Tigers on the Run

by Sean Kennedy

  “Still no sign of Coby?” Roger asked as I plonked myself next to him on the grass.

  “Nope. No phone call either.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “Nah, I didn’t want to put any pressure on him.”

  “Didn’t want Jasper Brunswick to turn up, you mean.”

  “Hey, I’m trying my best. And I think it’s probably best we don’t have to spend too much time together too soon. I’m really thinking of Coby here.”

  Roger gave a derisive laugh.

  “I am!” And honestly, I was. Okay, it was also partly for my own sanity—but part of it was also for Coby. I can be selfless sometimes, but do I ever get any credit for it?

  “If you keep this up, we may have to nominate you for the Nobel Peace Prize.”

  “If I manage to last three months without killing Jasper Brunswick, I’ll bloody deserve it.”

  “I’m sure Jasper’s happy he’s reclaimed his top spot on your hate list and is beating the seventeen-year-old again.”

  I made a face at him. “There are actually quite a few people I would put above Micah.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Like you said, he’s only seventeen. He can still be helped. Jasper’s crossed too far into the dark side. He’s lost forever.”

  Roger leaned back and stared up at the sky, which—strangely for Melbourne—was a blisteringly bright blue. “It’s hard to believe on such a perfect afternoon that anybody could ever be angry at another person.”

  “You goddamn hippy,” I said. “But I have to say, even a winter person like me can find beauty in a day like this.”

  “You goddamn romantic,” Roger fired back.

  We lay there, side by side, in wonderful harmony.

  THE FUN run itself came quicker than I expected. The GetOut Foundation had done a fantastic job in organising it once sponsorship signed up, and before I knew it, we all found ourselves at Albert Park in a sea of people wanting to raise money to tackle homophobia in children’s sport.

  “They call it a fun run, but it’s a complete misnomer,” I told Roger and Fran as we hung around at the assembly point near the Point restaurant.

  “Because we’re going to walk it?” Roger asked.

  “He means because in no way is it fun.” Fran wiped the sweat off her brow. “I mean, we haven’t even started yet, and I’m already sweating like a pig!”

  She was a woman after my own heart. The brim of my Tigers cap was already dark with sweat—I had worn it to hide any excessive perspiration—so not only did I look dehydrated, I was not a hat person at all and looked ridiculous.

  As if reading my mind, Roger said, “You look like one of those fifty-year-old men trying to recapture their youth.”

  I was about to hit back with an insult about his middle-aged spread coming in early, but Declan appeared behind me with that psychic knack he has for defusing situations. “I think he looks cute. Even if it’s a Tigers cap.”

  “Would it burn you if you touched it?” Fran asked.

  “Let’s see.” Dec tentatively reached out to touch the brim, and as his hands touched the material he yelped and jumped back.

  Roger applauded his theatrics.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s sad when I’m the mature one.”

  “It is a bit,” Fran agreed.

  Micah appeared behind Dec just in time to hear that exchange, and I expected some pithy putdown from him, but he kept his mouth shut for once.

  Dec took me aside, leaving Fran and Roger to fuss over the twins while Micah looked like he would rather be anywhere else. I also knew that feeling, but at least the kid could run. “I do think you look cute.”

  “Stop buttering me up—what’s wrong?”

  “You always look cute, but I also wanted to warn you that I just saw Coby. And he’s with Jasper.”

  I clenched my fists. “By the hammer of Thor!” I yelled at the sky. “How you gods torment me!”

  “People are staring at you, you lunatic.” He laughed, and pulled me a little further into the crowd.

  “Could this day get any worse? I mean, not only is there running and stuff, but actual enemies are lurking in the wings, probably to take me out. And I don’t mean dancing.”

  “You know I could make you run it instead of you turning it into a social event with your friends.”

  “As if you could make me run anywhere,” I scoffed.

  “I remember I did once,” he reminded me.

  “Yeah, once, when we were in the early stages of dating and I wanted to impress you.”

  “And you did,” he said, with a reasonably straight face.

  “Anyway, it said on all of your advertising materials that walkers were welcome.”

  “Which you wrote.”

  “Believe me, the number of people would be far less if running was compulsory.”

  “At least in your group of friends.”

  “Which are your friends as well.”

  He laughed. “My designated friends for the day are all running.”

  “You’re counting Micah among your friends? Good luck.”

  “Be nice.”

  “Okay. But all fun runs have walkers. Besides, do you want me to die in a ditch?”

  “There are no ditches here.”

  “There’s a bloody big lake, though.”

  “That’s why they call it Albert Lake. Are you planning to drown yourself in it?”

  “If you try to make me run.”

  “Walk, then. I also have Abe with me.”

  “Bloody footballers,” I said, walking off.

  “What?”

  “Love you!” I yelled over my shoulder.

  Lisa and Abe had just arrived as I walked back to the group. As they both hugged me, I could see Micah glaring at me again. Maybe he hadn’t even stopped while I was away and had been glaring in my general direction.

  “That kid really doesn’t like you,” Lisa whispered. “I asked him where you were and he just rolled his eyes.”

  “He’s a teenager,” Abe said. “’Nuff said. Where’s Dec?”

  I rolled my eyes, and he laughed.

  “Don’t worry, I see him. Catch you guys later.”

  “Micah!” I heard Dec call. “Come on!”

  “Run, puppy, run,” I murmured as he jogged past.

  “You don’t have to stoop to his level,” Fran said as she walked over.

  “Simon doesn’t stoop,” said Lisa. “He squats.”

  “How appropriate,” Fran said. “Are those new sneakers?”

  “I’m not stupid enough to wear new sneakers on a ten-kilometre walk.”

  “Oh.” Fran looked down at her conspicuously white just-out-of-the-box trainers.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Lisa said quickly. “Blisters are all in the mind.”

  I was glad I was not the only one who suffered from chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

  “See you guys at the end of the line!” Dec yelled over to us.

  “Isn’t he walking with us?” Roger asked, all disappointed.

  “The real men are running,” I reminded him.

  “I could have run,” he said.

  “You get out of breath walking to the mail box,” Fran scoffed. “Besides, you have a pram to push, remember?”

  “I told you we should have brought the double.”

  “The kids need some alone time. It will do them some good to develop their own personalities apart from each other.”

  “If they take after their parents I don’t think there will be any problems there,” I said to Lisa.

  Fran gave me the finger.

  Lisa smiled. “They haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Oh, there have been changes. You should see how adept Roger’s become at juggling, what with two babies and two bottles. They could start their own circus.”

  “The Amazing Daltons.”

  “With Fran swinging on the trapeze.”

  “Does she wear sequins?” Roger asked, pushing one
of the prams towards us. “Because I think… I would really like that.”

  I could see Fran grinning to herself as she adjusted the baby in her pram. It was sweet to see how much they loved each other even though they could be tired and cranky at times thanks to the new direction their lives had taken.

  “Only if you wear a sequined mankini,” Lisa said.

  “Don’t encourage him. He’d do it. And he’ll start singing ‘Da Ya Think I’m Sexy’. It’s some phase he’s going through,” I told her.

  “He’s only singing the truth,” Fran said, throwing her arms around her husband and kissing the back of his neck. “That’s why he sings it without the question mark.”

  “You should be glad you kids don’t understand English yet,” I said to the nearest baby. I think it was Frankie.

  “Racist,” Lisa said.

  Roger was humming to himself. It was definitely Rod Stewart, without the question mark.

  THE RUNNERS started half an hour before the walkers, so Dec and his cohorts would have been finished long before we crossed the end line; Dec was scheduled to give a speech at one o’clock, however, so I had to make sure we got there by then.

  “Come on, chop chop!”

  “Are you directing that at me?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes, because I’m racist,” I said.

  “Good to know.”

  We all looked worse for wear. Ten kilometres (well, 9.6 to be precise; two laps of Albert Lake) was a lot to expect from us. Even the babies were tired, and they were being pushed around by their parents, godfather/guncle and adopted aunt.

  Dec and Abe were watching for us at the finish line, drinks at the ready. As I collapsed under a tree, Dec rubbed my back gently. Abe was doing the same for Lisa; Fran and Roger were comatose and unable to tend to each other.

  “Hey, Simon,” Abe called out. “You were the first over the line, so technically you’re the winner.”

  “I am the champion!” I crowed, weakly raising my hands in the air. This overexertion made me fall back against Dec.

  “And you guys aren’t even the last walkers,” Dec told us.

  “I liked the way Abe put it better,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, I still think you’re a champ.”

  “As long as you don’t need me to move for the next hour, I’ll believe you.”

  “I know how I can make you really happy.”

  “Please, not in front of the kids,” I wheezed.

  “You beat Jasper.”

  “Fucken oath!” I cried to the heavens, which were blocked by the branches overhead.

  “Told you,” Dec said, smugly.

  “I believe I feel my legs again.”

  “It’s a miracle!”

  “It is, Brother Declan, it is.”

  I didn’t beat Jasper by much, however, as he and Coby staggered up to us only a few minutes later and also collapsed into exhausted heaps of sweaty flesh.

  “That was tough,” Coby said.

  Roger finally pulled himself up into a sitting position. “We really shouldn’t be this bad, should we?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” Dec said.

  “Good,” I told him. “Just hold me until I can walk again.”

  “God, you like to milk it.”

  “I’m sorry, what was that? Why is it going so dark? Dec, are you there?”

  He dug his chin into the top of my head.

  “Ow! Stop it!”

  “Fran, honey, are you okay?” Roger asked.

  She grunted.

  “At least she’s alive,” Roger said, satisfied.

  Lisa was also leaning against Abe, her eyes closed. I caught Abe and Dec giving each other amused looks.

  “How did Micah do?” I asked Dec.

  “Are you really interested or just being polite?”

  “Comme ci, comme ça.”

  “He did fine.”

  “Brief, but still an answer, I guess.”

  “I’m just happy he turned up.”

  “You didn’t think he would?”

  I saw Jasper Brunswick watching us, and it unnerved me. I turned to face Dec, and strategically placed myself so Jasper couldn’t see him.

  “Let’s just say he hasn’t been the most reliable attendee for GetOut events. Still, he came when it counted the most.”

  “Or when he could get the best publicity for himself.”

  “Oh, my sweet but so, so, cynical Simon.”

  “What are you guys whispering about?” Fran yelled across to us.

  “Pocahontas!” I yelled back.

  Roger looked puzzled.

  Fran shrugged. “I could believe that.”

  ONCE ALL the stragglers were across the line it was time for the speeches. Dec was on the makeshift stage with the kids. Emma looked a bit nervous, Paul the soccer player looked calm and collected, and Micah… well, Micah looked the worst out of all of them.

  I have to admit I was shocked. What a complete difference this was to the kid who smoothly fed what he claimed were a pack of lies to the camera!

  And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Roger dug his finger in my rib and whispered, “That’s the one who gave you so much grief?”

  “Believe me, I’m as confused as you are.”

  Coby shot me a look—it hadn’t passed him by, either.

  Dec introduced Emma first, and she gave a rousing speech of thanks where she implored any queer kids to reach out to the foundation. She assured them of confidentiality and that there was no judgement—they didn’t have to be out. Support was the most important thing. Dec then talked a little more about the foundation and its other aims, such as changing legislation to give people more protection and freedom from harm within sporting club charters and the introduction of scholarships for young queer athletes to help them further their career and achieve their goals.

  Then he introduced Micah.

  Micah made it to the microphone on what appeared to be very shaky legs. He grasped the stand as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

  I glanced over and saw Jasper Brunswick taking notes on his iPad. That didn’t give me lots of happy thoughts, either.

  “My name is Micah Johnson,” Micah said, finally. “I’ve been out for over a year, and it hasn’t been easy. I—”

  He broke off and looked at the crowd with what could only be described as sheer terror.

  People in the audience began clapping and cheering, trying to convince him to carry on, but this only unsettled him even more.

  “Sorry,” he stammered. “I can’t do this.”

  And we watched as he ran past the rest of the kids. Dec looked torn, wanting to go after him, but knowing he had to remain on stage and say something.

  I didn’t hear what that would be. I was on my feet, as tired as they were, and taking off after Micah.

  “Simon!” I heard Abe yell, but I had to ignore him. I couldn’t waste time; Micah could easily disappear in the crowd.

  I saw the flash of his bright red shirt amongst a group decked out in rainbow flags. They recognised me as I had them on as guests on one of my shows—a local chorus who specialised in AC/DC songs. I yelled hello as they shouted out welcomes, but once again I couldn’t stop.

  I managed to catch up to Micah at a Pride stall. As I grabbed his shirtsleeve, he turned on me furiously.

  “Leave me the fuck alone!”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “I don’t know anything! And when a person is running away from you, it generally means they don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Do I look like I give a shit? You’re the last person I would want to talk to, anyway.”

  “I don’t really believe that. There are far worse people than me.”

  “You’re such a smartarse.”

  “Takes one to know one.” I led him over to a street cart café, where small stools and tables had been set up for patrons. “Sit.”

  Thankfully, he did, although he
also muttered something about not being a dog.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Do I look like I’m okay?”

  “No. What happened up there?”

  “I didn’t want to do a speech.”

  “Did you know you had to do that one?”

  “Yes, but what the fuck does that matter?”

  “It’s just that I was sure Dec wouldn’t set you up for that if you didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, fucking Mr. Perfect. Of course he wouldn’t.”

  I was so sick of that accusation. “He’d be the first to tell you he wasn’t Mr. Perfect. He’s just had years of experience doing that kind of shit. If you go back and look at his first interviews when he was seventeen or eighteen, you’re not going to watch the same guy you’d see now.”

  “That’s not helping me much, is it?”

  “Well, then what would help you?”

  “Everybody leaving me alone!”

  “Greta Garbo already did that line.”

  He looked at me blankly.

  “Okay, wrong audience. But seriously, crack a history book. Besides everybody leaving you alone, which isn’t going to happen unless you become a hermit and live in the outback, what do you want?”

  A long pause, and with a voice on the verge of cracking, he said, “I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”

  Wow. That was a bombshell. I kept my expression neutral, because I knew he was watching for my reaction. I was going to have to try and tread carefully here, even though I found it difficult at the best of times. “Dec would support you in any decision you make. If you truly didn’t want to play football professionally, he would have your back.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes, I do. Dec started doing this to help kids achieve what they wanted. If you don’t want to play, you don’t have to.”

  “I do want to play,” he murmured, kicking the dirt.

  “Then you have to tell him what you need.”

  “I want to talk to Jeff.”