by Rawah Arja
On Thursday night, before the game against Team G, I was over at Aaron’s place, and he was oddly quiet. His mum had just told him that the sale of the Ferrari was almost a done deal. She actually referred to the sale as ‘a clean slate’.
‘Just talk to her,’ I advised, sitting in his room.
‘I did.’
‘You mean you shouted and then chucked a tantrum?’
He fell back onto his bed. ‘Your mum is so nice and she gets you. My mum doesn’t even know where I am half the time.’
‘Tell her where you are, then,’ I said. ‘I’ve told you this before, bro. She’s in pain, too. She lights candles for your dad. Have you even asked her if she is okay since he died?’
Trust me, I was surprised with myself for defending Mrs Furner. I had initially thought that no one could be miserable in a place like Aaron’s, but the more time I spent with him, the more I realised how empty and unhappy his house was. He was right. It did feel like a medical centre. But Mum always said, ‘Houses become homes when people inside show love to each other.’
‘Isn’t she the adult?’ he asked, sitting up. ‘Why do I have to parent her?’
I was going to reply when Mrs Furner walked in to return the container in which Mum had sent chicken home with Aaron. My body didn’t freeze or tense up when she was around now. There was a little more warmth and colour in her face.
She cleared her throat. ‘I wanted to thank your mum for the food she sent. She didn’t have to.’
‘You ate it?’ Aaron asked sceptically. ‘Or did you throw it away?’ She barely glanced at him as she handed me the container filled with biscuits. ‘They’re made with poppy seed.’
I didn’t know if she was being nice or if she wanted me to leave. In Arab homes, if you offer your guests something to eat too early, then that’s a sign that they need to go.
‘Thanks, Mrs Furner. My family will gobble these up.’
Aaron laughed unkindly. ‘You made them? Or did Abi do it?’
I kicked his foot in warning. His mum’s face froze over, and she nodded at me awkwardly. ‘Well. I’ll see you later.’
‘What the hell, dude?’ I asked Aaron. ‘She was just being nice.’
‘She doesn’t know how to be nice,’ he retorted sullenly. I knew if I stuck around much longer, I would end up getting into a fight with him, so I decided to head home early.
Aaron was having the worst game so far the following day against Team G, the team we needed to beat to make it to the finals. The score stood at 12–6 at half-time.
He sat on the bench, his knees bouncing. No matter how much Mr Archie spoke to him, I could tell that he had completely shut down.
‘You had a few opportunities to put some points up on the board,’ Mr Archie said. He checked his watch. ‘You have twenty-five minutes to prove that you can be a better captain than this.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Huss asked me.
‘His mum,’ I said. ‘She’s going to sell the Ferrari, his dad’s favourite car.’
Huss shook his head. ‘Can’t you talk to him?’
We watched Mr Archie and Aaron go back and forth until Aaron did what he always does when he can’t handle a situation – he stormed off, but not before kicking his bag a few times.
‘Go speak to him,’ Mr Ahmed told me. ‘If he doesn’t respond, then he’s no longer captain.’
Aaron was lurking by the toilets. He paced back and forth and told me he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say.
‘You won’t be captain if you don’t come back.’
‘I don’t care.’ He continued to pace. ‘I don’t care about this shit anymore.’
‘Yes, you do,’ I said, standing in his way. ‘I know you’re angry because of your dad’s cars but –’
‘But what?’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s the only thing I have left of him.’ He took a few breaths and his eyes began to swell. He turned his back on me and looked up to the sky. ‘I miss him.’
‘Then do it for him,’ I said, walking around to face him. ‘It’s just a car. It means nothing. The memories you had with him, the things he taught you, that’s what’s important. Things come and go, bro.’
He wiped his face a couple of times.
‘You need to stop running away, Aaron, and deal with this.’ ‘Archie’s going to kill me,’ he shuddered as we walked back to the group.
Mr Archie didn’t kill him, but he did strip him of being captain for the rest of the game.
Team G were good, but they lacked the energy to bring the game home even though they led at half-time. Riley carved them up out of dummy-half and Ibby and PJ pretty much carried our team on their backs. They were too strong to hold onto and both scored tries. Aaron had a better second half. Huss’s goal-kicking was on target and I found my rhythm, moving on the field and creating as many opportunities as I could.
The referee blew his whistle and we all tackled each other onto the ground. We had won 24–12.
Our position in the semis would be confirmed once all the other teams had played their games, but one thing was certain: Hunter and his team had lost no games, and were definitely through to the semis. I prayed that we would meet them in the grand final and could finally crush them both on and off the field.
Week 10 was our Poetry Slam at BPS. Jamila and I had presented our own slam to the poetry workshop earlier in the week. Jamila had turned the idea of Place to something about a woman’s womb and how that was the first place known to man. I want to say that I played a major role in us getting the highest marks, but it was all her. I was the dummy and she was the ventriloquist. That was how I described it to Feda.
‘I’m not going to lie, it makes sense now, seeing those changes in you,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you don’t do anything stupid.’
‘Trust me, I try with all my soul when I’m around her.’
Since there was no game in the last week of term, we had time to focus on the Wolf Pack slam on Friday night. Riley had designed a few posters that Huss, Ibby, PJ and I stuck on telegraph poles around Punchbowl. We also left some in shops, knowing that the more community support we had, the better it would be for the school. We had to let people know that we needed the community to get behind us, especially since Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed had invited the men in suits to come and watch us at BPS.
We met with Jamila every afternoon that week at Wiley Park, trying to polish our slam. She and I always met earlier than the rest of the boys and hung out.
‘So, you nervous?’ she asked, sitting with her feet in the pond.
‘You going to be there?’
She smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘Then no.’
Her hair whipped about in the breeze. Some got caught in her mouth and I moved the strands of hair from her face as she talked about Jehad and his reading.
‘His letters O and C are getting better,’ she said. ‘He can tell them apart now.’
‘I don’t know how you do it. You’ve moved into a new home and a new school. You take care of your dad and brother. You helped Amira finish the bars and you helped me out when I didn’t deserve it.’
She tapped her finger on my nose. ‘We have one chance at this life. I want to do the most I can to help so I can rest later.’
I held her hand. ‘I know you can find a million guys who are better than me, but I want you to know that if you ever need anything, I’m always here.’
‘Anything?’
‘Of course.’
She looked at me from the corner of her eye and her dimple appeared. ‘I want to fly.’
I stood up and brushed the dirt off my pants. ‘Alright, let’s go.’
‘What are you talking about?’
I pulled her up. ‘Jump on my back.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’
I tickled her until she agreed. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around my waist.
‘Hold on.’
She yelled at the top of her lungs as I ran around the park then
down the hill. I wanted her to feel for once that she didn’t need to carry people and that I would be there to shoulder the load.
I stopped before we reached the park pergola, and she dropped off my back. She then buried her head in my chest and we hugged for a while.
It was quiet. We held each other until I noticed Ibby’s head pop out from behind one of the pergola’s columns. ‘Is it safe to look?’ he called out.
The lights shone brightly and my heart raced a million miles per hour. We were seconds from stepping onto the stage. We wore our school uniform with pride, knowing that our community was here to support us. Shop owners, our parents, our teachers, the Cronulla boys, and even the men in suits.
Elias and Johnny brought the tripod and video camera and had set it up, right in the centre of the aisle. Ibby was quietly freaking out backstage.
I walked out with the boys right behind me, and we each stood in front of a mic, ready to read our parts.
‘Go, Tariq!’ I heard Aaron call out, followed by a loud cheer from the rest of the audience.
Just concentrate on something that calms you…
I searched the audience’s faces until I found her. Jamila blew me a kiss and I felt like I could take on the world.
I made one last prayer and began.
So, these men in suits want to close down the place that is helping me become a man.
A man of respect.
A man of hard work.
A man of loyalty.
It’s easy to judge from the outside, not knowing what’s inside, shattering our pride and then to decide with files classified, that we are not good enough.
Not good enough to have a place of our own, a place to call home, a place to feel safe.
Ibby took over.
Safe from the streets, from people’s constant tweets, that feeling of defeat that keeps us incomplete and broken.
Broken in a thousand pieces, seeing the police while the media increases, holding onto a long overdue phrase and cliché, that we Punchbowl boys are only sideways and will never change.
Change our so-called violent ways, these men in suits would say, forcing us to stay away from the place that made me who I am today.
Next came PJ.
The place that cared for me when my own mother turned away, busy getting high on some highway, forgetting that her only son was waiting for her by the doorway.
When I needed comfort and care, my teachers were always there, even as people stopped and stared, they never left me in despair.
You see, they see me. All of me. They see me for who I am, not who the world paints me to be and whether you agree or disagree, you can’t deny what the school has done for me.
Huss stepped forward.
And what it has done for me.
See, it’s hard not knowing what’s going to happen, as the days darken and the place that made me feel worthy of being called a son, may soon become undone.
I don’t know my dad. He left when I was a kid, not batting an eyelid and hid. When my birthdays came about, I’d count down until he came round but turns out I was the clown for expecting a dad to be glad to see his son not be sad.
And when I’d be mad pleading to be banned, my teachers held my hand, even when I felt like I was in quicksand. My school is my dreamland and the place I found peace from the troubles that waited for me.
I took over once again.
Our school closing is not an option no matter how many times you put us up for adoption. My friends from childhood, in a special brotherhood that no place can create, except for my school, which we stand today and celebrate.
We brought it home together.
We may seem tough and strong, but the truth is, the only place where we belong is here in Punchbowl.
Our home.
While everyone clapped and cheered, all up on their feet, we hugged each other, knowing that no matter what, from here on out, we were always going to be brothers.
Chapter 33
Aaron: Hanging at Tariq’s today. Who’s in?
PJ: Done.
Huss: Just doing a couple of things for Big
Haji and I’ll come.
Riley: I’ll come past yours, Aaron, and we’ll go together.
Matt: Wait for me.
Lee: And me.
It was only a couple days into the first week of the holidays and the boys already wanted to hang out. We had been told to spend time together whenever we had the chance and because my place guaranteed a free lunch and Aaron’s home guaranteed a free resort holiday, they decided that our houses would be their headquarters.
Ibby: I’m already here.
Tariq: Don’t lie, bro. You’re not here.
Ibby: Look outside ur window.
Sure enough, Ibby’s googly eyes were staring back at me through my bedroom window.
I checked the time on my phone. 9:07 a.m. ‘Get lost, Ibby,’ I called out, flopping back onto my bed. ‘It’s too early.’
I ignored him and tried to go back to sleep, until Ibby fell through the window and onto Abdul’s face. He ripped open our curtain, and the wooden rod cracked Saff over the head. Abdul thrashed underneath Ibby’s body, trying to get free, and Saff, I’m sure, was knocked out cold. Dad, gripping his thick, black leather belt like a weapon, rushed in and began to belt them both.
‘Hajj!’ Ibby screamed. ‘It’s me, Ibby! Stop!’
Ibby rolled off Abdul, who looked like he’d been steamrolled. Dad held up his pants, his white hair all messed up. Saff regained consciousness and blinked a few times. ‘Where the hell am I?’
‘In Jahannam,’ Ibby said, rubbing his back. ‘I need eggs. We’re out at home.’
‘And you couldn’t just come to the front door, you jahash?’ I groaned.
I watched Ibby raid the kitchen. Amira had woken up from all the commotion and now helped him prepare breakfast. They shared the Nutella jar, knowing that my mum was still asleep.
The eggs sizzled in the pan and the smell of crisp bread toasting under the grill made my stomach grumble. Ibby stood beside me and wiped the sweat off his head with our kitchen towel. ‘Guess why today’s special?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, rubbing my face. ‘You found some extra eggs in our fridge.’
Amira jumped off the kitchen bench and punched me in the stomach. ‘It’s my birthday!’
Crap! I had forgotten.
‘Of course, it is,’ I said, smiling through my teeth. ‘I even got you a…a…piñata.’
She punched me again, this time way too low, before running around the house in excitement. Amira had an obsession with piñatas because it was the only time she got rewarded for destroying something with a bat.
‘You’re lucky I already messaged PJ to get some stuff,’ Ibby muttered to me. ‘I knew you’d forget cos there’s been so much going on lately.’
It was the first time I had ever forgotten Amira’s birthday, so I was lucky that the boys had my back.
We had set up the table in our backyard when Uncle Charlie walked out of his shed in only his boxer shorts. He held a jar of honey and was followed by a cloud of bees.
Ibby ran inside, and closed the screen door. ‘Bro, tell Winnie the Pooh to get rid of the bees. I swear if I get stung again, I’m gonna kill someone.’
I stood in front of Amira. ‘Khorloo, at least put some pants on.’
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. He must have forgotten to put mascara in his hair this morning, because the white hairs were sprouting out. He put the honey on the table and headed back to his man cave. His bees followed, almost in formation.
PJ waited at the back gate with a bunch of Bunnings balloons in one hand and a Batman piñata in the other. Aaron and the boys had also arrived, each with a different tool that Ibby and PJ had told them to get. It only made me feel worse.
‘Don’t worry,’ Huss said. ‘I got ya covered.’ He then showed me a mini toolbox set with laminated pictures of bees that Riley had helped him design.
; The boys sat and ate breakfast like they were part of the furniture now. Uncle Charlie’s moustache curled closer to his mouth when Matt asked for a few honey jars to sell at the surf shop in Cronulla. ‘Some of the dudes there were asking about organic honey when I remembered you, Uncle Charlie.’
Amira slammed open the screen door, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to herself at the top of her lungs.
‘Who’s ready to party?’ she shouted, posing in her denim overalls, unevenly-braided hair, favourite Batman shirt and the tutu Aunty Salma had bought her.
We set up Amira’s ‘surprise’ party, with her watching our every move from the kitchen window. Aaron and I tied the balloons to the four posts of our vine-leaf pergola, while Matt and Riley filled the piñata with lollies, keeping a good distance away from PJ and Ibby. Abdul and Saff set up the chairs and Mum and Feda arranged the cake and a few snacks.
‘I tried to talk to Mum, you know,’ Aaron said as we worked. ‘I tried to do what Archie and Ahmed have been telling us, but it’s so hard not to lose it when she just does whatever she wants.’
‘Did you storm out?’ I asked.
He took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t going to, but then she mentioned something about being invited to Hunter’s house for some dinner thing and that’s when I left.’
‘Okay, I would leave too,’ I said. ‘But not with the yelling and shouting.’
He laughed. ‘Since when did you become my therapist?’
‘Since everything almost fell apart this term. I get what they say now, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.’
Saff came rushing out of the house, holding our wooden curtain rod. ‘Let’s crack open this piñata!’
The birthday girl didn’t even wait for a blindfold. She swung the rod back, unaware that Saff hadn’t moved, and knocked him down. You’d think she would’ve stopped to check if he was okay, but she kept hitting the piñata until it cracked open, spilling lollies everywhere.
Over the holidays, talk of our team making the semi-final made its way around the Punchbowl shops and up to Greenacre, home of Team D, the team we’d be facing. We had lost against them in Round 2, so we needed to work at a faster pace to secure our spot in the grand final. Hunter’s team were going to be playing against Team B.