Exchange of Heart

by Darren Groth

  Dale then escorts us a short distance along the fence line that separates the property from ‘the bush’. He says the neighbouring forest reserve is the biggest in Brisbane and is mostly made up of eucalyptus trees. It’s home to more than a hundred different types of wildlife, including wallabies, koalas, echidnas and powerful owls. As I digest Dale’s info, it occurs to me that I’ve never felt bad that he couldn’t speak. A chunk of me feels it today, though. The voice program’s burry monotone and occasional half-assed pronunciations don’t come close to conveying the passion in his gestures and facial expressions.

  We head back, passing by the herb gardens and a big mango tree that has an abandoned bathtub beside it. On the path to the gazebo, Dale picks an orange flower from one of the garden beds. He hands it to Blake on bended knee.

  ‘This smells better than you,’ she says.

  Dale rolls his eyes, then waves at Caro and me. ‘I’ll see you soon, after I’ve had a shower.’

  We leave the Agriculture Precinct. Before we’re out of range, we hear Blake’s final, shouted command. ‘You should make her your girlfriend, Munro! Then take her back to Canada, Munro!’

  Around three, we roll up to The Shed, Fair Go’s indoor basketball court. Kelvin is there. My team as well, minus Shah.

  ‘So, what’s the big secret, guys?’ I ask. ‘You got a Zamboni here or something?’

  ‘What’s a Zamboni?’ asks Bernie. ‘Is that a type of pasta?’

  ‘I think it’s one of Infecto’s archenemies,’ suggests Iggy.

  ‘Good guesses. It’s actually kind of like a lawnmower that makes the ice nice and smooth on a rink,’ says Kelvin, creating more confusion. ‘No, Munro, we couldn’t get you a Zamboni. But we don’t need one for floor hockey, do we?’

  Dale emerges from a storage locker with two large equipment bags. He follows it up by dragging out a full six-by-four net and setting it up on the nearest baseline.

  ‘The blue bag next to Florence’s feet – that’s probably the one you want to check out,’ says Kelvin.

  I walk over, kneel down beside the stacked Bauer bag, pull back the zip. ‘You bought goalie gear?’

  ‘We did, yeah.’

  ‘For me.’

  ‘Technically, it’s for the residents, but who else has a clue what to do with it?’

  I take out the pieces and lay them in a semicircle around me, just as I would on game day.

  Caro kneels beside me. ‘What’s that thing?’ she asks, pointing.

  ‘That’s a blocker. Goes on this hand.’

  She nods. ‘Your right? Makes sense.’

  The final item in the bag is the helmet. I hold it up and out, like I’m Hamlet with his skull. It’s literally a work of art. The lump in my throat gets bigger, heavier. ‘Who painted this?’

  ‘We all did,’ says Blake. ‘I painted the heart inside the maple leaf. Ig did the Brisbane Wheel. Bernie wrote “Freetard”, of course. Flo did the weird three-leg sign –’

  ‘I wanted to do a middle finger,’ she explains, ‘but Iggy said I shouldn’t. So, I did this – a mittsue-tomoe. It’s a symbol samurai families used in Japan.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Blake says. ‘Dale did the wattle tree. And Kelvin painted the zombie wombat.’

  ‘It’s a squirrel, Blake,’ corrects Kelvin.

  ‘A zombie squirrel.’

  My fingers brush over the glossy surface, absorbing the artwork. They stop on a small pic under the right earhole. A black pawn. ‘I wonder who did this one?’

  ‘Me.’

  Shah ambles in from the entrance. He’s wearing a Lionel Messi Barcelona shirt that’s one, maybe two sizes too big for him. There are a couple of extra lines on his face. My guess is they’re from the cushions on his couch.

  ‘I am tired of beating you in checkers,’ he says.

  ‘You’re tired of beating me? I don’t think so. I think you’re tired of getting beat.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I think!’

  We eyeball each other for a second, all puffed chests and fake sneers. Then we crack up, me laughing, Shah twitching his lips. The truth is, over the past month, we’ve both been winning. Little by little, Shah’s been using more chess moves, usually without warning, occasionally with a half-smile. If only YOLO could be there with a camera. They could call the video Check Mates for Life.

  Kelvin unzips the second Bauer bag and starts passing sticks around. ‘So, I think we’ve done enough dillydallying. Time to get this show on the road.’ He picks up a ball and rolls his arm over, à la cricket bowling. ‘We could use your help, Munro.’

  I stand and scan the group. These faces. Looking at me. Looking to me.

  I don’t feel so much like a Living Partner right now. I feel like something more, something close to family. A brother, maybe.

  A big brother.

  We did basic stick handling stuff, Evie, like when I was in Grade 7 and we did floor hockey with your class – ‘Keep Away’ and ‘Red Light, Green Light’. Then a couple of passing drills – one in pairs going up and down the floor, and ‘Around the House’. You remember that? Everyone gets in a circle and does random passes? So fun! Then we did a shootout to finish. I dressed in the goalie gear and faced some fire from the team. Except for Kelvin, I made sure everyone scored a goal – even Shah, who didn’t want a stick. He kicked the ball instead.

  I wish you’d been there to see it.

  ‘Are you talking to me, Munro Maddux?’

  Caro’s brief doze is over. Her head, though, still rests against the train window.

  ‘No. Just myself.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  I look out the window, squinting into the setting sun. Stretches of golf course glide by. A group of men in plaid shorts hack at the long grass beside the tracks while a pair of crows keeps watch over their cart. ‘About ten minutes to Wattle Heights.’

  ‘I’ll go back to my nap, then.’

  ‘More sleep? I’m going to start calling you Shah.’

  ‘Been a big day.’

  ‘Been a great day.’

  Caro rubs her nose, pulls her hat down lower. ‘Hey, what did Perry want to talk to you about?’

  ‘Nothing much.’ I plant an elbow on the window frame and rest my head on my open hand. ‘He wanted to make sure I didn’t feel uncomfortable in the class.’

  Caro shifts. I see her puzzled reflection in the window. ‘Was there a reason for you to feel uncomfortable?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘I remember you spaced out a bit at the start.’

  ‘That was just your bad hygiene. Look, let’s change the subject, eh?’

  She nods slowly. ‘Okaaaay. How about Blake with that wedding invitation? I’d love to give her father a gobful.’

  ‘That’s your change of subject?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s the future lawyer in me. If someone’s copping a bad deal, I want to defend them, I want to make things better for them. It’s what I do.’

  ‘What you do, Caro, is sleep on the train. So, how about you do some more of it? I’ll wake you up when we’re getting close.’

  To my surprise, she taps out. She brings her legs up onto the seat, leans against the window and crashes before the next station, her whistly nose-breathing a dead giveaway she’s out. I close my eyes. The wires thrum above my head. The wheels gallop under my feet.

  Make things better.

  For them.

  From day one, the student exchange was about regaining myself and getting rid of the Coyote. Now that I’m within reach of that goal, I can look beyond it. Who do I want to be? What do I want to do?

  I have an idea. A big idea. One that means I won’t just be leaving the past here.

  Mum and Dad

  Hey, what would you think of the Foundation setting up an assisted-living residence like Fair Go back home? Would it be possible? Would you be interested? I
know it would involve a tonne of cash and time and God knows what else, but I think it would be awesome.

  Just a thought for the future.

  Talk soon.

  M

  THE JAIL

  Fifty hours.

  Today’s Straya Tour trip will see that number officially reached. 17 April, first weekend of Term 2. It’s been a snap of the fingers. It’s been a lifetime.

  The Coyote’s gone, but I won’t forget the place that muzzled it. I’m sad my volunteer time is up, but I’ll keep doing Wednesday afternoons until Shah plays a full game of chess. For the rest of the exchange, I’ll come back every now and then to listen and talk and guide. Hang out. Play some floor hockey.

  I’m also stoked for today. Shah shared some exciting news at the end of last Wednesday’s visit.

  ‘I am taking my turn this week on tour. I am choosing place to go.’

  I tried my best to bait the place out of him, but he wouldn’t bite.

  ‘You will find out soon enough,’ he said, waving goodbye from the front door.

  ‘Can I have a word?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Kelvin pulls me aside and towards the front of the bus.

  ‘Whassup?’ I say, flicking a dead bug from the grille.

  Kelvin removes his sunglasses and hangs them off his shirt collar. His face has more sheen than usual and there’s a thin line of sweat across his top lip. I don’t think I’ve seen Kelvin Yow sweat before, not even on the hot-as-hell days.

  ‘Shah’s not here,’ he says.

  ‘He’s late?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He bailed on his turn?’

  Kelvin scuffs at the asphalt with his sneaker. ‘He left, Munro, and I don’t think he’ll be coming back.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I just saw him on Wednesday. He played, like, ten checkers moves the entire game. Everything else was chess.’ I look up into the front seats of the bus, expecting to see laughing, gotcha faces. ‘Is this for the video? Are you punking me?’

  Kelvin shakes his head. ‘He left Thursday, mate. He made the decision to go back to a family of Afghani refugees in Goodna. He lived with them when he first got to Brisbane, but they couldn’t give him the specialised assistance he needed, so that’s how he came to be with us. Now, it appears circumstances have changed.’ He drops a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Munro. I know you and him had a good thing going.’

  Found you.

  I’m reeling. The air has left my lungs. I suddenly have my sister’s tongue, too big for my mouth, making it tough for words to form and find their way out. A brisk wind skips through the carpark, carrying twigs, brown leaves, an empty coffee cup. And invisible knives aimed at my right hand. I scrunch my eyes tight, willing a loophole to appear.

  ‘So you just … let him go?’

  ‘No. In our discussions, I stated a number of times that I felt Shah’s best placement was here. But, ultimately, the decision to stay or go can only be made by the residents themselves and their custodial connections. Shah and the Goodna family made their decision and we have to respect that.’

  No, we don’t! I silently shout. What if it’s the wrong decision? I get the whole shared culture thing, but it’s not like this is Shah’s actual family. Is he going to sleep less with them around? Do more? And what about the chess? For fuck’s sake, he’s almost there! Who’s going to take him through those final few steps?

  Not you, Munro Maddux.

  ‘I must’ve done something wrong.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘Why didn’t he just ask for a different Living Partner? At least then he’d still be around.’

  ‘There’s nothing more you could have done, mate. He’s not gone because of you. Things just happen. My old man has a saying: Sometimes, Life takes on a life of its own.’ He digs into the side pocket of his cargo shorts and extracts a small object. A black pawn. ‘Shah asked me to give you this. He said he enjoyed kicking your arse.’

  I stand the piece on my open palm. After a few seconds, it tips and I have to grab for it so it doesn’t fall to the ground. ‘Did he leave an address?’ I ask. ‘Email, phone, anything?’

  ‘No.’

  The bus horn bleats. Bernie, dressed in a Helvetica Freetard shirt, is in the driver’s seat. She points to her watch and pretends to turn the steering wheel. Kelvin nods and waves.

  ‘We should go.’ Kelvin shifts his head to one side, peers at me through narrowed eyes. ‘You okay to do this?’

  I stuff the pawn in the pocket of my shirt. My heart thumps against it.

  ‘I gotta finish my fifty hours.’

  Kelvin half smiles, makes for the driver-side door, stops. ‘By the way, the guys wanted to dedicate the trip today to Shah, so we’re still going to the place he chose before leaving.’

  ‘What did he choose?’

  Kelvin puts his sunglasses back on. ‘Boggo Road. It’s a jail.’

  There’s nothing more you could have done.

  People say that when you try to stop something bad from happening and then it happens anyway. It was all you heard after Evie died. From family, friends, strangers. The doctor at the hospital who pronounced her dead. Your mum and dad said the words, too, but they knew.

  There is always more you could’ve done – made one more phone call, driven one more mile, asked one more question, read one more book. Held on for one more second. You can tell yourself you did your best, and it may even be true; you might be able to say it with a straight face and sleep like the dead that night. But your best is never the best. That’s a fact. And in the end, your less-than-best has only one measure: Did the bad thing happen?

  You should have done more.

  I can’t sit still. My left hand is clamped on my head. My right – I’ve wrapped it in my shirt. It looks like I broke it and put together a makeshift sling. The team is wondering what’s going on. Bernie is blinking. Blake and Dale take turns glancing over from across the aisle. Iggy’s tracking me rather than the car on our tail. Even Florence is a little off balance.

  Get it together, Munro. Count your breaths. Ten? Better make it twenty.

  The Coyote’s not back.

  Not for real.

  This is a hiccup, a stumbling block. An echo. That’s all. I got blindsided. Yes, Shah’s gone, but the others are still here. I still have them. And they’re the key. It doesn’t matter that my time is up. I can be there for them. I can do more for them.

  The Coyote’s not back.

  No way.

  We arrive at Boggo Road Gaol. Our tour guide walks us through all the modern services they provide – film shoots, parties, weddings, corporate retreats. A marquee has been set up in the main courtyard, with a podium and chairs and white flowers all around. I recognise the opportunity immediately. I lay it out for Kelvin.

  ‘Come again?’ he says.

  I go through it a second time.

  ‘You’re serious.’

  ‘How do you Aussies say it? Deadset?’

  Kelvin frowns, puts his hands on his hips. ‘I don’t know. It’s actually a pretty cool idea, but I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s not for real, obviously,’ I add, ‘but I think it would mean a whole lot to them.’ I point to the small stage area of the marquee. ‘Check it out – it’s like they put this together just for us. We have to do this!’

  Kelvin looks me up and down and whistles. ‘Check you out. You’re certainly fired up. Where’s this coming from? Is it because of Shah? You think you have to make up for that somehow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll say it again, mate. It wasn’t your fault. You shouldn’t feel bad.’

  ‘This isn’t about what happened earlier, Kelvin. This isn’t about feeling bad. This is about doing good.’

  You don’t give a crap about them.

  This is all about you.

  ‘These guys can have the moment they’ve dreamt about, a moment they deserve. Right here, right now.’

  Kelvin considers the
team, spread throughout the courtyard. They’re swinging on the gates, pointing at the tower, surrendering to finger-guns. Iggy mentions to Florence that he feels safe – a bad guy wouldn’t dare follow us here. Bernie says Shah would’ve liked learning about the riot that happened in 1988.

  ‘You know what the deal is, don’t you?’ says Kelvin.

  ‘I do. Blake and Dale have to agree to it.’

  ‘That’s right. And if they’re good, this stays in the group. Everyone has to understand that. Photos have to be on Blake’s and Dale’s devices – no one else’s. No video, and that includes yours truly. This is private, not for sharing on social media.’

  ‘Agree totally.’

  Kelvin smiles and snaps his fingers. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go find out if we’re having a wedding today.’

  Bernie blinks several times, then opens her hands.

  ‘Okay, we don’t have long. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve seen lots of movies.’ She claps once, then commences. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today at this prison to celebrate the pretend marriage of Blake and Dale. If anyone knows why these two lovebirds should not be joined in pretend marriage, speak now or forever shut your gob.’

  The wedding party – best man Iggy, bridesmaid Florence, and the happy couple – looks towards the assembled audience: Kelvin, myself and the Boggo Road Gaol tour guide.

  ‘We’re good,’ I say, giving a thumbs-up.

  Bernie rolls her shoulders. ‘Okay. So, I know the two of you have had wedding vows prepared for ages, in case you ever had the chance to say them. Well, here we are. Blake, would you like to start?’

  Blake takes the iPad from the groom’s hands. She fills her lungs, exhales, then waves a hand in front of her eyes, warding off the tears. ‘Dale, I take you to be my guy, to hug and to kiss on this day and all the other days after that. I promise not to laugh too loud, or complain too much when you watch Totally Wild, or sneak swear words into your voice program. I promise to listen to you and respect you and support you and love you. Most of all, I promise to live as your girl, now and forever.’