Standing on My Brother's Shoulders

by Tara J Lal

  After a year or so, I became a relieving firefighter, travelling around to different stations. I worked hard to gain respect, often suppressing my femininity in my desire to prove myself. One day my colleague challenged me to an arm-wrestle. Of course I resisted, certain that I’d be thrashed, but he persisted until eventually I gave in, reasoning that I had nothing to lose. The boys gathered around and we sat down in the mess room facing each other, elbows on the table, hands locked.

  ‘Get set, take the strain … go!’

  At first I thought he was toying with me as we held steady. Then, slowly, drawing on all my strength, I pressed his hand down on to the table. The guys cheered in astonishment. Normy, my opponent, looked baffled, adamant that our arms hadn’t been at the right angle.

  ‘Best of three,’ he announced.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, starting to feel confident.

  I beat him twice more, apologizing to him after every one.

  ‘Sorry, but you did ask for it.’

  The boys rolled around in laughter, high fiving each other before proceeding to crucify poor old Normy.

  ‘So how does it feel to get beaten by a chick ten years older than you, eh?’

  ‘Pump it up, Normy!’

  I was merely thankful it wasn’t me. To this day legend precedes him wherever he goes. ‘Are you the guy beaten by that girl in the arm-wrestle?’

  I laughed. I’d been battling all this time for respect and all I had to do was have an arm-wrestle. Smiling inwardly, I recalled my mother shaking her head at me as I accidentally yanked the door handle off my bedroom door. ‘You just don’t know your own strength, Tara,’ she’d said. And I thanked Adam for all those arm-wrestles he’d got me to have as a teenager with his friends.

  Although it might seem at odds with the job description, being a firefighter showed me how to laugh again, how to lighten up. I formed a bond with the men I worked with that was respectful and caring, uncomplicated by any sexual relationship. When you go into a burning building, you know you have to trust the person you’re with completely. And if my crew gives me a hard time, I know, underneath it all, that they care. They’re like a family to me. We eat together, we cook together and we see each other at our worst at three in the morning when all you want to do is sleep. And when we go into a fire, we protect each other. That binds you more than anything. I thought of my uncle in India, his passion as he described the battles he fought with his men, how his eyes welled with tears.

  I had lost half of my family. Now I have a new one, and I treasure it.

  CHAPTER 27

  Suicide call, Darlinghurst, Sydney, 2009

  I am standing on the incident ground, holding the hose, washing the blood down the street. I bend down to pick up the broken pair of glasses. I hold them in my hand and look up. I see my brother climb through his window. I see him plummet head-first to the ground. I sense the instant of regret. Then I feel the impact through my body as he lands.

  I watch the crimson-stained water trickle into the drain, washing my brother’s life with it as it goes, erasing it. Controlling my need to vomit, I finish the job and climb quietly back into the truck.

  ‘Why would you do that?’ my colleague says. ‘You’d have to be pretty desperate.’

  I stare out of the window and say nothing. If I speak, I will vomit.

  I’m okay. I have to be strong.

  My mother’s words come back to me: Tara will need all of you.

  It’s fine. I don’t need anyone, I tell myself.

  Wearing the uniform is like putting on a shield. It is a wall that, until now, has kept my emotional self separate from the strong, confident Tara I think everyone expects me to be as a female firefighter.

  We return to the station and I lock myself in my bear cave. I start to cry.

  There is a knock at my door. One of the boys comes in, bearing tissues and chocolate. He sits with me and I find myself telling him my story. I begin to let my crew see a truer, more authentic version of myself, complete with vulnerability. They surprise me with their empathy, their boyish compassion.

  All this time I had tried so hard to hide what I thought were my fallibilities, my signs of weakness. Now it struck me that the ability to show emotion with honesty forms the foundation of connection. The bond came through showing my vulnerability, not hiding it. I realized finally that was strength, not weakness.

  The incident that afternoon stayed with me. I went home, still feeling an uncomfortable sense of unrest within me, a deep sadness. I went down to the beach and looked out at the ocean. I sat quietly in the sadness, observing its thick, stifling presence. I could see no path through it. I wanted to reach out, but I didn’t know who to. Today was Adam’s birthday. I found myself writing without conscious thought.

  16 September 2009

  Dear Adam,

  Today you should have been turning forty-one. How I would have loved to share this day with you, to drink a glass of wine and make a toast together, to have a run together or a game of tennis or even just to annoy each other as we always used to. Remember that game we played where we would climb on each other’s shoulders and one of us would hang from the cornice in the living room while the other would see how many times they could run back and forth before they had to pick the other up? Or remember the time you kicked that door and then had to limp around for weeks after?

  You always protected me, you looked after me – I loved that. I am as sad now as I was twenty-one years ago when you died. The sadness never leaves. I can only carry those memories with me and imagine the person you would have been today. Would you have been married? Would you have kids? What would you be doing and where would you be living? I know you would have led an amazing life, a caring life. You would have made a difference to people’s lives. Even now, even without life, you still do. I wish you knew that. Only yesterday I received an email from an old school friend whom I haven’t seen in many years wanting to include you as part of a living tribute art project in Trafalgar Square. I declined; I didn’t think you would want that. Was I right? Would you have wanted to be remembered publicly in Trafalgar Square? I think not, but perhaps it was my own selfishness that said no. To me you are mine. What we shared is ours. You are not a statistic, you are my brother, and I alone understand why you did what you did, or at least that’s how it feels, and that is what I cling to – that intimacy and closeness to you. Something that is so starkly clear that I lack in my life, something that I yearn for.

  I guess I protect you in your death as fiercely and tenderly as you protected me in your life.

  Cheers to you, my gorgeous brother, on your forty-first birthday. I love you now as I always did.

  Your big little sister x

  There is no clean and tidy end to grief. It is not like a cut that heals when new skin grows, leaving no trace. Grief has a rhythm, abating at times when other things hold your attention, but always reappearing. It is like a mountain range undulating and unfolding before you as you navigate a path along it.

  CHAPTER 28

  ‘You’re not giving relationship advice again are you, Bear?’ We were in the mess room at the station. Boaty rolled his eyes affectionately, having heard the tail end of my conversation with Big Gez. I laughed. I’d been doing what I liked to think I did best: solving the boys’ relationship woes. This, of course was an on-going joke, given that I was the only person on shift to not have had a relationship at all in many years.

  ‘You’ve got this wall, T, this wall around you!’ Big Gez commented.

  ‘Just protecting myself from you lot,’ I replied, smiling.

  I never chose men. I let them come to me. There seemed to be less risk of rejection that way. With my wall, I was safe. If I didn’t let anyone get close I wouldn’t have to risk losing them. Unfortunately, there’s always one who finds the fault line, that one pivotal line that, once dissolved, causes the wall to come tumbling down.

  As I said, I’d been on my own for a long time. I felt quite happy in my solitud
e. I had started to think about my brother’s diaries again, about writing a book. My instinct told me it wasn’t my time to meet anyone. But my friends were always on the lookout for possible matches for me. If they happened to meet any potential man they’d always bring up my name in a shameless act of promotion on my behalf.

  As it turned out, Rob had seen me at a surf-rowing carnival and wanted to meet me. I, of course had no idea who he was. My wall seemed inadvertently to stop me from ‘seeing’ anyone. My friend engineered a meeting in a busy pub and I got to take a sneak-peek, flattered that he’d noticed me. Rob was tall and fit with pale skin, mousey brown hair and smallish brown eyes that seemed a little too close together. He had a rugged rugby face that looked like it had taken a few hits, and he had a cute dimple on his right cheek. He wasn’t gorgeous but he was nice-looking. I’m not sure who was more nervous – me or him. Habitually, I worried about appearing too keen with men, convinced on some unconscious level that I wasn’t worthy of their attention, worried they would reject me.

  Eventually, after a few nudges from my well-meaning friend, I plucked up the courage to go and talk to him. He smiled tentatively at me.

  ‘Were you feeling the pressure like I was feeling the pressure?’ he said, and that broke the ice.

  He got my phone number from our mutual friend and we met up for coffee. He seemed like a nice guy and soon enough we started talking on the phone until he asked me out for dinner. Neither of us had realized it happened to be Valentine’s Day. No pressure. He picked me up from home, shyly giving me a small red chocolate heart. I blushed and smiled.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There’s a place in Coogee I know. I hope that’s okay.’

  I was relieved. I knew the restaurant. It was casual, BYO and overlooking the water – just my type of place, nothing showy.

  He showed me to his car, opening the passenger door to a shiny, sleek, royal blue Holden SV Ute, a kind of souped-up utility truck, which looks great but doesn’t do a lot of hard work. It was distinctly fancier than my beaten-up old Toyota Corolla, not to mention twice its size. We arrived at the restaurant, which unsurprisingly was full of couples. I felt nervous, but as we sat opposite each other and talked, the apprehension melted. He told me about his career as a professional rugby player. We talked of the psychology of sport. I was fascinated. He seemed so humble of his achievements. It was as if he felt he wasn’t worthy. He was almost apologetic as he described how he only played first grade ‘off the bench’. I merely marvelled that he had a career as a sportsman. It had been something I’d only ever dreamed of as a child, when I’d imagined winning an Olympic gold medal even though I had no idea what sport it was going to be for.

  I looked at Rob as I sat opposite him. I found his shyness endearing. Time disappeared. Before long, I looked up and everyone else had left.

  When he dropped me off at home, I wondered what to do. Should I kiss him? Would he kiss me? He walked me to my door. Awkwardness prevailed.

  ‘You know you can kiss me if you like?’ I said shyly but with an uncharacteristic boldness.

  ‘Oh,’ he said and leant forward, planting a nervous kiss on my lips. We smiled at each other, not quite knowing what to do or say. Before he left we agreed not to rush things. I was adamant I wouldn’t dive into anything.

  Just as I climbed into bed he sent me a text message.

  ‘Thank you for a beautiful night x’

  I went to bed smiling.

  After that he started sending me messages every day, telling me how beautiful I was and how lucky he was to have found me, how he didn’t deserve someone as special as me. I couldn’t understand that. He was the one with the successful sporting career, a lovely home and a great business. I didn’t think I was special, but after a while his messages started to make me feel special. Every morning I would look forward to my phone beeping at me.

  Gradually his words became like a drug to me; the more he gave me the more I wanted. He didn’t let me down. The messages kept coming. Every day I was greeted by a string of poetic words.

  ‘When I am with you time stands still. Nothing else is important. I only want you and nothing more.’

  We’d only been on a couple of dates, shared a couple of kisses. We were both rowing competitively. I was firefighting and still working two days a week in a physio practice. He ran a cafe in town, so we couldn’t see too much of each other. He lived north side, I lived south side, so we made telephone calls and he inundated me with text messages. He had an annoying habit of asking me important things by text. I was in the gym at work one day when he asked if it bothered me that he was a few years younger than me. I thought it an odd question to ask, especially by text. After all, it was only a couple of years. I jokingly replied that surely it would be he who should be worried. Then he asked if we should put our relationship on hold, just be friends until the Australian surf lifesaving titles were over so that I could focus on rowing. No, I answered, confused as to what he was trying to say. He kept telling me how important I was to him, so why did he want to put ‘us’ on hold?

  Men always seemed to fall for me because they saw my strength. When they found the sensitive vulnerable part of me, they didn’t want me any more, or at least that’s what I believed. ‘You don’t know me yet,’ I warned him. He joked that he’d borrow a sledgehammer to break down my wall. Or did he need something more powerful?

  It was about six weeks before we slept together, but we’d still only had a few dates. I was at work the next morning when my phone beeped in my pocket. I pulled it out, opening the message.

  ‘You are the love of my life, the only one I want to be with. I can promise you I will always be here for you. I want to spend my life with you.’

  I smiled as I read it, passing blindly over the fact we barely knew each other, for Rob’s words gave me everything my heart craved, like feeding heroin to an addict. My wall began to crumble, just as Adam’s had.

  Why is it, if anyone, or should I say a girl that I begin to like, I grasp on to with my heart … I am furious with myself for beginning to care in that heart-crippling way of mine for Sarah. The odd thing is, it’s just not possible. I have been with the girl for what is it, ten days. What on earth is wrong with me? I am sure it is not that my heart is as sensitive as that.

  Rob’s words fed fuel to my fairy tale that I could meet a man, fall in love and create the family I never had. As my wall collapsed, so I began to feel vulnerable, reiterating to Rob that he wouldn’t love me when he saw the real me. He continued to shower me with reassurance and love, allowing me to trust tentatively in the safety. But surreptitiously his words became doused in his own vulnerability.

  ‘I feel so safe in your arms, a million miles from anything that hurts. You have got inside my heart, so please be gentle with it.’

  I kept reassuring him, as he had for me, yet it never seemed to be enough. His messages were laced with need.

  ‘The more I see you and get to know you the more I feel empty when I am alone. I don’t need anything else in my world, just you.’

  I returned his words; desperate to fill his emptiness. I didn’t see the danger. All I saw was that someone needed me. I wasn’t helpless. I couldn’t rescue Adam but I could rescue Rob. I wanted to reassure him, to reach in and take his pain away. Then I could prove my love, my worthiness. I thought that was what love was. I ignored the annoying sense of unease within me, for I had my fairy tale within reach. I had what I had always thought that I had wanted. I had the fantasy.

  Eventually, when I felt safe enough, I told Rob about my family and my fear of loss. I wanted to be honest, to show him who I really was. I let him see my vulnerability. I cried in front of him and he did for me what I had done for him. He took me in his arms, he made me feel safe and he took my pain away.

  ‘Sweetie, nothing will happen to me and I will never leave you. I promise I am here with you and for you, forever.’

  Finally I had the feeling that I had craved incessantly ever sinc
e my mother’s death. I felt warm and safe.

  Two days later Rob arrived at my place looking anxious and distant.

  ‘What’s up, sweetheart?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t do this to you. I don’t want to put you through losing anyone again. I think we should break up.’

  ‘What?’ I was reeling from the shock. ‘I don’t understand.’ I started to cry. It felt as if I’d taken a king hit from Muhammad Ali. I took slow deep breaths and I squashed the grief down inside me.

  ‘If that is what you want, then there is nothing I can do to stop you,’ I said calmly.

  He turned his back to leave, hesitating. We both stood separately, oscillating between fear and love, on a ridge, looking left and right.

  ‘Please don’t go.’

  The words left my mouth involuntarily. He turned toward me from where he stood in the doorway and we reached out for one another, losing ourselves in the safety, in the comfort once more, taking hold of each other’s pain and dissolving it. Fear and love sat within the room like twins, confusing us, swapping identities surreptitiously. I no longer knew which was which, for fear engulfs love.

  Rob said he’d damaged us with his actions, betrayed my trust. I said he hadn’t but my gut told me otherwise.

  I think that I may truly believe that a person in essence is his or her instinct. We often curb our instinct and this habit makes us lie …

  Emotion clouded my instinct, fear smothered it. In my eyes, to admit the betrayal, to confront him on his about-turn, would have meant to risk the very thing I feared most, to lose someone I loved. So instead I showered Rob with love and reassurance.

  One weekend he surprised me with a romantic weekend away in a hotel in the city. We went for dinner at Circular Quay, overlooking the Opera House, and wandered along George Street, holding hands. It was a beautiful evening. I saw a fire truck coming toward us down the street. I raised my arm to wave just as one of the boys leant out of the window, shouting.