by Sean Kennedy
“Why do I feel so nervous?” Emma asked, wiping her hands down her skirt.
“Because we’re lucky. I mean, we’re out here, not in there.”
“Do you feel as ashamed of that as I do?”
Micah was glad to hear somebody else voice that. “I think so, yeah. But I think I’m more ashamed of the fact that I feel like it could just as easily be me, but I’m so glad it isn’t.”
“Yes,” Emma said. “That’s it, exactly. I hate thinking like that. But I guess anybody would think it, right?”
“I think they’d be lying if they said they didn’t.”
The door flew open, and they both jumped. A man who appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties stared at them. “Can I help you?” He looked back into the room, then closed the door behind himself so they wouldn’t be heard.
“Are you Will’s father?” Emma asked, before Micah could stop her. He had met Mr. Deanes; this was most definitely not him. He looked like he had a soul, for one thing.
The guy scowled at the comparison. “No. I’m Will’s uncle.”
“Oh good, I’m glad he’s got family here,” Micah said, offering his hand to shake.
Will’s uncle did so, and then turned to Emma to do the same. “The only one, I’m afraid. I’m Henry.”
“Will’s dad still hasn’t come?” Emma asked, even though it was obvious.
Henry shook his head.
“Does he know?”
“Of course he knows!” Henry winced apologetically at his own tone. “Sorry. He’s just an arsehole. I wish Will’s mother was still with us; maybe she could have made him come to his senses. My sister was much more progressive. I guess she had to be, having me as a brother. Pat probably blames me for Will being gay, thinking it’s genetics from our side of the family or some shit.” He was ranting like Simon in full mode; his brain probably wasn’t even alert enough to register it.
Micah was gradually putting the pieces together. Will’s gay uncle was his only support once he came out. And Will probably thought he was lucky even just to have him, seeing his father gave up so easily.
Emma introduced herself properly, and Micah realised they hadn’t even thought of doing so until now.
“And I’m Micah Johnson.”
“Oh, you’re Micah?” Henry looked surprised. “Wow, it’s really good of you to come. You and Will had all that trouble last year, didn’t you?”
Micah flushed. He hadn’t even thought it was a possibility Henry could have been told all of that. “It was a bunch of misunderstandings and miscommunications.”
Henry snorted. “Will’s told me the whole story. You’re being nice about it. He bullied you and knocked you out.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Micah said, feeling the spotlight burning upon his skin.
“Believe me, I gave him plenty of shit at the time. Until he told me he was gay too.” Henry sighed. “But no wonder, with his dad being the way he was.”
Micah was eager to get past this part of the story. “Well, it’s all history now.”
Impatient, Emma broke in. “Can we see him, rather than experience The Micah Johnson Story all over again?”
It was the perfect tension breaker. It gave them the opportunity to laugh, and Henry took in a deep breath. “Fuck it feels good to do that. I don’t think I’ve done anything but cry all week. And Will? Let’s just say he’s in denial. In his mind he thinks the doctors are wrong and he’ll be playing for the Roos by the end of the year.”
“I can believe that,” Emma said, while Micah blanched and said, “The Roos? Really?”
Emma glared at him. “I don’t think that’s the relevant part of that sentence.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Anyway,” Henry said, a smile still playing on his lips. “I’ll go and have a coffee and some breakfast and give you guys some privacy.”
They thanked him, and were left alone at the door. Once again, it took on the visage of an unforgiving monolith.
“Let’s do this,” Emma said, sounding more confident than she looked.
“You first,” Micah said.
Emma rolled her eyes. “You’d be the guy in the horror film who sends the girl into the basement alone.”
“Survival is the goal. But you’re not alone. I’m right behind you.”
Micah couldn’t even look at the bed when they first entered the room. He was immediately assaulted by the sound of machines beeping as they kept watch over Will, monitoring his every rhythm and maintaining his oxygen. They looked steady, or at least how “steady” was depicted on TV shows. Finally Micah looked at the boy in the bed.
It barely even looked like Will. Micah had last seen him on the field at a GetOut training session, and there was such a difference in him now. The tall, lithe boy Will Deanes had been now looked shrunken, supported in a medical sling to keep the weight off his back. Bandages still covered half his face from injuries caused by the accident. In fact, there was very little of his body that wasn’t bandaged or trussed up in some way. They served to make him look smaller than he was. Whereas Micah had grown and filled out since last December, Will seemed lost within the paraphernalia engulfing him.
“I think he’s asleep,” Micah whispered, even though he really couldn’t be sure.
Although his eyes wouldn’t open, Will asked in a raspy voice, “Who’s there?”
Emma looked at Micah, biting her lip, before moving around the side of the bed so he could hear her more easily. “Will, it’s Emma.”
“Emma?”
“Yep. I’m here with Micah.”
“Micah?”
“I think there’s an echo in the room, Emma,” Micah said, and immediately winced at his inability to be serious even when the situation demanded it. It was rote behaviour, and it was something else he had to work on. Add it to the list.
Will released a deep breath, which Micah thought was meant to be a laugh considering what he said next. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely Micah Johnson.”
“Mate, how are you?” Micah asked.
“Great starter question, Micah, seriously,” Emma huffed. She glared at him from the opposite side of the bed. “Why don’t you ask to take him for a walk next?”
Micah felt like pointing out that her berating of him was actually as insensitive as he was perceived to have just been, but the last thing Will needed was a war erupting over his prone body.
“It’s a fair question, actually,” Will mumbled. “I’m pretty fucked.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said, and Micah hoped she would keep holding it together.
“How are you guys?” He slurred the last word, and Micah hoped his meds were still working okay.
“Talk about your stupid questions,” Micah said, and he looked for a patch of bare skin to lay his hand upon. Will didn’t even feel warm; his skin was cool and clammy. “Don’t worry about us. That’s not hurting you, is it?”
“I can’t feel anything,” Will said. “In fact, I can’t feel much of anything right now.”
Mirroring Micah’s actions, Emma found her own patch of skin on Will’s other arm and stroked it gently.
“Can’t believe you guys are here.” Will snuffled, and Micah realised with alarm that he was crying.
“Will, don’t,” Emma said, and the floodgates were opened with her as well.
Micah felt his own eyes start to prick with tears, and he blinked them away furiously. Someone had to try and keep it together. But a sniff betrayed him, and Emma shot a surprised look at him—as if she finally realised this was truly affecting him too.
“My dad won’t come and see me,” Will said, “but you guys came from out of state. This is so fucked.”
Micah wanted to cover more of Will’s skin in an effort to console him. He had an absurd vision of stripping Will of his bandages and his own clothes, and lying upon him in order to make him feel close to someone again. It wasn’t a sexual thing, it was a bizarre nurturing fantasy that confused him. He didn’
t even know what part of Will he could touch without hurting him further. All he could do was hold onto that small stretch of arm and say, “Of course we would come, Will. We’re your friends.”
“We’re acquaintances at best,” Will said. He wasn’t being snarky, Micah could tell. He just seemed overwhelmed.
“Hey, we’re all GetOut kids,” Emma reminded him. “We stick together. Even those of us who aren’t there anymore.”
“Oh God, Will, stop her,” Micah said. “She’ll have us singing next.”
Will gave an approximation of a chuckle. The tears seemed to have stopped, for now, at least. “I can’t exactly shake it off right now, Taylor Swift.”
“You’re being very brave, Will,” Emma said. “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”
Micah knew it was because there was nothing else he could do. He was in that bed for the foreseeable future, and he had to deal or go crazy. Micah didn’t know if he could be that strong himself.
But Will’s answer was different, and just as obvious. “Because I’m pretending it’s not real.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that it made his whole situation seem even worse.
“But you’re going to have to—” Emma started, and he cut her off.
“I know. But just not today. Or maybe even this week.” His words slurred a little again, and he appeared to be falling asleep.
Henry entered, a takeaway coffee in hand. He noticed the state of Will and said, “He drifts in and out a lot. He’ll probably be out of it for at least half an hour.”
“I’ll be back before I leave Sunday,” Micah told him.
“Me too,” added Emma.
“I’d really appreciate that,” Henry said, looking at them with a kindness that Micah felt they—or, most likely, just him—didn’t really deserve. “And I know Will does too. He has another operation next week, and he’s dreading it.”
“So soon?” Micah asked.
“It’s really just one of many. He’s got a long road ahead of him, poor kid.”
They loaded their numbers into Henry’s phone so he could keep them up to date with any progress. But as they walked away they still didn’t feel they had done enough.
Emma, especially, was brooding. “Poor Will. All he has is his uncle.”
“At least he has Henry.”
“I just hope things start… I don’t know, improving? Seems too mild a word.”
He knew what she meant. “We’ll think of something to try and help them.”
“Us to the rescue? He would have to be desperate.”
But it didn’t need to be said that things were pretty desperate.
Chapter 12
MICAH WENT straight from the hospital to training. He really didn’t want to go home and get a concerned and worried third degree about Will from his parents. He texted Dec to let him know he and Emma had been to the hospital, although he knew Emma would have done the same.
We’re going in later this arvo, came Declan’s reply. Good luck with training today. Try not to let it affect the game.
Yeah, nothing could ever affect the game.
It was easier said than done, but Micah knew Declan had had to go into many games himself with the same attitude, even when his personal life was falling apart. Once again it seemed selfish to worry about himself when Will was the one truly suffering, but Micah also had to admit he was feeling like shit. Every step from the car park to the players’ entrance of the Etihad Stadium felt like he was walking in wet concrete. And his head was starting to pound to the rhythm as well.
His team members were spread out over the oval, sorted out into small groups that were testing each other with tackles or handballs or short kicks. Micah stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, when Sam waved him over to his group.
Sam came to meet him, a small distance away from the rest of the group so he wouldn’t be overheard. “How did it go?”
“Pretty fucking awful.”
“I bet. But how are you?”
“Just wanna train. Don’t want to think.”
Sam regarded him for a long moment as if he wanted to say something else, but he nodded. “Okay. We can do that.”
Micah started stretching, and pretty much remained silent the rest of the day.
DINNER WAS torturous; his parents kept giving him worried looks but he rebuffed any chance of conversation about Will, telling them only that it was looking pretty bad but at least Will was lucid and able to joke a little. He and Emma continued to text each other throughout the night, only causing themselves more misery and ending with plans to meet each other at the hospital again after Micah’s game. Micah also knew Dec was commentating the game tomorrow, and dreaded the thought of probably having to rehash every little thing about Will again.
Sleep didn’t come easy, but he finally did so early in the morning and could have cried when the alarm went off what felt like only moments later.
By the time he was out of the shower he had already missed some messages on his phone—Emma, Dec, Simon, Fran, and Carl all wishing him luck at the game today. He was heartened by the fact that he had that many people who cared about him, but it reminded him of Will in his hospital room—which would seem pretty empty with only his uncle for company. Or maybe he was just talking himself up—Will surely had other friends. His football team must be looking after him. And then there was him and Emma, Simon and Dec, and probably other members of GetOut—he was sure there were other people who cared about Will. But it didn’t seem to matter that much when the one person Will wanted to see wouldn’t turn up.
Even though Micah and Emma were trying to dream up plans about how to help Will, they knew they wouldn’t be able to give Will the one thing he wanted.
Or could they?
“I DON’T know, Micah,” Emma said, when he called her the next morning.
Micah stretched his foot out in the air above his head, his mobile on speaker so he could hear her response, feeling the burn. It was only hours away from the game. He had slept like shit, and caffeine wasn’t helping. He was already doing some stretches in preparation for the match, even though he would be doing them under supervision at the stadium anyway. It never hurt to do a little bit extra.
“All I want to do is try,” Micah said. “At least if we try, we know we did it. It’s better than thinking maybe we could have, and regretting it.”
“I just hope you’re not expecting some big movie moment where he comes to his senses and begs forgiveness for everything he’s done,” Emma said.
“And then some teary reunion? You’re talking to me, remember.”
“I know. I just think it’ll be a waste of time, and you don’t have that right now as you have to be at Etihad in a couple of hours.”
“I can’t concentrate, Em. I’m going stir crazy. I need to do this.”
“And what if it fucks up your zone before the game?” she asked.
“My zone?” He couldn’t help but be amused.
“Yeah, smart arse. Your focus. Whatever. It could really throw you off if it goes badly.”
“My zone is already fucked. It couldn’t get worse.”
She snorted. “Never say never.”
“Aren’t we cynical this morning?”
“I feel like cynicism is earned at the moment.”
She sounded as tired as he did. “I know,” he said. “But maybe this will help.”
“If you say so.” She obviously wasn’t convinced. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen.”
MICAH PACKED his footy gear so Emma could drop him off in town for the game afterwards. She gave a wolf-whistle when she noticed, and he was pleased to see her looking a little more cheerful than she was the day before.
“You’re meant to whistle at me when I’m actually wearing my footy shorts,” he told her, throwing the bag onto the back seat.
“I’ve seen your hairy legs before,” Emma said. “I’m going by memory.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” he said as they dro
ve off.
“No worries. I love lost causes. It’s why—”
“You’re my friend,” Micah finished for her.
“Wow, I’m becoming really obvious.”
“You always were,” he said, fondly.
Thankfully, she laughed.
The rest of the car trip was spent in silence, although not an uncomfortable one. They were both dreading the task that lay ahead. They had no way of knowing how Mr. Deanes would take to them appearing on his doorstep. Micah, especially, as he was the epitome of everything Will’s dad despised—not to mention he would probably think Micah partly responsible for his son’s conversion to the dark side and subsequent estrangement from him.
In all actuality, it was only a few minutes before they reached the Deanes house. Will had only lived on the other side of the same suburb as Micah. Micah had never been to his house, so was surprised at the size of it. With only Will and his dad living in it, it must have been a pretty isolating atmosphere. Even more so now Mr. Deanes was living alone within it.
“Wow,” Emma said. “I feel about a thousand times more nervous now.”
“A million,” Micah breathed.
“Is it wrong to hope he isn’t home?”
“He is,” Micah told her. “Or, at least, he was twenty minutes ago.”
“Do I want to know?”
“I rang his landline. He answered.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I hung up, of course!”
“It’s not going to take much for him to put two and two together, then.” Emma threw open her door. “Oh well. Let’s get this over and done with.”
Micah followed her up the small path leading to the front door. Emma knocked upon it briskly, as if she were a guest invited to a barbecue. Micah hoped they weren’t going to be the ones put upon the grill.
The door opened, and Micah was surprised at the man who appeared behind it. Mr. Deanes seemed to have aged five years in the months since he last saw him. That was probably due to the fact he was unshaven and dressed in clothes for downtime at home, but Micah also suspected there was more to it. He also wasn’t expecting Mr. Deanes to remember him as they had only met for about five minutes, but he had forgotten how visible he had become to the public in the time since.
