Confessions of a Liar, Thief and Failed Sex God

by Bill Condon

  'Mate, you've got to stop. Now I've seen those photos you've made me a part of it – I can't let you do anything to Mick.'

  'You've always known, Neil. I told you right from the start. I confided in only you. I trusted you.'

  'Zom, Zom...'

  I run out of words.

  'Come on,' he says, 'forget it. I shouldn't have let you see the photos. I won't ever mention it again.'

  'But you're still going to do something to him, aren't you?'

  'Put it this way, Neil. Every night I pray that God will tell me what to do. Nothing changes.'

  'Hey, you two.'

  Sylvie steps out of the bushes.

  'Are you going to join me?'

  She struts to the dam's edge. Her one-piece black costume fits her like a second layer of skin. I marvel at her delicate bumps, and then as she walks past, I marvel again at the secret pink-white flesh on her thigh, revealed as the costume cuts away.

  Sylvie's body warms me even more than the weather. Water splashes around me when she dives in, cooling me – at least on the outside.

  Zom strips to his underpants.

  'You coming in, Neil?'

  'I don't think so – we haven't finished talking yet.'

  'Maybe you haven't, but I have.'

  He crashes in.

  Sylvie calls out, 'The water's beautiful. You should try it.'

  'I'm okay. Maybe later.'

  It's good to see her so happy – playing like a little kid, splashing Zom, him splashing her back. I hardly ever see Zom laughing; he is now. It's like there's two of him sometimes. He's just this simple bloke, plodding along, not capable of hurting anyone. Good old Zom. But then there's the other side that only I know ...

  A spray lands at my feet. Then another splats me in the face.

  'Oops!' Sylvie grins.

  My body wasn't made for swimming costumes. I'm way too skinny. That's why I never learnt how to swim – but the dam is so tempting. Sylvie looks like she's standing up in the water. Zom's beside her. It can't be very deep.

  'You don't know what you're missing,' she says. 'You sure you won't come in? It's so refreshing.'

  'All right. What the hell – just for a few minutes.'

  I kick off my shoes and socks, pants next. I'm in my baggy daggy underpants – never expected anyone would see them. If I have a hormone surge now, with Sylvie watching, I'm going to die. I sit on a rock ledge with my legs crossed so any sudden surge won't be so noticeable – or laughable. Now my shirt comes off. I leave my singlet to the very last second so that my pale and puny chest isn't on display for long, and then I pull the singlet over my head and throw it behind me as I jump.

  33

  The chill cuts right to my heart. It shocks me awake – more than I've ever been before. I strike out towards Sylvie. I copy the way I've seen it done on TV. Swimming is easy. I stretch out my body and slice through the water. She's in front of me, her arms waiting.

  'See? It's good, isn't it?' she says.

  Sylvie is so close. I stop swimming to walk the last few steps, and that's when the dam swallows me.

  I plunge down.

  Panic. Panic.

  Thrashing madly. Nothing to hold onto.

  The water is brown and dark. I make out Sylvie's legs. Can't reach them.

  I bob to the surface, desperately gulping air. She's staring at me. Frozen. Her lips move but I can't hear anything.

  I sink again. It's like those nightmares when you're endlessly falling. I'm flailing my arms about as I go down. At last my feet touch the bottom and I kick up, kick up. The water swirls violently with mud.

  Once more I make it to the top. Can't see Sylvie. Zom is lying on a rock sunbaking; he has his back to me. My eyes sweep around, at the bushland, the rock bank, the sky.

  Quiet and peaceful. Suddenly that's the feeling that sweeps through me.

  Dying doesn't scare me now.

  I drop down, willing myself to let go this time. I want it.

  She grabs me.

  Sylvie.

  Her hands are dragging and tearing at me, pushing me up. I feel like I'm only half in this world and then my head breaks clear of the water. But Sylvie's gone. I feel her below me, clinging on to my waist, my legs – slipping away. As I drop down again I see her; hair cascading out, arms rising above her head. We're both drowning.

  I lunge and grab hold of her. For the first time in my life I don't care about myself. I try to save Sylvie.

  And then I'm on my knees and coughing. Whole buckets of the dam spurt out of me. Zom pounds my back. Sylvie stands over me, her arms like a straitjacket around her. She can't stop shaking.

  'It's okay now.' Zom remains calm. 'It's over.'

  Sylvie's driving. I'm in the back seat with Zom, wide awake and sitting up, but my thoughts are fuzzy. I don't know how I got out of the dam. Don't remember getting in the car. Later on I know I'll feel embarrassed and stupid but right now I'm beyond that. I feel hollowed out, as if part of me is lying at the bottom of the dam.

  I don't know how many times I say that I'm sorry, but it doesn't seem enough.

  We go to a Chinese restaurant for lunch. Sylvie grins when she sees the name on the menu. The place is called Good Luck.

  She reaches across the table and touches my hand, only for a second, but enough. 'That was too close,' she says. 'I never want to do that again. Ray got us both out. Did you know that?'

  No, I didn't.

  I thank him but he brushes it aside like a speck of dust on his sleeve.

  'It wasn't all that close.' He browses through the menu. 'I didn't notice what was happening at first, but when I did,' he shrugs, 'there was no chance I was going to let anyone drown. It just wasn't on.'

  During lunch I find out that he and Sylvie were treading water, not standing as I thought. Any fool should have known that, but this fool didn't. After that we don't talk about what happened, but I know that for a long time I won't be able to think of anything else. I should have died today, at sixteen. I almost took Sylvie with me. Zom saved us. Zom, short for Zombie; the hero, the kid who wants to kill a Brother.

  Now, more than ever, I don't know what to do about him.

  As Sylvie drives me home I think back on the day. It hasn't been a great success. Apart from the drowning episode, now Sylvie knows what I look like in my undies. That's got to put her right off me. Or maybe she's one of those weird people who like blokes who are skinny and dumb – there has to be someone in the world like that. I only wish I knew for sure how she feels. Sometimes I think I've got a chance with her; it's in a look she gives me or the briefest touch of my hand. Every time she pulls back straightaway as if she's afraid of getting too close. I'm afraid of that too, but it might already be too late.

  'Take care,' she says as I step out of the car.

  I don't tell anyone at home how I nearly drowned. Mum would cry and that would upset Dad. And Kevin would remind me for the rest of my life what a moron I was to jump into a dam when I couldn't swim.

  It's okay. I'm full of secrets. One more won't hurt.

  34

  Back at school again, Delaine sits on the edge of his desk, asking questions about algebra. I tune out because he's working on the other side of the room, taking one desk at a time. With two at a desk it'll be ages before he gets to me. I'll make sure to listen well before that happens. But now is my time.

  My mind wanders to Sylvie. I play this game where I examine everything she says, searching for a sign that she likes me as more than just a friend. I find plenty of things, but there's never enough to overcome the obstacles. Sometimes I feel so close to her, but I know I can never hold her or kiss her. I can't forget her either. I'm just stuck. Limbo – that's where I am. I write her name again and again in my exercise book, making the letters huge and fancy, shadowing all around them. SYLVIE. SYLVIE. Maybe this is what being in –

  'Bridges.'

  Shit.

  'Out the front, son.'

  I feel the blood draining out of my leg
s.

  'We have been discussing a problem in algebra. Have you been paying attention?'

  His eyes burrow into me. The whole class could leave and he wouldn't care. He's got me.

  'Yes, sir.'

  I don't remember a single word he's said, and he knows it.

  He scrawls the problem on the board. I'm bad at algebra at any time but now it's hieroglyphics to me.

  'Read it. Think about it.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You can have a minute. Then give me the answer.' I try hard. Re-read every word. Numbers and letters are swirling in circles. Fear won't let me think.

  'Hand. Out.'

  He only hits me once. Fantastic. I head towards my seat.

  'Back up. You are not going anywhere. Look at the problem, Bridges. Give me the answer.'

  'I don't know it, sir.'

  He turns to the class. 'Who knows the answer?'

  Hands fly up everywhere.

  'Do you see, Bridges? They know, so it mustn't be too hard. Try again.'

  I stare blankly at the board. If I just keep staring maybe the bell will ring and save me.

  'Hand. Out.'

  He keeps asking the same question. After a while he gives me clues to make it easier. They don't mean anything to me.

  'Hand. Out.'

  Those are the only words that matter. The question and the clues slip by me because all I can think about is the strap that's coming.

  A few kids laugh when I still get it wrong because the answer must be so obvious. There isn't room in my head to be angry with them. I'm just filled up with fear.

  'Look at the board, Bridges. Use your brain. Work it out. What does y equal?'

  I take a guess – 20, 10. I say anything just to have a chance. Each time he hits me.

  The classroom door is open. I seriously think about running away. Right now. I can do it... all I need is the nerve.

  'Hand. Out.'

  It goes on and on and then somehow, long after I thought my brain had shut down, I understand what's happening. If he wanted to hurt me he'd be hitting me more than once each time. And he doesn't really want the answer to the algebra question – because he must know I can't give it to him.

  I decide the only reason he keeps me up here is so he can break me.

  'You are not trying, Bridges. Give me an answer.'

  Now I have a target to aim for – I have to beat him.

  For forty-five minutes I stand there. He hits me over and over. Every time it stings and throbs but I refuse to show it. He's not getting anything out of me.

  At the end, when the bell rings, when everyone else trundles out of the room, I stand there in front of him. I wish I could say my eyes are cutting into him and I've got him worried. I can't, though. I'm too messed up for anything like that. But I don't run away.

  'Go to your next class, son.'

  He watches me as I leave the room. I feel his stare hot on my back. I can't imagine Delaine would ever laugh, but if he did, this is the kind of thing that he'd find funny. Maybe he's laughing right now. It's this thought that makes me stop at the doorway.

  I turn and face him. 'Sir?'

  He doesn't answer, but he's listening.

  Say it, say it – no matter what it costs.

  'I'm not your son. All right?'

  'Over here, Bridges.'

  I go to him.

  He sits at his desk, arms folded, staring at me. 'Do you have any other clever remarks you'd like to make?'

  My turn not to answer him.

  He takes off his sunglasses and his eyes are just as dark.

  'I don't want to keep your next teacher waiting. That would be rude. So you may go.'

  For one breath the world is wonderful... but only one.

  'We'll finish this tomorrow. I want you to think about that tonight. Think about tomorrow, son.'

  35

  Bails comes up to me after class.

  'Jeez, Neil, you really copped it.'

  'A bit, yeah.'

  'Show me yer hands.'

  They're red and swollen. More than they've ever been before.

  'I've heard,' he says, rubbing his chin, 'that if yer piss on yer hands it'll stop them from hurting.'

  I don't even have to think about it.

  'Nah,' I say. 'I'd rather piss on Delaine.'

  It's easy to sound tough around my mates, not so easy when I'm back at home with lots of time to think about what's going to happen. Tomorrow he'll be waiting for me. All night long, I can't escape Delaine.

  By the time I stagger out of bed Dad's already at work and Mum's been up forever. I mumble to her as we pass and she stops and glares at me until I get the message and kiss her cheek. I shuffle on to the toilet, hop from one foot to the other as I wait, outside the door – Hurry up! I'm bustin'! – while Kevin combs his hair real slow. I say a silent prayer for him to go bald.

  Mum finally leaves for work, and then Kevin – a piece of toast jammed into his mouth – heads out the door and fires up his bike.

  I've finally got the house all to myself. There's plenty of time before I have to catch my bus. I open the front door and take a step outside. It's stinking hot. Already my shirt is clinging to my back. It's going to be a long and sweaty day, but Delaine will be looking forward to it. I wish now that I hadn't back-chatted him. I don't feel so tough anymore.

  He's going to get me, unless ...

  Back inside, I lock the door. I can't face today.

  I walk around the house closing the blinds at every window so no one can see inside. Through the laundry curtains I look out on to the backyard. Dusty is crouched down on the lawn. Hind legs tucked in under her, front legs hidden beneath her head and chest. She could be a legless dog. Now she stands and stretches. A minute passes before I hear the familiar patter, patter, as she climbs the steps onto the verandah. I rap on the window and she looks up at me.

  'You can't come in.' I shoo her away with my hands. 'Beat it. Go and chase a lizard.'

  She sniffs at the door and whimpers. I walk out there and bang on the door.

  'No! Go away!'

  A white paw pushes part-way through to me under the door. I touch her furry toe. I'm done for then. Have to open the door.

  'Get in here – nuisance.'

  Still in my school uniform, I go back to bed. If anyone catches me I'll say I felt sick. But no one's going to catch me.

  Dusty sits on the floor, staring at me. Ever hopeful. She's not allowed in the house – except maybe on Christmas Day or if there's an earthquake. But she is never, ever – even during earthquakes – allowed on my bed.

  But maybe this is a day for breaking rules ...

  'Come on, girl. Up you get.'

  I only have to say it once and she's beside me – happiest mutt in the world. She wags her tail and dog hair flutters everywhere. I'll worry about that later. For now I just want to curl up and be invisible. It's safe here. No one can hit me.

  36

  I drift in and out of sleep. One time I'm talking to Troy. We're happy and laughing. I almost think it's really happening – don't want it to stop ... I wish someone would go to the toilet for me. When I finally get out of bed Dusty doesn't stir. She lies on her side, paws twitching in a dream. Now and then she squeaks a tiny, frightened bark, probably fending off a cat that's chasing her. I come to the rescue and wake her. It's nearly ten.

  I'm eating the lunch Mum packed for me when the phone rings. I run to answer it but before I get there I know I can't pick it up. There's no one home at our place.

  I never knew how lonely our house was. Never knew how slow the day could be if you sat and watched each minute tick past. I flick through comics, spin a record or two, and give up after ten pages of Huckleberry Finn. Soon I'm so bored I risk going out into the backyard to throw the ball for Dusty. I keep stepping around the bricks scattered in a messy heap from where Dad knocked down the old barbecue. He hasn't had time to clean them up, but I've got time ...

  It only takes an hour. Every brick s
quared away nice and neat is a small act of penance to help make up for all my lies. Seems like it's a better idea than praying for forgiveness – I don't think God wants to hear from me.

  I'm rubbing Dusty's belly when someone calls out to me, from inside the house.

  'Oy! What are you doin' home on a school day?'

  Dad.

  'Appendicitis.' It comes to me quick as a flash. I hold a hand over my stomach and grimace as I walk towards him. 'I was all ready to go to school and then I got this sudden pain and I just couldn't go.'

  'That's no good, matey.' He holds the back door open for me. 'You want me to get a doctor to take a look at you?'

  'No, I'll be right, Dad. It's a lot better.'

  'Is it now? ... Hey, Neil – man-to-man –' He drapes an arm over my shoulder and gives me that searching look all parents are expert at. 'Did you really feel crook – or did you just decide to have a day off?'

  I dig myself even deeper.

  'No, I was sick, Dad. Honest.'

  'Fair enough then. You sure you're okay now?'

  'Yep.'

  'All righty. I'm makin' a pot of tea.' He walks into the kitchen. 'You want a chocolate milk? We've got some ice cubes in the fridge. Seein' yer on the sick list I better look after yer.'

  'Thanks.'

  'Comin' right up.' A tap runs as he fills the kettle. 'We had a stop-work meetin' today. The Union's tryin' to get us a pay rise.'

  While he's talking I scout around the house, getting rid of evidence that says I've been home all day; putting away Huck Finn and the comics I've been reading –

  'Think you'll get the rise, Dad?'

  – picking up the chips I dropped on the lounge while I watched TV –

  'No, they won't have any luck. Not this time. But at least we got off work early, so it's not all bad news.'

  – a biscuit wrapper here, a record lying on the floor –

  The back door opens. He's emptying the teapot.

  'I can't remember the last time I was home this early. It's a beautiful day. Look at that, will you. Not a cloud in the –'

  He comes back into the house.