On Wednesday night, Tanvi calls me on my new number. I stare at her name on the screen, breath caught in my throat. She never calls. We text. Maybe I can pretend I missed her call and text her later.
But to my own surprise, I hit the answer button on the last ring.
‘Hi, Piper.’
‘Hey,’ I whisper back after a few long seconds of silence. I’ve always found hey easier than hi for some reason.
‘How are you doing?’
I sigh, searching for words as much as my voice. ‘I’m okay, I guess. How’s school and everyone?’
‘Good. A bit crazy. Celia is studying like mad.’
I wasn’t going to ask but the question is stronger than I am. ‘Have you seen West at school?’
‘Yeah, here and there . . . He looks lost.’
I close my eyes, wishing I’d never asked.
‘Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?’
‘It just wasn’t going to work, that’s all.’
‘History is made by people who believe in things that by logic shouldn’t work.’
‘Who said that?’
‘I just made that up.’
‘Well, as James Baldwin once said, “People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them”. So basically, when your boyfriend says he loves you and you don’t – can’t – say it back, it can never be forgotten or undone. That moment is history, and it changes everything.’
‘Ohh, Piper.’
‘It’s okay. What else has been happening?’
‘Not much. You know my cousin who I think has Selective Mutism? He sang a solo at his school assembly.’
‘That’s great!’
‘I know. So anyway, are you coming to graduation tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know. Mum and Dad are really excited and want me to go but I don’t know if I can do it. To see West.’
‘There will be so many people there, you probably won’t even see him.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Piper, this is your graduation. You only get one, well unless you count uni.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘If you’re not there by ten tomorrow, Jess and I are going to drive to your house and throw your butt in the car.’
I laugh. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
The next morning, I get up and put on my beautifully ironed school uniform. I do it for my parents. They’ve done so much to help me through high school that I’ve decided I owe them this at least. As I leave my room, I don’t look at myself in the mirror. I should be excited but all I can think about is getting graduation over and done with.
‘You look so lovely,’ says Mum when I get downstairs.
‘But maybe you should try brushing your hair,’ says Jackson.
‘Thanks,’ I say, making a face at him.
Dad calls everyone out the front so the whole family is assembled. He then fusses around trying to set up my camera on a tripod and getting the timer working. I already have the feeling we’re going to be late.
By the time Dad has said ‘Just one more photo’ for the tenth time, I realise that from here on it’s not all going to be moments of pain. There’s going to be moments in between that don’t hurt at all.
The hall is already filled up with parents and students when we walk in. A few late people like us are still getting to their seats. The students are seated alphabetically, so I have to wriggle past people all the way to the middle of the row to my seat. I search for Tanvi in the audience so she knows there’s no need to haul me here and eventually I spot her a few rows behind me. I smile and she waves back.
The ceremony begins with a speech from Indiana, encouraging everyone to step out into the world, take risks, be yourself, all that fluffy-cutesy advice you expect. Mrs Diaz and the principal follow with their speeches and then we start being called up to receive our graduation certificates. We’re not supposed to clap or cheer until the end but when West walks up onto the stage, the seniors erupt in noise. An ache, like nothing else I’ve ever felt, fills me, overwhelms me.
I don’t even realise that my row has been called up until the girl next to me gives me a nudge. When I walk onto the stage, I think about West watching me but also my parents. And then I think, I did it. I made it to the end of school. There are still the exams to go but no matter what happens next, I graduated.
After the rest of the certificates are presented, the big awards are announced. Indiana gets dux, which includes sponsorship money from the school to go towards university costs. She does another speech and cries through the second half of it. West gets presented with an overall achievement award, which also includes sponsorship money. He walks up to the podium after shaking the principal’s hand. I find myself smiling, proud of him.
‘Thank you for this honour,’ he says into the microphone, ‘but I can’t accept this sponsorship because I won’t be going to university next year. Instead, I’ll be starting an apprenticeship at the Green Lobster. I’m sure you can find someone worthy of this scholarship, someone like Piper Rhodes.’
Somehow West’s eyes find me.
‘If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have had the courage to be my own person. And I know I’m not the only one who has been inspired by her. She faces challenges with grace, courage, intelligence and kindness.’
A few people turn to look at me and nod. I look down at my lap. Why is he saying these things? Doesn’t he know how much harder he’s making it for me? How am I ever going to get over him if it doesn’t seem like he’s over me?
Finally, it ends and everyone files out of the hall and onto the field. Tanvi grabs my arm and pulls me over to the others. We take a million photos. For a few minutes, I’m caught up in the hysteria like everyone else. For a few minutes, I don’t think about West. Until I see him standing off to the side with his parents. There’s a lot of arm waving and gesturing. I’m guessing he didn’t tell them about the apprenticeship until now. I’m proud of him. Part of me wonders how much I really had a part in it. I didn’t tell him to look for an apprenticeship. I only encouraged him to cook.
West shakes his head and walks off, leaving his parents. He joins the Royals, who are hugging and jumping on each other’s shoulders for photos. When I see West pull Indiana into a hug, I turn away.
Part of me wants to go home but the other part of me refuses to leave, just in case he comes looking for me. As people start to say goodbye, I realise something: that what he said in his speech wasn’t because he still loves me; it was because he’s let me go.
That’s what I want, isn’t it?
Blinking back tears, I walk over to my parents.
‘Your friends are so nice,’ says Mum.
Dad looks like he is holding back tears too. ‘We’re so proud of you, honey.’
I step close to them so no one else can hear me and whisper, ‘I’m ready to go home.’
We have a celebratory lunch of fish and chips in the park next to Wentworth Falls Station. The salt and lemon sting my lips but I eat like I haven’t eaten in days. When we get home I want to be alone but not alone. I want to talk but not talk. So I go up to my room and start a new email. The last time I heard from my tree was sometime before the assignment was due.
Dear Myrtle,
There was a book that I read when I was a kid about a tree and a little boy. I can’t remember what it was called. The boy and the tree start off as good friends when the boy is young but when he gets older, he goes away. Each time he comes back the tree gives parts of herself to make the boy happy. Back when I was a kid, I thought the story was about generosity – how generous the tree was – and then as I got a bit older, I thought it was about selfishness – how selfish the boy was. But now I know that it’s about sacrifice. The tree knew the boy would not always stay, he couldn’t possibly, so she let him go and gave him what he needed at the expense of her own happiness.
I let West go. He is better off without me. Until I saw him at graduation today,
it didn’t feel real. But it really is over. I know I did the right thing but it hurts so much. Hearts don’t break like dropping a glass. They crack slowly, so you can feel each fracture. How do I make it stop?
Love Piper
After I turn off my laptop, I go down to my darkroom and develop the rest of the photos from the night at the circus, because, clearly, I need to torture myself even more.
Mum and Dad have huge grins on their faces when I walk into the kitchen for breakfast. ‘We’ve got a surprise for you,’ Mum tells me.
Evie sits down next to me, bouncing up and down, as if it’s a surprise for her.
Dad pulls out a wrapped box from behind his back and hands it to me.
‘It’s not my birthday for another month,’ I say.
‘This is a birthday and graduation present. We wanted to give it to you last week but it only arrived yesterday.’
I carefully unpeel the wrapping paper.
‘It’s a camera!’ says Evie before I finish.
‘We know you like your old camera, but we thought that you might find use for a digital camera too,’ says Dad. ‘It’s easy and convenient.’
It’s not just any camera; it’s a Nikon D800E. I’m not exactly sure how much it costs but it would be in the thousands. ‘I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ says Dad. ‘Take it out and have a look.’
‘Go on,’ says Mum.
I open the box and remove the camera carefully. It’s surprisingly light for its size. I run my finger over the dials. I wrap my hand around the lens and feel the way it so effortlessly moves in and out when I twist the dial. I swore I’d never own a digital camera, pledged a lifetime of allegiance to my old SLR, but maybe one doesn’t replace the other, maybe life is not a series of picking one thing over another. Maybe it’s making everything work together.
I set the camera down on the bench, and hug Mum and Dad both at once, one arm around each of them.
‘We’re so proud of you, Piper,’ says Mum. ‘You’ve grown into a beautiful, smart, strong young woman.’
‘You guys are the best.’
‘Yeah, we’re pretty awesome,’ says Dad.
The following afternoon, I take the camera out for a test. It’s a completely different experience using a digital camera. I’m not so selective about what I photograph; I just keep taking photo after photo. Then I play back each photo to learn from it and see how the colours interact.
Before I know it, I’m at Peace Rock. I freeze. The last time I was here was with West, which feels so long ago. This place that once felt like a part of me, now feels distant and foreign. I can’t be here without West.
I’m about to turn away when I see a pistachio shell on the ground. West often ate pistachios during our tutoring lessons. He was here. I’m not sure how long ago. It could’ve been an hour ago or three days ago, but he was here. He’s still thinking about me.
Shutting him out has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I thought it was the right thing, but what if it wasn’t? I’m tired of talking to myself.
I get home as quickly as I can.
‘How’s the camera?’ asks Mum when I step through the front door.
‘I love it,’ I say. ‘Thank you so much.’
Mum hugs me.
‘Hey, can I borrow the car?’ I say over her shoulder.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, I just need to see Cassie.’
‘Okay but text me when you get there.’
It’s not far to Cassie’s house and as I walk up the driveway, I realise how long it’s been since I was last here. Everything about the house is the same, the white picket fence, the cherry blossom hanging over the letterbox. There’s even still a brick missing in the path to the house.
Cassie answers the door. Her eyes widen when she sees me. ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong?’
Suddenly, I’m crying. ‘I think I’ve made a huge mistake. I don’t know who else to talk to.’
‘Come inside,’ says Cassie. ‘My mum isn’t home.’
We sit down at the breakfast bar and Cassie gets us some water.
‘Do you remember last year when we made popcorn? We turned away from the machine for one minute and suddenly popcorn was all over the ground.’
I nod and give a weak smile.
‘I miss those days.’
‘Me too.’
I tell Cassie everything; right from that first day in German to the night West said he loved me, to graduation. It feels like it could not possibly have all happened within eight months.
When I finish, Cassie shakes her head. ‘You don’t get it, do you, Piper? You think people will be better off without you but they aren’t.’
I shake my head. ‘Not everyone knows what is good for themselves.’
‘Do you know what’s good for you?’
‘West was.’
Cassie stands up and walks to the door. She holds it open for me. ‘It’s not too late to fix things. Go and talk to him. Ask him what he wants. And for God’s sake, tell him you love him.’
I laugh and pull Cassie into a hug. ‘I’m glad I came to you.’
‘Me too.’
I start the car with adrenaline rushing through me. The thought of seeing West fills me with effervescence. It’s as though I can already feel his touch and hear his voice. I drive towards the soccer field. It’s Wednesday so West will be at training. As I wait at traffic lights, my head is filled with all the things I want to say to West. Somehow I know that when I see him I’ll be able to say exactly what I need to. I’ve never been more certain about anything.
The car park at the field is full, so I park on the road and walk the rest of the way. I spot West’s team in their red-and-white jerseys training on the far field. I walk towards them, my eyes searching for West.
As I get closer, West’s coach notices me approaching. He says something to the team and then starts walking towards me. If he thinks I’m going to leave without seeing West, he is wrong.
The coach stops in front of me. His face looks tired. ‘Piper,’ he says, his voice flat and even. I’m surprised he remembers my name. I look past him, searching for West.
‘Piper, West is not here. He was in an accident yesterday.’
I stare at the coach. An accident?
‘He’s in a coma at Nepean Hospital. He’s not doing well.’
I don’t need to hear any more.
I turn and run.
I drive straight to the hospital. ‘I’m coming,’ I say as I brake at the traffic lights. My eyes sting with tears but I blink them away. I don’t have time to cry. I have to get to West. It’s almost an hour’s drive to Penrith. It’s dark by the time I reach the hospital. I park in a place that I’m probably not going to remember later because it seems like there won’t be a ‘later’, there’s only now.
I walk through the sliding doors and into the hospital. People are coming and going everywhere. I gaze around like someone who is lost. I am lost.
I have to find out where West is.
When I approach the counter, the woman behind the desk looks up at me. ‘Hi, how can I help you?’
I’m looking for West Kennedy. That’s all I have to say. Or even just his name. But I have no chance of getting the words out, not when my head is spinning so fast I think I’m going to faint and my heartbeat is almost all I can hear. The woman narrows her eyes.
‘Are you hurt or sick?’ she asks.
I shake my head and frantically look for a pen with no luck. What sort of place doesn’t have pens? I spin around, my breath coming out in rasps, trying to work out what to do.
‘Are you okay?’ says the receptionist, her voice louder. She probably thinks I’m on drugs or something.
I nod, suddenly realising that I don’t need a pen. I have my phone. I start typing a message, my fingers so numb that I keep hitting the wrong letters, when I hear my name.
‘Piper!’
I look up. India
na is walking towards me. ‘You’re here to see West?’
I nod.
‘He’s in intensive care. I can show you to the waiting room but his parents aren’t letting anyone in to see him.’
I follow Indiana to a lift and we get in with a young family. They look excited. I’m guessing their loved one has had a baby or something and is not in a coma. The lift doors open onto the second floor and Indiana leads me down the hallway towards a waiting room. The hallway feels endless, as though each step takes me no closer to West. How could I have not known? What was I doing yesterday when West was being rushed here? Wouldn’t I have felt something?
‘Like I said, his parents aren’t letting anyone in,’ says Indiana. ‘The others from school went home about an hour ago. You might have more luck though.’
If it’s up to West’s parents, I’ll never be allowed to see him. I sink down into a plastic chair, feeling numb. There are ten other people in the waiting room, including two children. They look like they’ve been crying.
‘It happened yesterday morning during a soccer game,’ says Indiana, sitting down next to me. ‘He collided with another player. It didn’t look like much at the time. His head hit the guy’s shoulder. He said he was fine and kept playing but half an hour later he collapsed. The doctors have put him in an induced coma, something to do with bruising or swelling on the brain. They say he might not survive.’
I don’t realise Indiana is crying until she wipes her face. I’m hearing and seeing things as if through a long lens. This is not real. It’s not West she’s talking about. He’s not on the other side of those doors. He can’t be.
‘I tried to contact you but I couldn’t find your Facebook account. And no one had your number. You should’ve been the first to know. I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I think I knew West was in love with you before he even did, and I didn’t know how to handle it. The hardest thing in the world is watching someone you like fall for someone else. I don’t know what happened between you two in the last few weeks but he still loves you. Don’t give up on him.’
The Things I Didn't Say Page 17