by Bill Condon
'Those bricks, Neil. You wouldn't know anything about how they got all stacked up like that, would you?'
'Yeah, Dad. I did it. Thought I'd help you out.'
'Today? You did that today?'
Now I really do feel sick.
'Um, yeah.'
'What about your appendicitis?'
I guess my face answers the question for him.
37
Dad takes a seat at the kitchen table. He points to a chair opposite him and I sit down. Head slightly bowed, he folds an arm across his chest and a hand covers his eyes. I know it has to be unintentional, but still, it's the position a priest takes when he's hearing confession. He doesn't say anything straight away and that makes it harder for me. There's nothing as strong as silence.
'I wasn't sick. I just didn't want to go to school.' I blurt it out. 'I'm sorry, Dad.'
'I see.' One hand rakes slowly through his hair. 'Well, I'm disappointed, matey. Not so much that you ditched school – we can work that out. It's that you lied to me when I asked you about it. It's hard to trust someone when they start lying to you.'
School is good in a way because when you do something wrong, it's automatic – you get hit. After that it's not about what you did, it's about what they did to you. But Dad doesn't hit me. He just stares at me like he's seeing me for the first time and he's wondering who I am.
He makes his tea and pours it steaming into a cup. I'm looking at the floor when he comes over. As I lift my head he sets a glass of iced chocolate down in front of me. That makes me feel even worse. I don't deserve kindness, but Dad gives it anyway.
'Now I want to know,' he says, 'why would you want to stay home from school?'
No one tells their parents about being strapped. Kevin was the same. He went to my school. You get questions at home, you put up the stone wall. Every single bloke I know feels the same way. You cop the strap and you deal with it yourself – any way you can.
'I hadn't done my homework. I would have been in trouble, so I jigged it. I'm sorry.'
'Are you sure that was the only reason? You weren't being bullied – nothing like that?'
I shake my head. 'There's nothing else to tell.'
It's still only 11.30. 'Plenty of school time left,' Dad says. 'You have to face up to your problems, Neil. They just get bigger if you don't. It might not be as bad as you think it's going to be.'
He wouldn't say that if he knew Delaine.
Dad writes me a 'please excuse' note to explain being late, and then we walk together to the bus stop.
'Do you have to tell Mum about this. 'I ask?
'Jeez. You're asking somethin' there. Your mother and I, we don't have secrets.'
The bus turns the corner at the top of the street.
'I'd like to help you, but the old girl wouldn't be too happy if she found out.'
'I won't tell her, Dad.'
He grins. 'Well in that case ... you only had a couple of hours off. It's not like you're the Great Train Robber, and you stacked all those bricks for me – despite your burst appendix.'
He smirks and I cringe.
'All right, just this once – we'll keep it between ourselves. But next time, do your homework.'
The bus pulls up in front of us.
'Thanks, Dad.'
38
First lesson after lunch. Delaine.
When I walk into the class I see that the same algebra problem is still written up on the board. He hasn't forgotten about me.
'Bridges. Out the front.'
I glance around the room silently begging for help. No one moves a muscle. I'm alone.
'I've been thinking about you,' he says. 'What to do with you.'
He pauses to glare. If it's supposed to frighten me, it's a good plan.
'You're lazy and you're a time-waster. I've decided I'm not going to bother with you. If you don't want to learn, son, it's your loss. But understand this – when you are in my class you keep your mouth shut and you stay out of my way. Are we clear on that, Bridges?
'Yes, sir.'
'Get a duster.' He points to the board. 'Clean that off. That was yesterday's problem – just like you.'
Cleaning that board is one of the best jobs I've ever been given in school. Every number and letter that vanishes sets me free.
Back at my desk. I keep my head down so he doesn't see my gold-medal grin – but I'm glowing. Yesterday I took on Delaine and today he's got nothing left to throw at me. I beat the mongrel.
But as the lesson draws on I watch him playing his game just as hard and deadly as ever – 'Out the front, son' – and I realise that I haven't beaten him at all, he's just discarded me and moved on to someone else. I'm not important to him. Neither was Troy.
Now I know how Zom must feel about Mick. I'm sure I would never actually do the deed, but I could waste a lot of time thinking about killing Delaine.
But I'm not going to dwell on it.
I won't give him any more power. I don't want Delaine in my head for even a minute. Cut him off. Let him go. Stuff him. I won't kill him. But if he was on fire and a prayer would put him out, I'd forget how to pray.
There are only a handful of weeks to go before the School Certificate and then it's the holidays and the year is over. School is going to be a lot more tolerable without Delaine breathing down my neck, but I don't know why I should tolerate it at all.
Mum has got her heart set on me discovering a cure for cancer, and if not that, at least finding a job where I wear a shirt and tie. I'm her great hope: the first one in the family who won't go home with dirt ground into his fingernails.
That's not me.
'I don't want to go back to school next year,' I tell her.
We're at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes together. We both stop. Mum never raises her voice to win an argument. She always stays calm and collected, even when someone might have put a dent in her heart.
'That's a very big step, Neil. It's not something to rush into.'
'I'm not. I've thought about it a lot. It's what I really want.'
'But why? Help me understand.'
She hears me out as I skate around the edges of the truth, not giving away much but throwing in some hints ...
'I don't feel very happy at school...'
'Sometimes it's not a real good place to be ...'
'What sort of job would you do?'
'I'll find something. I don't care what it is.'
'But I care, Neil.'
'The School Certificate's coming up. I'm going to study like crazy. Big finish, Mum. I'll get good marks and then I'll be able to score a top job. I'm not the only one in my class who's going to leave. Just say it's all right, Mum.'
'Let me talk it over with your father. We'll see what we can do.'
I know Mum back and front. That's a yes.
39
Tonight at six, Kevin has his medical for the Army. He's always been fearless – any kind of sport, any kind of dare. But I've seen him gradually change since his number came up. When he reads the paper he goes straight to the stories about Vietnam. He watches the war on the TV news. Never says anything about what he reads and sees, just sucks it all in with a bitter look, like he's chucking down poison.
Two hours before the medical I find him in the garage. He's polishing the chrome on his bike; so shiny he can see his face in it. If I had his face I'd be investing in a paper bag to put over my head.
'Mind if I stay out here for a while?' I ask.
'Free country.'
Crouching down beside the bike, I watch him for a while. In my head I'm trying to work out how to ask a tough question in an easy way. Finally I just ask it.
'You scared, Kevin? About Vietnam?'
'Nah. Not really...'
He stops cleaning and looks up at me.
'Well, I wasn't before, when it was months away. Now it's happening so fast... I've got a mate only a year older than me. He just got shipped back; met him for lunch this week. He had a leg blown off by a lan
d mine. There's worse than that, too. I'll be right, but I think about Rose, you know?'
He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, like he's chasing out all the fear.
'Anyway, like I said, I'll be right.'
'Only the good die young,' I remind him.
'That's right. I got no worries.'
40
At five Rose sets off with Kevin for the test while Mum and Dad wait with me at home.
Right on six o'clock, Mum starts praying.
'Dear God, I'll do any penance, make any sacrifice you ask –'
She sits head down at the kitchen table, just her and the rosary beads. Dad is off having a shower. I'm in my room pretending to do my homework.
'– but please don't take Kevin for Vietnam. He's just a boy. I couldn't bear to lose him.'
I come out when she's finished.
'Don't worry, Mum. Kevin might get through the physical but he'll crash out in the mental part. I don't think the Army takes nut cases.'
'Come here, you.'
She hugs me as if I'm her baby. I don't really mind.
Mum and Dad are on their third cup of tea when at 8.30 Kevin and Rose stroll in.
'Well?' Mum clutches Dad's hand. 'Are you going to tell us what happened?'
'There's not a lot to tell. I got in. Knew I would. Looks like I might be going off to Vietnam to win the war.'
Dad says, 'Well done, mate.'
I put in my little bit: 'Jeez, they must be real hard-up to take you.'
Mum's voice is trembly. 'That's good, sweetie. As long as you're happy.'
Rose puts an arm around her. 'Kevin will be all right, Mrs Bridges. And when he comes home again I'll be waiting for him. I'll look after him for you. Always.'
The room is already quiet before Rose says this, but it becomes quieter still. Mum senses something's going on. Her eyes dart between Rose and Kevin.
'Always?' she says to Rose. 'That's a very strong word.'
'I mean it, Mrs Bridges.'
Kevin moves closer to Rose.
'Mum, Dad – Neil – I know we've only been going out for four months, but we've both decided – this is it. Right, Rose?'
'Yes. This is it.'
Mum tries to cut in before it gets serious.
'Now, Kevin, just a min –'
'No, Mum. We're going to get married. Before I go to Vietnam.'
'If we have your permission,' Rose adds.
'Go for it,' I tell them. 'Good one.'
'God,' Mum mutters, and she's not even praying.
Dad gives Rose a kiss on the cheek.
'You've got my permission, luv. Done! I've always liked you.' He looks at Mum, as if to say, 'Your turn now.'
Mum can't hide how she feels. Tears come and fall, though she tries to blink them away.
'Let me think, let me think. I wasn't expecting this. Maybe one day, but not tonight. I don't know what to say to you.'
'Would you like a cup of tea?' asks Dad. 'Might settle you down.'
Mum doesn't answer. Poor Dad. Sometimes he hasn't got a clue.
'All I want is for you to both be happy,' she says. 'But are you sure? It's such a huge commitment. You're so young – marriage is forever.'
Rose answers, quiet and simple: 'We love each other.'
Kevin nods. Rose frowns at him. She needs more than that.
It's a bit like watching how Mum and Dad work together.
'It's true,' he says, taking the hint, 'we do – we love each other.'
I think saying that out loud in front of us is pretty brave. But then he tops it. He kisses Rose square on the lips. No dainty aunty peck with Kevin. He goes in for the kill.
Mum looks away. Dad grins. I whistle high, then low.
I'm used to hearing Kevin's snores zigzag around our bedroom as soon as his head hits the pillow. This night there's only silence from his side of the room, though I know he's wide awake, same as me.
'How come you're not asleep?' I say.
'Because you're talkin' too much.'
'I've hardly said anything yet.'
'You will.'
'... That was good about you and Rose.'
'Thanks.'
'Hey, Kevin, you know about girls, right?'
He snorts.
'Well, you know more than I do.'
'Everyone knows more than you do, Neil. Even Dad.'
'Can I ask you somethin'?'
'If you have to.'
'There's this girl. She's older than me.'
'What is she – eighty – ninety?'
'Don't be stupid. She's five or six years older – I'm not sure exactly.'
'So? Dad's seven years older than Mum.'
'Is he? The dirty bugger. I didn't know that.'
'So she's not too old. Glad I could help. 'Night, Neil.'
'Hang on. I haven't finished.'
'Aw, stuff it... all right, I'm listenin'.'
'Well, she's a nurse and she's really pretty and smart. Sometimes I think she likes me, but then I'm not sure. She's out of my league, I know that, but I can't get her off my mind. What would you do?'
'Are you really my brother? Get real! You go for it, of course. Ask her out somewhere. What's the worst that can happen?'
'She could say she doesn't want to see me again.'
'Big deal. I'll tell you what – me weddin' – see if she wants to go.'
'No. I couldn't do that. I don't know her well enough.'
'Nee-il! All girls love weddin's. Deadset. It's like blokes and boobs. They can't help it. She'll go. Ask her tomorrow.'
'When's it on?'
'I don't know yet. Rose hasn't told me. Just tell her it's on soon.'
'Let me think about it.'
'What's to think about?'
'My future.'
'You won't have a future if I have to go over there and sort yer out. Come on! I'm goin' to Vietnam to get shot at. All you have to do is talk to a girl.'
'I'd trade with you if I could.'
'That's it! I've had it with you, Neil. I'm goin' to sleep. Don't say another word. And never ask me for advice again. You're hopeless!'
I say it so softly it's almost not there, but I say it. 'All right. I'll ask her.'
41
It's easy to find an excuse to go and see her. Sylvie tried to save my life at the dam – that deserves a thank-you present.
I go into a shop and check out my options. There's a droopy bunch of flowers for four dollars. But then I'd have to carry them all the way to her flat. Carrying flowers in public doesn't appeal to me. Another possibility is a box of el cheapo chocolates. Hmm ...
Here's a box of chocolates for trying to save my life.
No. It doesn't seem like a fair trade.
There is one last possibility ...
I buy her a card. It has two cute bear cubs on the front – real ones, not cartoons – and absolutely no mushy writing.
The last time I had a try at this I couldn't get any further than Dear Sylvie, but I know her better now so it shouldn't be too difficult.
Here I go again:
Dear Sylvie
Thanks for saving my life – it wasn't worth saving
before I met you.
Neil
X
As soon as I've written it I start swearing at myself. She's never going to see that card. I go out of my way to get one without mushy writing and then I turn into King Mush himself. Idiot!
I buy the same card again. This time I play it safe.
Dear Sylvie
I'm sure I thanked you for saving me at the dam,
but I wanted to thank you again.
Neil.
PS I hope you like bears.
That's perfect. No mush. And not an X in sight.
I listen outside her flat. I've already decided that if there's a bloke inside with her this time, then I'm knocking at the wrong door – I'll go and I won't come back. But all I hear is a vacuum cleaner grinding away at full blast. It takes a few loud knocks before the cleaner is swit
ched off and Sylvie opens the door.
'Oh. Hello, Neil.'
It hardly looks like her. Her face is almost plain. The rims of her eyes are red and wet.
Ignoring all that, I hand her the card.
'I wanted to buy you a proper present,' I say, 'but I didn't have enough money to get you something decent, so I bought you a card. It's pretty ordinary – I just wanted you to know I was grateful for what you did at the dam.'
'Please come in. I'm a bit of a fright at the moment – no make-up. I worked night shift and I haven't been up very long.'
'Maybe I should go and let you get some sleep.'
'Don't you dare go. I'll make you a cup of tea – I want one myself. Do you drink tea?'
'Yep.' I walk inside. 'At our house we have it coming out of the taps – just about anyway.'
She opens the card and smiles at the bears. That's hopeful. Then she reads the message and smiles again.
'That's sweet of you, Neil. And it's not an ordinary card. It's lovely ...'
I listen for any warning signs in her voice as we talk. Is she irritated, annoyed, fed up with me? No. Unless she's hiding it really well.
It's now or never.
'Sylvie, my brother Kevin is getting married.'
'That's exciting. Great.'
'I don't know when it is yet, but it's soon – he's been called up for the war.'
'Right. And he wants to get married before he goes?'
'That's the plan.'
'Well, I think that's a good idea. Congratulate him for me.'
'I will. Um, he said I could bring someone to the wedding, so' – this is absolute torture – 'I was wondering if you'd like to go with me.'
'You're inviting me? Well... That's a surprise.'
Now I hear the warning signs. I've probably embarrassed her. Got to get out of this – for her sake as well as mine.
'Yeah, on second thoughts, it's probably not a very good idea. I didn't think it through properly – you're working long hours and you're busy and you won't know anyone there – I'm only going 'cause I have to. It was a spur of the moment thing to ask you, so ... maybe we should just forget about it – I'll save you some cake.'
'Don't you want to hear my answer?'
'Not really ... It depends on what you're going to say. I don't want you to feel like you have to be nice to me.'
