You Belong Here

by Laurie Steed

  ‘The airport give you leave?’ said Jay.

  ‘Replacement’s on board,’ said Steven. ‘So far, all good.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re back.’

  ‘I can’t stay, it’s just——’

  ‘I get it,’ said Jay. ‘Not like you never left before.’ Steven sighed. ‘Is this what we’re doing today?’

  Jay’s eyes softened. Steven wanted only to say sorry for leaving, knew that, in having left, he’d missed many moments. He’d felt this most with Jay, never old enough to be left like that. Processing it in time, but rarely speaking of it.

  ‘Where’s Emily?’ said Jay. He glanced to the door.

  ‘She couldn’t make it,’ said Jen. ‘She said to say happy birthday.’ She passed Jay a card.

  Jay nodded, leaving it unopened on the table.

  ‘She wanted to come,’ said Jen. ‘Really.’

  ‘Sure she did,’ said Jay, stuffing the unopened card in his back pocket.

  The orderly circled the room. He stared at Steven before moving on. Steven fidgeted, felt the reinforced bolts in the chair through his trousers. Slightly on edge from the series of small inconveniences; tiny headfucks, one after another, from twenty-eight questions at check-in to dilapidated chairs and scratched tables.

  ‘Dr O’Neill said he spoke to you on the phone,’ said Jay.

  Steven nodded.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘What did he say to you?’ said Steven.

  ‘You know I’m anxious, right?’ said Jay. ‘There’s other stuff too, but I’m not bonkers. You can tell me what he’s worried about.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  ‘You did your best. We’re not, I mean you’re not . . . it’s just a thing that happened.’ Jay scratched into the table with his fingernail. Wiped his brow, rubbed the sweat into his trousers, gripping tight on the fabric.

  ‘What did happen?’ said Steven. ‘Really?’

  ‘A lot,’ said Jay.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Things just stopped making sense to me,’ said Jay. ‘And by things, I mean everything. Thinking was I right? Am I right? Or is there something wrong with me?’

  ‘You know I never wanted this for you,’ said Jen. ‘It wasn’t, isn’t you. If I could change things, fix this——’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Jay. ‘Or better. You have to fall apart sometimes, else how are you going to build back up again?’

  ‘Is there anything you want to ask us?’ said Steven.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Jen.

  ‘There is something,’ said Jay. ‘Only, God, I don’t know.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Steven. And in that moment, he saw how little he knew and had shared with his son. Saw that once, they’d had a chance. That they should have talked when the split first stuck, planned out a way they’d shift, adapt, in the wake of separation.

  ‘You and Mum,’ said Jay. ‘What went down, honestly?’

  Steven looked across at Jen, considered not speaking his mind, but then began. ‘Well, your mother met Peter,’ said Steven.

  ‘And you played no part in that,’ said Jen.

  ‘Not that,’ said Jay. ‘That’s not why you broke up.’

  They broke up because Steven had forgotten to prune the roses. Because the crockery had become chipped over time, and how hard was it for Jen to drive to the city, grab some plates from Boans? They broke up because he had fallen in love with someone, but once they married, she seemed more accessory than partner. Because some nights, lying in bed, he felt like a blanket, pushed aside, while she slept on her side. They broke up because once Jen had started the Zoloft she had trouble reaching orgasm, and so they screwed and screwed but never came, or Steven did, he felt bad, she felt numb, and in time they just agreed to stop screwing.

  They broke up because they’d agreed to get married, but had missed the fine print. They’d skipped the bit about shitty nappies and wet beds, the splinters in Steven’s thumb from chopping the wood, and the sagging back fence that shifted the sand.

  They broke up because she couldn’t love. They broke up because he couldn’t love.

  Neither wanting to break up. Not knowing what you did when you no longer recognised the man or woman you’d fallen in love with.

  And he realised at that point that he’d never really worked out what went down, or known that what went down had done so every day.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Steven. ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘We’ve done this,’ said Jen.

  ‘But you never told me,’ said Jay. ‘So come on. Help me out.’

  Steven put his head in his hands, rubbed at his eyes. ‘We messed up. We didn’t mean to, but we did.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Jen. ‘It’s not easy being a parent.’

  ‘None of it is easy,’ said Steven. ‘Please, can we talk about something else?’

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Jay. He reached over to his dad, held his hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Steven. ‘You deserved better.’

  ‘You’re only human,’ said Jay.

  ‘I wasn’t then,’ said Steven.

  ‘Welcome to my world,’ said Jay. He waved his arms slowly, mechanically. ‘I am a robot . . . I . . . am a robot.’

  ‘Oh, baby,’ said Jen, laughing involuntarily.

  ‘I forgive you. Bet Alex and Em do too. Maybe come back when you’re ready, hey? Or if something big happens. I know you. Hard to get you back unless it’s for a good reason.’

  ‘A wedding?’ said Jen.

  ‘He’d need a girlfriend,’ said Steven.

  ‘I’ve got one,’ said Jay.

  ‘Really?’ said Jen. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Penny.’

  Jen glanced over at Steven. He picked at a stain on the table in the hope that her glance had been missed, or disregarded.

  ‘What?’ said Jay.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Jen.

  ‘It didn’t look like nothing.’

  ‘And yet here we are,’ said Steven. ‘What’s she like, this Penny?’

  ‘She’s sweet,’ said Jay. ‘She believes in me. And she’s pretty. So pretty, Dad. I think I love her.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ said Steven, and left it at that, safe in the knowledge that warning your child about love was like telling them sweets would rot their teeth, or that one day they’d look back at the bands they’d loved and feel strangely indifferent.

  A nasal voice echoed over the intercom, announcing the end of visiting hours.

  ‘I have to go,’ said Jay. He hugged his father first, and then his mother. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, baby Jay.’

  Jay kissed his mother on the cheek, and nodded at his father.

  Steven knew it was time for Jay to go, and yet he wished the clock would stop. He wanted Jay to stay. To go home with his wife, to close the blinds, be stuck there, in the darkness.

  He watched Jay wave, walking backwards into place among the patients. Letting his arms fall, waiting, patient. They continued filing out, short and tall, disappearing until the room cleared, the door closed shut.

  Steven and Jen stood still, chairs scraping, windows slid back down, and the clatter of footsteps, friends and family shuffling for the door that led out of the building.

  ‘Wasn’t all that bad,’ said Steven.

  ‘But not good,’ said Jen, staring out the window.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, but she did not reply.

  He thought she was distracted, but on standing saw her turn away. He stood close, but not too close. For a moment, knew not what to do. What was right, proper, tender? Finally, he reached out, put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘We need to go,’ he said.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ she said, and walked out of the room.

  Jay Begins

  Jay sat on the floor of his unit, his back against the living room wall. To his right, plates, bowls piled high near the kitchen sink, but surprisin
gly stable given the mishmash of sizes and shapes. To his left, video boxes fanned out on the faded grey carpet: Big Night, Clerks, and The Shawshank Redemption spread semicircular.

  He’d rented the videos because he would often give himself meaningless errands since his time at Bell’s Lake, as it was hard for him to stay at home for too long. Tougher still to be present, as the meds had made him fuzzy. It was always as if he’d just woken up, bleary-eyed, but found as the day progressed, he could still browse shelves like a barcode scanner, mental lock on a single title among tens on a single shelf.

  He’d rented the videos because the uni gave you three-month loans, and because a girl was there, and sometimes she’d be there when he went in, and that meant he’d found faith in a moment of spontaneity.

  He liked how, when searching for a film on the uni computers, the girl, whose name was Anna, would occasionally lick her bottom lip, as if to say, It’s thirsty work, this search for champagne cinema.

  And then in first semester, second year, she was sitting in his English tute, and he forgot how to study, or do much else, except chance glances, wondered what it would be like to take her to a film.

  Jay pushed his back into the wall. Wondered if his dad had seen his mum like that, or whether he had been more scientific. Buttocks of appropriate circumference. Sound mind and body. Permission to land and root.

  Did his parents really root?

  ‘We have to go,’ said Emily. ‘The movie starts soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to see it,’ said Jay.

  ‘What’s not to like?’

  ‘Bruce Willis. Ben Affleck. Aerosmith, easily the lamest band of all time.’

  ‘What about “Dream On?”’ said Emily. ‘That’s pretty rocking.’

  ‘That’s one song in thirty years,’ said Jay. ‘Even Air Supply got lucky now and then.’

  Since coming out of Bell’s, Jay had found it hard to self-regulate. On some days, he felt maxed out; on others, muted. A half, or quarter, of the zest he’d once carried as a matter of course.

  ‘We’re meeting a girl, her name’s Anna,’ said Jay.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not a date,’ he said. ‘She said she might be there. I hope so. When she talks, she says “um” sometimes, and it’s totally cute. But it won’t, I mean, and well, I can’t, I——’

  ‘Breathe, Jay. You like her, don’t you?’

  He nodded, though inside, ‘like’ felt more like fear and wonder, a milkshake mess of feelings, and he hardly knew if he was excited or terrified by the thought of seeing her.

  They got in Emily’s Smurf-blue Barina, a scratch down the side from where she’d misjudged the distance of a bollard. The gearbox rattled down Scarborough Beach Road, the car veering left to avoid those turning right, slowing as a matter of course at congested intersections. At night, the endless run of stores and shopfronts seemed more wallpaper than main attraction, their route lit by a run of yellow street lamps. Occasionally, Jay would look at his skin, temporarily struck sick by the wattage of the lights. To be sick, thought Jay. To be sick in the head, and not even know.

  ‘Sis?’

  ‘Mm,’ said Emily.

  ‘You think Dad did his best?’

  ‘Random.’

  ‘Just, it comes up sometimes,’ said Jay. ‘I’m asking: do you think they gave it their all?’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No it’s not that, it’s just I don’t know anything that blokes are supposed to know. I mean, what’s a socket for? And what do you do with ratchets?’

  ‘Buggered if I know,’ said Emily. She paused. ‘Wait, so you want to know what a ratchet is?’

  And he did want to know that, and how to sand a table back, and the perfect way to mount floating shelves, but tonight he’d settle for cinematic extravagance. Perhaps this big dumb movie was exactly what he needed. So long as they didn’t do something stupid, like blow up the asteroid.

  ‘You planning on talking to Alex anytime soon?’ said Emily.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ said Jay. ‘Just me and you, I guess. Provided you don’t do something stupid.’

  ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Nothing I can think of,’ said Jay. ‘But then, you never think of it until after it’s happened.’

  And she would have asked more, but she didn’t want to start all that again, and there were only so many ways to be punished, or say sorry.

  There were never any spots out front, and so they drove to the back of the Megaplex. There had once been a drive-in there, and they’d seen a film, sound barking out from a single speaker attached to the driver’s door. Now, just spaces stretched up to the border fence.

  ‘Christ, we’re far away. Want me to call a cab?’ said Jay, once they’d finally parked. They walked through a gridlock of cars, and in through the back entrance, and were hit by a wall of beeps and bleeps from the nearby Timezone. They lined up in the cinema, shuffled through the queue management maze until reaching the counter. Emily bought the tickets—she always bought the tickets—and they wandered to the concession stand.

  ‘Get the popcorn,’ said Emily.

  Jay made a face.

  ‘Dear brother. Sweet, lovely Jay. I got the tickets, again. So please, can you get the fucking popcorn?’

  He wandered over. Gazed up at the concession signs. Felt overwhelmed with choice, from four popcorn sizes to the multitude of ice-creams. He bit his nails, first gnawing away and then spitting shards gently into his hand.

  ‘Jay.’

  He spun around, almost jumped. ‘Anna, you made it! Want to come see a Michael Bay movie with us? I’m hoping Steve Buscemi comes through to save the day. That’s what he does, acts really well in shit movies so they’re almost bearable.’

  ‘A Bug’s Life,’ said Anna.

  ‘Um——’

  ‘That’s what we’re seeing,’ she said. ‘A Bug’s Life.’ She motioned down and to her right. ‘This is Grace. My niece.’

  Jay bent down. ‘Hey, Grace. You like Pixar?’

  The girl stared back, confused.

  ‘I reckon it’s going to be amazing,’ said Jay.

  ‘I love Heimlich,’ said Grace.

  He stretched back to full height. ‘You studied for the exam?’

  Anna motioned ahead to where a short, stubby blonde woman was readjusting her visor, and waiting for him to order.

  ‘Oh right,’ said Jay. ‘See you soon?’

  ‘In about five seconds,’ said Anna, laughing. ‘You’re only going to the front of the line.’

  He walked to the counter. ‘How are you?’ said the blonde girl.

  ‘Up and down,’ said Jay. ‘You?’

  ‘Not so great.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Jay. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Um——’

  ‘Not the best place, hey?’ said Jay. She laughed, but seemed panicked, exposed. ‘It’s cool. I’ll go a popcorn. Big mofo size. And a Super Choc Drumstick.’

  She collected his order, paused once back at the counter. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘It’s okay if you’re not,’ said Jay. ‘You can’t be happy all the time.’

  ‘You talk this way a lot?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you?’ said Jay. ‘It’s not like you get bonus points for being cold and distant. I know, weird, right? Anyway,’ he said, showing his hands, as though he forgot he was mid-story. ‘I hope things get better. Really.’

  He turned, cradling the box of popcorn in his arm, and waited beside the queue. Anna ordered, took the popcorn for herself and handed down Grace’s choc-bomb. Led Grace across to Jay, just as Emily approached.

  ‘This is Anna,’ said Jay. ‘We’re at uni together. I don’t think I’ve mentioned her. I’m pretty sure I haven’t.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Anna. Grace coughed. ‘Sorry baby. This is Grace.’

  ‘These losers are going to A Bug’s Life,’ said Jay.

  ‘We’re seeing Armageddon,’ said Emily. ‘Jay wanted to see Dark City, but there’s no fuc
king way.’

  ‘I’ve give you a thousand dollars if you come with us,’ said Jay. ‘Come on, we’ll count cheesy lines, and every one, you have to eat a handful of M&M’S in one go.’ He mimed scoffing his face, getting far too into it for the purpose at hand. ‘Have you seen it?’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘Oh, you should see it.’ said Jay. ‘Come with? You too, Grace. We’ll take you.’

  ‘Um——’ said Grace.

  ‘That’s right, you’ve got your tickets. You told me that,’ said Jay.

  ‘Speaking of which, so do we,’ said Emily. ‘How about we meet you after? A coffee? And I bet I know what Grace wants . . . a hot chocolate!’

  ‘I want A Bug’s Life,’ said Grace.

  ‘She’s been waiting to see it for a while now,’ said Anna, as a way of apology. ‘Coffee sounds good. See you then.’

  Anna and Grace walked away. Jay punched Emily hard on her arm. ‘What’s the deal with Armageddon? Why can’t we watch Blade? Or I don’t know, any other movie?

  ‘I’m trying to help. Make you cooler.’

  ‘What, with the biggest cinematic fart since Godzilla?

  And anyway, I’m cool,’ said Jay, raising the collar on his shirt. ‘I’m a cool cat.’

  ‘You’re such a dork,’ said Emily. ‘Coffee’s better than a film. It’s enough that I have to see a movie with you. Let’s spare Anna the trouble, hey?’

  Movies with the Slater siblings were precise, methodical. Jay would make sarcastic remarks about the trailers and would tell Emily, at least three times, all the previous movies each actor had appeared in.

  The lights dimmed, and they went quiet. Fade up to an astronaut that had been killed in space by a meteor shower. Soon enough, men were wearing ties and using words like ‘dammit.’

  There was a particularly large meteor that hated Michael Bay movies. It seemed they’d need someone extraordinary to take it down while it was still in space. Naturally, they settled on the only people man enough for the job: a bunch of hairy, sweaty oil riggers.

  ‘What is this crap?’ said Emily.

  Jay wished he had a cutting reply, a genius riposte, but in truth he’d been thinking the same thing. It’s just a movie, he told himself, and yet, on this particular occasion, he wanted to cry.