Imaginary Foe

by Shannon Leahy

  ‘And so the smell has all gone, then?’

  ‘Actually, I was worried for a while. Even after we’d got rid of the chair, the stench was still hanging around. But Laura Dean and I sprayed air freshener everywhere and it seems to have done the job.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good. You know what you should have used, though?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Incense. That stuff is so overpowering, it’d cover up the smell of anything. And the church has so much of the stuff…’

  ‘Well, thanks for your suggestion, but it’s all under control now. I’m just so shocked and baffled by the whole thing. Who would do such a thing? Father Ryan is such a lovely man. He doesn’t deserve such disrespect.’

  I look at Mum, who’s now making coffee for Dad, and I wonder how she can be comfortable making such a statement. I sneak a glance at Dad, who has his head stuck in the paper. How could she suggest that Father Ryan doesn’t deserve disrespect? The man has broken his vow with God and succumbed to temptations of the flesh. Doesn’t that warrant some disrespect? And how can she stand there, pouring her husband’s coffee and passing judgement on other people while turning a blind eye to her own behaviour? I mean, isn’t sleeping with a priest one of the most sinful things you could ever, ever, ever do? If she honestly believes in her religion, she’d have to consider the prospect of burning in hell for eternity. I mean, surely she’s got herself a one way ticket to hell. She’ll be flying there first class, hopefully doped up to her eyeballs on hard liquor. But perhaps she’s created yet another impossible loophole in her mind. Jesus was known to get along well with prostitutes. Maybe she’s banking on that.

  Straight after breakfast and a shower, I’m out the door and on my way to Apex Park. Rhonda and I have arranged to meet there at half past ten so that we can get the pregnancy test over with and enjoy the rest of the weekend. I feel really confident about the whole scenario. After last night’s success with the dog shit, I’m feeling like I can take on anything. The thing is, if you want to get something done, you’ve just gotta go ahead and do it. So that’s what we’re gonna do today.

  Rhonda isn’t there when I get to the park. I jump on a swing and bask in the warmth of the mid-morning sun. I grip the chains, lean back and angle my face so that the sun’s rays can cover as much surface area as possible. I close my eyes. The light behind my eyelids is a soft orange. There are black splodges that appear in different places and their edges bleed out into the surrounding colour. They disappear and are replaced by new black splodges. I wonder what causes this effect.

  When I was younger, I had a terrifying experience. I was lying on the lawn in our backyard, enjoying the sun’s soft rays. But when I closed my eyes, instead of seeing a few undefined splodges, I saw a perfectly formed face. It was intricately detailed like the brown and orange colours of a photograph negative. It didn’t belong to anyone I recognised, and this scared me. Was it just a trick of the light, or an eidetic memory of someone I’d glimpsed on TV? Or was there some more sinister explanation? There certainly wasn’t a logical one.

  I wondered if I would ever come across the person in my lifetime. Would they have something important to tell me that would change my life, or was it the face of a person who would kill me in the future? Was its appearance meant as a warning? As these thoughts occurred to me, I became more terrified of the face. I blinked hard several times and the image lost its intensity and disappeared into the orange. But the detail of the face has never faded. It’s like I’ve got a photograph of the person that I can retrieve and study again and again. I get a bit nervous sometimes, thinking that I might bump into the owner of the face in a crowd or, worse, somewhere secluded when I least expect it.

  ‘Stan!’ It was Rhonda.

  ‘Whoa! You scared me.’

  ‘You were a million miles away. I’ve been standing here for at least a minute.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘I was enjoying watching you, and I wanted to scare you a bit too.’

  I jump off the swing and take her in my arms. ‘You’re a very bad girl and you shall be punished!’ I lean in and open my mouth wide, baring all my teeth as if I’m a vampire and I’m about to take a chunk out of her neck. She screams and pushes me away. I grab her again and gently kiss her instead. She’s so beautiful. I still can’t believe she’s my girlfriend. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  Her tongue touches mine and sends electrifying prickles through my whole body. But then she says, ‘Stan, I’ve got some bad news.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ I think for a moment that she’s already done a pregnancy test and it’s come up positive.

  ‘I’ve got to go to Perth with Mum.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Pretty much now.’

  ‘Why are you going to Perth?’

  ‘Mum’s got to take care of something. We’re spending the night there. I’ll be back tomorrow – we’re leaving there first thing Sunday morning.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ I feel disappointed. I’d been looking forward to spending the day mucking about with her. I had plans to take her back to the hay shed. There’s something about rolling around in hay that’s a real turn on.

  ‘So, I’ll call you when I get back. But I have a big favour to ask.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘Can you please go ahead and get the test? I feel like I’m going out of my mind. I try to be positive, but the next minute I feel this doom hanging over me. It’s like there’s a black cloud following me around. I couldn’t sleep at all last night.’

  I can see the bags under her eyes. I gently squeeze her to me. ‘I’d do anything for you, sweet Rhonda. I’ll go to the chemist now, after you’ve gone, and the test will be ready for you when you get back. You can count on it.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Stan! That would be a huge relief.’

  I walk Rhonda halfway home. I fill her in on what happened at breakfast. She thinks it’s quite ironic that it was my mother who went to church to clean things up. We laugh about Mum’s comment about the “atheists who live on Harwood Street”.

  ‘Oh, yes. You’ve got to watch out for those evil atheists! Fancy that – people who don’t believe in God. Why, they’re prone to do … anything!’ Rhonda laughs.

  She’s in a much better mood by the time we come to say goodbye. I can’t believe I’m not going to see her for a whole day. She turns and gives me a final wave just before she disappears around the bend in her street. I return her wave and follow it up with a short robot dance. I hear her laugh as she turns away.

  I turn back towards town with my mission firmly in my mind. The image of Rhonda standing there waving lingers in my head and I feel a huge smile creep across my face. I laugh out loud, thinking that I must look like an absolute fool, walking down the street with a huge fat grin on my face. I even manage to pass the presbytery without thinking about Father Ryan or Bruce. I’m tempted to look back, to see if Bruce is sitting on the fence again, but I decide not to.

  Once again, the planets – or something – must be aligned, because I see my plan through with no hitches whatsoever. Before I know it, I’m on my way home with a pregnancy test in my pocket. Sally was there again and she says she’s curious to know the outcome of my pregnant guinea pig science experiment. Although she did wink at me as she handed over the paper bag.

  16

  I conceal a bottle of red wine and a bottle of Scotch in my bag. There’s about three-quarters of the Scotch left. I suspect that Mum has been drinking it. Dad wouldn’t; he tends to stick to his beer. Mum probably needs something a bit harder to help her cope with the corrosive guilt she must be enduring. I don’t care if Mum works out that I’ve stolen her Scotch. It’s not as if she’s going to confront me about taking it. Her concern about alcohol going missing from the house would be totally out of character. It would raise eyebrows. I can’t imagine how she’d broach the subject with Dad. ‘Honey, my Scotch is missing and I really need it bad. I’ve come to rely on it
– especially since I’ve been screwing our very own man of the cloth.’

  Mum and Dad have agreed to let me stay at Mike’s place tonight, which is great because that means we can get a bit drunk. I don’t bother telling Mum and Dad that Mike’s parents aren’t going to be home. My plan almost falls apart when Mum gets pretty insistent about driving me there so she can say hello to Mike’s parents. I keep saying that I want to ride my bike. Thankfully, Dad steps in and asks Mum nicely to let me go on my own.

  ‘You’re lucky your father is such an accommodating person.’

  ‘Thanks, Peggy.’ Dad winks at Mum and offers her a cheeky grin. She looks surprised at this.

  I wonder if Dad has told Mum that he’s taking pills. Surely he has told her. I’ve been really surprised about the change in him. Even my sisters have noticed the change in him. Rose and Mia came to see me in my bedroom the other day and asked why Dad is being so nice? I just told them that he’s had a think about things and he wants to be a better person. But the change has been remarkable. It wasn’t long ago that I thought he was a strict old bastard. But since he confided in me, I’ve noticed that he’s become a lot more tolerant. He’s a more caring and chilled-out person; he doesn’t let the little things faze him anymore. It’s almost as if he’s a different person inside the same body. I think about him sitting me down at the kitchen table to lecture me before the school social and I realise that that person is long gone. I hope he doesn’t stop taking his pills anytime soon. I mean, if it’s working for him and it’s working for us, that’s a good thing, right? And seeing Dad laugh about things that he would previously have hit the ceiling over is a major leap forward. It’s better to laugh than to burst a blood vessel.

  I knock on Mike’s door and he opens it, beer in hand. ‘Come on in, Stan-my-man!’

  ‘Hey, Mike. You’ve started without me?’

  ‘Yeah. This is my first, though. You don’t have much catching up to do.’

  Mike’s parents are rich and their house is fucking awesome. He lives on the other side of the railway tracks, away from all the riff-raff in town. The living area of the house is tiled in dark slate and it joins on to a massive games room. There’s a huge billiards table in there, as well as a dartboard and a massive stereo. A TV hangs on the wall in the corner of the games room so you can watch it while you’re shooting pool. Mike tapes a lot of music videos off Rage, so there’s endless video clips to watch and mime as you’re strutting around the table, cue in hand, doing your best Tom Cruise impersonation from The Color of Money.

  Mike chucks Depeche Mode on the stereo and turns it up. We amble outside and lay back on the poolside recliners. We nurse our beers on our bodies, like it’s something we always do, and look up at the stars. There are so many of them. I love clear nights like this in Middleton, when all the stars you can’t usually see fill the night sky. As I sweep my eyes across the expanse above me, I think of Rhonda’s fear of aliens. I wonder how far away our nearest alien neighbours are and in which direction they live. I don’t think that many people living in Middleton would believe in aliens. They’d sooner pass them off as stupid imaginary creatures from bad science fiction. But it’s amazing how many people do think they exist. No one thinks that Godzilla could stomp into town, do they? Yet people out there believe that aliens, for some reason, are plausible beings. But if you’re going to rule in aliens, you have to rule in Godzilla, King Kong and even gremlins. That’s my argument.

  ‘Do you believe in aliens, Mike?’

  ‘Now, there’s a question. It’s weird you’re asking me this. I’ve been thinking a lot about that sort of stuff.’

  ‘Really? How come?’

  ‘Oh, only because I watched Alien again the other night. It just got me thinking. I reckon that if aliens actually existed, they wouldn’t look anything like Ridley Scott’s version.’

  ‘Why?’

  Mike takes a swig of his beer. ‘I dunno. I just think they’d be more humanoid. That’s what’s makes the thought of aliens so scary. Imagine what it would be like coming across a being that sort of resembles you but is different in some ways.’

  ‘Yeah, I see what you mean. They’d still have two eyes, two arms and two legs but their features would be fucked up.’

  ‘Yeah. Those big freaky bulbous eyes and that grey shiny skin. It’s the subtle differences that make them really scary.’

  ‘Yeah, and add to that their ability to do things to you with their mind. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to come across one of them in a dark alleyway.’

  ‘Dark alleyway? Phhhfft. I wouldn’t want to come across one of them in broad daylight while I’m playing cricket!’ Mike drains the dregs from his bottle. ‘Up for another?’

  I’m surprised at how quickly Mike has downed his beer. ‘Sure thing.’ I try and finish my first while Mike goes inside to get us more. It tastes horrible but I force it down.

  This is great, sitting out here with Mike. It’s so good to have some time away from my parents. Even when I’m in my bedroom listening to music, I still feel smothered by Mum and Dad. I can’t wait to leave home and get my own place. So what if I’m poor and living on tins of baked beans? It’ll be worth it. My parents’ place has its own set of unspoken rules. Whenever I’m there, I feel trapped. I’m surrounded by their things and I’m expected to think in a certain way, act in a certain way and fit into the box they’ve created for me.

  It’s not all bad though. It could be a lot, lot worse. I’m lucky that I’m not being abused by anyone. I’ve only had to put up with a bit of harmless religious brainwashing. And that’s a given for the majority of children throughout the world. If Rhonda and I ever have children – and that may be sooner rather than later – we’re not going to impose any religion upon them. If they grow up and decide they want to join the Orange People, then so be it. But they’ll get to decide all that for themselves. They’ll be tough little titties.

  Mike’s backyard is huge. I look beyond the pool at the dark corners of the yard. A dense layer of tropical plants masks the back fence and I tease myself by pretending there’s an alien sitting in the shadows watching me. Before I know it, my imagination has got the better of me and fear starts edging its way in. I feel exposed. The moonlight, which blankets the entire yard, looks sinister. A sharp blue light gleams off the surfaces of leaves and blades of grass. The water in the pool laps against the sides to the rhythm of the words playing in my head, ‘You are not alone. We are here.’

  The blue light on a shiny, rubbery leaf catches my attention. Was that a large, almond-shaped eye looking out at me? I think about this for too long and end up spooking myself silly. I make a deal with myself not to look at the garden while Mike is absent. Why is he taking so long? In my peripheral vision, I see a plant move. I can’t help but look. There’s nothing there. I hear the sliding door open and I feel instant relief.

  ‘There you go.’

  ‘Cheers.’ We settle back into our recliners and I feel my body relax. ‘So, then, do you actually believe in aliens, Mike?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I have a very good reason to. I’ve experienced something that I can’t explain.’ Mike takes another swig from his beer and glances sideways at me. ‘And ever since then, I’ve questioned my own perception of reality.’

  ‘Shit a brick. So, what happened?’ I sit up on the recliner, pulling my knees to my chest so I’m in a protective position, ready to face something that might crumble my perception of reality.

  Mike looks from side to side to check whether anyone is around. The coast is clear. ‘Stan, you’ve got to promise me that what I’m about to tell you will never, ever be repeated to anyone.’

  ‘OK. Sure. You’ve got a deal.’ A chill runs up my spine and I’m not sure I want to hear what Mike has to say. But part of me can’t wait for it either.

  ‘You can’t even tell Jeremy or Steve – or Rhonda!’

  ‘OK, OK. I promise.’

  ‘All right. Well,
last year, some lights passed over the paddocks about a mile beyond our back fence there.’

  I look to where Mike is pointing, which happens to be in line with the tropical plants. I push this distraction aside and picture the expanse of the paddocks beyond. ‘You saw some lights?’

  ‘Yep. It was about nine in the evening and I’d come outside to hang my sports uniform on the line. Over there, you see?’ Mike points towards the Hills Hoist.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So, I go to peg my shorts up and I see seven lights moving horizontally across the sky in a V-formation.’

  ‘No shit!’

  ‘No shit. They were evenly spaced white lights and they had tails like a comet, but their tails were made up of all the colours of the spectrum. It was fucking crazy.’

  We both take generous swigs of our beers. Part of me doesn’t really want to prompt Mike for more details, but the words come out before I’m even aware of it. ‘So, what did you do?’

  ‘I called for Mum and Dad and they came running out. I must have sounded pretty freaked out, because they were out in the backyard quick smart. We didn’t say anything. I just pointed to the lights and we all stood there staring. It was an incredible feeling – all of us witnessing this thing that we had no explanation for. I was so glad Mum and Dad were there. It wouldn’t have been the same if it was just me who saw the lights. My story would probably have been dismissed as stupid make-believe and I reckon I would’ve been the subject of ridicule for generations.’ Mike puts on a grandma voice. ‘“Remember that young man who said he saw UFOs from his back garden? He wound up in Graylands, didn’t he? Still, he deserved it. He was insane.”’ I’m not impressed by Mike’s impersonation of a granny. Clearly the alcohol has lessened his comedic ability, not enhanced it.

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘We stayed up for ages that night talking about those lights. None of us wanted to go to sleep because we were so excited about seeing something so unusual.’

  ‘So – what happened?’ I prompt Mike again.