Dreamrider

by Barry Jonsberg

  ‘I’ve decided to go to the Social, Mr Atkins.’

  ‘Have you indeed? That is excellent news, Michael.’ He looked like he meant it. ‘I’m sure you’ll have a splendid time. See me tomorrow at Home Group and I’ll sell you a ticket. Ten dollars. A paltry sum that represents stupendous value in this financially stricken time.’

  Jamie had bought a carton of iced coffee. He was leaning up against the canteen wall, watching us. I glanced at my watch. Only five minutes of recess left. It was easier to stay where I was.

  ‘Mr Atkins?’ I said. ‘ You’re a magician. I know the thing with the coin is only a trick but . . . well, do you believe in magic? Real magic?’ I felt dumb as soon as I asked the question, but Mr Atkins seemed to consider it seriously.

  ‘Real magic, Michael? Well, I suppose we’d have to be careful with our definitions of “real” and “magic”, would we not? What is your opinion?’

  ‘I believe that what some people think is impossible can happen.’

  Mr Atkins scratched his nose.

  ‘Indeed. Imagine if someone from two hundred years ago appeared today. Wouldn’t the things we take for granted – the motor car, electricity, computers, television, to name a few – appear magical to such a time-traveller? They would be beyond that person’s imaginings. So too, if we were to go forward a couple of hundred years. What wonders would we witness, what magic beyond our comprehension? Yet, do you know something, Michael? What interests me most is the small magic all around us and unacknowledged.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh, the occasional line in a Year 9 imaginative essay, a flash of kindness in an otherwise brutalised heart, a shy boy who decides to go to a Year 10 Social. These are wonders in themselves, don’t you think?’

  He smiled. I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed there was less pain behind his eyes. I wondered if he had gone home last night, found magic in a woman’s face and voice and eyes. I couldn’t ask, but I needed to know badly.

  The bell rang and I went to English. There was no trouble in that class or in SOSE. Small magic, as Mr Atkins might say. At lunch I went straight to the canteen and bought a burger with the lot – egg, bacon, cheese – and a chocolate milkshake. I ignored the snide comments around me. As soon as I was served, I went off to my tree. I sat at its base, facing the oval. I didn’t hear or see Martin until he sat down beside me and pulled out a sandwich. We sat together in silence. Eventually, he finished eating, brushed crumbs from his lap and leaned back against the tree, his head close to mine. Throughout the conversation, he didn’t look at me. Not once.

  ‘So, Michael,’ he said. ‘I never got an answer. What are you planning to wear to the Social?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied.

  ‘It’s tricky, isn’t it? I mean, there are so many obvious costumes. Freddy Krueger, Dracula. But we want to be original, don’t we? We are not the kind of people to settle for the clichéd. I’m still thinking it through.’

  I kept quiet.

  Martin brushed a few remaining crumbs from his mouth.

  ‘She’s a lovely woman, your step-mum. We had a good chat. She’s hoping we can become good mates. Isn’t that sad? I don’t suppose you’ve made too many friends in your previous schools, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think so. But you know what? I feel sure we are going to be mates. Seriously. I reckon we’ve got a bond between us. Come on. Be honest. Don’t you think there’s some truth in that?’

  And the strange thing was, I could almost agree with him. I glanced at Martin from the corner of my eyes. Leah was right. He was good looking and confident, as if aware of the power of his attractiveness and comfortable using it. He was exactly the kind of person I would have liked to be, if you took away his cruelty. Comfortable in his own skin. And there was some similarity between us. No one else might have noticed, but I did. It was as if we were linked in some way. Two sides of Mr Atkins’s coin, two sides of the same material, but completely different.

  ‘You’re playing games,’ I said. ‘You want to hurt me.’

  He rubbed his chin.

  ‘Well, I can understand you coming to that conclusion, Michael. I mean, I have to be honest here. The only interaction we have had so far has been unpleasant for you. I acknowledge that. But who knows about the future? Maybe we’ll be like those people you see in the movies. Once we’ve had a big dust-up, fought like animals, we’ll become friends. You know, a fight might cement our friendship.’

  I said nothing and he chuckled.

  ‘The thought’s occurred to you, hasn’t it, Michael?’ he continued. ‘It’s almost like I can read your mind, that we are on the same wavelength. Promising for a future friendship, don’t you think?’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Well, I think so,’ he continued. ‘I’m optimistic about our relationship.’

  He got up and brushed off his pants. He moved a few steps away, then turned towards me for the first time.

  ‘Oh, and by the way, Michael. Don’t worry about Jamie Archer. He’s a loser. A wannabe tough guy. The scariest thing about him is his lack of originality. You’ve coped with dropkicks like him, I’m sure. But, if you want, I’ll give you a hand. I couldn’t bear the idea that, in some way, he’d be detracting attention from me. ’Cos it’s all about us, Michael. You know that, don’t you? Give it some thought. And just let me know if you need help sorting him out.’

  He wandered off to a group of boys playing footy. In a few moments he had disappeared into the ruck of players. I still had most of my burger left. It was cold and there were globs of congealed grease on the edges. I didn’t feel hungry anymore. But I ate it anyway.

  During the last lesson of the day, I got a message that Miss Palmer wanted to see me straight after school. I worried about missing Leah. We’d arranged to meet at reception immediately after classes. I could only hope the meeting with Miss Palmer wouldn’t take too long and that Leah would wait.

  When the bell went I rushed down to Miss Palmer’s office and knocked on the door. She opened it slightly and gave me a quick smile.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Michael. I’ll be with you in a few moments. Take a seat, please.’

  I sat in one of the four chairs against the wall outside her office. I checked my watch. It was ironic. The one day I wanted to get away on time was the one day I couldn’t. Normally I’d be fine about sitting around after school. Time’s not important if you haven’t got a life.

  I didn’t have to wait long. After a few minutes Miss Palmer opened the door and ushered out a couple of adults. They shook her hand and thanked her for her time. I stood up. Miss Palmer waved them down the corridor and then turned to me.

  ‘Michael, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in.’

  I stepped into her office and sat in one of the visitors chairs. It was still warm. Miss Palmer sat behind her desk and studied me carefully. My eyes found the poster over her shoulder.

  ‘Michael. I spoke to Mrs Bowyer earlier today.’ She paused as if to check my reaction. I continued staring at the poster. It was advertising a children’s help line. I didn’t know who Mrs Bowyer was. I figured Miss Palmer would tell me and she did.

  ‘The Assistant Principal in your last school in Northern Queensland. I rang her.’

  I remembered then. A huge woman with a moustache. She was also going bald. You could see a large area of her scalp just above her right ear. The kids gave her heaps about it. She hadn’t liked me. She hadn’t liked anyone, as far as I could tell. Miss Palmer seemed to expect some reaction, so I shrugged.

  ‘She said some very interesting things about your time at that school, Michael. About bullying and . . . other things. Do you know what I’m talking about?’

  I shrugged. Miss Palmer tapped at her teeth with a pencil. It was a habit she had. I read the poster. Miss Palmer leaned back in her chair.

  ‘We need to have a chat, Michael. Particularly after what happened in Mr Williams’s Maths class today. I’ve
rung your father and arranged a meeting for tomorrow after school. Mr Atkins, as your Home Group teacher, will attend as well. I thought I’d let you know in advance, so you could think things over. I’m concerned about you, Michael. I want to help. But I also think you need to start talking to us about what’s bothering you. Would you be able to do that, Michael?’

  I didn’t want to shrug again, so I nodded. It was easier than saying anything.

  ‘Good. Well, I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow then.’

  I was glad to get out of there. I almost ran down the corridor to the main reception. Leah saw me and smiled. It lit up her face. We walked out of the school into the bright sunshine. I angled my face to the sky. After the coldness of school I needed to feel the sun’s warmth. There were clouds drifting against the blue. I could see a swirl of kites riding the wind, small smudges against the sky.

  Small magic.

  4 .

  We caught the bus to Leah’s place, the same bus I’d take to get home. She lived about half the distance from school that I did. We got off and walked for ten minutes. I didn’t say much. I was nervous. It was important to me that Leah didn’t think I was mad. But I wasn’t sure how to start. As I rehearsed it in my head it sounded unlikely, almost unhinged. I would have to trust her. Just tell her. Leah seemed to understand my need for quiet. We walked in comfortable silence.

  I walked straight past her place. I’d taken about five steps before I realised she was no longer at my side. I stopped. She was halfway up a driveway, grinning at me. I smiled sheepishly and retraced my steps.

  Leah’s house was exactly the kind of place I had always wanted to live in. An elevated Queenslander with a wide balcony sweeping around two sides. Palms in pots stood behind decorative railings. The front door had inlaid stained glass. The grass had been freshly mown. It was big and bright and welcoming. Even before I went in I knew there would be polished wood floors and a kitchen full of light. I could smell baking bread.

  Leah noticed me staring.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ I said. I meant it, too.

  ‘Well, come in and meet Mum. Dad won’t be back from work for a few hours.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ I asked. ‘I mean, your mum’s not expecting me.’

  ‘Don’t worry. My friends are always welcome. I told you that.’

  She took me by the hand and led me around the back. The yard was beautiful. There was a big kidney-shaped swimming pool, and palm trees leaned over it, giving shade. A chatter of lorikeets filled the trees. A small dog appeared and jumped up at me. It was wiry – one of those breeds you either love or hate. I loved them. It skipped around my ankles, twisting its body in excitement, yelping and springing at me. I knelt down and scuffed my hands through the fur of its neck. It froze, its head turned up, bathing in pleasure. Its eyes were pure milk.

  ‘You’ve made a friend, Michael,’ said Leah. ‘That’s Scamp. Scamp, this is Michael.’

  ‘Is he blind?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Leah said. ‘But it doesn’t seem to bother you much, does it, mate?’ The dog squirmed his way over to Leah. She picked him up and hugged him to her chest. ‘The vet reckons it’s too dangerous to operate on his eyes. Says Scamp’s ticker mightn’t be up to it.’

  The backdoor opened and Leah’s mum came out. It had to be Leah’s mum. They had the same warm eyes. Even their hair was cut in a similar style. Leah put the dog down and it yapped around my ankles again.

  ‘Mum, meet Michael Terny,’ said Leah. ‘Michael, this is my mum.’

  I put out my hand and wondered if it was sweaty.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs McIntyre,’ I said.

  Her smile was a clone of Leah’s.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, too, Michael,’ she said. ‘But you can forget the Mrs McIntyre business. Call me Carol.’

  For a moment, I felt dizzy. It was the strangest thing. It stirred old memories. I didn’t mean to say anything. It just came out.

  ‘That was my mum’s name.’

  Mrs McIntyre paused and cocked her head to one side.

  ‘Was?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s dead,’ I replied.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Michael.’ She was too. It was written in her eyes. ‘Come in and have a drink,’ she continued. ‘Are you staying for tea?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Yes, he is, Mum,’ said Leah. ‘He just needs to ring home to let the olds know.’

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there, girl. Show Michael the phone, while I get some lemonade together. Homemade lemonade all right with you, Michael?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs McIntyre. Thank you.’

  ‘Call me Carol, remember?’

  Leah took my hand and led me inside. The kitchen was as I imagined it – bright and warm with spotless wooden surfaces. The smell of baking bread made my mouth water. Leah took me into the hall to the phone.

  ‘Come outside when you’re done,’ she said. ‘We’ll have our lemonade by the pool.’

  I rang Mary and told her I was going to be late. She was so pleased she could barely speak. Two friends, she must have been thinking. Two friends. Like a dream come true. And then she found words. I almost had to hang up on her, she gabbled so much in excitement.

  Out in the garden Mrs McIntyre was setting a table under a broad sailcloth and Leah was carrying a tray with glasses and a jug of icy lemonade. The dog was scurrying around her legs. Mrs McIntyre waved me over.

  ‘Come and make yourself comfortable, Michael,’ she said. ‘Would you like to go for a swim? I guess you won’t have brought any swimmers along, but you can swim in your shorts.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs McIntyre, but I’ll pass on the swim. If I jumped into a pool, I’d drain it.’

  She reached over and tapped me hard on the head.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Anyone in there? It’s Carol. Does your friend suffer from short-term memory loss, Leah? Anyway, who cares about the pool? I think it can cope with you, Michael.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks anyway, Mrs . . . Carol, but I won’t today. Maybe some other time.’

  ‘Right. Your choice. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got about ten things on the go in the kitchen and if I don’t get back to them, we’ll be eating charcoal tonight. Just shout if you need anything. Better still, bring out some snacks and dips, Leah. Tide you guys over until tea.’

  She disappeared back into the house. Leah and I sat in silence. Scamp jumped up on her lap and slobbered at her neck, making her giggle. After a while, he settled down and curled into a shaggy ball, his head hanging over the side of her legs. With an outsized sigh, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. I stretched back in my chair and looked around the garden.

  The afternoon sun dappled the pool. Little waves of light reflected up from the water’s surface and made the fronds on the palms shimmer with gold and yellow. Tiny birds dipped in flight and brushed the water, sending more ripples across the pool. Everything danced in light. I reached for my lemonade. Even that seemed perfect, the way the beads of moisture glistened on the glass. I pressed it to my forehead and shivered at the chill. I almost didn’t want to drink. I didn’t want to alter anything. Maybe Leah felt that too. We listened to the chatter of the birds, bathed in the sun’s reflection and said nothing. When I finally took a long drink of lemonade, I had never tasted anything so good.

  I knew Leah was waiting for me to start. But the words I had rehearsed now seemed stupid. Instinctively, I checked for differences. This world was like a dream. I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t suddenly wake in a dark and comfortless bedroom. But differences were all around. The air was alive with change, the shadows and patterns of light always moving. I gave up. Sometimes you have to trust.

  ‘Leah,’ I said. ‘I want to tell you some things I’ve never told anyone else. But . . .’

  ‘But you’re afraid I won’t understand, or I’ll think it’s stupid. That I’ll show you, in some way, that you were wrong to
trust me. And, if that happens, you’ll feel more alone than you do now.’ Leah kept her gaze fixed in the distance, beyond the palms. She stroked Scamp’s head.

  ‘Mum died when I was six.’

  I hadn’t meant to talk about that. I was going to talk about the Dream. But the words just came out. Now they’d started, I let them carry on. ‘She was killed by a drunk driver. Hit her car head on. Mum was trapped in the car. She . . . she died. I don’t remember much about it. The other guy. He was all right. Hardly a scratch.’

  I remembered some things. I remembered Dad and me in a courtroom about a year later. I remembered the guy being hugged by his friends and family. I hadn’t known what was happening, but I could remember the expression on Dad’s face. It was as though his life simply drained away at that moment. The guy got off on a technicality – something to do with the blood tests the police had done. All I knew was the person who’d killed my mum was free, surrounded by love. Not a scratch.

  ‘Dad started drinking. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stay still for any time at all.’

  But that didn’t tell the whole tale. How can you describe watching your father curl into a brittle and dry husk, moving from place to place in search of something always out of reach? How can you explain about a seven-year-old boy, fat and unhappy, cleaning vomit from a bedroom floor while his Dad howled at the ceiling or, worse, just stared at the walls, unseeing, unresponsive?

  ‘We travelled. Dad would suddenly pack up our things, stick them in the ute and we’d take off.’ To dusty, flyblown settlements with parched earth and a single pub, or cities where everyone moved with purpose. Except us.

  ‘He’d find a job. I’d go to school. But it wouldn’t last.’ Because sooner or later, there would be a fight, or Dad would crawl into the bottom of a bottle and stay there. ‘We’d move on. Dad got thinner and thinner. I got fatter.’ How predictable. It was almost shameful to talk about it. Dad’s prop was grog, and mine was food. We were two walking clichés. ‘And school got worse and worse.’