Jack winces from the sudden brightness. ‘You just –you don’t get it.’
‘I don’t get it? You don’t get it. I’m twelve and I get it.’ Dylan takes a breath, hates to say it but knows he must. ‘She’s dead. She’s not coming back. Ever.’ He turns and looks out the window, overwhelmed with the pain those words bring. ‘We’re never going to see her again.’
Jack stares at his son for a long moment, clearly heartsick and angry. It’s like hearing it out loud somehow makes Jack realise it’s really true.
Without looking at his father, Dylan walks onto the balcony and slams the door shut, then leans against the railing and stares at the view. What was his best day has now become his worst. He hasn’t thought about his mum for a while. He often sees her in his dreams but during the day he tries not to think about her. It makes him feel numb and he hates that, but now he lets his memory rush back to her, remembers a sunset like this one, the light stealing in through the living room window, illuminating her face in a golden glow as she taught him how to play the piano for the first time.
He wishes he was back there with her now.
It’s early evening and all the competitors head home. Standing outside the hotel by the driveway, Dylan waits for his father to bring the ute around and pick him up.
There’s a tap on his shoulder. He turns.
It’s Kimi. Her smiling face lights up the night. ‘Hey, Dylan.’
He smiles. ‘Hi, there.’
They stare at each other for an awkward, silent moment – which Dylan breaks. ‘Well, I’d love to keep in contact.’
She nods. ‘That’d be great.’
He’s loving that enthusiasm. ‘I was thinking “Skype”.’ He puts a pair of air quotes around ‘Skype’ then instantly wishes he hadn’t, ’cause he thinks it might have looked a bit dorky.
She doesn’t seem to mind. ‘Yep. I’ll give you my address.’ She pulls a piece of paper out of her panda bag and starts to write when a trolley full of suitcases is pushed between them.
‘Oh, sorry.’
It’s bloody Jason.
He turns to Kimi. ‘Ready for that lift to the airport?’
She looks surprised. ‘What?’
‘My dad organised it with your parents. We’re leaving now.’ He nods across at their parents who load baggage into the boot of Patrick’s four-wheel drive Porsche.
‘Oh. Okay. I didn’t know that.’
‘Come on.’ Jason leads her away.
She turns back to Dylan, surprised by the turn of events. ‘Bye, Dylan.’
Jason looks back at him too, but with a smug grin. He mouths sarcastically, Bye, Dylan.
Dylan holds up a hand to Kimi. ‘Your Skype address–’ But she’s out of earshot. ‘Man.’
He watches Jason walk Kimi towards the Porsche, open the back door and help her inside. A moment that had been good now blows chunks. He’s starting to realise that’s what life’s like: good things and bad things will always happen – and sometimes only minutes apart!
He watches the Porsche pull away, then a tinted rear window slides down – to reveal Kimi’s smiling face. She delicately throws out a paper plane. It wafts across the driveway, tips into a long, lazy arc, then glides straight towards Dylan. It slows to a hover in front of him and he plucks it out of the air. He opens it and reads Kimi’s Skype address, along with ‘Skype me’ and a smiley face.
Dylan couldn’t be happier. So another good thing happened, and this one more than makes up for the bad thing from a couple of minutes ago.
Dylan ambles along the verandah back at Waleup Primary, a goofy, daydreamy smile on his face. Kids play everywhere but no one notices his return.
‘Dylan!’ Except for Kevin. He barrels towards his mate, arms wide. ‘So?’
Dylan grins. ‘Came second. Got into the world champs!’ He’s so happy he dances a little as he says it.
Kevin is thrilled. ‘Oooh-ahhh!’ He swings up a hand and they high-five. Clap. ‘Just so you know, I’m taking personal credit for all your success – you’d never have known how that rocket worked without me.’
Dylan can’t help but smile at the memory.
‘So who won?’
‘This guy. Jason. What a tool.’
Kevin agrees wholeheartedly. ‘Yeah, what a tool!’
‘You’ve never even met him.’
‘I’m being supportive.’
‘Oh, thanks, man.’ Dylan grins. ‘So there was this girl.’ The daydreamy smile returns to his face.
‘Spill! Give me the deets. “Deets” means “details”, by the way.’
‘Well, the deets are: her name is Kimi and she lives in Tokyo.’
‘Wow.’ Kevin thinks about this. ‘That’s in China, right?’
Mr Hickenlooper strides past. ‘Dylan, my boy, excellent work.’ He holds out a hand for a high five. Dylan slaps it. Clap. Second for the day. The teacher enters the classroom and addresses the students, ‘You know the drill, people, sombrero time!’
Dylan and Kevin follow Mr Hickenlooper inside, and both mimic him as they go. ‘Sombrero time!’
Dylan rides his bike across the beige countryside. It’s so different from the vibrant blue harbour of Sydney that he’s amazed it’s in the same country. He pulls to a stop by the dead tree, drops his bike to the ground and stares up at Clive. He’s really happy to see his bird again.
Clive circles languidly without flapping his wings, effortlessly riding the breeze. If only his plane could stay up for that long, then he might be in with a chance in Tokyo, not that he thinks he’ll be going over for the world championships. ‘How do you do it, Clive? How do you stay up there for so long?’
The bird doesn’t answer but Dylan decides to find out anyway. He spends a couple of hours researching on his computer and, after reading seven different articles, including a pretty good one on Wikipedia, he has a better understanding of the way a bird’s wings work. He knows you can’t believe everything you read on the internet, but he has an idea how Clive can stay up in the air for so long. He draws a couple of sketches of the bird’s wings, then makes another entry in his notebook.
Pinned to the wall beside Dylan’s old laptop is the unfolded plane with Kimi’s Skype address written on it. He glances at it then types the address into the keyboard.
His heart races at the thought of talking to Kimi – then a small photo of her appears on the screen and his computer rings, then is answered. The computer’s camera blinks on and there she is on the screen. She waves. Her mother and little sister are behind her. Clearly embarrassed, she tries to shoo them away while greeting Dylan. ‘Hello! This is my mum! She’s just leaving!’ Her mother and sister call out as they make their exits, ‘Hi, Dylan!’
‘Hi!’ He waves. ‘What time is it there? I should have checked. You weren’t about to go to sleep, were you?’
‘No, it’s fine. Our time zones are only a few hours apart. How are you?’
He’s a bit nervous, to be honest, but he’s not going to tell her that. ‘Good. Good. Well. Good.’ He racks his brain for something to say next but can only come up with, ‘This is me.’ He turns his laptop and shows her his room. He knows it’s a bit lame but at least it kickstarts the conversation.
Kimi smiles and pans the camera around her room too. ‘And this is mine.’ Her room is small with simple decorations. He’s chuffed to see his ripped picture of the flying emu pinned to the wall behind her.
‘So you were right.’
She’s intrigued. ‘About what?
‘The answer is in the natural world.’ Dylan grabs his notebook and opens it up, shows her his sketches of Clive’s enormous wingspan. ‘It’s how a bird of prey stays in the air for so long. They have a wide wingspan and change it as they glide. He shows her with his interlocked hands by moving his fingers back and forth. ‘It’s pretty cool.’
Fascinated, Kimi takes it in with a nod. ‘Have you found a way to use it on your plane?’
‘Not yet but I’m working on it. I really
need the thing to stay up longer.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find a way.’
He wants to believe her but isn’t so sure. ‘I’ll keep trying.’
She sees the doubt on his face and reaches out of frame, grabs a piece of paper. ‘Find some paper. I want to show you something.’
He grabs a sheet of A4. ‘Okay. Got it.’
‘Follow me.’ Kimi folds her piece of paper.
He looks at what she did, then does it to his paper. Then she makes another fold and he copies that too. Fold after fold Dylan follows Kimi. After at least ten more folds she points to one of the corners. ‘Now this is the tricky part. Grab this bit and pull it through the fold like this.’
Dylan does it and the design opens up, revealing the most beautiful origami bird. Dylan is taken aback by what he has created, the incredible detail of the folds and how delicate it is.
He looks at Kimi’s smiling face on the screen. ‘It’s amazing.’
She nods. ‘See? You can do anything.’
He studies the beautiful bird in his hand and thinks she might be right.
In the kitchen Dylan eats spaghetti – for breakfast.
In the lounge room one of the morning shows flickers on the television. ‘Earlier this week in Sydney two Australian children qualified for the World Junior Paper Plane Championships–’
Dylan hears the reporter’s voice and runs in to the lounge room. ‘Dad! I’m on the TV! I’m on the TV!’ He hits record on the VHS as the report cuts to a shot of the eight finalists lined up in the starting blocks at the Olympic pool. Then the report cuts to a close-up of Jason and Patrick being interviewed. A kid sneaks up behind them and throws a paper plane. It hits Patrick in the side of the head.
‘–to be held in Tokyo in August. Dylan Webber and Jason Jones will be our Australian representatives.’
Jack enters, buttoning his shirt. ‘What’s the racket?’
Dylan presents the television like a delighted spokesmodel. ‘I’m on TV!’
The report cuts to an interview with Jason.
‘That’s the other guy.’
Jason speaks to the camera but it’s like he is talking directly to Dylan, ‘The trick to making the perfect paper plane is to study its flight path in a space with absolutely no movement of air. You can learn a lot about the shape of the wings and the weight of the tail.’
Dylan watches as the report cuts to Jason in what looks like a laboratory surrounded by men and women in white lab coats. ‘Fortunately for Jason, that opportunity was today provided by the CSIRO in Sydney.’
Dylan is astonished. ‘Oh. Come. On!’
Jason studies his plane inside a wind tunnel.
Dylan takes it in and slumps onto the lounge, frustrated and downhearted. ‘How am I meant to compete with that? I mean, really! I can’t even afford the bloody airfare to Japan.’ He glances at his father. ‘Sorry for swearing.’
‘That’s all right, mate.’ Jack frowns, then turns and looks out the window at the shed. A moment passes, then his face lights up. ‘Come with me.’
Dylan is too annoyed to budge. ‘Not in the mood.’
Jack walks out of the house. ‘Come on!’
Dylan watches him go, a little intrigued. ‘What? Where are you going?’
‘Come on!’
Dylan reluctantly drags himself to his feet and follows his dad. ‘This better be good!’
‘It will be!’ They make their way across the yard and into the shed. Jack pushes the door open to reveal all the dusty books and oily car parts and white goods and busted televisions and vinyl records and ancient computers and old shoes that fill the place. He grabs a piece of cardboard, finds a tin of paint, dips a brush into it and quickly makes a sign – then flips it around and shows it to his son. It reads: Garage Sale.
‘What do you reckon?’
Dylan sees it and his face lights up. ‘Jack Webber, you bloody genius.’ He then looks at his father, concerned. ‘Sorry about swearing.’
Jack smiles too. ‘It’s bloody fine, mate.’
Dylan realises his dad hasn’t looked this happy for a while. And that makes him happy too.
An animated Dylan walks the gardens of the bustling nursing home with his grandpa. ‘And then she said you’ll always find the answer in the natural world, and she should know because her plane is based on a whale.’
‘A whale? That doesn’t sound very aerodynamic.’
‘Her plane isn’t shaped like a whale, it has dimples like a whale. To make it fast.’
‘I never knew that whales had pimples–’
‘Dimples, old man, dimples. Keep up with the conversation, please. Anyway, the reason I’m here–’
‘Yes.’
‘–is that we’re having a garage sale next Saturday to raise money for my trip, so I can actually go to this thing. So we need lots of old stuff to sell. Now when I hear the words “old stuff” the first thing I think of is you. I was hoping you might have some things you want to get rid of.’
Grandpa thinks about the request for a moment. ‘I don’t have that much stuff any more, and most of that is in your shed anyway, but there might be another way I can help out.’ He rubs his chin and looks into the distance as if coming up with a cunning plan.
Dylan sees it, intrigued. ‘What’re you up to, old man?’
Grandpa just grins.
Thankfully the day of the garage sale is as sunny as can be.
Actually, to Dylan it feels more like a fete than a garage sale. There are quite a few people there and they all browse the shed and the five tables set up outside that are piled high with items for sale. Off to the right Jack happily answers a buyer’s question about an old television while off to the left Mr Hickenlooper runs a face painting booth. In the middle Kevin mans a table covered with all those old shoes.
It’s about one o’clock in the arvo when Dylan finds Mr Hickenlooper who has just visited the tables to collect the day’s takings so far. ‘How are we going, money-wise?’
Mr Hickenlooper looks into the metal biscuit tin that holds the money and tries to put a positive spin on what he sees. ‘I don’t know. Maybe – half of what you need.’
Dylan is crestfallen. It’s not going the way he had hoped.
‘Sorry, mate.’ Mr Hickenlooper tries to be encouraging. ‘The day’s only half done. Chin up.’
Dylan nods but he’s not confident. He scans the garage sale. There are plenty of people around but they seem to be browsing rather than buying. It doesn’t look good.
‘Kiddo!’
Dylan turns to the voice.
Grandpa and six of his elderly lady friends stride towards him in a flying wedge, wind in their hair and dressed in their finest clothes. You can almost hear funky music as they strut along the driveway towards the garage sale. They each carry a large tray stacked high with scones and lamingtons and cupcakes.
Stunned, Dylan’s eyes light up. ‘Grandpa?!’
‘Kiddo! Where do we set up?’
‘Over here.’ Dylan leads him to an empty table with his lady friends in tow.
Astonished, Mr Hickenlooper nods to each of them as they pass by. ‘Ladies, ladies, ladies.’
Dylan is gobsmacked by Grandpa’s appearance. Did the old fella just save the day?
In the shed, Jack drops an arm load of old shoes into a box as a large, middle-aged man with nasty sweat patches under his arms enters. The bloke scouts around, quite clearly searching for a bargain, then moves to the back of the shed and lifts a dusty tarpaulin. Under it is an upright piano. He runs a finger along the keys and says to no one in particular, ‘How much for this piano?’
Jack hears the tinkling ivories and approaches him. ‘Sorry, mate, that’s not for sale.’
‘Come on, everything’s for sale. I’ll give you fifteen hundred.’ The sweaty man’s voice is light and jovial.
‘I could do with the money but it’s not for sale. Sorry.’ Jack pulls the tarpaulin back down.
The sweaty man peels it ba
ck up. ‘Okay, two grand.’
‘No. And I think we both know it’s worth more than that.’
‘Okay, okay. Two five.’
Jack shakes his head. He won’t budge. ‘It has . . . sentimental value.’
Dylan passes by the shed door and notices the conversation. He stops to watch.
‘Nothing more sentimental than a roll of cash. Three grand, but not a penny more. That pain I’m feeling in my shoulder is from you twisting my arm.’ The sweaty man smiles, proud of his joke.
‘I can’t. It belongs to my wife.’
‘Well, get her out here then. She might talk some sense into you. She’s clearly not using it.’ The sweaty man grins.
But Jack doesn’t. He just lays his hands on top of the piano and stares blankly at the tarpaulin, lost in thought, his expression grim. ‘Please.’
The sweaty man instantly knows he’s said something wrong but doesn’t know what. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I wanted it for my daughter. She’s starting out but, well – anyway. Sorry.’ He turns to leave.
Jack is quite clearly shattered.
The sweaty man stops. ‘If you change your mind, give me a call.’ The man places a business card on top of the piano then makes a quick exit.
Jack looks up and sees Dylan at the door. Their eyes meet for a long moment, then Jack walks away without saying a word.
Dylan watches him go, suddenly worried. He knows that’s his mother’s piano and he would never want his father to sell it. He’s not concerned about that. What he’s worried about is what this episode will do to Jack. He’s been so much better the last couple of days.
Paper Planes Page 7