out the sides. King Kong flashed into my mind. A big ape eating a sandwich, with stuff dropping out of it and landing on the pavement hundreds of metres below.
‘Maybe she’s in your class … or you know her?’
Ryan was still going to school, though probably not for much longer. Even though he was only in Year Eleven, he worked weekends at a construction site, and had been taking whole days off school recently as well.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Roxy Martin.’
He exploded. Bits of half-chewed sandwich spattered the table. Something moist hit my cheek. I picked it off cautiously. The rest of his sandwich collapsed onto the plate in a crumpled mess. His eyes were squinched up, he was laughing that hard. He thumped his fist on the table.
‘No, don’t,’ he begged, ‘it’s too much!’
The back of my neck was burning, like it had been set alight. I took a bite of my own sandwich, waiting for him to finish, but I nearly choked on the cloying dryness. I probably wouldn’t be able to eat peanut butter again after this. I should have just kept my trap shut. It was a rewind moment.
‘Roxy Martin,’ he smiled, picking up his sandwich again and stuffing bits of food back into it. ‘Ah, me …’
‘I’m serious, Ryan.’
‘She’s the hottest chick in school.’ He was looking serious now. It made me wonder whether Ryan hadn’t tried to get onto her. Maybe he’d even been given the brush-off. ‘And the toughest,’ he added, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Anyway, I’ve heard she’s already got a boyfriend.’
My heart sank. I thought about the guy at the bus stop ‘That’s okay,’ I said. ‘I still want to get to know her.’
‘So you can be mates? Yeah, she could be your chickmate, man.’ He gave a chuckle. But I could tell he was losing interest already. Attention span of an ape, I had to remind myself. Actually, apes probably have a longer attention span than Ryan.
‘So is she in your class?’
‘Yup. Bio.’ He sniggered.
‘Then will you talk to her for me? Sound her out if she’d go out with me some time.’
‘Talk to her yourself,’ he said, stuffing the last of the sandwich into his mouth.
‘I dunno.’ I tried to form the right words in my head. Ryan raised the eyebrow again. ‘I mean, you’re good at this sort of thing,’ I reminded him, applying a little flattery.
‘True,’ he agreed.
‘So you will?’
He pushed away from the table, going to make another sandwich. ‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked from the bench.
Of course. He would want something in return. I racked my brains. I didn’t have much money, and what would a guy like Ryan want apart from cash? But he’d already thought of something.
‘You can get me a bottle of bourbon.’
I pondered the ramifications of this. True, my driver’s licence said I was eighteen. Somebody had made a mistake, putting in the wrong year. So legally I could walk into a liquor shop and buy alcohol. But what would Mum say if she found out? Except, knowing Ryan, she wouldn’t find out, so I’d probably be safe on that score. And did he expect me to pay for it? I didn’t even know how much a bottle of bourbon cost. It occurred to me to say okay I’d get the bourbon, but he’d have to pay for it. But Ryan was one step ahead of me there as well.
‘That’s sorted then. You’ll get the bourbon. I’ll get the girl.’ And he walked out of the kitchen with his sandwich, chuckling to himself.
Mum came in late. I heard her scrabbling about in the hallway, hanging up her wet coat. It was raining by now, drumming on the iron roof. I watched from my bedroom doorway, noting the tired sag of her shoulders.
‘Hey,’ she said, looking up.
‘Busy shift?’
She was heading for the kitchen, her rubber-soled white shoes squelching on the wooden boards of the hall. ‘Yeah. We lost one of the babies. Poor little mite.’ She sent me a thoughtful glance. ‘Though it’s the parents I really feel sorry for.’ She gave a sigh.
My mother was a baby nurse, which in a funny way maybe explained why she was so squeamish when it came to the subject of open heart surgery. She was used to dealing with all those tiny prem babies. They have to live in heated pods for days or weeks on end until they’re strong enough to go home. I went in there once and she took me around and told me about the babies – when each of them had come in, what kind of problem they had. I know it’s weird but I really liked checking out the little sprogs in their capsules. They looked like they were waiting to be sent off into outer space – part of a space programme to colonise a distant planet. And hey, if it took forty years to reach a distant planet, then it made sense to send a baby.
I followed her into the kitchen where she was starting to pull things out of the fridge. It looked like another mince and spuds night.
‘Ryan home? I didn’t see his car out front.’
‘Then he must be out,’ I sniffed.
She looked up, mauve shadows under her eyes. ‘You should look out for each other more, you two. There’s only the two of you.’
Tell that to Ryan, I thought.
Mum dumped some silverbeet in the sink. ‘I worry about Ryan, you know,’ she muttered.
I did know. Just the other day he vanished for the whole weekend. We never knew where he was, and when he showed, he didn’t bother telling us. Mum had spent hours on the phone trying to track hi
m down. They had a huge row when he finally turned up. Mum was hoping it was a phase he’d grow out of. Sooner rather than later.
‘Shall I cut up an onion?’
‘Thanks, love, that’d be good.’ She poured herself a glass of wine, and sat down at the table. ‘You sleep all right last night?’
Thoughts of Roxy went through my head, and again I felt my neck heat up remembering how I’d been spying on her. Not the kind of thing I could talk to my mother about. It was bad enough that Ryan knew about Roxy.
‘Sure,’ I said, peeling the onion.
‘You look a bit peaky.’ That was surely a joke. Next to me, a zombie would look positively healthy. ‘You know you’ve got to take it easy,’ she added.
Yadda yadda. ‘Yeah, I know.’
She sighed, tucking a wispy piece of hair behind her ear. ‘No phone call, I don’t suppose?’
‘Nope … You work there,’ I persevered, ‘can’t you pull some strings? Bribe some office person to bump me up on the list?’
‘If only,’ she chuckled. ‘Trouble is, your case might not have a high enough priority.’
That was news to me. ‘What d’you mean? My valve is buggered.’
‘Language,’ she murmured, taking a sip of wine. ‘I’m just saying, maybe there are more urgent cases … I don’t know.’
The atmosphere in the kitchen was leaden. The onion was making my eyes water. Or maybe it was the disappointment. We’d been waiting to hear about the heart op now for about five months, and counting. It wasn’t like simply putting the Vespa in for a tune. But I knew it was all my mum thought about – well, either that or what Ryan was up to.