In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  Suddenly my aunt begins to cry. I’ve never seen that before. She is usually the strong one at home. Perceptive as he is, Uncle Gerard immediately takes Miranda outside and I agree to join Grandpa Will for a walk. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I take it you understand this doesn’t need to be discussed with Mariette or anybody else?”

  “I won’t. I feel sorry for Aunt Karen sometimes.”

  “What about you, do you fight with Mariette?” he asks.

  “No, there’s no use in the first place. It only makes it worse. We get along… kind of.”

  “When you were little the two of you were inseparable during the reunions. You’d have your own little fantasy world made up between you. Not even Lizette was in on that. What happened?”

  “We grew up, I guess, Grandpa Will.”

  “Did you? Did you grow apart or did you grow a little too close for comfort?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He doesn’t answer that.

  The next morning I wake up early and nervous again, but it’s not as bad as last time. Grandpa Will leaves alone to pick up Dad so they can talk in the car. “To make it easier for both of you.”

  Uncle Gerard takes his family into town so Dad doesn’t have to cope with everybody at the same time. I sit with Granannie in the kitchen.

  “Mariette didn’t want to come?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “No.”

  “Mariette told Charl where to find you that night. Do you think that may have something to do with it?”

  “Do you mean she thinks it’s her fault?” But I know the answer before Granannie nods. “I was just getting over feeling guilty myself, Granannie.”

  “Yes, I know, and Charl isn’t yet over blaming himself either. It’s important this gets talked about, Jerome. I’d have liked to talk to Mariette today.”

  “Maybe you could call her. I think she’d like that.”

  Granannie shakes her head smiling. “There’s a reason I cannot do that and I’m beginning to suspect she won’t either and for the same reason, but don’t tell your grandfather this or you’ll get me in trouble.”

  I wonder if she’s serious. I didn’t think old people would say things like that. As if Grandpa Will could get her in trouble. Besides, she’s the older one.

  “You are so like your grand-maman,” she says and gives me a hug.

  I’ve been told that before, by Grandpa Will more often than not. My real grandmother died only two years ago and they both miss her terribly.

  My heart beats a little faster when I hear the car pull up. Granannie nods at me. “Go say hello and tell them coffee is ready.”

  Dad is just getting out of the passenger seat when I walk out. He looks around for a minute. He spreads out his arms and comes to me –this is better than I expected. I let him hug me. This was difficult in the hospital because there were strangers around. He looks good: rested, sober. “Are you all right?”

  “Do me a favour, Jerome; don’t treat me as if I’m vulnerable.”

  “Okay, Dad. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, son.”

  We all sit around the kitchen table for coffee and cake.

  “How’s life at Gerard’s?” Dad asks.

  “It’s okay, but I like it here better. I want to be with you.”

  “He makes a better father though.”

  “No Dad, if you could just try to not drink. I could help you and we-”

  “Go pour some more coffee, Jerome,” Granannie says. Before I have a chance to respond she repeats, “Go pour another cup of coffee.”

  I do as she says, though only Grandpa Will’s cup is empty. Next the discussion is about selling our house and all the paperwork involved.

  After lunch we go for a walk with Grandpa Will, who stops on the bank near the dam, “I want you two to talk about this,” and then walks away. We watch him go, Dad struggling more than I am.

  “He tricked us into that, didn’t he?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Jerome.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. It’s a long time ago anyway.”

  This is certainly not what Grandpa Will had in mind, but we don’t get any further, so we walk home in silence. I have a strong feeling of déja vu.

  We call Rowan and then it seems everything has been said. Uncle Gerard’s car returns and the three of them keep Dad busy for a while. I’d have liked more time alone with him, but then we have nothing to say. We all have dinner together and then Grandpa Will takes him back to the hospital. “See you in four weeks.” In between he’ll come home every weekend, but in four weeks it’s term break and I will move here.

  When I say goodbye Granannie gives me a wrapped piece of cake. “For Mariette. See if you can get her to come next time, Jerome.”

  I promise to try. On the way home Uncle Gerard puts on the rest of the book. I thank my aunt and uncle for giving up their weekend for me.

  “Don’t be silly. We’re happy to do this,” Aunt Karen says.

  Mariette is watching Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and hardly acknowledges us when we come in. I hand her the cake. “I’ve been told to give you this personally.”

  “How is your dad?” she asks while unwrapping the silver paper.

  “He’s good. It looks like he’ll come home for good before the holidays.”

  “That’s great. Will you go live with-?” She stops and restarts. “I mean, not that I think you should; not until you’re ready, but I’m glad he’s better.” She gently touches the cake and then wraps it back up.

  Encouraged by her sharing, I say, “Granannie thinks you feel guilty about what Dad did to me.”

  “Did you go there to see your dad or to gossip about me?” she asks and turns Brick and Maggie back on.

  I suddenly see a likeness between my cousin and the cat on the screen, not so much in looks as in determination. Rather than try to explain, I leave the room.

  A little later she knocks on my door. “Jerome?”

  “Come in.”

  She does. “What did Granannie say about me?”

  “That she’d like to talk with you and for you to come next time.”

  “Did she say anything about last time? I mean, did she say what she wanted to talk about?”

  “Only that you two had a bit of a fall-out. Nobody knows what about; at least not your parents, if that’s what worries you. She may have told Grandpa Will though.” I repeat the strange remark Granannie made to me.

  “But she didn’t tell you what the fall-out was?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then. Good to know Uncle Charl is better.”

  This conversation does nothing to ease my suspicion that I had something to do with it.

  When going to school the next morning it’s almost normal between us. Mariette even tells me how fed-up she is with her mum’s constant moaning about her wearing the same clothes all the time.

  “So why do you?”

  “That’s not your business.”

  I withdraw from the conversation, once again. I do remember a little about our playing together as kids, but that was make-believe. That’s not allowed anymore.

  MARIETTE

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going home.” It’s pissing rain, not the kind of weather to hang around the milk bar for period six assembly just to catch the school bus home. We all slept in this morning for the same reason and the weekend doesn’t promise to be any better.

  “Anybody feel like a movie tomorrow?” Kathleen asks.

  “Theatre or home?”

  “Home. My mum brought a whole new stack from her business trip. We could make it a movie day.”

  “Sure, what time?” Fred asks.

  “Eleven, and we’ll order pizza. Will you come, Jerome?”

  Jerome asks if she’s sure, as insecure as usual.

  “What do you think I mean when I ask if you come and use your name? Did you think I was asking Charlotte?” K
athleen asks him, blunt as always and he agrees to come.

  I’d never have believed I’d be socializing with my cousin just three weeks ago, but here we are on a Saturday morning. We take the bus to Kathleen’s together, though we don’t speak much. Fred is already there with Kathleen’s brothers.

  Edgar is in year twelve and doesn’t bother with us, but Sean wants to join in. He’s in year eight and, according to his sister, the object of interest of all the girls in the younger grades. Kathleen describes him as a follower of the new wave, into health consciousness and eastern meditation. Of Edgar, Kathleen says he’s the perfect child. “He’s got the right personality for a westerner. He likes footy, is tidy, greedy, controlling, outgoing and he follows the rules without question.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m a problem child. I don’t do fashion, I don’t do rules, I don’t do new age stuff and I can think for myself. I take after my dad.”

  We watch two movies, order pizza and are debating what will be next when Kathleen’s parents come home. “How are you kids doing?” her father asks as he plops down on the couch between us.

  “Fine thanks.”

  Kathleen introduces Jerome while Sean complains, “I wanted to see Joe Black but they said no.”

  “You can see that any other time. Besides, these people are year ten; they do civics. They’re ready for something real, like Fahrenheit 911.”

  “Please Dad, we’re trying to have fun here, not listen to corrupt politicians, stupid soldiers, dead babies and the end of our hopes for a future. That’s not real, that’s depressing.”

  “So let’s watch Joe Black,” Sean tries.

  “No, that’s a fairy tale.”

  “It is not. It’s funny.”

  “It’s a fairy tale,” Kathleen insists. “It’s about a princess who is pretty, a king who is rich and owns a castle, and it’s about working for a boss to make money only to be rescued by a dark and mysterious stranger who turns out to be the heir to another kingdom. It’s a modern fairy tale.”

  “And what you’ve been watching weren’t fairy tales?” her father asks.

  “What are you hinting at, Dad?”

  “I’m just counting how many recent movies there are in which the protagonist was openly supportive of black people in a time and place where most people wouldn’t have been, but since it’s not politically correct anymore to make a movie with a racist protagonist, we’re made to believe that most people were more outspoken than they really were, and everyone, including black people, buys it.”

  “But isn’t it the job of artists to make people aware of social wrongs? Doesn’t the protagonist have to be different than ordinary people?” I protest.

  “If the story is told in the time that these social wrongs exist, sure. But it’s the silence of the masses that allows them to exist, so if you’re portraying history then that is the social wrong that needs told. The same goes for Troy; Patroclus and Achilles were lovers, but Hollywood called them cousins to ‘protect’ kids from the truth. Homer wrote that story thirty-five hundred years ago. How many times do you think it’s been changed since then for similar reasons? For do you think Achilles really would have mourned the needless deaths? The morality of his time said it was noble to seek revenge, so the more deaths, the better the victory. He was changed to make him appeal to the viewers of today. There isn’t much left of who he really was. He’s made a hero for today’s morality. I’ve got nothing against entertaining the masses, but not at the expense of the truth.”

  “If you look at it that way, almost every movie can be called a fairy tale,” Fred says. “Just look at Pride and Prejudice. They always talk about poverty and money but never once in that movie do they even mention the really poor people. It’s like they didn’t exist.”

  “They didn’t,” Jerome answers. “The movie isn’t lying. The middle classes didn’t think of the peasants as people. They thought of them more as equal to livestock, like the ancient Greeks and Romans did their slaves and the Europeans a hundred years ago did factory workers. That’s why the Russian royal family was totally shocked when the revolution began. They had no idea what went on outside their palaces.”

  “I hope you don’t believe it’s any different now,” I butt in. “Or haven’t you heard about the slave trade of girls, sold like cattle so the big pimps can make a fortune? The media only tells people what the government wants them to believe and so do schools; they treat us like cattle. All we need now is a tattoo with our numbers.”

  “I take it back. I think Fahrenheit 911 might be a little too stressful for you,” Kathleen’s dad says to me.

  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing that.”

  “Not now. Today is for relaxing. You can borrow it.”

  “So is there anything left to watch that isn’t too depressing, too stressful, untrue, too serious or too out of date?” Kathleen asks.

  “Joe Black,” answers Sean.

  The rest of us unanimously vote against it.

  “I have an idea. How about some Al Pacino?”

  “No political movies, Dad, we agreed.”

  “Devil’s Advocate – brilliant performance, no politicians,” he promises.

  “It’s rated eighteen and up,” Jerome says.

  “Those ratings are made by some very narrow-minded people to control the very narrow-minded masses.” Kathleen’s dad answers him. “Like Mariette said, the movies that are supposed to alert the public to dangers like the sex slave trade are rated too high for young people, which keeps them unaware of the danger and then they fall victim to it. If you can make up your own mind about the world, you don’t need censorship.”

  We agree with his idea then and are treated to an honestly fantastic movie. Kathleen’s mum walks in halfway and scolds her husband for letting us watch an M-rated movie, but she gets hooked and sits down with us. It’s past ten before it finishes, so Kathleen’s dad drives us all home.

  On Sunday I stay in bed until lunchtime. I call, “Yes?” when there’s a knock on the door and Jerome walks into my room.

  “Phone,” he says.

  I accept the handset before thinking about it and find I’m talking to Grandpa Will.

  “Are you trying to ignore us?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “So how is it you haven’t talked to your grandmother once in three weeks?”

  I have no answer for him.

  “She’s right here. Will you talk to her now?”

  “Okay.”

  But then I’m a witness – by audio at least – to a disagreement between my grandparents, in which Grandpa Will is apparently trying to convince Granannie to take the phone. “You tricked me,” I hear her say.

  My grandmother clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. I don’t want to hear what goes on so I throw the phone across the room. Moments later the main line downstairs rings out, but the handset stays silent.

  Jerome knocks again. “Where is it?”

  I point at the broken phone.

  “I was going to talk to my dad,” he says.

  “I’m sorry. Dad has a mobile.”

  He picks up the pieces and leaves my room. I don’t have to go down at all now. I’ll never hear the end of this.

  JEROME

  Uncle Gerard’s mobile works fine but I’m too aware of the cost so I keep it short. Dad’s home now and is helping Grandpa Will on the farm. He says he enjoys the work. He won’t go back to the old job he hated. He might finally take up that training in natural healing he’s long wanted to do. Our house is on the market; I’ll never have to go there again. Just three more weeks of school before I get to learn what I want in my own time. “We could study together, Dad.”

  Grandpa Will comes on for a moment, after. “What happened just now with Mariette?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure. I think she threw it.”

  “You tell her she’s as stubborn as her grandmother and if she doesn’t come with you next time, I will come and get her.”


  “You want me to tell her that?”

  “You bet,” he says.

  I don’t talk to Rowan until the evening since Uncle Gerard has to go out and buy a new phone. “Stuart is here too and Lizette wants to talk to you,” Rowan says.

  “Why?”

  “How should I know? She won’t tell. That’s the only bad thing about being here – sisters,” he says and then, before I have time to prepare, I hear Lizette’s voice.

  “Jerome?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think I’m mad at you for that night?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s what Stuart thought. Anyway, I’m not, just so you know, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I hope you can go home soon. I’m happy for you that Uncle Charl is doing so well and you can have your little brother back. I’ve got to battle two boys all the time; it’s too much. Anyway, we’ll see each other at Christmas then.”

  “Sure, and thanks.” Too late I wonder if she’d wanted to talk to Mariette. I don’t tell Mariette about it, just in case. I’m also not quite sure yet how to tell her what Grandpa Will said, but I guess I have three weeks to figure that out.

  On Monday I tell Kathleen and Fred that I definitely won’t be here anymore after the break.

  “You’re so lucky,” says Kathleen.

  I think she’s the lucky one, though, having her family.

  In English Mr Shriver starts the debating competition, so all I have to do is sit and listen to the other teams. The first group debates the issue of homework. This puts Charlotte opposite Mariette. Charlotte had protested being assigned this topic and isn’t very motivated. “My dad says it helps people learn to organize their days so later you can organize your finances and work,” she reads from her notes.

  “I didn’t ask for your father’s opinion, I asked for yours,” Mr Shriver tells her.

  “No you didn’t,” Mariette says. “You ordered her to have that opinion and she doesn’t. She’s with us; majority wins.”