In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  “Maybe,” he answers. “Personally, I think it’s too early to abolish the existence of countries and borders in this world, though my own daughter wouldn’t agree with me. She makes it a point to annoy every official she has to fill out a form for by giving her nationality as Gaian, and if asked for her ethnic background she’ll call it ‘human race’. You two would get along well.”

  That one tiny little story has just turned Mr Shriver from an alien into a human being and I appreciate him playing this game of words rather than lecturing us.

  At dinner that night we get a surprise. Instead of Mum going apeshit over the demonstration and trying to prevent us from going, Dad announces he’ll be there as one of the controllers. Kathleen’s dad convinced him.

  “I’m quite impressed with the way you’re handling this,” he says.

  “I’m very impressed with your response,” I answer. He beams at that and I suddenly realize this makes him happy. He wants to be involved.

  “Can I come to?” Miranda asks.

  “No,” Mum and I answer in unison.

  “I could keep her with me, Karen.”

  But Mum isn’t that brave. Things might get out of hand, after all. I agree with her on that. Not that I think it’ll get out of hand, but Miranda is a liability, being younger than even the year sevens.

  Miranda pouts for a while but eventually agrees to go to town with Mum instead of to school so they can watch from the side of the civic buildings.

  The phone doesn’t stop ringing all evening and Jerome is in almost non-stop conversation over the net. Everybody is buzzing. It’s the best feeling. I only hope we’ll still feel like this tomorrow night.

  JEROME

  I’m sick with nerves and embarrassment sitting here with Charlotte, who’s insisting on holding my hand on top of everything else. “We’ll make a good lead couple,” she says.

  I smile and try to get out of my confinement without hurting her feelings. “What part do you want to say?”

  It’s Mariette’s fault. She talked me into being the spokesperson and leading the parade. “Jerome should do it. He’s the least likely to say something wrong or offensive to these stiffs,” she announced at the meeting this morning.

  “Yeah, Jerome, I need you beside me in case I forget my words,” Charlotte agreed, after having volunteered herself.

  Innocently, because she doesn’t see anything other than the cause, Mariette then suggested we go sit somewhere together to decide who says what. The two of them were more than determined; I didn’t even get a chance to say no. Officially I don’t even live in this suburb.

  A few minutes later I’m rescued by the arrival of Fred’s group. They’re late. “My dad wouldn’t let me go so I climbed out of my window. I’ll be so dead when I get back,” he says.

  There are more than enough adults ready for potential problems, but it looks like everybody is dressed according to our requirements. Most are in jeans and plain-coloured tops. As the organizers, each of us has a list to check off a group of students. There are twenty-one groups and close to a thousand students. People in the Bellevue car park stop to look at us as we gather. The main street is quite long and runs from Bellevue, past the covered market and the library, to the central gardens where the civic buildings are. We’re going to walk from the car park to these gardens. Then we’ll have to either go inside or convince one of the council people to come out and receive the petition.

  “Jerome, this is Mark, he’s with the local paper,” Josh says, introducing a guy, not too much older than we are and dressed in a suit and tie. “He’ll come in with you, if that’s okay.”

  This is the same Mark who quoted me accurately the first time. “That’s fine,” I tell him. Really? Do I want it reported if I mess up in there?

  It’s after eleven o’clock by the time every group has called in to say they’re ready. “You’ll be great, I promise,” Mariette says before retreating to the back.

  Kathleen’s dad joins us and suggests we get started. Like Uncle Gerard this morning, he seems to be enjoying this as much as we do –probably more than I can at the moment. “Ready? Switch on the music,” he says, and starts walking.

  Charlotte does so. Every group has a player with a copy of Pink Floyd’s song Brick in the Wall. Uncle Gerard made them for us last night. We leave the car park in time to the music.

  Once we’re moving I relax a bit. I even feel proud when I look back to see this snake of moving students all singing the same song, all in a neatly ordered row that fits the footpath and flanked by parents dressed in black. There are a few banners. Way at the back I can see the red of Mariette’s skirt flapping in the wind. Charlotte keeps waving at people. It looks like she knows the whole town.

  “No, of course not,” she says, “but my dad grew up here so we have heaps of friends. If you want to come out with me some time I’ll introduce you,” she says.

  “Maybe next term.”

  The only people I know are Aunt Karen and Miranda who I see once we reach the corner of the civic centre’s lawn. Suddenly the police are right there too. At least six officers stand at the entrance to the garden along with what looks like a news crew with camera. Charlotte takes my hand and smiles at them. I wish I had her confidence.

  “The students are here to hand in their petition, after which they’ll leave in a civilized manner,” Kathleen’s dad tells them.

  Apparently that’s okay, but now we have two more escorts. Charlotte starts a conversation with one of them. We stop at the central building. There’s no need to go in; a representative of the city council is waiting for us. This isn’t really the right place for our request, but the education officials would never listen while the local politicians will be asking for our vote soon – at least, that of the year twelves.

  We wait until the snake has wriggled up to and spread out over the grass and the music is turned off. All the organizers join us at the front and we unclip our petition forms and staple them together. I’m sure I’m bright red and stuttering like PM, but I do manage to explain to him the details of our request. Charlotte does a much better job, telling him how we came to this and she mentions the website. It takes nearly half an hour and the council man gets awarded with a cheer from the gathered crowd for accepting it. As we came, so we leave, though in a slightly less ordered parade. I feel like I’m walking on air from relief.

  “How about pancakes for the organizers?” Kathleen’s dad asks. “I bet none of you ate this morning.” That idea is met with a unanimous yes, so we go into Bellevue.

  “That was the best demonstration I’ve ever seen,” Uncle Gerard says.

  Next the adults recall their own experiences of back when over five hundred thousand people marched against nuclear weapons. I’m glad we didn’t have to organize that.

  As soon as we arrive on the farm the next day and are gathered in the kitchen, Grandpa Will asks the inevitable question: “So, have you two behaved yourselves at school this term?”

  I’m still trying to work out how much my uncle and aunt would have told them when Miranda gives everybody a full account of the protest. Mariette doesn’t try to stop her. She radiates happiness. Her eyes tell it all: pride, satisfaction, pleasure, a bit of revenge, but most of all togetherness – not just the demonstration, but us being here. I feel it too.

  Dad is good, less over-the-top than last time. Aunt Ellie sits next to him. She’s his real sister and they look alike. “That goes to show how much more aware kids are today,” she says. “When we were that age we were only interested in parties.”

  “I just can’t believe how mature you are. I can’t believe I missed all that,” Dad says.

  A silence falls. He notices it. “Well, you told me to talk about it, to not pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “That’s okay. It’s also okay to let the quiet be for a bit,” Granannie answers him.

  Her eyes smile at me just like Mariette’s. Without thinking I answer – yes, the silence is okay. It’s real. Be
tween the two of us, Mariette and I recount everything that led up to the demonstration.

  “And all that after I told you not to cause problems?” Grandpa Will asks Mariette.

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “And what will happen when you return to school after the break?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait for what the official people do with it.”

  “That’s right. Any idea how long that will be?”

  Mariette shrugs. I’m not sure either, but it could easily be the two years of high school we have left.

  “Easily. So are you going to wear your uniform during that time and obey the standing rules?”

  “But the rules contradict each other. The standing rights aren’t being given us, so they’ll have to abide by those if we have to by the uniform rule,” Mariette says.

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then we’ll make them. We have almost all the kids and a few teachers behind us.”

  “What if they’ve revised the rules by the time you get back?”

  “They can’t do that.”

  “Can’t they? It’s easy. They take the existing text, change the words and print a new rulebook.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Mariette answers, frowning.

  “Don’t worry about it, he’s just stirring,” Dad tells her.

  “That’s because I’m cooking soup for thought,” Grandpa Will answers and suggests that Dad and I spend some time together before Rowan comes tomorrow. “Go on, get lost. Leave me to the soup.”

  We walk over the grass to the path behind the dam. “Last time it was pouring rain and cold,” I say.

  “Last time I lied to you, Jerome. I wanted to say goodbye. If it hadn’t been for Mariette-”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m trying, but it isn’t easy. No matter what part of my life I look at, I’ve messed up. I’ve done you wrong and I can never make up for that.”

  His mood is making me cry. “You’d do me a lot more wrong if you left, Dad.”

  “You know, Jerome, I wish I’d done what Guillaume did. I wish I’d come back here when Janey left or even before that. You’d have grown up with Glen.”

  “How was it, growing up with all those siblings?”

  Dad begins to tell me about his childhood in a friend-like manner, all these things he never talked about before. He was the youngest of nine. Marie, Gerard and Rory were already teens when Dad was born. They had a different life altogether. Then came the two girls, Alison and Ellie, but they used Guillaume and Dad as real-life dolls. Dad explains that he envied Alistair and Matthieu, being four and five years older and always up to mischief.

  “I wanted so much to be like them. I wanted to get into trouble like they did. I wanted to be tough. I had a whole fantasy going about how I would take it like a man and stuff like that. Now I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to step out of the fantasy and become a man.”

  “It isn’t too late, Dad. Mr Shriver says that problems like this can bring people closer together if we talk about them, while no problems sometimes can make parents and children feel like strangers.”

  “You talked to somebody else about this?”

  “…I’m sorry. He’s a teacher, but I trust him, honest. He’s just helping me with my poetry.”

  “It’s okay, Jerome. I know you need to talk to people. I was just so worried, you know, after Janey left. I was always afraid one of you would be ill; I feared every sore stomach. I couldn’t sleep, I was so worried, night after night, so I started drinking. I started on purpose and all that came back after Christmas, only much worse.

  “…Suddenly I had to do the driving to get you and Rowan to school and so you could have a social life, but I’m terrified of getting into a car in case I make a mistake and kill someone. So I made sure I had enough alcohol in me that I didn’t have to be scared. I risked your lives because I was so afraid of hurting you. Can you imagine that?”

  He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite understand his own actions anymore, and sighs before continuing.

  “Everywhere people judged my life. I was wrong to drive, wrong not to drive, wrong to drink and wrong to cause an accident. After I beat you I couldn’t see the end of it anymore, so I gave up fighting.

  The pills did the same job as the alcohol; they numbed my feelings, the good ones as well as the bad ones and so I could still pretend they didn’t exist. I felt safe in the hospital. I would have stayed there, I think, if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “For me?”

  He nods and sighs again. “Stuart had a similar problem, but he asked Grandpa Will for help because you suggested it. So after months of doctors, pills and psychologists, my father decided enough was enough. He threw out all that shit and took off his belt until there was no more pretending from my side… He said that if I was so guilty, he’d do something about it. He set me off crying… For days I stayed in the Petite Room in the dark, without distractions or pills, so I didn’t have any choice but to think and with every thought I started again, until the tears dried up by themselves and the thoughts weren’t destructive anymore; not self-centred. Your grandfather resorted to what he knew would work. So maybe it was humiliating, but no more than it was knowing that I’d beaten you and that I was drowning myself in alcohol or pills. I’m grateful to him and now I can even talk about it.”

  But I can see that it isn’t easy for him to do so.

  “I couldn’t sleep I was so worried about you, Dad. That’s why I had to talk to Mr Shriver.”

  Suddenly he stops walking and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry I was so bad about being an adult that I didn’t give you a chance to be a kid, Jerome. I promise you I’ll never do anything like that again.”

  “But you didn’t leave us, Dad. No matter what, you stayed while Mum ran. That makes you the better parent.”

  The next morning Aunt Ellie and Uncle Gerard pick Rowan up from the airport. “I got to fly all by myself,” he brags.

  “Where are your wings?” Miranda asks him.

  “Very funny. Lizette wants you to call her and tell her all about Friday, whatever that means,” Rowan tells me before jumping on Dad. The two of them get into a wrestling match. I suddenly envy my brother; it’s easier for Dad to deal with Rowan. He can let himself go and Rowan is better at expressing his feelings than I am.

  Later that Sunday Mariette and I call Lizette. We sit together on the sofa and hold the handset between us so we can hear at the same time. She says she can’t wait until Christmas when we all get together again.

  After the weekend Uncle Gerard and Aunt Karen go home but the three of us get to stay here with Rowan. My brother has an extra-long vacation this time so he can be with Dad and me, after which Uncle Alistair is taking him for a real holiday with his family during their term break. Rowan can’t stop talking about it. Miranda is more delighted than any of us. “I’m not the little one anymore,” she explains her happiness when we are having dinner.

  The large kitchen table now sits eight and with a bit of imagination I can see Grandpa Will and Granannie as everybody’s parents. Aunt Ellie certainly isn’t a mother figure.

  “I can set up an internet connection easily,” she says when Mariette mentions that I’ll need it if I’m to live here.

  “I thought we agreed not to subscribe to that invasive technology?” Granannie says.

  “You can’t avoid it, Mum. Jerome will need it and it’ll save me going into town every day. You just make rules. It has an off button, you know.”

  “We could write you a letter, send pictures, even talk live with a camera,” Rowan adds.

  “It would be like visiting every day,” Miranda agrees.

  “Which is what I mean by invasive. Anyhow, not until the summer holidays and only if the boys will be at home schooling, which I’m still not convinced will work,” Granannie says.

  “Of course it will work. People don’t need schools to learn,” Aunt Ellie answers. “Remember when we were in h
igh school and we had to learn typing, because that was the all-important new skill and without it we would fall behind other kids and blah blah blah? I remember having to practice every day and all the tears, because I couldn’t do it. Nowadays every kid types faster and better than we did and none of them learned it at school. They taught themselves because they were motivated. It’s the same with everything else.”

  “She’s right. We could all homeschool here together,” Mariette says.

  The weeks fly by. It’s a real holiday. Everybody helps with the work in the daytime, Dad and Ellie play badminton at night and sometimes Rowan and Miranda copy them.

  On the Thursday of the second week we call Kathleen, sitting together like when we talked with Lizette.

  “Do you know your picture was in the local paper? I kept it for you,” Kathleen says.

  “Any news?”

  “I haven’t heard anything except a letter about an information evening for students going into year eleven and their parents.”

  Next we call Aunt Karen, who says they’ve received a letter too.

  “Maybe it was meant for you,” Mariette says after we hang up.

  “Then they’re stupid. I told them I won’t be back next year.”

  “Shame,” she says, and starts heading upstairs.

  “Hang on, Mariette. I made this for you. They’re copies of some of my poems, like the one I wanted to show you.”

  “Really?” She takes the sketchbook and opens it.

  “I’d rather you didn’t read them when I’m here and don’t show anybody else.”

  “Okay. Do you want to see my stories?”

  I say yes and follow her upstairs to Granannie’s room, where she pulls a fat folder with papers from her bag. “Don’t expect too much, okay?” she says.

  MARIETTE

  The poem he meant is the last one in the book. By then I already feel like holding him close – to protect him from the world, I think. That Night is its title.

  I walked on water

  the night you drowned.

  I crossed the sea;

  it parted at my feet.