You Belong Here

by Laurie Steed

  Jay stayed attentive, defiant, thinking, Maybe it isn’t such a bad film. He noticed Emily scoffing all the popcorn, and so wrested the box away from her, but was left with only the dregs, those tiny pops of soggy puff you get when you’ve hit box-bottom.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Emily.

  ‘Why is this movie so bad?’ said Jay.

  And there was no rhyme or reason, no way to have known how awful it was going to be. As he watched Ben Affleck wax lyrical on animal crackers and then place one down Liv Tyler’s jocks, he got angry, then sad, watching lovers kiss, and it became less of a movie, and more a break-through to the feelings he’d pushed down, since a moment of trust had become an abortion.

  Emily took Jay’s hand, massaged the back of his palm. Jay wanted to tell her about his fears. That sometimes he thought himself broken. How he worried that, in the mess of the divorce, and the loss of the baby, he’d left a piece of him behind, and could no longer trace it.

  ‘Why did you lie to Dad in that letter?’ said Jay.

  ‘You’re asking this now?’ she whispered.

  ‘You never explained it,’ said Jay, lowering his voice. ‘You ever feel guilty?’

  She looked down. ‘Every day.’

  ‘So why did you do it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and from there, there wasn’t all that much to say, just time to pass, and things to feel, while they waited for the day when it was no-one’s fault. Or it was, as it was always someone’s fault, but what did you ever gain from knowing the culprit?

  The movie ended or, more honestly, exploded like a cheap firecracker, and then it was done: 150 minutes of their life they were never going to get back.

  They walked out of the cinema, saw Anna and Grace in the lobby.

  ‘We went to Timezone while we were waiting. It turns out I suck at Daytona,’ said Anna. ‘How was the movie? Did the world win?’

  ‘Course,’ said Jay. ‘Although to be honest, we were rooting for the meteor.’

  ‘A Bug’s Life was awesome,’ said Grace. ‘I get to keep the cup.’ She twisted it back and forth to show it off.

  ‘Coffee?’ said Anna.

  ‘Sure,’ said Emily. ‘Coffee, Jay?’

  He nodded, and they walked through the foyer and out to the café.

  Emily bought Jay an extra-large. She figured he’d need a meditatively sized cup from which to drink during other people’s turns to speak, or for pauses in the conversation. She wrested the tray from the counter, shimmied towards the table, dodging fathers leaning back and arms sporadically jutting out from tables.

  ‘Jay was telling us about your family, ’said Anna, taking a pencil case from her bag and opening it on the table.

  ‘I hope not,’ said Emily.

  ‘It’s okay, our family’s messed up too,’ said Anna. ‘Right, Grace?’

  ‘A little bit,’ said Grace.

  Anna turned back to Emily. ‘She’s my surrogate daughter,’ she said, taking Grace’s hand. ‘My sister Drew, she’s bipolar. We try to help out.’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Emily.

  ‘It’s okay. Well, not really, it’s tough, but you know.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Jay.

  ‘Mummy gets sad,’ said Grace. ‘If it’s bad then we have to call Anna.’

  ‘That’s a lot to take on,’ said Jay. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Anna. ‘Christ, I’m bringing the mood down, aren’t I?’ She turned to Grace. ‘You okay, baby?’

  Grace nodded, picked up a yellow pencil, and scrawled on the paper.

  ‘Jay’s so smart,’ said Anna, turning to Emily.

  Jay went bright red.

  ‘We’re very proud of him,’ said Emily. ‘His brother, Alex, well, he started with a bang, but Jay’s the tortoise.’

  ‘I’m a lion,’ said Jay.

  ‘Maybe tranquilised. No offence.’

  ‘Ah, you know you love me,’ said Jay.

  He watched Anna and Grace, noted the way she’d touch her niece’s wrist, guiding without grabbing. Grace took a blue and a black.

  ‘You have a nice smile,’ said Jay.

  ‘Hmm?’ said Anna. She’d been watching Grace colour in the picture, her eyes following the pencil’s path.

  ‘You have a nice smile.’

  ‘I’m not smiling,’ said Anna.

  ‘I mean before,’ said Jay. ‘You smiled. It was nice.’

  ‘Oh.’ Anna laughed. ‘Thanks.’

  Emily put her coffee cup back on the saucer. It clinked as she slid it into place. ‘So,’ she said, ‘you look after Grace?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Anna. ‘I would sing, “We Are family,” but it’s not really the time or the place.’

  ‘You work?’

  ‘Part-time,’ said Anna. ‘Study part-time, too. Nan looks after Grace a fair bit. We work it out as best we can.’

  ‘She ever see her dad?’ said Emily.

  ‘He works away,’ said Grace, briefly looking up before her eyes drifted back down to the page.

  Jay and Anna exchanged the odd smile. Snippets of conversation and in-jokes that Emily didn’t understand. They sang bits of Bon Jovi songs, acted out scenes from movies, and it was clear they clicked, a key in a lock, or fingers entwined.

  They walked out to the car park, their breath making mist in the air.

  ‘You want to catch up Tuesday?’ asked Anna. ‘After the exam?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Jay. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, see you if I see you.’

  Anna and Grace walked one way, and Jay and Emily turned, about to walk the other way. Emily stopped, sensing an opportunity.

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Jay.

  ‘Just wait,’ she said, and jogged to Anna and Grace.

  ‘Hey,’ Emily whispered.

  ‘Mm?’ said Anna.

  ‘Jay wants to catch up. It’s just he has a meeting.’

  ‘A meeting?’

  ‘Kind of. More an appointment. Hard to explain. But he’s cool, really. I mean, do you like Jay?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Anna.

  ‘You know, do you like him?’

  ‘Em!’ called Jay across the car park. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ called Emily. She took a scrap of paper, scrawled away with a chewed-up Bic. ‘Here’s Jay’s number. I’d like, I mean, I think he’d like to see you.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Anna.

  ‘Great,’ said Emily. ‘Call him. Are you going to call him? Forget it, let’s wait and see.’

  ‘Em!’ called Jay.

  ‘Coming!’ said Emily. ‘Christ!’ She turned to Anna. ‘Better go.’

  Emily jogged up to her brother.

  ‘What were you doing?’ said Jay.

  ‘Loving you,’ said Emily. ‘Mug’s game, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’re such a weirdo,’ he said, and though the words hurt, she grinned, counted days, ways, to make things better.

  I Got You

  Jay stood at the Kings Park lookout, sleeves over his hands, as a sea of shifting clouds cast shadows on the cityscape. He had never before felt so intrigued by open space; the way a gust would rattle through the trees, the glimmer of the sun, reflected on the city’s skyline; the nearby roar of a vehicle that had turned and was headed in Jay’s direction.

  From up high, Perth was serene: patterns rippling on the river, turning in on themselves, as freeways snaked in and out of the CBD. Perth, a city of sandpits and concrete foundations, where statues sat under freeway overpasses, and apartment blocks stretched out rather than up. Waves from the city ferry and the sailboats scattered closer to the Narrows Bridge, cutting lines into the river, tide arcing out to the shore.

  The rule, Jay remembered as he stared at the city, is that each car is a person. Each window, someone’s office, a home away from home. Work long enough and you get to know the names, the birthdays marked up on the office calendar. Gifts, cards, conversations stretched to
breaking point, prolonging the eventual retreat to the cubicle.

  His graduation date had been rescheduled to June 2000, a foregone conclusion given time spent at Bell’s Lake. His mother had been disappointed. Not my fault, he thought. Who had made him the saviour of his family?

  Not easy, any part of his life since coming out of Bell’s, and harder still when he heard Alex and Penny were a couple. Missed some calls from his brother, and one from her, thinking, Hope it’s worth it, as he wasn’t planning to speak to them again.

  He startled, shocked back to the present.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Anna. ‘You were on another planet.’

  ‘Thinking about Alex.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s sorry.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s not. I sent him a letter.’

  ‘You sent him a list,’ said Anna. ‘Not the same, when you sit down and think about it.’

  He had thought about it. Had tracked a series of childhood games that would end at best with Jay and a broken tooth. One called shooting star. Alex would grab him by his hands and feet, swinging him around and around, increasing velocity until the house was a blur. They stopped playing that game when Alex had swung Jay into a chest of drawers, knocking his head on the edge. An accident, of course . . . but then it always was.

  They played another where Jay would lie on the side of the road, smeared with tomato sauce. A car waved down. Alex saying, Help, my brother’s been hit by a car. The driver distraught, until the boys burst out laughing.

  ‘Anna,’ said Jay.

  ‘Mm?’ said Anna.

  ‘You like your sister?’

  ‘I love her. You know the keys of a piano?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Keys equal family,’ said Anna. ‘But you have to factor in the variations. Heavy, light, slow or fast, dependent on the beat. You think you have it down. You think you’ve got the tune . . . but family’s rubato.’

  ‘Whereas you’re just pretentious.’

  ‘Rubato,’ said Anna, ‘is deviation from the rhythm.’ She showed him, her fingertips like raindrops: light, then heavy, then light, slowing to a stop.

  ‘So family is music,’ he said.

  ‘What’s this about?’ said Anna.

  He wasn’t sure. A plan of sorts. A way to be un-fucked, or something like it.

  ‘What do you like about me?’ said Anna.

  ‘Your bum is spectacular.’

  ‘My bum.’

  ‘Your bum is the bomb,’ said Jay. He made the sound of an explosion, mimed a mushroom cloud with his hands. ‘And you’re incredible too. Kind, loving, and sweet. It makes me sick.’

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, a long, lingering kiss. Pushed her nose into his and smiled.

  Jay liked it when she smiled. He smiled back, hoping she might stick around, but guessing that she wouldn’t.

  In time, he let her into his world. At first, little things: dinner at his, or hers, instead of eating out. Buying soy milk for coffee, Rye Wupper bread for her toast.

  They agreed to a weekend away, Friday, Saturday, and back on Sunday. Busselton, minigolf, and a jetty, wood gone grey from the sun, a carpeted beachfront of blue that stretched to the horizon.

  They reached their accommodation in Busselton at around two, originally enticed by photoshopped panoramas, as featured on the website. Upon arrival, they found an average apartment, in an average resort, the last guests’ hairs still blocking up the plughole. They pulled the curtains closed. Had quick, loud sex on the double bed. Anna flushed pink in her cheeks, Jay sweaty, panting, blissful.

  ‘I can go again,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m up,’ he said, looking down.

  ‘Let’s wait for a bit,’ she said. She stretched out both feet, toes raising the end of the doona. Sank back into her pillow and sighed with contentment.

  He traced his finger along her silhouette, paused at her hip, looping around to her left breast and resting on the nipple. Felt his penis throb, aching to again be inside her. Licked her earlobe, bit down softly, and again, until she laughed.

  ‘I am totally fucked,’ said Anna, giggling.

  Jay smiled. For once he felt wholly un-fucked, free of flaw or imperfection. Not that it didn’t come and go, that feeling. You are not your story, he thought, a mantra gleaned from Tuesday morning talk-fests with his psych and sounding board, Peter J. Manos.

  Jay liked to watch the narrative. To see a story develop, however much it scared him not to have the ending.

  ‘Ella’s moving out.’

  ‘She is?’

  She leaned on one arm. ‘Room’s free. Has study written all over it, don’t you think?’

  It wasn’t the worst idea. His place in Joondanna was poky. It smelled strange too, a combination of fabric burn and damp, and he’d found a nest of wasps in the ceiling cavity.

  ‘Maybe we should wait,’ said Jay.

  ‘You want this, don’t you?’

  And he did. He always had. He wanted to ask her if there were guarantees going forwards, a way that they could love and grow, but never change.

  ‘You’ll leave,’ said Jay. ‘That’s what people do.’

  ‘I will if you keep up with that crap. I love you, you idiot. Think about it. What you want, and what stops you.’

  ‘Do you believe in me?’

  ‘I’m not here to believe in you, Jay. Anyone can believe in you. It’s being there, sticking it out that’s the hardest part.’

  And then one day, while not with Anna, Jay again bumped into love, or something like it.

  That day, he rode his bike to the local Supa Valu, clicked the bike lock and headed inside. That day, he recalled his girlfriend’s phrase, rubato, but heard only the dull thud of a piano key, his fingers slipping, searching for a sound or bass reverberation.

  His shopping cart had a wonky wheel. Like the punchline of a joke, only nothing was funny from aisles one to eight, not least the way in which he’d veer into the right shelf. He tried a range of approaches to steady its shake. First, he pushed hard, hoping that with speed the wobble would cease. Next, he drove it at a slight angle, but the wheels caught on their surrounding brackets. Eventually, he discarded the trolley, abandoning baby spinach, a bag of Ruby Lou potatoes, and a tub of caramel Yogo.

  He picked up a hand basket, fished out a stray receipt and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. Grabbed a box of Maltesers in the hope it would cheer him up. They always had when he was a kid. These days, not so much: a space to be filled, but it never did the job. At least, not like it used to.

  I don’t want to give up on you, Jay, but what do you want me to do?

  As he turned the aisle, he stopped at the freezer. Reached in for a stir-fry mix, his hand on the bag, when he heard her call his name.

  It was Penny. Her hair that bit longer, by the length of a pinkie finger or so, resting on her shoulders.

  He glanced at her hands. Saw her nails, chewed to the skin.

  ‘Hi,’ said Jay, dropping the bag.

  ‘Hey,’ said Penny. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Shopping,’ he said, pointing to his basket.

  Jay had often thought about her. Even now, imagined his fingers in her hair, her lips on his.

  ‘How’s Alex?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Penny.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He broke it off.’

  Which was what he always did, only Jay thought Penny different. He paused. ‘I don’t need to know this.’

  ‘Well, now you do,’ she said.

  But he knew little else. He knew she liked attention. That she gave enough to hook you in, but not so much to stop you trying.

  ‘You single?’ said Jay.

  ‘It depends on how you define single,’ said Penny.

  ‘It means you on your own.’

  Penny glared. ‘Are you angry at me?’

  He was. But he wasn’t angry with her and him, or the way things had turned out. He
was angry that regardless of what he said, however much he tried to forge a bond, she would never understand.

  ‘You ever wanted somebody to be there? Someone you could trust?’

  ‘What do you think?’ said Penny, laughing despite herself.

  He held out his hand. She took a hug. He closed his eyes. Could tell she’d kept hers open.

  ‘See you, Penny.’

  He kissed her cheek, caught a little too much of her scent, and pulled away. She walked down the line of freezers, her fingers tracing the top. She slowed, as if expecting to be called back. Lifted her fingers to her mouth. She rubbed out the cold with her thumb, blew her fingers warm, and kept walking.

  Jay took his phone out of his pocket, found Anna’s number. Breathed in deep, no longer sure of what he really wanted.

  2000-2002

  Give or Take

  It took three texts for Emily to get naked.

  The first was subtle. Her to Dom, Saturday night, ‘r u lonely,’ on a Nokia 8210 at around seven o’clock. Typed while grabbing a takeaway at Oriel, thinking, Just be casual, guys like casual.

  Second text she was driving. Eyes on the screen, the road, and then back to the screen. A simple suggestion: ‘Meet at yours,’ thinking, This can’t be good, but she likes it when he kisses her neck and wanting feels familiar.

  She sent a third as she pulled into the driveway, ‘I’m here.’

  Dom pulled her in before her fingers had reached the doorbell. For a second, they held hands and then he shoved her against the wall. He guided them to the edge of the countertop, rode up against her. When he undid the button on her jeans, she pushed him away.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Emily.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ said Dom.

  ‘Not here.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s not comfortable, or hygienic,’ said Emily. ‘Can’t we go to your room?’

  He went in for a kiss, which she dodged, and they stumbled to his room.

  Kicked his bedroom door closed, fumbled at his belt buckle. She slipped out his shirt buttons, traced the line of hair from chest to navel. She nearly tripped on her halfway-down jeans, wobbling for a moment before peeling them off.