The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson

by Sean Kennedy

  I also heard Boyd had to play on your team. And there wasn’t a bloodbath.

  We may have reached an unspoken ceasefire, Micah replied. Maybe there will be peace in our time.

  At least until you play on opposing professional teams.

  Micah tried not to read too much into what Dec said there—the assumption that Micah was going to make it and be drafted.

  He couldn’t get his hopes up, even now. It would make things so much worse just in case things didn’t go his way.

  The three days in Canberra passed too quickly, and life as a teenager became the norm again. There were exams, first meetings of the GSA with Mardi, and the feeling that draft day was a tidal wave looming in the distance and ready to sweep him up in its path before he even had the chance to run and try to make the hills.

  The camp had been so long and laborious, both physically and emotionally; all Micah wanted to do was go home and slip into a coma for at least a week afterwards.

  But now that draft camp was over, the draft itself started ramping up. Calls started coming in from interested clubs, and a lot of them were interested.

  “Guess it goes to show you really proved yourself on the field,” his dad said, “because they sure aren’t picking you for your attitude.”

  Micah laughed. “Maybe they just admire my bolshiness.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” His mum wasn’t so impressed.

  “Hey, at least I’m not on meth and breaking into army barracks like some other footy players.”

  “Yet,” Alex said.

  Micah turned to swat him, but his little brother was too quick as he dashed out of the kitchen and into the safety of his room. Micah whistled. “He’s got skills I didn’t know he had in him.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” his mother warned. “I’m not ready to go through all this again. And hey, have a little sympathy for those less fortunate than you. Some people can’t handle the fame.”

  He could see the worry in her eyes. It had become real to her now—her kid was leaving home and going into a profession that could burn him up if he let it. She didn’t want him to burn like the aforementioned army camp breaker and enterer. She would much rather he turned out like Dec.

  If he could only convince her that he wanted that as well. He hadn’t worked so hard to fuck it up. But he knew it was going to be a big scary world out there.

  Micah didn’t even get to tell her all of that. She left the room before he could say anything, leaving him and his dad in awkward silence.

  “Micah?” his dad asked from over his iPad.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t take drugs.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  “Okay. Um, anything else?”

  “Always use a condom.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “And try not to let your mother worry about you too much. If you end up somewhere other than here, call her at least twice a week and let her know you’re okay. Not e-mail. Let her hear your voice.”

  Micah nodded. “And you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Do you worry about me?”

  “Of course I do.” Micah was shocked when his dad stood and hugged him, not the most ideal hug as Micah was still sitting down. “So you better ask to speak to me when you call, as well.”

  “I will. And I won’t use a condom, and I’ll take plenty of drugs. Oh, wait, I meant—”

  “Smartarse.”

  His dad never knew Micah cried before going to sleep that night, knowing he was loved despite everything that had happened in the past year, and he couldn’t even contemplate how he would survive without his parents being there, in the flesh, for him.

  MICAH ALSO began to realise that the end of school had gone from fantasy to something far more concrete. He would be gone at the end of exams, and it was strange to think that the school would still continue to exist after he was nothing more than a memory to it. Mardi had already started talking about how the gay-straight alliance would continue on without one of its founding members, and she had extracted a promise that no matter where he ended up, he would still support them in spirit. Micah knew how much of a cachet a somewhat-known AFL player would give the club—it would probably stop it from stalling, at least—so he knew he would have to keep in touch.

  He had hated school the whole time he was there, but he had to admit he would at least miss Carl and Mardi. Micah was enough of a realist to know that not all high school friendships lasted forever, and he had to wonder what the future held for the three of them. He knew Carl would still be around—after all, Emma would never cease being a part of his life, and therefore staying in contact with her cousin would be easy enough. And Carl was a true friend. Mardi? He wasn’t so sure. They’d probably drift apart once her time at their high school came to an end and she moved on to bigger horizons with her uni LGBTQ club.

  But that was what adults told them life was like. He had never understood why his parents always asked him why he was in such a rush to grow up, told him that he would miss being a teenager and living at home. It was only now that it was staring him in the face he knew they were right. Bloody parents. Why did they have to be right?

  MICAH WASN’T too sure how well he did with his exams, but he did them to the best of his ability. He knew, at the moment, it was a pretty moot point anyway, as he didn’t intend to go to uni in the next year if everything went to plan. And if he did decide to go on to higher education at the end of his footy career, he would have to do a mature student exam for entry anyway. But his parents had kept drilling into him throughout the year that he needed a backup plan, so he studied as much as he could in between training and games—and the new social life he suddenly had—and before he knew it, he had his eighteenth birthday, high school was over, he was graduated, and the only thing between him and Christmas was the draft.

  Christmas….

  He hadn’t even thought that he might not be here for it. No, he couldn’t think like that. He was going to get a Melbourne team. He knew the Demons and the Bulldogs were interested in him, and although they may not have been his beloved St. Kilda, it wouldn’t be as bad as being shipped off to Perth or the Gold Coast.

  Dec and GetOut were planning an end-of-year bash, and he and Emma would be “graduating” the program as they were now moving on in their careers.

  “But I’m always here for you,” Dec told them. “Anytime.”

  And Micah believed him. Dec was the one person who had never let him down, no matter how mad Micah could make him. He didn’t mean that to disparage his parents—he knew they loved him no matter what he did, but he had pushed them away and they had let themselves drift for a while. He had pushed Dec away almost as many times as his parents, and the guy still embarked on a thousand kilometre round trip to bring him back. That was dedication and loyalty—that he probably didn’t deserve at the time. But maybe he did now.

  “Who knows,” Dec mused, “maybe one day you’ll be spearheads for a campaign of GetOut’s success stories.”

  “I really don’t think you want to use Micah’s story for advertising,” Emma said.

  “I agree.” Micah nodded.

  Simon, who was fiddling with some equipment, looked up. “Are you kidding? People love all the gory details of a comeback story. The badder, the better. It makes them feel better about themselves.”

  “You mean in an inspirational way, right?” Dec asked.

  Simon screwed up his nose. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

  “If I’m here,” Micah said, trying not to smile at Simon’s usual faux pas, “I wouldn’t mind volunteering for you guys, maybe helping out with some of the newbies.”

  “That would be great, Micah,” Dec said.

  He blushed as Simon hugged him from behind. “Look at the proud papa.”

  “That goes for me too,” Emma said.

  “What?” Simon asked. “You’re a proud papa?”

  “I do feel like Mic
ah is a small child I’ve had to look after many times.”

  “I’d be ecstatic if you two kept coming back,” Dec said. “Especially as we already have some new intakes. Word is getting out.”

  “So GetOut is getting out?” Simon asked.

  “Don’t you have work to do?” Dec glared at him but couldn’t pull it off.

  Simon snapped his heels together and saluted. “Yes, boss!”

  “Actually, I am your boss. I hired you to do this doco, remember?”

  Micah tossed his head to let Emma know they should leave the two hopeless lovebirds to bicker some more. They headed into the stands and looked down upon the city buildings stretching into the distance.

  “It’s good they’ve already gotten some new kids signing up,” Micah said. “With us graduating, it’s like a third are leaving.”

  “I met some of them while you were away.” Emma reached into her bag and pulled out some mints. She rattled the tin, and Micah took one.

  “What were they like?”

  “Oh, they seem nice. But I think you already know one of them.”

  “Really? Who?”

  Emma pointed out someone entering the grounds and being greeted by Dec.

  Micah froze, his mouth open. His mint fell out onto the ground.

  It was Will Deanes.

  “What’s he doing here?” Micah asked.

  “Will?” Emma shrugged, a trifle too nonchalantly for his liking. “I told you. He joined while you were away.”

  “You do know who he is, don’t you?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s not always about you, Johnson.”

  “He punched me out!”

  “You told me you did humiliate him a little bit.” Before he could protest, she put up her hands to preempt him. “No, I’m not condoning violence. But we all know what the closet is like.”

  He was reminded of Kyle saying the same thing during their conversations about Micah’s run-ins with other gay guys.

  “Besides,” Emma continued, “haven’t we all done crap in our past that we’re not proud of?”

  Micah stared across the field, where Will was now pulling on his football socks while talking to Simon.

  But he was remembering one night in a bar where he had been happy to accuse a man of taking advantage of him in order to create some drama. Just to stop feeling and thinking like a “normal” person, because then he would have to think about how shitty his life was and how he’d helped make it that way.

  “You’re right,” he said, finally.

  “Oh my God, Micah Johnson,” Emma said in wonder, “maybe you are growing up.”

  “Yeah,” Micah said over his shoulder as he started making his way down through the stand and towards Will. “I’m a real boy now.”

  Simon had gone off to harass Dec again when Micah stood in front of Will and made him jump.

  “Hello.”

  Will sheltered his eyes against the sun. “Oh, hi. It’s you.”

  “In the flesh,” Micah said. “I’m surprised you remember me, seeing you’ve been avoiding me the past few weeks.”

  “Can you blame me?” Will asked. “I haven’t exactly been that great to you.”

  Micah shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but there was a time when I was just as bad towards others. This was my turn to take it.”

  Will seemed much more at ease than he had a few weeks ago. “I’m sorry I avoided you. Look, truth be told, I was dreading you coming back from draft camp. Because then I knew you would find me here.”

  “And why are you here?”

  Will flushed. “For the obvious reason.”

  “Which is?” Micah wasn’t trying to torment him, he honestly felt he was trying to help Dean face up to what he had been avoiding.

  Will stared down at the ground. “Because I’m gay. Okay? You know it. I hid it. And you covered for me. And I’m thankful, believe me.”

  “Hey. Look at me.”

  Will looked up, and Micah was unnerved by the tears in his eyes.

  He stuck out his hand. “Welcome to the club.”

  Will took the hand gratefully and shook it. “Thank you.”

  “Does your dad know you’re here?”

  Will took a deep breath. “No. Not yet.”

  “There’s no shame in that,” Micah said. “You’ve taken the first step, that’s the most important thing.”

  He almost would have laughed at the shock on Will’s face, but he knew it would have damaged the moment.

  “You mean that?” Will asked.

  The hopeful tone in his voice physically hurt Micah. It was so full of pain and longing. He knew what that felt like. He was still feeling it. He wondered how long it would take to fade or whether it would always be a part of him.

  “Of course I do.”

  “After everything I did to you?”

  “A wise woman once told me,” Micah began, only to hear “Ha!” echoing across the field.

  Emma was standing only a little distance away, probably making sure Micah wasn’t going to fuck this up.

  “Shit,” Micah hissed. “I didn’t want her to hear that.”

  Will gave a small smile.

  “Anyway, she reminded me that we’ve all done something we’re not proud of in the past, when we felt we had to protect ourselves. And I’m not particularly proud of that day after training either, because there were better ways I could have handled it. Believe me, I have a lot more mistakes on my record, so at least be proud you’re not as bad as me.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been pretty fucking awful. I mean, cyberbullying? That’s not me.”

  “This isn’t the Awful Olympics,” Emma said, deciding she could fully join them now. “We’re not competing for medals.”

  “I’m sorry,” Will said.

  “I’m sorry too.”

  And the two boys shook hands again. Maybe they would never be friends, especially now school was over and their paths were going in separate directions. But they had reached an understanding, which was maybe just as good.

  “Shall we all sing ‘Shake it Off’ now?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Micah and Will said in unison.

  “Want to do some handballing?” Micah offered Will. “And no, that isn’t a euphemism for what happened last time.”

  “That’d be cool,” Will said. “Proper handballing, I mean.”

  Laughing, a football was produced, and they began to punt and pass between each other. Emma even joined in, surprising all of them by being better than they expected, as it wasn’t her sport.

  So was it as easy as that? Maybe not, but it was a start. One thing Micah had learned was that reformation was a long process. He was perhaps along a little further than Will, but at least Will had started.

  He punted the ball, and Will leaped up to easily catch it. As he flew through the air, Micah saw an unguarded happy smile cross Will’s face.

  It was definitely a start.

  “ARE YOU ready for the draft?” Emma asked.

  They were back in the stands again, watching as the sun started to disappear behind the city.

  Micah always found this the most melancholy time of day. It was neither daylight nor night—just a limbo between two states fraught with uncertainty.

  He didn’t fail to see the parallel with his own life right then.

  “Nope. Not at all.”

  “I won’t even ask how your family are doing. But what about you and Kyle?”

  “What about us?”

  Emma reached over and rubbed his arm. “Come on, Johnson.”

  Micah sighed. “We’re not saying anything about it.”

  “What if you end up in Sydney?”

  “Sydney isn’t the problem. He’s going back to Canberra. We could still see each other.”

  “It’s the other states.”

  “Yep. And I like him, Emma, I really like him. But let’s face facts. We’re eighteen. This is not the relationship we’re going to have for the rest o
f our lives.” It hurt him to say that, and he never would have given voice to that truth if it wasn’t for the fact of their upcoming separation. He would have liked to hold on to the dream of childhood sweethearts, together forever. But that was rare. And Micah Johnson was nothing but a realist.

  “Maybe not.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Honestly?”

  “It’s why I’m asking. You’ve never had a problem with honesty with me.”

  She gave a small, sad smile. “I guess not.”

  “So?”

  “Be realistic. Let each other go. Rip off that Band-Aid and put up with the hurt now rather than prolong it.”

  The truth hurt. What was the alternative? Pretend that a long-distance relationship would work at their age, suffer for months in loneliness until one inevitably cheated on the other because someone new—and in the same state, which meant they had more going for them—came on the scene? It was best not to prolong it, right?

  “But he’s such a good guy. And he could have been good for me.” Micah realised he was crying, and even though he normally would have been horrified by being so emotionally raw in front of someone else, he just gave a big sniff and wiped his eyes.

  Emma hugged him, and he was willing to admit it was what he needed.

  “You never know,” Emma said. “Maybe he will be again, one day.”

  “Maybe,” Micah said.

  Down on the oval, Will had slung his bag over his shoulder and was heading off. He looked into the stands for them and waved good-bye. They returned it, and Micah was surprised at how easily he accepted Will after all that had happened. Maybe he was right during that conversation he’d had with Kyle—it was easier to forgive someone their wrongs if the closet was involved. The closet screwed people up, but maybe Will was on his way to escaping it and finally liking himself again.

  It had taken Micah a while—although life still threw problems in his way so often he resembled Mario in a particularly troublesome level of Super Mario Bros., it was preferable to what he had before. His method of stumbling out of the closet might not have been the best way to do so, but he was thankful he was here.

  And out in the open air.