by Andrew Daddo
I guess you’ve never wondered what it feels like to have children, laughing, carefree children, swing from your sturdy branches. To screen the brutal, unforgiving sun off of the little creatures that peck and gnaw at your trunk. The rodents that dance in your shadow, that shelter in your love.
All life isn’t so beautiful. Sometimes your roots seem to weaken, then crumble. I drop leaves that were once luscious and green.
Times are changing – for better or worse, for good and bad. Trees just like me are torn from their roots, their limbs broken, every day.
If only they had a voice.
If only I had a voice.
Maybe things could be different.’
The classroom was silent. I felt like I was going to explode, like the insides of my chest were going to pump through my ribcage and skin and into the classroom. When did Mr Baird’s room get so hot?
My story sounded much better when he read it than when I did. He used long pauses, making his voice softer in some parts than others. When I read it to myself it just kind of blurted out, but he gave it weight, making it sound intense and pretty heavy.
Madison Ansey turned to look at me and nodded. ‘Beautiful,’ she mouthed.
Now it really was getting warm in here. Just about everyone was looking at me, but I couldn’t figure out if they were thinking I was from planet dickweed or planet awesome.
‘That’s really nice, Dylan,’ said Gracie Chilcott. ‘It’s, like, amazing actually. It’s beautiful.’
‘Yeah, it’s beautiful,’ said Anton. He had his hands clasped together at his chest and was fluttering his eyelashes. ‘So beautiful – if you’re a homo.’
‘Dead set, he is,’ said Hamish Banning. ‘He’s an A-Grade arse bandit, aren’t you, Tree-boy?’
‘Seriously? That’s enough, thank you,’ said Mr Baird. ‘It’s actually a really nice piece of writing and I’m going to put it up for the end-of-year gazette. With a bit of work and a lot of luck, that’s the sort of stuff that makes it. Well done, Dylan. It’s great work.’
‘It’s still gay, though,’ muttered Hamish.
‘And that’s just the sort of lame response I’m beginning to expect from you. Shall we have a look at what you wrote, Hamish? Why don’t we see how that went?’
‘That’s okay, Sir,’ he said. ‘I’m fine. I don’t need to show off by having my stuff read out.’
Mr Baird worked through the pile of papers on his desk. ‘But you’re happy to give it to others. Call them derogatory names, be mean and spiteful for cheap laughs. That’s the cool thing to do, isn’t it?’ He laid a flatline stare at him before adding, ‘So cool.’
Hamish slouched in his chair, his butt so far forward it was almost off his seat. If he cared, you wouldn’t know about it.
‘Here it is, excellent. Do you want to read it, or shall I?’ Hamish wasn’t moving, but he wasn’t looking so smug, either. ‘Here you go, you can read it out for us. A nice big voice thanks, mate.’ He dropped the page on the table in front of Hamish. ‘When you’re ready.’
Hamish slid the page in front of him and straightened up a little. ‘Deathstar,’ he mumbled.
‘Sorry, Hamish. A little louder, please? What’s it called?’
‘Deathstar,’ but his voice had wandered further into his boots. When he read, it was in a slow, laboured kind of way, as if this was the first time he’d seen the words and he wasn’t sure of them or their meaning. ‘In a land a real long way away was a star called Deathstar.’ He looked up from the page, his face a deep shade of shame. ‘I’m not reading it.’
‘Read it,’ said Mr Baird.
‘Nup.’
‘Read it. Come on, tough guy. Or I can read it for you.’ Hamish pulled the page closer to him, protecting it like the smart kids do with their answers in maths tests.
‘No, really. Give it to me,’ said the teacher. But Hamish screwed the piece of paper into a ball and held it in his fist. He was seething. But so was Mr Baird, who was standing over him with his hand out. ‘You know what? It’s okay, I remember it. There is a star a real long way away called Deathstar and it’s going to crash into the earth, and that. But a guy called Hammer has a plan to stop it. That’s a good one, Hamish. Hammer. He’s going to shoot it with his ray gun but that’s after he finishes with his girlfriend who’s real hot, and that. But his girlfriend is really an agent from Deathstar who has a walkie-talkie and is going to tell Deathstar when to crash into earth, right? So he kills her and saves the world. What did he say into the walkie-talkie at the end? That’s right, “Arse ta la vista, Deathstar!” Genius. I only wish I could say it with the grammar and spelling mistakes. They made it seem so much more like the Year Four story it actually is.’
No one moved.
Hamish Banning appeared to concentrate very hard on his hands. His ears were the colour of cherries.
‘I’ll tell you something. All of you, but especially you, Hammer. It’s so easy to criticise the people who are making an effort. And it would almost be fine if you were prepared to do the work yourself. But you’re not. You’re just happy to piss-fart around and make fun of others. Not so good having fun made of you, though, is it, Hammer? Get out. Sit in the hall. I’ll see you after class.’
Mr Baird went back to his desk and picked up the other stories while Hamish took his time shuffling out.
He took the long way so he could go past my desk and leer, ‘You’re an absolute poof, Faggot.’ I didn’t look at him. And there was no way I was going to let him take away the buzz I was feeling.
When Mr Baird finally turned around he did a good job of being back to normal.
I was pretty rapt for the rest of English. Things got even better when I went to my locker to trade books for gym gear.
Gracie stuck her head around the door of my locker. She did it in a way that made me think she was going to use her hidden hand to come over the top and pull her head back by the hair behind the locker door, as if it was someone else.
I must have done that a million times when I was a kid. Dad showed me how to do it. It was so funny the way he’d pretend there was someone behind the door with him, constantly pulling him away. I’d laugh so hard and try to see who was there, but he always said I had to stay back, or he’d be taken for good. I had hated the thought of losing my dad, and it was weird the way Gracie made me think of him like that. Dad hasn’t done much funny stuff for a while.
Gracie took a step away from the lockers and stood in front of me. ‘That was a pretty cool story,’ she said. ‘It was actually, like, really beautiful.’
I kind of nodded and started shuffling books in my locker.
‘Like, you know,’ she said. ‘It was, like, touching. I thought I was going to cry.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be sad, and that. It was just, you know, some shit I thought of.’ I think I’d moved my chem textbook on top of my biology textbook and back under my maths book three times by this stage.
‘As if,’ said Gracie. She had her back against the lockers now. Her arms were folded across her chest, creating a cradle for her breasts. Gracie was stacked – it wasn’t as if you couldn’t notice. It was even worse when her arms were folded like that. Her head was tilted to the side, making her hair hang across her left eye. With a hostile blow she tried to remove it, but only managed to give it some air before it settled in the same spot. I liked the way her lips puckered when she blew like that, a lopsided kiss. Eventually she tucked the strand behind her ear, but the hair didn’t take long to escape again.
‘So, seriously, where’d you get the idea for that? ‘Me, Tree’, wasn’t it? How’d you think of it? I can never think of anything.’ Gracie flopped her head towards the other shoulder, creating a whole new visual symphony with her hair. She leant against the wall of lockers with her hands behind her back, letting her fingers strum the locker behind her.
It was hard to speak. ‘Oh, I dunno, you know. I just, you know.’
‘Did you copy off someone else? Like the internet? My
older brother does that all the time.’ She looked around, like she was checking that no one was watching her. I followed her gaze down the hallway. Hannah Macrae and Isabella Crentin were huddled together, looking like they were trying not to watch. They were giggling. ‘So, anyway, did ya?’ What were they laughing at? ‘Did ya?’
‘What?’
‘Copy it off the net? Did you google intense and beautiful short stories, or what?’
‘No way,’ I said. ‘Does that stuff even exist? Is there actually a response for intense and beautiful stories? Anyway, I wouldn’t do that. I just started thinking what it would be like to be a tree and how we’re kind of the same in a weird way.’
‘As trees?’
‘Sure. Like, when I was a little kid, I was looked after all the time. Like, all the time. And then, a couple of months ago, my Mum planted this new sort of hedge thing along our front fence. It took ages. She was putting stuff in the soil and digging it in, she watered the holes and was really anal the way she teased the roots from where they’d got all manky from being in the plastic pots. She was careful with every plant, you know? Like she loved ’em. She’s still kind of like that with my little sister.’
‘But not with you.’
‘No way. I mean, yes, but no, you know?’ I was blushing and she was bouncing herself off the lockers. ‘Once trees get established they don’t need much lookin’ after, right? Just a bit of water, and some fertiliser or food. Well, we’re a bit like that, aren’t we? We’re kind of established? We can look after ourselves.’
Now I put my biology book on top of maths and under chemistry. The corridor was thinning out quickly, Hannah and Isabella were still there, but seemed to have lost a bit of interest. I’m pretty sure Hannah was trying to give Gracie a hurry up.
If she noticed, she wasn’t reacting. ‘But there’s nothing about baby trees in your story, it’s older trees with kids hanging off them and dying, right? It was so sad.’
Having this girl this close and talking to me, as in, really talking, was intense. And pretty awesome.
When Mr Baird was reading my story, I saw her looking at him a bit wistfully before turning the same look on me. I don’t know if I looked away fast enough, but that could have been a good thing, given she was no longer bouncing off the lockers next to mine, but basically hanging off my locker door. I couldn’t keep pretending to sort my books, so I grabbed my gym bag and made to close the door.
‘In a hurry, are ya?’ Gracie said.
The corridor was pretty well empty now. If the bell had gone, I’d missed it.
‘Don’t you reckon we’d better go?’
‘Walk me to my next class, then,’ she said. I felt as if I was in one of those American high school movies where the girls are full on and the guys know what to do about it. This was a very new experience for me.
‘And on the way you can tell me where the bit about the young trees is in your story?’ She headed for B block, exactly the opposite direction to the change rooms and gym.
‘Well?’ she said over her shoulder.
Like a dog after a bone I followed, though hopefully not with my tongue hanging out. I told her there was a whole other part to ‘Me, Tree’. It was about how the seedling became a sapling and got strong enough to look after itself. ‘The bit Mr Baird read out was the end part, I just didn’t give him the start because it’s too long and it’s probably not that good.’
‘Did you think the part you gave him was good?’
‘Not really. I s’pose it was orright.’ This was her chance to tell me it was better than all right, that it was really good and she really liked it and that she liked me because she liked the story, and the possibilities were bubbling away so ferociously inside me, I didn’t even hear her say, ‘I’m here’.
‘Huh?’ I said when she stopped walking.
‘I’m here. This is my class.’
Through the skinny glass slot in the door I could see everyone in there: Miss Diago up the front shuffling papers, the kids looking at her. Isabella and Hannah were sitting together. I’m pretty sure that seeing Gracie with me at the door was what made their mouths slop open. They both put their hands over their mouths and pointed at us, at exactly the same time in the same way. What is it with girls? I thought.
‘See ya,’ said Gracie as she opened the door to her next class.
‘Yeah,’ I said back. Oh my God, I thought, as I turned and headed for my PDHPE class. Oh my God! What was that all about? I hadn’t quite made it to the corner when I heard my name called.
‘Dylan?’
Gracie had her head sticking out from her classroom door. ‘Dylan!’ A demand not a question, and a little louder this time.
I stopped.
‘Come ’ere,’ she called, motioning quickly with her hand. Before I was all the way there, she said, ‘Can I . . .?’ But the question lingered.
‘What?’ I said.
She had her head to one side again. She looked old and young and shy and sexy and I was out of my depth. ‘So. Do you wanna, ah . . .?’
‘Gracie Chilcott. Get in here!’ It was Miss Diago.
‘What?’ I said again. But she shut the door with a small wave through the panel of glass. I mouthed through the glass ‘Do I wanna what?’ But I was talking to the back of her head and when she moved, Miss Diago’s face was right there.
I should have waved to Gracie. I was only a few steps away when I turned to have a last look through that thin glass slot in the door. Isabella and Hannah looked as if they were about to wet themselves.
This was nuts.
Whaaaaaaaaaaat? I wanted to yell. Do I wanna what? Do I wanna go out with you and can you kiss me? Is that the what? Can you what? Can you meet me after school and can we make out for, like, an hour? What the hell was that all about?
I ran to the gym powered by possibility and the genuine fear I was going to get it.
PDHPE hadn’t quite started.
Our usual high-panting gym teacher, Mr Ford, was away, so a substitute was in charge. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry for us to get going, so a couple of the boys were on the basketball court while everyone else was dicking about in the change rooms.
‘The homo,’ said Hamish Banning. ‘So good of you to join us. I thought you might have been off with your boyfriend, Beard, drinking chai lattes and talking about trees and roots and rooting each other.’ He was looking about like one of those wobbly-headed dogs you see in the back windows of cars, but with a smirk. ‘What a pair of poofters you turned out to be.’
I barely glanced at him. There wasn’t much to say.
I could have told him where to go but no one says that stuff to Hamish Banning because if he doesn’t belt you, he’ll get his mate Lurch to do it. Or worse, it’ll be his older brother Bevan or his black-belt mate. They were the school gorillas, and spent most of their lunchtimes hanging out at the top end of the oval pointing and laughing and bullying, basically acting like a couple of steroid-fuelled silverbacks looking for something to whack.
Besides, I was still swept up in the funk of Gracie Chilcott. She was probably definitely going to ask me out. I could tell from the way she got all shy and cutesy when she had her head poking out the classroom door. ‘So, do you wanna . . .?’ ‘Can I . . .?’
It was so easy to put it all together for her. ‘Can I – ask you something? Do you wanna – go out with me? We could go out, just the two of us. Do something different. Get a coffee or go for a walk or, gee, I dunno, do you, like, want to go fishing, maybe? I love fishing. Do you love fishing? Fishing’s cool. We could fish and then cook what we catch for a late breakfast on those barbeques at Little Manly. You got rods?’
‘I got at least one,’ I’d say. ‘You bet I do. I could give it to you, if you like. You wanna go for a swim? I’ve seen you in your bikini on Instagram but I’d love to seeeee you, if you know what I mean?’
How could anyone think she’s a bitch? She must have got that reputation somehow, but I can’t see it. Not after
our walk ’n’talk.
My head was definitely not in the school change rooms. At that moment, I was about as far away as anyone could be from school. The beach was right there in the forefront of my mind, and the water beyond was that perfect aquamariney-island-postcardy pale blue, a bit like Gracie Chilcott’s eyes, just not as deep.
If I didn’t start thinking about algebra or factorising quadratics I was going to have a problem. I bent forward to mask my excitement and dug my hands in my pockets. Turning back to face the gym lockers, I used one foot to hold the back of the other so I could take off my Clarks without using my hands. There’s not much worse than being caught with a chubby at school, especially in the locker rooms before gym.
‘Can I . . .?’, ‘So, do you wanna . . .?’ Shit. It was all so full of possibility, I thought I was going to explode. ‘You bet you can . . .’
‘Wed-GEEEEEE!’ I heard it before I felt it, but by the time I realised someone had got hold of the back of my undies I was up on my toes, being lifted skyward. I mean, I was up, I was airborne. I was flying in the locker room. It must have been Banning, or that slobbering idiot, Lurch – hadn’t he turned into a dickhead since becoming Banning’s best mate.
But I could see Lurch against the lockers hacking out a huge laugh as I was literally swung around in a circle. My hands were pinned deep in my pockets, I couldn’t free them, and I started to pitch forward. With no free hands, I was going to end up face first in a locker or a bench or something else with a hard edge. Mercifully, I thought, the world stopped spinning and I started bouncing up and down. With every bounce my jocks were wedged further and further into my arse crack. It hurt as much as it burned.
Everyone was pissing themselves laughing, as if seeing me swung around and bounced about like a ragdoll by Hamish Banning was the funniest thing ever. They started a chant, ‘Wed-gee! Wed-gee! Wed-gee!’
‘Stop!’ I tried to yell. ‘Stoooop!’ I finally got my hands free and started flailing about at Hamish, trying to hit him with an elbow or a fist. I tried to kick him, to hurt him any way I could. But he had a good purchase on my undies and, for reasons I’ll never know, they wouldn’t rip. Once again, he lifted me clean off the ground and roared, ‘How do you like that, homo? You like shit up your arse, don’t you, poof? You love this shit! He’s a fag!’ he yelled to his gallery. ‘He loves it!’
