Magnolias don't Die

by AJ Collins

  Snap grasps my arm across the table. ‘Shhh.’

  Freda nods, looking like a sage beyond her thirty-odd years. An owl. That’s how I’d describe her. Big eyes that carry wisdom handed down from generations. But I don’t want wisdom. I want justice.

  ‘You can take this Bob to court, but this is risky. You might receive some compensation, or you might lose and have to pay costs.’

  I know Freda is doing us a favour here, but my hands are tight fists. I want to smash someone. ‘It’s not fair. It’s so not fair!’

  ‘Fuck.’ Snap drops his head onto his arms.

  My heart is crushed for him. How did this happen? It all seemed so clear-cut a moment ago. Bob did this. We all know it. Now he’s going to get away with it.

  Freda taps Snap’s arm. I don’t like the dourness of her face. ‘Snap, I think you have something to say about this. Yes?’

  Snap raises his head and drags his hand over his face, elongating the good side to match the droopy one. He shakes his head slowly as if he’s trying to loosen a nightmare that won’t leave. ‘Mmm ... my father.’

  Freda is relentless. ‘Something else?’

  ‘No.’ He turns to me. ‘Let’s go.’

  ~

  We stop at a red light, and the indicator’s tick tick tick is like a bomb counting down. I take my hands off the wheel and stretch my fingers. They’re cramping from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. Snap is staring out the passenger window, jaw set. The lights change, and I drive forward.

  ‘You okay?’ I ask. I glance at him when he doesn’t answer. ‘Snap?’ Still no answer. ‘What did you mean about your dad? Do you think he has something to do with your stroke? His beatings maybe?’

  In my peripheral vision, he’s shaking his head. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Can’t yooou put it tooogether?’

  ‘Humour me.’

  He sighs. ‘Why do yooou think he’s in a wheeelchair?’

  ‘You told me he had an accident.’

  ‘I lied.’

  ‘What? Snap ...’ I venture guilty, harbourer of my own secrets, ‘don’t you trust me?’

  He folds his arms, angry, or defensive. Maybe both. ‘It’s not about yooou.’

  I purse my lips. ‘So ... what’s the real story?’

  Snap slaps his head. Then again. And again.

  ‘Stop it. What are you doing?’

  ‘It’s our brains! There’s something wrong with our brains.’

  ‘Snap!’ I try to grab his hand while trying to steer. He’s hyperventilating.

  ‘Are you saying he had a stroke too?’

  ‘I didn’t want tooo feel guilty about leeeaving him alone,’ he says.

  ‘No, Snap. No. You shouldn’t feel guilty. Else I should too. I haven’t exactly been the perfect daughter myself; Mum is still languishing in the hospice. But she has people looking after her, and your dad would have his church people, wouldn’t he? He’s not alone at all. And besides, he’s an arsehole. He doesn’t deserve you.’

  ‘Doesn’t mmm ... make it feeel any less bad.’

  He slaps himself again.

  ‘Don’t do that. You’re not bad.’

  ‘Fff ... forget it. It’s nnn ... not worth it.’

  ‘But you can still try to press charges against Bob, get some victim compensation.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t let him get away with this, Snap.’ As soon as I say the words, I realise what a double-edged sword they are. He doesn’t bother coming back at me. He knows.

  I swear as I narrowly miss a pothole. Finally, we turn the corner and pull up at our apartment. I squeeze the steering wheel, unsure of what to do with my anxiety.

  There’s an idea going through my head, one I wish would go away, because it makes me sick to think I might be his only chance ... because going to court would be ... I’ve heard too many horror stories about dragging up a victim’s history when it comes to sex-related crimes. But if I’m really Snap’s friend, I should to do it. It’s the right thing to do.

  I steel myself. ‘If you press charges ... I will too.’

  Snap is motionless. I wonder if he’s heard me. I touch his arm. ‘Snap?’

  He shrugs me off, still staring out his window. Does he have any idea what it took for me to say that? How terrified I am? No, you idiot, I remind myself. How could he? I’ve never told him about Samuel. How that hate is buried so deep. How I’d do anything not to let it surface in case it consumes me. Breaks me.

  I watch his profile, his furrowed forehead, the tenseness in his jaw. In the fading light, his right side looks perfectly normal, now that his hair has grown over the scar. He’s like the beautiful Snap I used to know. He’s still beautiful, I remind myself. He’s still Snap. But what’s going on in that head of his?

  I wait, giving him some time to gather his thoughts. A bee lands on the windscreen. I watch its fuzzy body crawl along the wiper, and I try to remember how long bees live for. Is it weeks or months? Imagine that: living your short life to serve. No ego. No other higher purpose. Nothing hidden. No secrets. No lies.

  I touch Snap’s arm. Speak gently. ‘Are you okay?’ He’s a stone. ‘Do you want me to stay? I don’t have to go. I can stay. Harry will understand.’

  I don’t think Harry will understand, but I’m worried. What if Snap does something awful? ‘Come on,’ I say, pulling the keys from the ignition. ‘Let’s go inside. It’s vodka o’clock. We’ll do some shots, take stock, makes some plans. At least we know where we stand now.’

  ‘We?’

  I’m stung by his sarcastic tone. It was shitty news today, but he doesn’t need to take it out on me. I try to deflect his mood. ‘Yes. We. We’re in this together. Let’s chill tonight, order up a pizza, get drunk and forget about this crap for a while.’

  Snap makes a strange, strangled noise and pushes his door open. He stumbles onto the nature strip, then starts up the driveway. I grab my bag, jump out and follow.

  ‘Wait up.’

  I follow as he heads towards the apartments. Anger must be an effective cure because he’s walking like there’s nothing wrong with him. No drag, no limp. It’s definitely a stalk. He reaches the stairs and uses his good arm to hoist himself, quickening his pace. When he gets to his front door, he turns on me, face contorted and red.

  ‘Piss off. I don’t need you.’

  His words are a slap. I reel back. When I respond, I’m all breathy and squeaky. ‘How dare you!’

  ‘How dare?’ White spots of anger speckle the redness of his cheeks. ‘Look at you, all goody two shoes. Ready to sacrifice yourself for me.’

  ‘What? I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘I don’t need your help.’

  ‘I can’t believe you. I’ve stayed by your side this whole time. I bent over backwards to help. I gave up my cruise. I ... I’ve put my life on hold for you.’

  ‘Who asked you to? Did I ask you to?’

  ‘No. You didn’t need to. It’s what friends ...’ I’m floored. What an ungrateful ... pig! And the fact that he got all those words out without even a stumble, tells me how much effort he’s putting into hurting me. He stares as though he doesn’t even recognise me, and I wonder if he’s having another stroke, or if we’re going to have a bitch fight, right here on the landing, for all the neighbours to hear.

  ‘God!’ I spit back. ‘I didn’t ask you to defend me against Bob either. Look where that got you.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off.’

  ‘You fuck off.’

  It’s then he crumbles. He falls back against the door and slides to the ground. His hands cover his face and his shoulders shake. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him cry. Ever. It kills me. I want to hug him, but I’m afraid to touch.

  ‘Oh hun, we’re both worn out. Let’s go inside, get warm and calm down.’

  ‘I want tooo beee alone.’ He gets up, pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door.

  ‘Please, Snap,’ I persist, rubbing his arm.

 
He flicks me off. ‘I said no. You have no idea. You just don’t know.’

  ‘What? What don’t I know?’

  He turns on me. ‘It was me! I threw the first punch. I hit him first.’ He’s got the door open. He stumbles inside, then turns to block my entry. ‘There’s no point. Just go away.’

  He shoves the door closed so hard, it’s as if he’s slamming out our friendship. I want to smash it down, insist that I stay. He shouldn’t be alone. Not like this. But ... have I been too much in his face? Maybe alone time is all he needs. Time to calm down, think things through and cry where no-one can see his poor, distorted face.

  Spent, I go downstairs and get back in the car. I sit for a while, then blow my nose, which has decided to start running – great, this bug is going to my head now – and try to absorb what just happened.

  So where to from here? Do I leave his car here? He can’t drive it. But it doesn’t feel right to take it, since I’ll be leaving soon for the cruise.

  A splatter of white and brown hits the windscreen. I peer forward and up to the tree harbouring the offender. Why is it always when you’re down? Screw it. I can use Harry’s car if I need to. I get out and stand on the curb while I order an Uber on my phone. I text Snap:

  Keys are in the letterbox.

  I’m tempted to add ‘arsehole’, but I love him too much.

  18. Capitulation

  I don’t know if I’m going to make it through this last gig. The doctor said my bug is viral, no point taking antibiotics. I’ve had every chemist medicine known to man, but my throat still feels as if it’s been left out to bake for three days in a desert, and my head is so thick with gunk I don’t know if there’s room for my brain.

  Thank god I’ve got a stool to sit on, even though apparently management frowns on it – something about giving a ‘less dynamic’ performance. It’s either this, or I drape myself on the grand piano in an attempt to look sexy on a shiny, musical sick bed. Paul, bless him, has tried to find a last-minute fill-in but no luck. So here I am, a snotty pile of crap.

  He offers me another E. ‘Supposed to be a good cough suppressant,’ he says. ‘It’ll make you feel better, at any rate.’

  I haven’t told him the first one he gave me is still sitting in my purse. I don’t know why I’ve kept it. Probably because he says they’re expensive. Or because some niggly part of me thinks maybe, one day ... if things get really tough.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m okay.’

  He buys me a brandy, asking the bartender to add a dollop of honey and some hot water. I take tiny sips to make it last, mindful of only having one drink, since I to drove Harry’s car here – the weather is so miserable tonight a tram was out of the question. That, and I need to cut back the alcohol before I hit the cruise.

  Somehow, I scrape through, then head home to find some selfish dick has taken Harry’s car spot. I reverse out and park by the curb. The flimsy evening wrap I’m wearing provides little protection against the damp night air, and I shiver as I hurry into the foyer. I was stupid to think driving meant I didn’t need to rug up, because now I’m freezing my butt off, waiting for the ponderously slow lift. I comfort myself by thinking about seeing Harry on Friday. Two more sleeps. That’s if they let me on the ship with this head cold. Harry’s told me to not to mention it. OH&S stuff. But I feel bad. What if I pass it onto other passengers?

  I console myself with imaginings of Harry’s hugs making me forget my everyday crap, then grab a mussed-up tissue I’ve got tucked in my bra. The skin around my nose stings, red-raw from wiping it all night.

  The landing light has blown, so I fossick through my handbag in the dark. ‘Damn it.’ Finally, I feel the metal tag in the bottom of my bag and pluck it out. I’ve been meaning to secure it to my own key ring ever since Harry gave it to me. I just haven’t got around to it. Maybe it was an unconscious reflection of our relationship – tentative?

  My frigid hands shake as I try several times to fit the key in the lock. The dark isn’t helping. ‘Oh, come on. Just get in there, will you?’ The key slips from my hand, hitting the ground with a metallic chink. The sound reverberates through the empty landing as does my ‘Fuuuck!’ I lean my back against the door and slide down onto the concrete sill.

  Immediately, I’m reminded of Snap, and I feel small. Trite. Am I doing the right thing leaving him on his own? What if he’s depressed? What if he tries something ... something I don’t want to think about? Geez, it’s been three days, Snap. Just answer my freakin’ calls already. Let me know you’re alright. If he doesn’t answer by tomorrow, I’m going to stomp right over there and check on him in person. He’s probably curled up on the couch, unwashed, unshaven and not eating. I wonder if he’s letting the council staff in to clean.

  Eventually the coldness of the concrete stirs me to action. I kneel forward feeling about for the key. There’s the sucker.

  ~

  While I wait for the kettle to boil, I lean against the sink, head tilted back, trying to relieve the pressure in my sinuses. It doesn’t help. I’m due for some more Codral.

  The kettle rumbles and clicks off, and I mix my drink, then sip as I look at my refection in the kitchen window. ‘You’ve come a long way, baby.’ Not far enough, an inner voice tells me.

  Mr Pink wanders in with a chirrup. I squat beside him and give him a pat. ‘What do you think? Huh? I’m afraid you gotta rely on your owner for a couple of weeks, matey. I’ll miss you though.’

  I turn off the lights and head for my bedroom. As I reach the doorway, I glance down the hallway towards Harry’s room. I wander towards it. Several times over the past days I’ve climbed onto his bed and just lain there, trying to breathe in his fading scent. Pointless now with my blocked sinuses. I’ll change his bedding for him before I leave, surprise him with fresh, clean sheets for when we get back. For now, I don’t want to lose what little essence of him remains. However fragile it is. Tonight, I’ll sleep there and try to imagine we’re in love. And that my body won’t betray me.

  ~

  That’s it. I’ve had enough of Snap’s silence. It’s just plain rude. If my mobile phone was a landline receiver, I’d slam it. Instead, I tap the off button on the screen. Hard. As if it makes a difference. Damn him. I’m going to have to go over there. I can’t stand not knowing if he’s okay. I need to hear his voice. Not that I know what I’m going to do if he’s not okay, because I’m leaving for my cruise tomorrow. Still, I have to know.

  Okay, I’m going to try his mobile one more time. Maybe he was on the loo. I dial. The ringing tone is relentless, like a toothache that won’t go away. Damn it. I try the landline. It’s off the hook. Arsehole. If he thinks he can ignore me because he’s in a foul mood, he better think again. Here I come. With my own key. I’m out the door. I’m in the car.

  There’s an inevitable bright flash at the intersection as I try to beat the red light. Freaking fantastic. Sorry, Harry. Calm, I tell myself. I’ve got to chill. It’s my head cold making me cranky. I should be in bed, resting, trying to get rid of it before I leave. Fat chance. Shhh. Calm, remember? My foot doesn’t listen and stays planted on the pedal.

  When I get to Snap’s I slam the car door, trying to use up some of my frustration-borne pissyness. It kinda works. As if I’m really going to yell at him anyway. Should I use my key and walk right in? No, it doesn’t feel right. Stupid because I live here.

  I knock, and there’s barking and the sound of scrabbling of claws on the wooden floor inside. What the hell? Has he gone and got himself a dog? I tilt my head, considering the prospect and decide it’s not a bad idea. Not bad at all. A furry friend to cheer him up. It’s when the door opens that I get the biggest shock.

  ‘Shirley!’

  She stands there in a floral dress and blue cardigan, mini-George at her feet, staring at me. I must look like an idiot with my mouth open, wordless.

  ‘Yes?’ she says.

  ‘Um, is Snap ... George ... home?’

  ‘I’m sorry, George isn’t see
ing anyone right now. He’s not well.’ She smiles, all sweet and light. ‘Aren’t you the young lass who called in on me?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Lauren.’

  ‘That’s right. Look, I’d let you in, but he’s only just fallen asleep.’

  I wonder if she realises she’s stopping me from entering my own apartment. ‘Can I see him just for a minute? It’s important.’

  ‘Oh love, he’s got a shocking chest cold, been coughing all night. I’m sure you don’t want to disturb him?’ Her expression tells me it’s not a question.

  ‘Well ... I need to get a few things from my room too.’

  ‘Oh.’ She smacks her forehead. ‘I’m a stupid old cow. Sorry, sorry I forgot you live here.’

  She steps back and lets me through. ‘Please keep your voice down. I really don’t want to wake him up.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks.’

  She follows me down the hall. I turn into my bedroom. What the hell? There’s a suitcase on the floor, an unfamiliar coat on my chair, and the bed has been slept in.

  Shirley whispers from behind. ‘I hope you don’t mind. Snap said it would be okay if I stayed a few days. To look after him. If you need your room back ...’

  My head is reasoning that it’s a nice gesture, but this is my personal space she’s invaded. Snap should have asked me first.

  I try not to sound too pissy. ‘Sure. Why not?’ I move to my wardrobe and look through my summer clothes for anything cruise-worthy. I might have to do some quick op-shopping.

  Shirley is still hovering. ‘Can I make you some tea?’

  ‘Coffee?’ Anything for some privacy.

  I gather a few personal bits and pieces — sunscreen, bathers, a beach towel, and look for something to throw them in. In the bottom of my cupboard, I find Snap’s Hello Kitty backpack, the one I never returned because it was fun to banter over. I hope he’s okay. Maybe I’ll sneak a look in his room.