Fighting Absolution

by Kate McCarthy

  “No!” My heart pounds at the thought. I like the anonymity we have with each other. It makes everything easy. With Bear I can pretend that nothing ever happened. Except for times like now, when he pushes, poking at the hurt. “Please don’t.”

  “I feel like I should be offended.” His tone is teasing but there’s something more beneath it.

  That something has me scrambling to reassure him. “It’s not you. It’s just …” I blow out a sharp breath, my cheeks puffing. “I was in a car accident.” There’s a beat of silence. “That’s all.” I brush it off like it’s no big deal because I don’t want to dissect the details.

  But I still feel the glass cutting my face and the screeching metal tears through me. I scream and scream until there’s silence and the car rests upside down. I try to unbuckle my seat belt because I know I need to get out—to run, to escape what happened, until I see bones poking through my skin. “Dad!” I cry out, horrified, eyes shifting from my arm to my father. “Dad!” He’s stuck in his seat, same as me, his head hanging unconscious.

  A sob climbs my throat. I choke it back, hunching over on myself. I have to be strong like my father always taught me to be.

  Bear’s gentle voice reaches out. “Don’t cry, Little Warrior.”

  His words ease their way around my heart. I press my hands against my eyes, pushing the tears back in.

  “I was in an accident once,” he confides.

  “You were?” I choke out. I want to hear more. Did it happen slowly for him like it did me? Did the world tilt? Did he feel the same terror?

  “I had a run-in with a quad bike down at my friend’s farm.”

  “A quad bike?”

  “You know, the four-wheeler things? I can be a bit competitive, and we were racing. I saw a huge mound up ahead. Thought I’d jump it. Don’t know why. Looking back, I figure it only would have slowed me down had I actually made it.”

  I press my lips together, picturing Bear hitting the mound and flying through the air like Evel Knievel. Then his words register. “Wait a minute. You didn’t even make it to the mound?”

  “Not even close. I revved the bike and it shot out from under me.”

  My mouth opens. “You fell off?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s so lame!”

  “Yeah,” he repeats, laughing at himself. “The worst part was that the bike kept going.”

  I laugh with him, picturing Bear on the ground as his bike shoots off in the distance, escaping him like a wild horse. The laughter builds and builds until it aches, and I’m holding my sides, and then suddenly it’s not funny anymore. It just hurts and there’s nothing left but agony and grief.

  I whisper my confession, my voice hoarse and broken. “My dad died.”

  Bear sucks in a sharp breath. I hear it over the roaring in my ears.

  A beat of silence passes between us as my words ricochet through my head, sounding ugly and wrong.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. And after another moment, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No,” I answer, curt and rude.

  “Okay. You don’t have to.”

  That night as I lie in bed, I stare at the ceiling of Sue’s house and hear Bear in my head.

  “Don’t cry, Little Warrior.”

  For some reason it feels like Bear is all I have in the world now, which is stupid because he’s just some boy from the other side of the fence that knows nothing about me nor I about him.

  All I do know is that when I push him away, he doesn’t leave, and it feels like a lifeline.

  My eyes prickle with heat.

  “Don’t cry, Little Warrior.”

  2

  JAMIE

  Make any new friends today?”

  “No, Bear. No friends.”

  Yelling comes from inside the house. A female shriek followed by a male bellow. I close my eyes, wishing they would all disappear.

  “Who’s that?” he asks.

  “The other foster kids.”

  A heavy silence follows, as if Bear is unpacking those four words and examining them with great care. I’m so attuned to his presence now, I miss nothing, not even the quiet whoosh of air that leaves his lungs.

  “They’re loud,” is all he says.

  “Yeah.” And I hate it. I should be grateful I have a roof over my head, but Sue fosters up to six kids at a time, me being one of them. The state released me into her care when I left the hospital three months ago, and I’ll likely be here until at least sixteen—or when I decide what I’m going to do with my life. I haven’t worked that out yet. All I know is that I want to leave. Every kid here has their issues, though we at least know better than to poke at each other over them. The general consensus is that we leave each other alone until we each make our own escape.

  “So what’s your favourite subject at school?”

  “None.” Every day passes painfully slow, and each lesson is just as boring as the one that came before it. “They all suck. I mean, maybe one day those polynomial equations might come in handy, but I’m pretty sure there’s a better chance of a meteor falling from the sky and hitting me on the head. Wouldn’t we all be better off learning how to change the oil in a car?”

  He laughs. “You just told a joke, Little Warrior.”

  “Huh.” My dad is gone and I’m here making jokes as if I’m actually okay. The thought leaves a sick lump in the pit of my stomach. “I guess I’ve met my quota for the year.”

  “I’m sure there’s more in there somewhere.”

  Ten minutes pass in silence and I’m left wondering why Bear bothers coming out here to talk to me at all. Isn’t he sick of my surly attitude? I am. I’m sick to death of myself, but I can’t escape me. He can. Doesn’t he have better things to do?

  “Bear?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shouldn’t you be out playing rugby?”

  “Games are on weekends.”

  It’s Wednesday. “Oh.” Another minute passes. “What about practice?”

  “We train Tuesday afternoons and early Friday mornings.”

  “Oh,” I say again. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you play?” It’s a rough sport. There’s a lot of hard-core contact and violence and no padding or head gear. Just a mouthguard and a mass of blazing testosterone.

  “Because it’s fun. And it keeps me fit.”

  I get that. My sparring sessions were something I anticipated. They weren’t easy, but I left feeling strong as if I accomplished something.

  “But it’s not just that,” he adds.

  It’s not?

  I don’t voice the question, but he answers regardless. “We’re a team. A family. Brothers. That’s why we win all the time. Because all that matters is giving it everything. We don’t let our mates down.”

  I pluck at the blades of grass while I sit cross-legged, listening to Bear, his voice infused with enthusiasm for the sport.

  “Mateship is everything, Little Warrior.”

  “Is that why you keep banging on about me making friends?”

  “Yeah, but at least you’ve got one, right?”

  I’m pretty sure I just told Bear I’ve made no friends.

  He huffs loudly, as if he can see my confusion from the other side of the fence. “Me, LW. Geez!”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t think of us as friends?”

  Friends? He’s so much more than just a friend. He’s … Bear is … I sigh. “I don’t know what we are.”

  My eyes burn.

  But I do know my world would be a little darker without you in it.

  “So I was planting flowers the other day and—”

  I snort. “You? Planting flowers?”

  “Come on, LW, you’re interrupting my story. So I was planting these flowers, and it was so bloody hot—”

  “What kind of flowers?”

  There’s a pause and I tip my head back against the fence, appreciating the sun’s
warmth as I listen to Bear tell his story.

  “What does it matter what freaking flowers they were?”

  “Because I’m trying to picture your story in my head, and I can’t do that if I don’t know what kind of flowers they were.”

  We’re sitting back-to-back against the fence. It’s late on a Sunday afternoon, and I’m tired. Sue is slowly renovating her house. I offered to help chip out the old tile from the second bathroom. It wasn’t the best time I’ve ever had, but it gave me something to do.

  “They were purple ones,” Bear says, and I can practically feel him rolling his eyes at me. It almost makes me chuckle. “So, like I said, it was bloody hot and I was sweating and getting sunburned, and my old neighbour from next door stops in and says you need to wait until the sun goes down. Either that or plant them in the morning when it’s coolest. So, I say I can’t do that. The instructions said to plant them in full sun.”

  My lips press together, fighting the smile. But it comes, and then I laugh, and he laughs right along with me. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard! You didn’t really plant any flowers, did you?”

  “God no, but I made you laugh, didn’t I? And that’s better than purple flowers any day.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Bear.”

  “What?”

  My heart pounds a little harder. You’re so … everything.

  I rush to the fence straight after school, squinting through the slats, looking for movement. Nothing. “Bear, are you there?”

  I made a friend today. Her name is Erin Tennyson, and I hit her with a text book. I was throwing it in my locker when it bounced off the open door and whacked her as she walked past.

  “Hey, what did I ever do to you?” she asked jokingly, stooping to collect the book from the floor before I got the chance. When she straightened there was a teasing look on her face. It dropped a little when she handed it over, recognising who she was talking to.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “That’s okay.” She went to move on and hesitated.

  Don’t, I thought.

  “You’re Jamie Murphy, right?”

  My heart began to pound so hard in my chest it hurt. The need to slam my locker door shut and scurry off was strong, but I thought of Bear and his repetitive question. “Make any new friends today?” Maybe today I could give him a different answer. Shock him a little. The thought almost made me grin.

  I arranged a smile on my face, my lips curving slowly. It felt forced and she could probably tell, but it was better than none at all. Wasn’t it? “That’s me.”

  She smiled back. It was bright and beaming as if my response gave her a thrill. Did she not read what happened in the tabloids? No one smiled at me like that. “I’m Erin Tennyson.” She even held out a hand. I shook it. “Walk to class with me?”

  “Why?” I asked before I could stop myself, turning to close my locker. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “Honestly?” We started walking together down the hall. Erin was tall, at least a head higher than me, with a blond braid and blue eyes. She had that wholesome look to her. Athletic. I was pretty sure she played volleyball. “You’ve got this whole fuck off vibe going on, but I decided today that maybe I wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t what?”

  She looked at me sideways, giving me a duh expression. “Fuck off.”

  “Oh.” I laughed a little.

  “Wow.” She waggled her brows. “You have a great smile.”

  “Yeah, Dad spent a huge amount of money on my …” I faltered, caught off guard at my slip.

  “Sorry,” she replied, wincing as she re-shouldered her bag. “I meant you’re really beautiful. It sort of smacks you in the face when you smile.”

  “Kinda like my text book?”

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “Like that.”

  Bear was right, of course, like he always seemed to be. Human beings aren’t made to be isolated, yet here I was, pretending to be the only person in the world. Walking back to Sue’s house after school that afternoon felt a little less … solitary.

  “Bear?”

  There’s still no response. Then I remember it’s Tuesday. He’s at rugby training.

  My shoulders sag against the fence.

  The next day I’m back at the fence after school. I still haven’t told Bear about Erin. I sat with her ‘group’ at lunch today. I didn’t say much, but that sense of belonging with people made the day a little easier to bear.

  “You there?”

  Nothing.

  Where are you?

  Thursday I’m back again like a sad little puppy missing its owner.

  “Bear?”

  Sunday afternoon I stare at the fence from the kitchen window, where I hold a cereal bowl under the sink, rinsing it absentmindedly. The other fosters eat like a famine is imminent and Wheaties was all I could find for afternoon tea.

  The lack of food never usually bothers me, but that empty growling from my belly was my first hunger pain in months. All because I decided to join a Goju-ryu Karate school yesterday, taking along my old uniform and the black belt it took me eight years to earn. And today I quit. Because yeah, it seems like I’m a quitter now.

  The smell of the mats. The muscle memory. The entire discipline. It was too much being there without Dad. I almost threw up all over myself.

  I set the bowl upside down on the rack and open the window. The sound of laughter rings out. Two bodies are moving in the yard behind ours, shouting friendly slurs as a ball flies between them both. Bear is back. And he has a friend over.

  I grip the edges of the sink as longing swells in my chest. I haven’t lost the urge to tell him about Erin, but there’s a new urge there too. One that wants to tell him about my failed attempt at returning to karate. But I can’t do that without talking about Dad, and talking about Dad means he’ll know what happened too. And maybe if he knew …

  If he knew …

  He might decide I’m not worth talking to anymore.

  Reaching over, I grasp the handle of the window and slam it shut.

  3

  JAMIE

  Are you pissed off at me?”

  “No.” I’m sitting against the fence, knees drawn up, textbook open in my lap. To be honest, the moment I saw movement in the yard beyond mine, my heart skipped a small beat. I grabbed my books and made my way out, plopping myself down in a fashion that’s become more familiar to me than brushing my teeth. But now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say. It’s been a whole week. We’ve never gone that long without talking to each other before.

  “You’re not saying anything.”

  “It’s better not talking, remember?”

  “Are we back to this?”

  I can hear the scowl in his tone, and the atmosphere is tense. Bear isn’t in a great mood. Is this how it is for him when I’m always surly? It makes me want to reach under the fence and grab his hand. Obviously, I don’t. Boys don’t hold girls’ hands to make themselves feel better do they? Or do they?

  “No,” I say instead. “We’re not. I’m sorry, Bear.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no.”

  “Not that. The other part.”

  My brows rise. “Ummm, we’re not?”

  “No. The part after that one.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Yeah, say that again.”

  “Bear!” I laugh and whack the fence, hoping it jostles him.

  “Hey!” It does but he laughs too. His inevitable question comes soon after. “So, did you make any new friends today?”

  My heart swells. I have a positive answer for him today. “Actually …” I drag it out.

  There’s hope in his tone. “Actually what?”

  “I kinda did.”

  His shout is loud. “No shit, LW! Tell me.”

  “Tuesday last week at school. Her name is Erin. I threw my textbook at her.”

  Bear snorts. “Only you could make a friend by punching th
em with a book.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek, sort of grinning but trying not to. The pride in his voice is unmistakeable. It lifts me up, making my heart a little lighter, making me feel a little taller. A little stronger. “Yeah.”

  We talk about Erin for a minute until shouting comes from inside the house, ricocheting outward and filling the yard. Sue is mad. One of the fosters took off three days ago without a word. She’s been out driving around for hours, searching. She might not be the most kind or loving person, but sometimes I get the impression she cares. Just a small bit. Either way, the fighting makes everything tense.

  I sigh. “Bear?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope. It’s just me.”

  “Same.”

  “Kinda wish I did though.” His voice is wistful.

  “Why?”

  “I like people, Little Warrior.”

  “Why?”

  He laughs and it dies off slowly, leaving me hanging for his answer. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t like being alone.”

  “Are you alone a lot?”

  Bear sighs. “Not really. Just … sometimes it feels that way. Even when there are people there. Does that make sense?”

  The whole feeling lonely in a room full of people? “Yes.”

  He exhales, a sound of relief. “Good. Because it sounded kinda stupid in my head.”

  “Umm …” I hesitate. “Is everything okay? With you?”

  Bear is my rock, but sometimes I forget even rocks need the ground to hold them up. He’s unknowingly reminded me of how self-absorbed I’ve been. Most of the time I can’t see beyond my own pain in order to recognise it in someone else.

  “No.” His voice dips. “I’m not okay.”

  Oh god. Bear. My stomach drops. “What happened?”

  “I lost my rugby ball.”

  “You …” My mouth opens. That’s it? “You lost your freaking rugby ball?”

  “Yeah.” He sounds forlorn as if he lost his best friend.

  “Bear!” I turn and whack my fist against the fence. Again. And ouch! That hurt. “Dammit!”