by Andrew Daddo
The air was so still. There was just the slightest tinkle as the stays tapped against the masts of the boats. Just the vaguest slap of water against hulls, but that was about it. There wasn’t much of anything else. The big slap was coming. There was the odd burnout or siren, but those kinds of noises travelled through time and space and could be from anywhere.
I should have set Gracie’s house on fire, that’d bring some sirens.
The half moon fought its way through the clouds and lit me up.
I hate myself. I really do, I just hate being me. It’s useless, there is no value in it. There’s no upside, there’s no bonus or good stuff or anything. And worse, I’m not even as good at hating myself as everyone else seems to be.
I’m the joke. That’s the funny part. The whole thing’s a great big joke called me. I can’t ever go back to school. And there’s nothing to go home to: my dysfunctional family’s totally lost it, so really, what’s the point? It’s all just shit.
I typed into my phone:
He’d know. Ryan’d get the text and a little part of him would die because he’d know what he’d done to me. He could explain it to Mum and Dad better than me because he’s so damn smart. He could front up tomorrow morning or whenever it was and help them make sense of everything. He knows me better than anyone, so he’d know it was impossible for me to go back to school on Monday with everyone thinking I’d photographed my own butt-hole. And worse, it was true.
The way they’d laughed. It was so hard, they just cacked. Hamish’s dad knew about it, his brother had pissed himself. Madison Ansey had squealed. She’d actually squealed, like I’m a freak.
I held my phone up to the ether and pressed send, almost overbalancing with the force I’d put on the go button. The safety fence shuddered, wobbled a bit, but I got it under control. Thanks for nothing, mate.
I wanted to take off. This next step was for me.
One last step and every single one of my problems will be over.
I was so angry and so hurt and wanted so much to hurt everyone else. They’d abandoned me. I was alone, my crutches kicked out from under me, and here I was on the high wire stumbling about; limping, useless and utterly abandoned.
This had to be the best way to punish them. Pricks. They’d know. They’d all know what part they’d played, their betrayals and bullying and teasing, then building me up so I could be catastrophically fucked over. We weren’t friends any more. We probably never were, and as that thought landed on top of all the others I was struck by a wave of mourning for me.
How did I not see it? Gracie would have planned the whole thing, she’s so funny. Let’s ask Dylan to our no-dickheads party, but not let him in cos he’s a dickhead! Then let’s tell stories about what a dickhead he is.
But Ryan? Why had he told them? What had happened to him? What was he thinking?
He hadn’t thought. He couldn’t have.
And now, I was almost free. My mind cleared as surely as if I’d been cracked open and all the junk and confusion was let loose. This’d be it; all the hurt and shame was actually quite easy to be rid of. It couldn’t hurt worse than my heart did now. No more zits or spare tyres or giggles behind hands as I walked past. I wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of being the big joke at school or at home, because this was it. No more fights, no more getting battered, no more wondering what things meant. I would finally get out of the maze I’d been stumbling about in for as long as I could remember.
‘Do you wanna?’ I kind of mumbled to the expanse before me. But then again, louder. ‘Dylan, do you wanna?’
I wanted to. I’m going to.
If I did it, there’d be no more arguing or trying to understand Hayley, but then, no more cuddling Ronnie either. And what would Mum do? She’d have to burn all those stupid, positive affirmations she hoards because this one step would go beyond fatalistic explanation. She might never understand it, no matter how long she trawled the web or her pile of self-help books.
She’d turn to Ryan for help, first. He was my best friend, right? Ryan’d played his part in all of this, so he’d be able to clear up some of it. Mum’d see that last text to him and he’d have nowhere to hide.
Maybe she would find solace in those ridiculous sayings. She’d have to find just the right one. Something more than I am. I am gone from here, that’s what I am. There would be no reconciling for her and Dad because it would have to be more his fault than anyone’s. He would hate himself for the way he’d treated me, and he would live with that forever. But what if Mum blamed herself? It’s not about her, anyway. Not any more.
It’s finally about me, and best of all, there’d be nothing for me to answer for because I wouldn’t be here to do it.
They’d all be there at the church or the school hall. Crying, hugging, holding hands and looking at their own reflections in each other’s sunglasses.
We loved him so much. He was my best friend. What will we do without him?
I could see the rivers of tears and running mascara.
One more step and I’d show them. I lifted my right foot from the railing, knowing I couldn’t clear Deadman’s launching like this. I closed my eyes and put my arms out wide.
No wind. No noise.
Everyone else would have to live with this. But not me. I wouldn’t be there. I wouldn’t see any of it.
If I jumped, if I really did it, if I took flight, there really would be nothing after. The next step will be the last. There will be no more.
I put my foot back on the railing.
I closed my eyes again, but Ronnie slid onto the screen. Ronnie and Mum. I didn’t care so much about the others. It was Ronnie and Mum, and Mum’s got Ronnie’s voice and she’s squeaking in that about-to-cry way, ‘I’ll be all right.’ And Ronnie’s saying, ‘I am – lonely without you.’ But she sounds like Mum. ‘I am – missing you, Dylan. I am – lost.’
What am I doing?
What did Dad say? It’s a moment in time, and they all pass. Good for bad, bad for good.
I couldn’t stop crying.
There had to be better ways to pay everyone back. I could just leave. They would let me change schools. I could drop out. I didn’t have to return on Monday or ever. All I had to do was leave, but maybe not like this.
Why was I always crying? Why was I always on the verge of tears?
This was definitely not the way to leave.
I should have launched from the railing. I should have really pushed out, pushed hard into the air, using my arms and thighs the way I’d been taught. It would have been a simple thing to clear Deadman’s, even in the middle of the night it’s a simple dive. There was time and space to do a somersault, maybe two.
I should never have been up there in the first place.
I slipped. I’d decided to get down from the railing. I’d changed my mind, no one had to know any of it. But I slipped.
Everything went from black to white so fast. It was like I broke the surface of the water and hit the rock at the same time. I didn’t actually feel Deadman’s, just the white light and the sound, the thwack of me on water and sandstone.
It must have been high tide, that’s all I could think.
I must have gone pretty much straight down.
Some kind of God must have been watching, because my head must’ve just cleared Deadies. My shoulders, too. Coach Tran had taught us how to save a dive, how to manoeuvre our bodies to get us straighter if we were off kilter. I was so off kilter in so many ways. I was so unclear and confused and hurt. I was off my head. But because it was dark, I couldn’t really see the water, there was nothing to focus on, nothing to spot. Maybe my thighs hit Deadman’s, maybe that’s what happened, but I was definitely head first into the water, and the force of my thighs hitting the ledge would have spun my head into the rock below. There was a white flash and an explosion behind my eyes, and I stopped moving towards the bottom faster than I could in any normal dive. I knew I was under the water and not breathing and a couple of st
reet lights were out of reach above the surface. Everything looked a lifetime away.
I wasn’t dead.
Thank God I wasn’t dead.
I struck out with my arms and found the surface where fresh salted air filled my lungs. After that initial rush to the top, everything slowed down to turtle speed. I didn’t panic or thrash or anything. I lay back with my nose and my eyes the only thing clear of the water, like I used to do in the bath, and watched.
All I could do was use my arms to keep me near the surface. I couldn’t kick. It was like my legs were missing.
There were boats and lights and car headlights in the distance. People were on the beach tooling around, windows were open, blue lights reflected off ceilings as people watched Saturday night filler on TV. It was so still. And beautiful. But my legs wouldn’t work when I wanted them to, they just throbbed beneath me like a keel, keeping me balanced.
So I floated.
And waited.
And watched.
If you’re going through a tough situation that you don’t feel comfortable talking about with your friends or family, you can find help elsewhere. Reach out to a counsellor on a free anonymous hotline or website.
AUSTRALIA
Beyond Blue: 1300 22 4636
www.beyondblue.org.au – 24-hour helpline for support and information about depression or anxiety.
Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800
www.kidshelpline.com.au – 24-hour helpline for children and young people under the age of 25.
Lifeline: 13 11 14
www.lifeline.org.au – 24-hour helpline.
Samaritans: 13 52 47
www.thesamaritans.org.au / support@samaritanscrisisline.org.au – 24-hour helpline.
NEW ZEALAND
Depression Helpline: 0800 111 757
www.depression.org.nz – 24-hour counselling.
Lifeline: 09 522 2999 (Auckland) / 0800 543 354 (outside Auckland); www.lifeline.org.nz – 24-hour counselling.
Samaritans: 0800 726 666 / 04 473 9739
www.samaritans.org.nz – 24-hour helpline for non-judgmental, confidential support.
Youthline: 0800 37 66 33 / text 234
www.youthline.co.nz / [email protected] – free helpline.
Thanks to Selwa Anthony for seeing the potential in this story and for goading me on, ten thousand words at a time. Everyone should have a Selwa, and a Linda and a Brian who make visits to the best sunroom south of the big bridge even more enjoyable.
To Laura Harris and Heather Curdie who took this leap of faith with me and helped refine One Step into a story worth sharing. Particularly Heather who gently manhandled me through the editing process with integrity and honesty – and her son, who I have not met – but who suffered through the occasional questioning from his mother about what teenage boys really think and do.
Our son Felix is a brilliant source for keeping things real, and Bibi, our elder daughter often found the words I could not. In fact, just being with family, especially dinnertime around our homegrown table – talking, listening and enjoying – is not just a brilliant writer’s aid for staying in touch, but must also be the key to spiritual contentment. Jac and Jas have their hands in One Step as well.
Mark Macleod, the ultimate silent partner in almost everything I do, was typically generous, providing belief and confidence from the very early draft. His imprint upon my life is undeniable, even when he’d argue it’s not. Kris Butson was another early reader, thanks for laughing in the right spots.
The artwork was never going to be easy for a story like this. Marina Messiha did a beautiful job. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.
And finally to an old friend, Ben Niall, who was good enough to share some memories from our formative years. It’s funny how the same moments were different for the two of us.
That’s the nuts and bolts of One Step, I think.
We never really know the impact we have on others – good or bad. But especially bad, and for reasons I’m not sure about, we tend to dwell on the bad much longer than the good.
A friendly belting on the arm might be a bashing. A joke about pimples might be premeditated emotional abuse. A harmless wedgie in the school change rooms might be a bit of skylarking, but not to everyone.
Andrew Daddo
About the Author
ANDREW DADDO’s managed to have a crack at just about every aspect of the entertainment industry. He’s appeared on TV, on stage and even made movies. He has presented radio programs and podcasts.
Best of all, Andrew’s an accomplished author. He’s written 25 books including picture books, chapter books, short story collections, novels and a vague biography – he’s hard to pin down. He also talks up literacy in schools.
PRAISE FOR ONE STEP
A power read . . . true to life. Very insightful. It needs to be out there. Brett Murray, CEO, Make Bullying History Foundation
As I read One Step, I kept wishing that Andrew Daddo didn’t know all these secrets: they’re mine, as well as Dylan’s. But I’m glad that at last someone has told them. I winced, I cried and I laughed at this unforgettable story. Mark Macleod, Children’s Literature Consultant
PENGUIN BOOKS
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Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies
whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2016
Text copyright © Andrew Daddo 2016.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Design and illustration by Marina Messiha © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
penguin.com.au
ISBN: 978-1-76014-219-3
THE BEGINNING
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