by Chris Wheat
‘I wouldn’t take that, Craig,’ his father said, throwing his empty can into the KFC wrappings. ‘I’d find that dog and have a little discussion.’
‘Do you have a human boyfriend?’ asked the interviewer.
‘I’ve got one now.’
‘Please God ...’ Craig felt sick. Matilda was nodding vigorously.
‘And how does he cope with having such a … special girlfriend?’
Craig held his breath. His whole body was taut.
‘He warns me when I’m doing dingo stuff to act human.
But he’s proud I’m the Dingo Girl. Only one of my breed in Australia.’ She was getting excited. ‘He’s got reddish-brown hair like an Irish setter.’
Beer spurted out of his father’s mouth.
‘This girl at my school wants him to be her boyfriend, but I got him first.’
‘Chelsea!’ Khiem laughed.
Matilda was smiling broadly. ‘His name’s Craig,’ she announced to Australia, ‘and he’s got a gi-normous tongue.’
Craig’s father howled. Craig curled himself into the foetal position.
‘It’s okay,’ he could hear Khiem saying.
But it really wasn’t.
JUST LIKE
THE PERSON
SITTING
NEXT TO YOU
IT WAS A COLD July morning and Georgia Delahunty was sitting with all the other Vistaview students waiting for Darryl Dunn to address the school assembly. This was held on the first Monday of each month. Chelsea Dean, abhorrent little style empress, was fidgeting beside her.
Georgia’s eyes wandered to the school’s crest suspended above the stage. Vistaview Secondary College was written in large blue lettering, and below it was a shield divided by a river.
A computer sat on one bank and a stop sign on the other, symbolising information technology and driver education.
Below the crest, in an undulating banner, was the school’s motto: Strive, thrive and get ahead.
The best way for Georgia to embrace the school’s creed would be to leave it. She couldn’t wait for her Mary Magdalene interview next week.
‘Complete shoosh, Vistaviewers! Quiet now!’
She sighed. Here we go. With a bit of luck, this would be her last assembly at Vistaview.
Darryl Dunn stood at the microphone dressed in a darkblue suit, his thinning hair in a gelled comb-over, the stage lights reflected in his glasses. He peered down at his school benevolently as the babble subsided to one isolated explosion of Year 10 laughter, which faded swiftly to a self-conscious silence. Around the walls, the staff stood like chained Rottweilers, ready to attack.
Georgia shut her eyes. Of course she could still fulfil her parents’ pleas: choose India over Mary Magdalene. All she’d need to do was hop on a plane, and in no time she’d be in New Delhi. From there they’d motor to the Fort. There would be servants, a swimming pool and her own elephant. It was tempting. Might she just leave her aunt and uncle to their prayers, wrap herself in a sari and become a Hindu? Or should she stay here in Australia, play hockey and look for a girlfriend at Mary Magdalene?
Darryl cleared his throat. ‘A breathless hush in the close tonight, ten to make and the last man in.’ His eyes moved slowly around the assembly hall. ‘Sir Henry Newbolt!’ There were quiet groans from some Year 12 students, and some of the Rottweilers stirred. ‘I’m sure your English teachers will explain the significance of that quotation.’
Georgia shot a look at her English teacher, Phillip Ireland, a middle-aged man with an Afro, who was leaning against the wall. He looked confused.
‘It’s a fine morning, and our school motto tells us to thrive, strive and get ahead. I hope this is what is uppermost in your minds right now.’
Silence.
‘This morning I have an unpleasantness, a celebration, some good news from the SRC, and I want to tell you about a very special week we have coming up.’
‘Get on with it!’ Chelsea whispered.
‘The unpleasantness first. What is black? Some boys and some girls have been wearing trousers that are not true black!
To rectify this, I have issued all staff with a black card. If your trousers do not match the black on this card, you will be sent home. We will not truck with shades of black! When I was your age, the Rolling Stones used to say that black was black and they wanted their baby back. In this school, we are going to live by that lyric. Black is black!’
He waited in silence for the school to absorb the message.
‘Next, something pleasant. I would like Angelo Tarano to come up on stage.’
There was a spontaneous roar and then thunderous stamping as Angelo got up and walked down the aisle to the stage.
Georgia could barely look at him. Everyone thought he was so wonderful, but not her. It was those pleading eyes. She still looked away whenever she saw him coming. Angelo leapt up the steps and stood beside Darryl Dunn, looking bashful as the cheering washed around the hall.
‘Angelo, as I’m sure everyone knows, was selected in the National Draft to play for the Hobart Cockatoos. I saw his face on the front page of the paper following his first game recently, and I’m sure you did, too.’
Another cheer.
‘I remember Angelo, in Year 8, crying outside my office because someone had taken his football. Now look at him! No crying now. No one is going to take his football today.’ Darryl laughed to himself.
‘But remember, in our school Angelo Tarano is just an ordinary Year 11 student who lives an ordinary life. The fact that he is earning more money than me does not mean you can ask him for a loan.’ Darryl laughed again and a few Year 7s did, too.
‘So I want us all to wish Angelo’s little finger a very speedy recovery.’
Darryl clapped as the school cheered once more. Angelo raised his little finger, then jogged off the stage, head down and grinning. Georgia rolled her eyes.
‘Now, three exciting new SRC initiatives: firstly, Vistaview Secondary College is going to have a rowing team. Chelsea Dean, your president, has kindly volunteered to coach a rowing team and has already procured the boats and started to train our group. But she needs more boys! She’ll be running a meeting for interested young men at lunchtime today in Room 27. Vistaview Secondary College is a school that is striving and thriving, as you can see. We are certainly going to get ahead.’
His voice rose with the exhortation.
‘Next year our rowers will be competing against all the other rowing teams from those big expensive private schools.
And we will beat them! Yes!’ He threw back his head and raised his arms.
There was a smattering of applause and an outbreak of discussion.
‘Next...shoosh... next, Chelsea has very kindly offered to organise a combined formal for senior students at Vistaview and our two neighbouring schools, St Ethelred’s Boys’ Grammar and Mary Magdalene Ladies’ College.’
There was another outbreak of discussion – much louder this time – and the teachers all moved forward and started calling out names.
Darryl went on. ‘This formal will put our school on display.
To that end, Chelsea has also offered to run lunchtime etiquette classes. Quite a student, our Chelsea. She will offer some good advice on correct manners. That way, no Vistaview student need feel embarrassed when he or she meets a student from one of those other schools. A round of applause for Chelsea Dean’s initiative!’
Booing, cheering, laughter and applause dissolved into another hubbub. Georgia looked at Chelsea. She was smiling and jigging her legs.
‘Shoosh! Shoosh! SHOOSH!’ Silence slowly descended.
‘Finally, I have another very serious matter to deal with.’ Darryl cleared his throat. ‘Pay absolute attention! You all remember how we celebrated Deaf Week by not making any sounds for an afternoon? And before that we had Quadriplegic Week, when we didn’t use our arms and legs for an hour? Well, this week we will be celebrating Gay Week!’
Uproar.
B
oys began waving their arms extravagantly. Some were lisping. What on earth was this idiot doing? Darryl raised his arms for silence and looked stern.
‘Quiet! Quiet at once!’
The Rotties were adding to the noise by demanding silence, too.
‘Now I’d like to call to the stage Georgia Delahunty and Joshua Yeatman, two of our gay students!’
Georgia froze. Surely he hadn’t just said that! She turned furiously to Chelsea. ‘You told him!’
‘Well, why not? There’s no use hiding, Georgia. I told him the school was full of homophobia and he had to do something about it. Go on. Go up! Be proud and gay.’
She wanted to punch Chelsea out. Several rows in front, Joshua Yeatman was moving slowly along his row, head bowed.
Strange noises, wild laughter and repetitive stamping accompanied him. Thanks to Chelsea Dean, she and Josh were about to have their lives totally wrecked. It was India or Mary Magdalene for sure now.
Georgia stood slowly, and her teeth clenched: the school lesbian. Darryl smiled and nodded as she and Josh approached the stage through billowing curtains of laughter. Joshua was trembling. The applause and laughter slowly subsided as they climbed the steps and stood beside Darryl.
Darryl spoke. ‘We are living in modern times, and as such we don’t want to have phobias. One of the worst modern phobias is homophobia.’ He spelt it. ‘H-O-M-O-P-H-O-B-I-A. You see before you two fine young people: one looks like a boy, and one looks like a girl. In fact, Joshua, here, and Georgia, here, are just like the person sitting next to you’ – this remark set off a huge new disturbance, and his voice rose to a bellow – ‘but they are gay!’
Georgia stared down at her riotous peers and felt sick. Why?
Was he mad?
‘For one week, we are going to celebrate these two students, and those students like them who are also gay but hiding it, by playing songs by Elton John over the public address system at lunchtimes! Quiet! QUIET!!’
Georgia turned to Joshua, who was still trembling beside her. ‘It’s Chelsea’s fault,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘I know.’
Darryl continued. ‘To start our Gay Week celebrations, the school choir is now going to come up on stage and sing an Elton John classic: Rocket Man. And as they sing, I want every one of you to imagine what it’s like to be gay!’
Below, a moving, roaring sea of laughing faces. She had to get out of here.
The choir was trooping up on stage. ‘Excuse me, Mr Dunn,’ she protested angrily, ‘you can’t do this! It’s not allowed. Will you stop it!’
He cupped one hand to his ear. ‘What’s that, Georgia?’ he asked.
Then something came over her. She turned to Mr Dunn, who was smiling at her benignly, and slapped him hard across the face.
There was a momentary lull in the hall, and then a kind of explosion as Darryl staggered away from her.
She grabbed Josh’s hand. ‘Come on!’ she said and, turning and pushing through the choir, she ran down the stairs into a maelstrom of students, who were on their feet, punching the air and cheering.
PLAN B
ONE WEEK AFTER his girlfriend had humiliated him on 60 Minutes, Craig Ryan was standing in the bathroom poking his tongue out at the mirror when the doorbell rang. He continued to stare at himself, hoping the ringing would stop.
It didn’t. He went to his dad’s room and peered through the curtains: it was bloody Chelsea Dean. Craig opened the door reluctantly. Chelsea meant trouble.
‘Craig!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Is Matilda here?’
‘Nope.’
‘Good. This is an emergency. Let me come in.’
She pushed past him and sat on the couch with her hands folded in her lap and a pained look on her face.
‘It’s very stuffy in here, Craig. You need to open a window before we asphyxiate on the odour of … Nikes. And close the bathroom door, please. I’m looking at a pile of men’s laundry.’
Craig closed the bathroom door with a shrug. He and his old man didn’t worry about keeping things neat. ‘So long as you keep the vermin out of the cupboards, everything’s hunkydory,’ was his old man’s cleaning philosophy. So things were usually a bit out of hand, except for twice a year, usually on a night when his dad was a bit pissed, when they both hopped in and cleaned the whole place up.
‘What’s this?’ Chelsea asked, picking up one of Matilda’s mangas. She flipped through it, then dropped it back on the coffee table with a shudder. ‘Grrrrl. Ridiculous!’ she said. ‘Her eyes are squinty, not like that at all.’
Craig grinned. ‘Give it up, Chelsea. You’re jealous!’
‘Jealous? Of that? Hah! My God. A tail!’ Chelsea pushed a can off the couch with one finger. ‘This place really lacks a woman’s touch, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ she added.
Actually he did mind her saying so. It sounded like she was having a go at his mother for leaving. He shoved up a window, demolishing some spider webs.
‘I warned you about Matilda,’ she went on. ‘Gi-normous tongue, hah! How embarrassing for you. She just fakes it to get attention – and money.’
He could feel anger starting to creep from his stomach up to his face. ‘Don’t have a go, Chelsea, or I’ll chuck you out.’
‘You’ll end up with hydatids, Craig.’
‘Sure. Right. What’s hydatids?’ he asked.
‘It’s a dog disease. She’s running about all over the place meeting other dogs behind your back. She’ll pick up diseases from them and pass them on to you.’
‘She’s not a dog!’ Craig snapped.
‘I realise she’s quite jealous of me. Lately she’s taken to creeping around behind me at school. I’m going to press charges if she keeps stalking me. I don’t care how famous she is.’
‘Did you come here to tell me this crap?’
‘You could do so much better than Matilda. I hope it’s not her money you’re after. One day Matilda Grey will be exposed as a fraud, Craig, and you’ll realise that I have only your best interests at heart.’
‘Get over it, Chelsea.’
‘A big tongue. No one should have their defects exposed on national television. How big is it?’
He wanted to push her out the door. She was so nosey and interfering! ‘Mind your own friggin’ business, Chelsea!’
‘All right. Keep calm. Actually I didn’t come to talk about that sad little canine, or your love-life – I came to discuss the love-life of our parents. You know that they’re having an affair, don’t you – your father and my mother?’
‘What?’ He laughed. ‘What crap are you talking now?’
‘Well, sorry to drop this little bombshell, but your father is always at my house. In fact, he’s there right now. I’m absolutely telling the truth. Ring him if you doubt me.’
This girl was crazy. No way would his father be seeing Mrs Dean. They wouldn’t be the same type. But then again, Matilda and he were not really the same type. And Chelsea seemed to believe what she was saying.
‘You’re a real nutcase, Chelsea.’
She stared at him. ‘Go on, ring him, and ask him where he is.’
Craig swallowed. His old man did like the ladies, that was for sure, but usually they were Asian ladies, and never someone like Chelsea’s mother. He’d seen her a few times, dropping Chelsea off at school in their Merc. It was the Merc he’d been interested in, so he’d never paid much attention to the driver. But if she was anything like Chelsea, his father would have to run a mile.
‘He came to repair the sauna at our place and then stayed to give dancing lessons. Dancing lessons! Sorry, but I can’t stand him, Craig. So you and I have to break them up.’
‘Do we?’ This was too weird. Chelsea’s mum and his dad – for real? That was pretty disgusting. He snorted out loud.
‘Don’t laugh,’ Chelsea ordered. ‘It’s called a midlife crisis.
Adults can have them quite unexpectedly. One minute they’re your mum and dad, and the next minute they’re gettin
g their navels pierced or going to Silverchair concerts. We must stop them.’
She looked around. ‘I couldn’t live in a place like this. Not with chip packets on the coffee table and computer bits everywhere…’ Her nose turned up. ‘And bicycle wheels on the living room floor! Your father couldn’t live with me, either. I’m a control freak. He’d hate living with me. And I’d hate living with him.’
‘What the … ! Who said you were going to live here?’ he cried.
‘That’s where it’s leading, Craig. They’ll want to move in together, and that will wreck my life and yours. Think about it.
Either I live here with you, or you live at my place. And you can’t possibly live at my place, even though I do quite like you – it was never meant to have more than one young adult living in it at any one time.’
Craig couldn’t think of what to do or say.
Chelsea sighed and looked around. ‘I would rather live in a caravan park than here. Don’t misunderstand me – I’m sure your father’s very sweet in his own way – but he’s an absolute bogan, if you don’t mind me being frank. I’m really not into Willie Nelson.’
‘Shut up.’
‘My mother used to have some self-respect.’
‘My dad has never said nothing about your mum.’
‘Never said anything about your mum. There’s another reason why I can’t live with you: your grammar.’
‘Whatever. This ain’t going to happen, sister.’
‘Isn’t. But it will.’
‘No way!’ Craig shouted.
‘There is only one other option. My mother comes and lives here, and you live with me at my house.’
‘What!?’
Chelsea smiled. ‘I can see no problem living with you, Craig, despite your undisciplined approach to life. You can be improved – you have potential, so long as you give up that freaky tail-sniffing girlfriend of yours. I’m sure we could work out a way of getting on. And I suppose my house could stretch to cater to two young adults, so long as my mother vacated and Brenda stayed on. We have a housekeeper, you know, so cooking and cleaning are no problem. But I simply can’t live with your father.’