‘It’s perfect with your prior history with snowboarding. We talked a bit about this last year,’ he says. ‘I know you weren’t interested then, but maybe that’s changed? I’d love to work with you again, Taylor.’
Joe can see that my head’s spinning. ‘Have a think for a bit,’ he says, standing up from the table. ‘You have my number.’
‘I’ll give you mine as well,’ Dave says, pulling out a card. ‘Hit me up. I’m happy to answer any questions.’
‘Thanks,’ I say as they both head out the door of the café.
Liam and I hang for a bit. He tells me he used to be a skateboarder before he got sick.
‘Osteosarcoma,’ he says.
Bone cancer. I know the term from spending time with Dad in the chemo ward.
‘Crappy choice to make at fourteen, right? Me or the leg? I was pretty messed up for a while. Then I wound up on a ski trip with some of the kids from rehab. I’d never snowboarded before, but man, I fell in love with it. Face was like this, every run.’ Liam pulls a huge, exaggerated grin at me. ‘Then I met Dave at an ACC Paralympics Open Day in Auckland and started competing. It’s a blast, dude. And the people you meet – the other Para-snowboarders and the community around the sport – they’re awesome.’
Liam gives me his number too.
On the drive home, I have to force myself to focus on the road. There’re so many feelings inside me, all trying to push their way to frontal position.
The last few weeks, boarding’s been about fun. Messing around. The pure love of being back on the slopes. Competing is different. I know that firsthand. Am I ready for what comes with it?
Pressure. Real stakes. Rankings.
Anxiety and self-doubt, because sometimes it’s hard to separate your self-worth from your sport.
But then there’s the flipside.
Back at the café, hearing the buzz in Liam’s voice as he talked about what he does every day – I remember what that feels like. How great it was to work with a coach. To put the work in together, day after day. The aching muscles that made you feel satisfied. The moments where you could finally see improvement. Where things came together. The pride you’d feel over that.
All of those positives – the ones that existed outside of a ‘win’ or a medal, or a podium finish at an event – I miss that stuff.
Isolde
Wednesday 17 July
I wasn’t meant to come home early today. By 4:15pm, I’m normally in the middle of warm-up exercises at the barre with the rest of my class, but by the time school finished, I had a horrible headache. I hadn’t slept well the night before. I wasn’t sleeping well in general, these days.
I want to go home and lie down, I think.
In the past, I’ve danced through headaches, head colds, nausea and killer sore throats. Even when I’ve had injuries – sprained ankles and such – I’ve gone to the studio anyway, just to sit on the floor and observe the classes, to make sure I didn’t fall behind.
I’ve kept dancing since the audition. I’d wondered a few weeks back if I’d want to stop entirely after reaching that final goal – but weirdly enough, I don’t. Now that the pressure’s off, I’m enjoying the classes again. I’m remembering that dancing can be fun. That after all these years – most of my life really – ballet is part of who I am.
Maybe I’d like to teach one day, like Ms Morris. Not straight after Year Twelve – Taylor and I are talking about backpacking in Europe after I finish the HSC – but maybe down the line. That way I get to do what I love every day, even if I’m not a ballerina in a company.
I think I’m okay with that.
I’m okay with going home early today too, I realise as I hop on the bus that goes down our street. Missing one class isn’t the end of the world any more.
As I turn my key in the door and push it open, Mum and Dad walk down the hall with Selene. Selene’s a friend of Mum’s – but she’s also a lawyer. She has a briefcase in her hand.
The only other time she’d brought her briefcase inside – instead of leaving it in her car while she and Mum catch up – was when she’d come over to help Mum and Dad with their wills a few years back.
‘Isolde,’ Selene says.
I can see that she – and Mum and Dad – are surprised to see me. They’d obviously planned to meet while I wasn’t around.
‘How are you, honey?’ Selene says.
I can’t reply. I’m boiling with anger.
‘How long were you going to keep lying about this?’ I say to Mum and Dad as soon as the door shuts behind Selene. ‘I know you’re splitting up. I heard you the night before we flew to Queenstown.’
Mum and Dad look at each other and then at me. Their eyes are so sad that the last of my bravery – the little bit of hope I’ve been clinging onto the past month – falls away, and I start crying.
This is it. They’re actually breaking up.
‘Honey, we wanted to tell you and Vi together, in person,’ Mum says.
‘When Vi came back in December,’ Dad says. ‘Once the separation was legally underway.’
‘What, at Christmas?’ I burst out. ‘Merry Christmas, Violetta and Isolde. Guess what? We’re getting divorced! That’s screwed up! What were you going to do, stay under the same roof for another six months, pretending you don’t hate each other?’
‘Your mum and I don’t hate each other, Isolde,’ Dad says softly.
‘Then why are you giving up?’ I whisper. ‘Can’t you just try a little harder?’
I know they’ve been unhappy. I know this past year has been the worst for them yet – but this is our family. They can’t give up on that.
‘We’ve been trying for a long time, Issy.’ Mum has tears in her eyes now.
‘It’s not working any more,’ Dad says. ‘We don’t want to keep fighting the way we have been. It’s hurting us, and you and Vi too.’
‘You’re hurting us worse now,’ I say, wiping my eyes.
‘This doesn’t change how we feel about you and Vi,’ Mum says. ‘Dad and I love you both so much. You know that.’
‘I want you to love each other,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘Why can’t you?’
‘Is,’ Dad says. His voice is shaky, just like mine. He and Mum try to pull me into a hug.
‘Don’t,’ I say, pushing both of them away. I can’t stand here like this – feeling their arms around me like it’s the three of us, a solid unit, when it’s not any more.
I run to my room. I don’t slam the door. I shut it quietly because I feel like the impact might break me.
I don’t call Taylor or Ana. I can’t.
All I can do is lie on my bed, numb.
Isolde’s Mobile
Violetta
Wednesday 17 July, 8:00pm
Missed call
8:18pm
Missed call
8:36pm
Missed call
9:28pm
Mum and Dad just called me.
I’m heading to the airport now. I can finish my thesis from Sydney. Can you tell Mum I’m on flight SQ241 landing at 5:50pm on Friday? She doesn’t know I’m coming.
I didn’t want her talking me out of it.
I need to be there with you guys.
Isolde
Saturday 20 July
Ever since she arrived, I’ve followed Vi around the house from room to room like a sheep following a shepherd. She’s been doing the same thing to Mum.
I guess none of us want to be alone.
Mum, Vi and I all slept in Mum’s bed last night, like we used to as kids whenever one, or both of us, had a bad dream.
Dad’s gone to a hotel. I don’t know if it was his decision, or if he and Mum both decided it was for the best, but it feels horrible anyway because not having him here in our house makes this whole thing real.
Taylor
Sunday 21 July
After Issy called me on Thursday to tell me what had happened, I went straight to Mum and Dad.
‘We need t
o go over there,’ I say. ‘Support them.’
Like the Byrnes had when Dad was first diagnosed. Louise had taken over the kitchen, making and freezing batches of meals so Mum had nights during Dad’s first chemo round where she didn’t have to worry about cooking.
I want to be there for Isolde – not just over the phone or IM. I want to be able to give her a hug – comfort her – or even just sit in silence with her when she doesn’t feel like talking. I remember Finn doing that in the months after the accident. It helps.
‘Taylor, we’ve talked to Louise,’ Mum says. ‘The Byrnes need some space right now. They’re dealing with a huge shock.’
‘I feel useless just sitting here,’ I say, feeling angry.
‘We do too, mate,’ Dad says. ‘It’s hard seeing someone you care about going through tough stuff, and you can’t just drop by their place. Distance isn’t easy.’
We all go quiet. They know how I feel about Issy, of course. The thing I love most about Mum and Dad is that they never make me feel like what I’m going through is ‘kid stuff’ – you know, less than, or not as valid as adult stuff. And they don’t jump in with ‘shoulds’ or ‘shouldn’ts’.
I’ve told them about Joe and Dave, and the opportunities with Para-snowboarding too. I could see the emotion in Mum’s eyes. The excitement in Dad’s. They know what boarding means to me.
‘Taylor, if you want to do this, we’re with you one hundred per cent,’ Dad says.
‘Don’t stress about the financials,’ Mum says. ‘We’re doing a lot better with the business now – and you know we’ll always find a way to help you with these things, right?’
‘I know, Mum,’ I say, smiling.
They haven’t pressured me, which is nice.
I think I’m getting closer to a decision.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday 23 July, 9:45pm
Subject: This is a stupid thing to say
But if there’s something – anything – I can do to help, will you let me know?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday 23 July, 7:49pm
Subject: Tell me something good?
Everything here feels broken.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday 23 July, 9:56pm
Subject: First good thing
I called Joe. I start training tomorrow. I want to see how I go with something totally new.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday 23 July, 8:04pm
Subject: RE: First good thing
Oh, Tay. That’s better than good.
That’s the best thing you could have told me.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday 23 July, 10:09pm
Subject: It isn’t the best
I shouldn’t say this over email. I should say it in person, like I planned to when I came to visit in August. But now I don’t know when that visit’s going to happen – and you know me, I don’t like wagering that life will hand over all the chances you think you should have.
So I want to tell you now, Is. The best thing I know:
I love you so much.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday 23 July, 8:14pm
Subject: Will you call me?
Taylor
Tuesday 23 July
Will you call me? The four words are twisting inside my chest as I dial Issy’s number.
You shouldn’t have said it so soon, my brain screams. This isn’t a sappy romance novel where everyone says those three words at the drop of a hat. Even if you do love her – you have loved her for as long as you can remember – you should have left it till down the track. You only kissed six weeks ago.
Maybe she’s changed her mind since we said goodbye at the airport. Maybe she doesn’t want to know about loving anyone after her family’s fallen apart.
It was selfish of you to drop the L bomb now. You know, from back when you were in shock after the accident, that love doesn’t fix everything. It can’t take away every bit of pain, or make someone’s life magically better.
I wasn’t saying ‘I love you’ for that reason, but she doesn’t know that.
Isolde picks up the call. She doesn’t say hello.
‘I love you too,’ she says instead.
The four words are a half-laugh, half-choke, and then mine are falling out too.
‘I wanted to say it in person,’ she says softly.
‘I should have done that as well,’ I say, thinking of how her voice, shaking with emotion, had me stupidly close to tears. I’m lying on my bed now, my eyes shut, one hand on my chest because I feel like it’s going to burst from feeling.
‘I love you so much, Is.’
‘You already said that.’
‘I don’t care.’
AUGUST
Instant Messenger Conversation
Thursday 1 August, 6:44pm
Finn Williams: So you dropped the L bomb.
Taylor Hellemann: How do you know that?
Finn Williams: Ana. We still chat a bit :)
Taylor Hellemann: About Is and me, obviously.
Finn Williams: Maybe. Anyways, props on putting yourself out there. Did she say it back?
Taylor Hellemann: She did :)
Finn Williams: You guys talked about how this whole thing’s going to work? You know, long distance.
Taylor Hellemann: I don’t want to pressure her right now. She’s got enough going on. We’ll talk about it later.
Finn Williams: Are you actually going to talk about it later, or are you just saying that?
Taylor Hellemann: We don’t need a massive discussion. She knows how I feel about her. We’ve done distance before, anyways.
Finn Williams: As friends. A LD relationship is more complicated.
Taylor Hellemann: We’ve talked about the future, dude. Is and I are going to visit each other as often as we can, until we both finish school. Then we’re going to take a gap year together and backpack. You know, board the Austrian Alps. Make out in front of the Eiffel Tower. All the good stuff.
Finn Williams: What happens when you’re back on the boarding circuit – training overseas for two or three months at a time?
Taylor Hellemann: Finn, I started training eight days ago. You’re jumping the gun by a mile.
Finn Williams: Hey, I know what happens when you set your mind on something.
Taylor Hellemann: Right now, all I want to do is work hard and have some fun up there.
Finn Williams: That’s cool, dude. Anyways, boarding aside, you and Is should still have a convo. There’s tough stuff that comes with long distance. You know, jealousy and all.
Taylor Hellemann: Why are you being a downer? It’s like you want us to break up or something.
Finn Williams: It’s the opposite, man. I want you guys to last. All I’m saying is: you need a battle plan against the mighty forces that are going to try to tear you apart.
Taylor Hellemann: That sounds like a line you’ve picked up from a Marvel movie trailer. But whatever – I’ll talk to her. I want to do it in person. She’s meant to be coming over here in September – we’ve just got to work out the dates.
Taylor
Monday 19 August
Joe flew into action as soon as I made up my mind to start training again. We’re working alongside Dave and Liam at Cardrona as Banked Slalom and Snowboard Cross are new disciplines for Joe and me.
Liam and I aren’t direct competition. As an AK, he races in the SB-LL1 sport class. I’ve been classified as SB LL2.
I’ve been watching some of the Para events from PyeongChang on YouTube. Seeing guys like Evan Strong – a BK like me – compete like a bad-
arse in an aggressive sport like Snowboard Cross, and then fly down the Banked Slalom course, taking out silver, it makes me feel . . . excited.
I want to see what I can do. So now I need to have my impairment assessed by the international federation for the sport so that I can compete in events.
I take all my equipment in with me for the assessment. Thankfully, my new prosthetic racing foot had arrived a few days before. I’ve had a blast training with it. The motion and the movement in the foot are awesome. My confidence is rising, especially the way that I’m approaching jumps, because I can feel the shock absorbers compressing when I hit the ground.
‘We’re official!’ Joe announced when I arrived at training this morning, showing me the Sport Class Status Confirmed (C) document that the WPS had sent him. ‘Looks like you’ll be part of that Snowboard Cross qualifier on the 14th of September.’
The qualifiers at Cardrona in September are the first of this year’s Para-snowboard circuit.
‘Guess so,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘This is getting real, hey?’
I’m freaked, of course, at the idea of a proper comp so soon – one where established Para-snowboarders will be part of the qualifiers. But I’m kind of pumped as well. Racing next to Liam the last few weeks, I can feel my old competitiveness roaring to life again.
‘Sure is,’ Joe replies. ‘You ready to train like a demon the next few weeks?’
‘Bring it on.’
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday 21 August, 7:15pm
Subject: So . . .
Mum’s just told me you, Vi and your mum are planning to come over the weekend of the 21st of September, before Vi flies back to England. Just wondering, have you booked the tickets yet?
From: [email protected]
The Long Distance Playlist Page 26