Exchange of Heart

by Darren Groth

  The boy thinks for a few seconds, picks his nose and smiles. ‘“G” is for GO!’

  He shouts and jump-slaps a high five. Before Bernie can progress to “N” (a name for this behaviour doesn’t instantly spring to mind), the boy’s mum arrives on the scene gasping apologies and threatening to hide something called Dorothy the Dinosaur when they get home. They scurry away.

  Bernie watches the retreat, then pushes her sunglasses further up her nose. ‘I think I will make hats as well as shirts.’

  Quality time for me and Iggy happens two hundred feet up, looking out over the city.

  ‘I like the Wheel of Brisbane,’ he says. It’s the first time today I’ve heard him speak without a wheeze or a groan or a sniffle. ‘No one can follow you up here. And I think the chances of being killed are probably a lot less than on the ground.’

  ‘Okaaay. You’re, uh, probably right.’

  ‘Do you like heights, Munro?’

  ‘I don’t mind them. I’ve been on the Sea to Sky Gondola back home. Peak 2 Peak up in Whistler.’

  ‘Has anyone died on those?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  As we arc towards the highest point, Iggy takes a sketchbook and a pencil out of his backpack.

  ‘Drawing the city?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I’m drawing Infecto flying over the city.’

  ‘Infecto?’

  ‘My superhero. He has the ability of germs, so he can go airborne. He can drink poison or get a virus in his blood or get a disease in his body, and he won’t die. He won’t even get sick. And when he’s got the toxic stuff inside him, if he touches a bad guy, the bad guy gets really sick straight away and dies.’

  ‘Am I allowed to have a look?’

  Iggy pulls the pad in close against his chest. ‘I don’t let anyone see Infecto. I’m keeping him a secret until I’ve finished the story.’

  ‘No problem, that’s totally cool. Would you mind, then, if I guess what Infecto looks like? You don’t have to tell me if I’m right or wrong, it’d just be for fun.’

  Iggy looks first left then right. ‘Righto,’ he says warily.

  ‘Awesome!’ I clap my hands as the Wheel carries us over the top. ‘Okay, let’s see. I guess if he flies he’d have a cape, and I figure that cape would be made out of … sanitary wipes, maybe? Or prescriptions for antibiotics? Now the suit. It would have to be one of those hazmat deals, only skin-tight, and on the chest would be, like, the outbreak symbol or the skull and crossbones. Oh, I know! A Petri dish with stuff growing in it!’

  Iggy pushes his tongue into his cheek. He peeks at his drawing and snorts.

  ‘Okay, last but not least, what sort of mask would Infecto wear? Gas mask, maybe? Probably not – that’s more of a villain thing. How about just the small plastic deal over the nose and mouth? You see people wearing those all the time in winter. Of course, Infecto’s mask would be a lot better than those – it would be made out of really thin gold or silver or platinum. Yeah, platinum. And for sure it would be really decorative with lots of different germs painted on it, you know? The way you’d see them under a microscope.’ The Wheel starts bringing us back down to earth. ‘That’s all I got. Did I nail Infecto?’

  Iggy wipes his eyes and tut-tuts. There is serious colour in his face. He’s grinning like he just saw Stan Lee. ‘You said I don’t have to tell if you’re right or wrong.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Then I’m not telling.’

  ‘Probably a good idea. Let’s shake on it.’

  I lean and extend my elbow. Iggy meets me halfway.

  At the start of the day, Blake had me constantly double-taking. The briefest glimpse could convince me, just for a second, that Evie was here. The longer the day has gone on, though, the more I’m seeing differences rather than similarities. Dale being on hand is a big help. Evie never had a boyfriend (unless you count Chris Hemsworth), so the sight of this tall, skinny, silent sidekick wasn’t ever going to hit home. And maybe his behaviour – holding her bag, looping his arm through hers, the occasional butterfly kiss – emphasised the Blake-ness I’d previously been blind to. She has dimples. She flicks her hair a lot. She’s quite light on her feet. Her lips are not in the least bit blue.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she says.

  ‘Sorry, Blake?’

  ‘The question I asked at your interview.’

  ‘You asked a lot of questions at the interview.’

  ‘You didn’t answer the last one: Are you going to marry your girlfriend, Caro?’

  I take off my Mariners lid, pour some water in it from my bottle, jam it back on my head. ‘First off, she’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Dale.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Caro is very cool. I like her a lot.’

  ‘So, she will be your girlfriend,’ says Blake.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘You want to make her your girlfriend.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Soon?’

  I whisper in Dale’s ear.

  He types. ‘I DON’T KNOW!’ shouts the iPad, volume to the max.

  ‘Blake, if it happens, I promise that you and Dale and the iPad will be the first to know.’

  The clunk of bike gears and the clap of flip-flops fills the space in our conversation. Below us, a big paddleboat churns the river, the white wake like a bandage on the water. A herd of people lean out over the rail of the Goodwill Bridge, waving and shouting and holding out their phones. Their reward is a horn blast.

  ‘Do you want to marry someone one day?’ asks Blake, as the echoes die away.

  I laugh and point at the markings on the pavement – a yellow bike and a 10 km/h speed limit sign. ‘You’re going way too fast here! Slow down, eh?’ She gives me a look that says ‘What are you talking about? I’m walking!’ I shrug. ‘I’m sixteen, Blake. I’d like to live a little.’

  ‘So, you will get married one day.’

  ‘If I’ve lived a little.’

  ‘And when you fall in love.’ Her head leans to the side, suddenly heavy. She takes hold of Dale’s hand and swings it high, back and forth. ‘We can’t get married.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘We’re not allowed.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘My dad said so. He thinks if we get married then we will want to live in the same house at Fair Go and sleep in the same bed and have sex and have children. He thinks we want to be the same as everyone else, doesn’t he?’

  Dale allows a grunt to speak for him instead of the iPad.

  ‘Do you want that?’ I ask.

  Blake halts the hand-swing. ‘We don’t want to be like everyone else. We just want to get married. That way we’ll be together forever.’

  If Shah was supposed to be anything more than a passenger on the trip, he never got the memo. Or he got the memo, tore it up and burned it. For the entire time at South Bank, he was distant, hands in pockets, uttering a grand total of maybe ten words. His only real sign of life? Watching a Champions League match on the big TVs at the Piazza.

  On the bus ride back to Fair Go, I park myself in the seat beside him.

  ‘Hey, I’m really looking forward to your turn with this tour business, Shah. You want to give me a hint where you’re going to take us? Maybe a soccer game in the –’

  ‘Football.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Not soccer. Football.’

  ‘Ah, right. Of course. In Canada, football is a different –’

  ‘I would like to sleep, thank you.’

  ‘You want to sleep?’

  ‘Yes. I do not want talking now. I want to sleep, thank you.’

  ‘Okay. Sure, no probs.’

  Shah cosies up to the window. He makes a fist and presses it to his mouth. It kind of looks like he’s sucking his thumb. Then he closes his eyes. I don’t
know when or even if he goes to sleep, but he doesn’t move. Through the wail of an ambulance siren, through the jolts of speed bumps, through an impromptu sing along of Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’ initiated by Bernie, he is a corpse.

  I squirm in my seat. A small part of me wants to wake him. Come on, Shah! We haven’t spent any time together! With the others – even Florence – I took a step forward. We made progress. I listened and hung out and began building relationships. If I’m to keep the Coyote at bay, I need you too, bud!

  The silver lining: I’m talking to myself and it’s still just me.

  I’ve taken zero photos to mark my first Fair Go adventure, and here at my shoulder is a beauty. I can see the image on Instagram and its accompanying caption: One of my team, Shah, demonstrating the effect of chillin’ with yours truly #Sleeper #TheSleepening #YouSnoozeILose #NoSleepTillBrisbane #FairGo #LivingPartner. I leave the phone in my pocket, though. This moment can be put away in the place that suddenly seems inviting.

  My memory.

  Kelvin gives me a fist bump. ‘Congrats, Munro. You did great for your first stint as a Living Partner.’

  ‘Thanks. Best time I’ve had so far on the exchange.’

  ‘Awesome. I take it you’re feeling a bit better now about this tour caper?’

  ‘I am. The Fair Go vibe travels.’

  ‘It does. Recorded some beaut footage today, by the way. You and the crew keepin’ it real. Top stuff.’

  I nod, although I’m surprised. I don’t recall seeing Kelvin with the camera in hand at any point during the day. Either he was very sneaky or I was very comfortable. Probably a combination of the two.

  ‘It was a good start with the team,’ I say. ‘Florence – she’s tolerating me. Shah, though … I’m still at the starting line with him.’

  Kelvin shrugs. ‘Don’t take the sleeping thing personally. He does it on all our community access trips. He’s got a pretty good reason.’

  Sounds specific. Maybe chronic fatigue syndrome, like Mr Twan at DSS? That thing where you have sleeping fits – what’s it called? Narcolepsy? Or maybe he has heart issues. Evie often fell asleep after school.

  ‘Is it something I should know about?’ I ask, trying not to be too nosy.

  ‘No, it’s fine.’ Kelvin finds a Fruit Tingle in his chest pocket. ‘He’ll tell you if he wants to.’ He tucks the candy between teeth and cheek so he can keep talking. ‘You’ve got plenty of time.’

  You were gone again.

  I was. Are you going to put another smackdown on me?

  Is that what you want?

  No.

  Do you want to be punished?

  No.

  You deserve to be punished.

  No, I don’t. I deserve to be better. And it’s starting to happen, Coyote. Fair Go is making it happen.

  You’re just hiding, Munro. Do you remember what you did after the ambulance took Evie away? You stumbled around the school, past rooms and through doors. Along the side of the theatre, around the tennis courts. Didn’t stop until you reached the storage shed. You went in and sat between the lawnmower and the recycling bins, then you lay down on the concrete. And you stayed there so that all those people who wanted to say how sorry they were, and how it wasn’t your fault, and that you did your best, and you should go home … You stayed there so they couldn’t find you.

  You hid, Munro. And now you’re doing it again. You think this is hide-and-seek and Fair Go is where you can’t be found. But I will find you. And when I do, you’ll know we’re together.

  Forever.

  I jerk awake.

  Bright lights above. Hard cushion beneath. Clackety-clack in the ears. Runaway backdrop in the window. The PA announcement. My station – Wattle Heights – is next.

  I exit, jumping well clear before the door clamps shut and the train glides away from the platform.

  Maeve, Digger and Renee haven’t had a lot of time for me since Liber8. But Rowan isn’t deterred. He still wants all of us to get along. According to him, we just need an outing with a little less intensity.

  ‘How about you come to the movies with us tonight? See the new Star Wars? That’ll be fun, hey, Munster?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Come on, man. Caro would deck me if I didn’t bring you.’

  ‘Is Renee going to be there?’

  ‘Mate, don’t worry about Renee. We all love her, but she can be a pain in the arse at times. She knows that. She shouldn’t have grabbed you at Liber8.’

  I appreciate his honesty and, to show this, I decide to make an appearance. I’m feeling good. Solid. The connections with my team today, the absence of any bad moments on the tour, the assertiveness with the Coyote on the train home … The Fair Go effect is a thing. I had my fingers crossed it could travel – now I’m wondering how far it can go.

  At the cinema, it’s clear things are a bit icy. Maeve and Digger bring me into the chat, but more out of politeness than genuine inclusion. Renee says nothing to me directly other than ‘How’s it going?’. I nod and smile. For Rowan and Caro’s sake, I won’t make waves.

  If my presence is awkward for Renee, it doesn’t register. She gives a standing ovation to a truck ad with talking bulls and then enlists Maeve’s help in booing a tampon commercial that calls for women to ‘have a happy period’. When the preview of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice hits the screen, she loudly suggests an alternative title – Fapman v Supergland: Dong of Justice.

  Caro leans towards me. ‘I know from past experience she can be more entertaining than the movie.’

  By ‘entertaining’ she means ‘distracting’. And I want a lid put on it before the words ‘In a galaxy far, far away’ climb up the screen. Star Wars, I’m confident, will be plenty entertaining without Renee’s look-at-me act.

  Turns out she’s on her best behaviour and I’m distracted anyway. When Kylo Ren uses the Force to interrogate Poe Dameron, I wonder how he would fare against Infecto. As Rey smokes her attackers on Jakku, I imagine her receiving a Flo-jitsu belt as a reward. Looking at the massive ditch surrounding the Starkiller Base, I figure they didn’t learn anything from when they hosted the Expo. My attention, of course, is also at the mercy of Caro. We share an armrest; every time she shifts, my level of self-esteem is in direct proportion to the amount of elbow contact remaining. When Kylo Ren gets all murdery, Caro grabs me like it’s a fire drill and my forearm is the personal possession she wants to take with her. She lets go soon after, but the mark left behind is a phaser strike.

  ‘So, where to now?’ asks Maeve, as we exit the theatre.

  ‘Across the road to Nitrogenie,’ says Digger. ‘I’m craving one of those lemon-lime-and-bitters shakes.’

  ‘Yeah, I could go for a Pavlova Pash,’ admits Renee.

  ‘Hell, I could give you one of those.’ Digger puckers up and advances, arms outstretched.

  Renee shows him the hand. ‘I’d rather get one from Chewbacca.’

  Rowan looks my way. ‘How about you, Munster?’

  The corners of my mouth turn down. ‘I don’t know. What’s your plan, Caro? You sticking around?’

  ‘Nah, I’m a bit tired. Don’t like the look of that sky – reckon there’ll be some thunder and lightning later tonight. Think I might bail. Want to share a cab home?’

  ‘Sure. Is there a rank around here?’

  ‘There’s one just around the corner.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘You’re taking Munro away?’ says Maeve. ‘Who are we going to show the sights to now?’

  ‘Yeah, we had a whole thing planned,’ adds Digger. ‘A river cruise, a dance at Cloudland, a trip up Mt Coot-tha.’

  Renee huffs. ‘You used to be such a party animal, Munro. We don’t even know who you are any more.’

  I pout and feign shedding a tear. Their sarcasm is uncalled for, but I don’t give a shit. I’m feeling solid and I’m heading home with a hot girl.

  Rowan eases between Caro and me, drapes his arms over our should
ers. ‘At least our Canuck friend here still likes one of us. Could well be some thunder and lightning this evening.’

  I glance at Caro. She’s blushing, but she’s not disagreeing.

  We sit apart in the back of the taxi. In the space separating us, we each have a lone hand, palm down, flat on the seat. The gap between them can’t be more than the width of a gum packet.

  I stare at our driver’s turban, trying to come up with something to say.

  You remember the last time Evie tried to ride a bike, Munro? At the old racetrack, beside the Rec Centre? She told you she was going to stay up. She was going to ride all by herself. You told her to climb aboard, feet on the pedals, hips locked and not all loosey-goosey like they usually were. You said you would run alongside for a bit, then you’d let go so she could stay up. Ride all by herself.

  Evie pushed on the pedals and the bike moved forward. You told her to keep pushing, keep going. You told her to keep it straight. As the bike picked up speed, she asked if you were going to let go. Soon, you said. She asked you again. Just a little more speed, you said. Evie’s voice rose. Munro, let go! But you kept holding the handlebar and the back of the seat. That’s when she started to shout:

  LET GO!

  LET GO!

  LET GO!

  ‘You have a girlfriend at home, Munro Maddux?’

  I tap my forehead, clearing space for Caro’s question. Rain patters on the roof of the taxi.

  ‘Didn’t you ask me that already? Two weeks ago in Chemistry class?’

  ‘I remember. And now I’m asking you in the back of a taxi. You have a girlfriend back home, Munro Maddux?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  Caro laughs. She pulls on her seatbelt, creating some give that allows her to semi-face me. ‘Ever wish you had a brother or sister?’

  I’m thrown. Where did that come from? Then I recall: I told her I was an only child. First time we talked, first day of semester. I inwardly sigh. This night was going so well.

  ‘I wish I had a sister,’ I reply.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I just think being a big brother would be awesome. I would teach her lots of stuff, like how to ride a bike.’