Are You Seeing Me?

by Darren Groth

  Life is short, my little tree frog. Make it your only complaint when all is said and done.

  PERRY

  IN 1989 AUSTRALIANS GAVE MONEY and food and furniture and toys and even themselves to rebuild the devastated city of Newcastle. The governments helped too—for every dollar that was donated, they gave one as well. Within a month, 14,000 people had received assistance. Within nine months, almost $4.5 million had been distributed to the victims. Following the 2004 Indian Ocean catastrophe, the public in the United Kingdom responded with £330 million (almost US$600 million); the amount averaged out to be around £5.50 (US$10) from every person in the nation. The awful 2008 tragedy of Sichuan Province saw everyday people from all over mainland China dig deep into their pockets at special booths set up in banks, schools and near petrol stations. They also donated blood, their generosity causing long queues in most of the big Chinese cities.

  Vancouver is rallying and rebuilding now. Not as much as Newcastle or Aceh or Sichuan, but enough to have the community working together. That includes me—I’ve been helping to get Mum’s home back to normal. There was no major structural damage to the townhouse; the load-bearing walls were okay, and the foundation slab didn’t crack or break. It was mainly the stuff inside the house that didn’t fare too well. I was responsible for quite a few of the fixes—clearing the living room floor; shaking out the rug; moving the fridge back into its proper position; putting the pictures back up on the sideboard and the piano; ensuring all the pieces of the shattered mirror in the bathroom were picked up—even the slivers—so no one would cut their feet. Off my own bat, I also made sure all the lightbulbs were working, because I don’t like the dark. I was able to complete all these tasks independently.

  At this moment, I’m finishing another job, an easy and comforting one, and the last on the long list: car wash. Gray Ford Taurus. It belongs to Mum. Following the quake, her car was covered in dust and particles from the roof (I imagine it looked a bit like the ash of Mount St. Helens). Once everything in the house was rebuilt or replaced or put back pretty much the way it was, I was able to give the car my full attention and washologist expertise.

  Now, it’s done. I stand back and assess my work. Spotless windows, good body shine, tires look almost new again. The swirling scents of wax and environmentally friendly detergent tease my nose. Given that I didn’t have my usual equipment from Troy’s, the Taurus has come up quite well. No lie.

  I wring out the sponge and empty the black water into a nearby drain. A cool wind whips through the townhouse parking lot, ruffling my damp T-shirt. The leaves of the cherry blossom tree overlooking the complex have changed color again in the last ten days, from orange-red to brown. They’re falling, too, creating a scrabbly carpet on the pavement. It’s funny—they clung to the tree during the earthquake, but now they’re letting go. Mother Nature always decides when the time is right.

  Back inside the house, I peel off my T-shirt, drop it in the brand-new washing machine. I stretch my arms, my neck, my back. A yoga routine would be good to help my out-of-practice carwashing muscles recover. Entering the living room, I figure Extrasensory Leonie must’ve read my mind. She’s in the center of the room, performing Garudasana, Eagle pose. The mat under her feet—I chose it. It wasn’t handmade in an ashram. It cost thirty bucks at Open Space in the village. I got one for myself too.

  Looking over the open space remaining here in the room, I don’t think there’s enough for me to pose along with Mum. I don’t want to crowd Marc—he’s standing on the stepladder, attaching L-brackets to the top of the bookshelf. Just Jeans is reading The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz in the armchair, reclining with the footrest out; maintaining this position is crucial because she still needs to limit the strain on her chest. Oh well—no yoga for me just yet. There’ll be plenty of time later tonight. And in the ten days before Jus and Marc and I fly back to Brisbane. And in the two or so months before Mum arrives. We can do routines together using Skype.

  I sit down at the dining table and watch the quiet scene, like a seismologist carefully considering the data at his disposal. Even though the trio is busy doing their own thing, they’re also comfortable sharing this space. Some quality time in the Ne’er Go residence has brought them closer together in more places than the living room. They don’t notice me watching them—I like that, the chance to observe without conversation or questions. And what do I see? I see a happy ending, like The Forbidden Kingdom final scenes when Jason returns home after ending the Jade Warlord’s reign of terror. Of course, it’s not really the end—Jackie Chan’s blooper reels during the credits of his films show there is always more to the story. Someday, this calm and peaceful sight before my eyes will be a nice memory in the backs of all our minds. Things will get shaken up again, broken into pieces, and we will need to put it all back together the best we can. And we will, because although we can’t rely on a stable, predictable Earth in the years to come, we can rely on each other.

  That is the future.

  That is today.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As Perry says, We can’t live in a world of one, and that’s particularly true for an author writing a novel. I’d like to sincerely thank the following people for helping me bring this story together: my beautiful wife, Wend; my twins; the Brothers Groth; Mum and Dad; the Fraser Clan; my agents, Tara Wynne and John Pearce; Zoe Walton, Catriona Murdie and the Random House team; Ruth Linka, Sarah Harvey and Jen Cameron at Orca Book Publishers; Claire Kamber; the BCLC Bandwagon; “Legend Hunter” Bill Steciuk; Daniel Defoe; and the great man himself, Jackie Chan.

  I couldn’t have done it without you. No lie.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Originally from Brisbane, Australia, Darren Groth now lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, with his Canadian wife and thirteen-year-old twins. His books have been published on both sides of the Pacific and include Kindling and Most Valuable Potential, which was short-listed for the Queensland Premier’s Literary Awards—Young Adult Book Award. The 2014 Australian edition of Are You Seeing Me? was recently selected a 2014 Book of the Year by Booktopia and a 2015 Outstanding Book for the International Board on Books for Young People (IBBY) collection.

  Darren has appeared at numerous literary events, including the Byron Bay Writers Festival and Brisbane Writers Festival. He has been a guest speaker, workshop and master-class facilitator and writer-in-residence for literary organizations, writing groups, schools and libraries, and has written articles for publications including The Courier-Mail, Writing Queensland and Mamamia. For more information, visit www.darrengroth.com.