Exchange of Heart

by Darren Groth

  Kelvin wipes his hands, steps back and surveys his handiwork. ‘I had a feeling you might say that.’

  The panel is done.

  The votes are in.

  Unlike my interview a lifetime ago, there’s no Streets Blue Ribbon Neapolitan ice-cream tub as ballot box. The residents agreed that the results didn’t have to be kept secret. I think it was a show of respect to Dale. Everyone understands that if there’s going to be a ‘no’ it’ll be from him, and nobody will hold it against him. Me, least of all.

  Kelvin claps his hands. ‘Okay, looks like the people have spoken. Let’s see what they said. As discussed, the question was: Do you want Munro to stay? You needed to write down your response so it’s on record. Each person will have a chance to share their response. You can show what you wrote, too, if you like. You can add a brief comment, say why you voted the way you did. Keep it short … Bernie, I’m looking at you.’

  He pauses, fixing his gaze on me for a few seconds. I barely notice. My focus is on Dale. He’s on his iPad, as he has been since he arrived. He hasn’t spoken or made eye contact. From the bleeps and bloops coming from the device, I think he’s playing a game. Kelvin continues.

  ‘If there is a “no” vote cast this morning, Munro has assured me he will allow enough time to say goodbye. Righto, that’s it for the gasbagging. Flo, how about you go first.’

  Florence shows the group what she’s scribbled. It sort of looks like a little anchor and hook.

  ‘You think Munro should go fishing?’

  She looks at Kelvin like he could be used as bait. ‘This is Japanese. It says “hai”, which means “yes”. Munro should stay so I can keep usin’ him in my class demos.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Flo. I’m sure he’s looking forward to the next one. Iggy, you’re up.’

  Iggy pulls his shoulders back and flips his card. He’s done a drawing – a from-behind view of a superhero standing legs apart, one hand on his hip, the other giving a raised thumb. On his cape is the word ‘YES’, surrounded by stars.

  ‘Infecto will reveal himself to the world soon. Munro, you have to be here for it!’

  ‘Nice piccie, Ig. Two “yes” votes. Bernadette?’

  Bernie blinks twice and snaps her fingers. ‘I vote “yes”, mostly because Munro is a great Living Partner and a very good friend and I want to see his face many more times before his exchange is finished and he truly has to leave. I also want him to help me design some more caps – ones that might appeal to Canadians.’

  Kelvin does a double-take. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Wow, regardless of the outcome, we’ve achieved a little history this morning. Bernie ended a speech before our ears fell off.’

  ‘You’re such a goose, Kelvin.’

  ‘You can put that on a cap for me. Well, that just leaves … Dale. Over to you, pal.’

  Dale rises. He keeps his head down, continues his scrutiny of the iPad. I can’t tell what he’s feeling right now. It’d better not be guilt. No guilt allowed, bud. You’ve got nothing to feel bad about. He presses down on the volume button, increasing it to somewhere near max. His fingers begin to skitter along the screen.

  ‘This vote is a combined one. From me and Blake.’

  There’s a gasp from the panel. Dale, his gaze still averted, waits for any hint of dissent. We’re all too stunned to process, let alone protest.

  Kelvin steps forward, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. ‘Mate, you’re saying this is how Blake would’ve voted if she was here?’

  Fingers dance. ‘She is here.’

  I pivot to face the Rec Refuge entrance, genuinely hoping to see a dramatic, movie-like reveal. The door stays shut.

  ‘After Morning Connections I messaged Blake on Facebook. Told her about the vote. She wanted in. She snuck onto a computer at her house. She’s waiting for me to let her know what happened.’

  Kelvin shrugs. ‘I guess if nobody has any objections …’

  Dale comes around the table, stopping arm’s distance in front of me. He’s wearing a new shirt – a yellow polo with the Billabong wave on the pocket. Fitting – a wave for a goodbye. Still no eye contact. Maybe it’s for the best.

  He taps the screen and the iPad voice says, ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today at the Rec Refuge to decide if Munro Maddux – Canadian citizen, high-school exchange student, Living Partner and the dude responsible for the Boggo Road wedding – should never come back to Fair Go. If anyone knows why Munro should be allowed to stay without this vote being shown, speak now or forever shut your gob.’

  Bernie shoots her hand into the air. Kelvin scurries over, has a quiet word in her ear. She lowers her hand.

  ‘Munro, do you take Fair Go to still be your home away from home? Do you promise to continue assisting with our projects and finish the Straya Tour and help us get better at floor hockey? Do you promise to be the best “brother” to us you can be, even though you will return to Vancouver for real at the end of August? Do you promise to bring Caro back here before you go because we really like her and we think you would make an excellent couple? And, most of all, do you promise to never, ever, EVER feel bad about giving Blake and Dale their once-in-a-lifetime chance to be together, now and forever?’

  He lifts his head and stares at me, bushy eyebrows arched, tongue buried in his cheek. His hand yaps – a gesture for me to respond.

  ‘I … do?’

  ‘By the power vested in me, I now pronounce the vote of Blake and Dale to be “yes”. You may now shake my hand.’

  I hesitate, unsure of what’s happening. Dale pulls me into a bear hug. The others cheer and applaud and bang on the table. He releases me while I splutter the only words in my jumbled brain that haven’t been mown down by lightning-speed shock.

  ‘Dale … you and Blake … You aren’t together.’

  He scoffs. ‘Of course we are! Okay, my girl doesn’t live here any more and that makes me sad sometimes, but that doesn’t change what we said to each other at Boggo Road. It doesn’t change us.’

  ‘But her dad … he doesn’t want Blake to see you any more.’

  ‘Fuck that guy.’

  A new round of cheers and table-banging. Dale turns to them and raises the roof.

  ‘He can’t stop us being together forever.’ Dale points to his chest. ‘He can’t stop this.’

  ‘No, he can’t.’

  ‘Word. By the way, do you have something in your eye, Munro Maddux?’

  ‘It’s a bit dusty in here.’

  Dale shows me the iPad screen. Blake’s Facebook DM is up. There are more raised thumbs and happy faces and love hearts than I can count.

  ‘Righto then,’ announces Kelvin. ‘It appears we have a unanimous verdict. Now, finish this sentence, Kid Canuck. Sometimes, Life –’

  ‘Takes on a life of its own,’ I reply, the words rolling off my tongue.

  Caro is sitting on the kerb by the Fair Go entrance.

  I drop my bag on the dry grass and sit next to her as the sun slips behind a bank of dark clouds in the west. A flash of far-off sheet lightning triggers a low, lazy grumble of thunder. It prompts a memory. There was a downpour the night we rode together in the taxi. Stormy weather at the beginning and at the end.

  Only, this isn’t the end.

  ‘Just before Evie died, I was teaching her to ride a bike,’ I begin. ‘I’d put my left hand over hers on the handlebar and my right on the back of her seat. She’d push on the pedals and I’d run beside her, keeping a firm grip, ready to squeeze the brake if she went too fast. Evie always complained: I can do this! I can stay up by myself! Stop holding on to me, Munro! Let go! Soon, I’d say. Just a little more time. And I’d grip the handlebar and the seat a bit tighter. I suspect she was right. She could’ve ridden on her own. But she never did.’

  I lie back on the grass, bringing my hands behind my head. A wide, black blanket of fruit bats arc through the dusky sky. Caro stays seated, cross-legged, facing me.

&
nbsp; ‘When Evie collapsed, I let go of her. She was walking beside me, holding my right hand, then – boom! – she dropped like a stack of bricks. I held on for a second, maybe two. I was afraid of falling on top of her, hurting her – that’s the lie I told myself afterwards. For a while, anyway. Later, I wondered if letting go meant I couldn’t revive her. Did I break some crucial connection we had? If I’d stayed with her the whole way down, would that connection have been saved? Would her life have been saved? I’ve told Evie I’m sorry so many times. I’m sorry I let you go. She never answers.’

  Tears spill from the corners of my eyes and scoot towards the dry ground. Caro’s shadow sways and quivers across my upper body.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever totally get over it. But I think I’m ready to get through it.’ I sit up. ‘Can you get over me ditching on Vaccination Day?’

  She laughs. ‘I have to – you know what an ugly crier I am now. Not a good look for a kick-arse lawyer.’

  ‘By the way,’ I add, ‘forget the closing argument for my goodbye. I’m not going home now. I’m staying. Till the end of the exchange.’

  Caro is perfectly still for a moment, then she launches herself at me. We roll around and grab at each other, the baked grass crunching beneath our bodies. We kiss. Somewhere in the tangle, my right hand takes hold of hers.

  On the horizon, thunder pounds, like a single, long, strong heartbeat.

  When I knock on the Hydes’ front door, all three answer.

  ‘Omigod, Munro,’ says Nina, wrapping around me with Kraken-like limbs. ‘I’m so glad you’re back. We were worried, not frantic – we knew where you were – but still worried. Why didn’t you use your key to get in? Did you lose it? What happened to your hand? Are you hurt? Do we need to take you to the doctor? Geordie, call Doctor Hallinan. Are you staying here now? Or are you staying at Fair Go for a bit? We want you here, but we understand if you need more time. Geordie can drive you there.’

  ‘Other Mother,’ I reply, ‘that’s a lot to take in. I think “I’m here and I’m good” probably covers everything.’

  The trio shepherds me into the kitchen. Nina, Geordie and I sit on the stools. Rowan hoists himself onto the island.

  ‘Row showed us your text,’ says Geordie. ‘We’re rapt you’re not going home just yet, mate.’

  ‘You sure about that? I lied to you guys. I sneaked around behind your backs. I made your son an accessory.’

  ‘No doubt you had to twist his arm.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you called it quits. Honestly.’

  Geordie pats the left side of his chest. ‘We’re not pulling up stumps, but we do expect a medal for our bravery.’

  ‘You deserve one.’

  ‘The look you’ve got on your face right now, champ … that’s enough.’

  ‘I’m going to make a pav tonight to celebrate that look,’ adds Rowan.

  I feel heat in my cheeks and forehead. ‘Thank you. You guys are amazing. There hasn’t been much to celebrate up to this point, but I’m going to be at my best from now on.’ I drape an arm over each Hyde parent and draw them close. ‘How do you feel about having a perfect exchange student the rest of the way? It’ll be just like a video on the YOLO website. Let’s call it No More Down Underachiever.’

  My bedroom. Minus last night, my place of rest for the past hundred days. My place of rest for the next hundred.

  Mr Koala is still beside the alarm clock. He didn’t move during my absence. Clearly, he wasn’t concerned. He knew I’d be back. And he kept himself busy with the job he was assigned to do. I give him a small salute, then pick him up in my left hand. With my right, I lift the black pawn from his grip.

  I unzip the top pocket of my empty suitcase. Evie’s ruby-red ribbon – tied to the handle when I made the trip over – is coiled so it looks like a tiny nest. I drop the chess piece in and zip the pocket.

  You’re not going home after all, Munro.

  Not today, Coyote. Not tomorrow.

  You’re here for the whole exchange.

  I am.

  Then you go home.

  Then I go home. Me.

  Is this where we part ways? Where we say goodbye?

  I think it is.

  Munro?

  Yes?

  Your father was right.

  About what?

  Evie wanted you by her side. At the end.

  THE LAST TIME

  Familiar landmarks rush by. Houses on stilts. Beer billboards. The golf course. An abandoned trailer. Coal cars covered in graffiti. I can almost close my eyes and know where I am and what comes next. Forget what comes next – I want to be in this moment for as long as possible.

  ‘We’ve sold over two hundred now.’

  I turn away from the window. ‘Sorry?’

  Caro taps the E-LIFE button on her purse. ‘Two hundred and seventeen sold, to be exact. In just four weeks.’

  ‘Wow. That’s amazing. You’re amazing.’

  ‘It’s not just me, Munro.’

  ‘I know, I know. Renee and Maeve and Digger are amazing, too.’

  ‘You forgot about Rowan.’

  ‘He’s an asshole.’

  ‘Munro!’

  ‘Kidding!’

  Caro gives me a small shove and worms an arm around my elbow. ‘Dig’s going to ask Jessica Mauboy to the semi-formal tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘He figures five months’ notice is more than enough.’

  ‘I guess. Is there still a whole thing planned for it?’

  Caro nods. ‘After he sends the tweet, we’re all going to watch a movie together. Forgetting Sarah Marshall or She’s Out of My League. One of those. Rowan’s going to cook us all dinner.’ Caro arches an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to come?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I don’t want you doing it just for me.’

  I laugh. ‘Full of yourself, aren’t you, Ms Wakefield? I’ll be there on behalf of the Foundation, to say thank you to the gang for all their hard work. And She’s Out of My League just happens to be my favourite film of all time.’

  ‘Oh, really? It’s knocked Mad Max: Fury Road out of number one?’

  ‘She’s Out of My League has better stunts.’

  Caro bursts out laughing. She snuggles up to my shoulder as I tune back in to the Brisbane landscape coasting past the window. Wooden fences. Rugby fields. A car repair shop called Dent Doctor.

  ‘I think you’re going to miss riding this train when you go home, Munro.’

  I note the glum look accompanying the words. ‘Hey, it’s only June. There’s still two and a half months left. That’s a lifetime.’

  ‘Lifetimes go quick.’

  ‘Not always.’

  ‘You think we’ll stay together when this lifetime is over?’

  ‘Why not? Thunder always follows lightning.’

  ‘I thought I was the lightning?’

  ‘Nah, you’re the thunder. From Down Under.’

  Caro rolls her eyes and pretend gags. ‘One monthiversary,’ she says. ‘Doesn’t feel like we’ve been going out for that long. Feels a lot longer.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘I’ve booked us in to a great place tonight. Liber8. Top atmosphere, really chill. You’re gonna love it.’

  I remove Caro’s smirk with a tickling barrage. She squeals and bucks and threatens to use the Kookaburra Laugh on me. She doesn’t get the chance – the train starts slowing down and the automated PA message tells us our stop is next.

  Kelvin hands me a present. I tear open the wrapping.

  ‘The official Munro Maddux Straya Tour DVD and T-shirt,’ he says. ‘It’s not what we’re putting up on the site. This is a special director’s cut, just for you. About fifteen minutes long.’

  I hand the DVD to Caro and examine the shirt. All the tour dates and destinations are printed on the back, twelve stops in total. Bribie Island figures twice. Boggo Road is there.

  ‘Want to watch the video?’
>
  ‘Have we got time?’

  ‘We have. The guys aren’t looking to get started just yet.’

  The title hits the TV screen and the first frames show the bus door opening wide. Kelvin, sitting in the driver’s seat, turns to the camera and points. ‘Munro Maddux … This is for you, from all of us!’

  Footage rolls, starting with the trip to South Bank, followed by snippets from the rest of the tour. Expected moments of awesomeness dominate – Flo-jitsu lessons, SNAP reminders, sketchbook scribbling – but there are surprises, too. Long wigs mimicking my hair. A Three Things I Love About My Living Partner survey. Karaoke of ‘O Canada’. Discussion about who would win a fight between me and Justin Bieber (I’m the unanimous pick). Then there are the gut-punchers. Dale and Blake at the beach, her head on his shoulder. Shah sleeping on the bus, soccer ball in his lap. All the action is paced by Aussie music from Kelvin’s bus playlists – Tame Impala, Hilltop Hoods, Dick Diver, Alison Wonderland, Daniel Johns.

  Despite several chin wobbles and breath catches, I manage to keep it together. Caro doesn’t even try. She sniffs and sighs and fusses with her eyes from the first image to the last. Fair Go has found a little corner of her heart as well. I’m guessing she’ll keep coming here after I leave.

  ‘What’d you think of that?’ asks Kelvin, replacing the DVD in its case.

  ‘Loved every second.’

  ‘Favourite moments?’

  ‘All the shots of me walking side by side with the guys.’

  ‘Nice. Anything you would like to have seen that wasn’t on there?’

  I exhale hard. ‘The wedding. The games of checkess.’

  Kelvin nods. ‘You want to leave this stuff here until you go?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Righto, then!’ Kelvin claps his hands. ‘Let’s see what these guys have planned for you, young fella!’

  ‘We wanted to party,’ says Bernie, straddling The Shed’s closest sideline, ‘because the Straya Tour is finished, and because this is the last time we’ll be together like this.’