My Private Pectus

by Shane Thamm

  ‘I thought you wouldn't mind,’ I say to Gez as Ryan approaches.

  ‘He's my brother. Why would I want my brother around when I'm with my girl?’

  ‘What about me?’ I say.

  ‘You're different. You know when to split.’

  He's right about that. Last time I was at Westies with Gez and his ex, I split after about ten minutes. I wouldn't come at all if the other option wasn't being at home with Dad.

  Gez scuffs the floor as Ryan wanders towards us, waving. We buy Maccas and wait for Lisa.

  ‘Is that her?’ Ryan keeps asking when a girl to his liking walks by. He stuffs chips into his mouth as he scans, points to girls with big tits in tight singlets, skinny ones in hipster jeans.

  ‘No,’ Gez keeps saying, sounding more annoyed each time.

  It's not until Lisa approaches and Gez gets up that Ryan realises she's the one. ‘Nice work, bro, what a catch,’ he says as if we're trailing lines over a jetty.

  Gez greets Lisa with a kiss and rests his hand on her hip. Lisa says ‘Hi,’ and smiles at us boys who stare in return. She sums up the situation, clearly surprised that her man has a couple of hangers-on.

  Ryan steps forward, but before he can introduce himself, Lisa goes, ‘Oh.’ She points to Gez and then at Ryan and says, ‘Brothers.’ Lisa can come across as ditsy, but she's not. Not by a long shot. She's the dux of English and Art. If she wasn't Gez's girl, I'd be in love. Maybe I am, just in denial.

  She has long, thick, brown hair and soft blue eyes. Her skin is tanned—evidence of summers spent yachting in Pumicestone Passage at Caloundra. Lisa's family has money, and they spend it well.

  ‘You must be the best brother in the world,’ she says to Ryan.

  Eyebrows raised, Ryan looks at her. He's obviously got no idea where that came from. Me neither.

  ‘Gerald's told me all about the car. I can't wait to see it. I hope you get it going.’ Now she looks at me. ‘You're helping too, aren't you, Sticks?’

  ‘Sure am,’ I say, unable to believe the hottest girl in Year 12 has just spoken to me.

  Then she scans all three of us and says, ‘You don't mind if I come over sometime and help out?’

  I shove my hands in my pockets to fix things up. Ryan does too. Gez puts his arm around Lisa's shoulders and says, ‘How ‘bout this arvo?’

  They head off, leaving me and Ryan standing there. We look at each other. What are we supposed to do? Follow or do our own thing? We follow. Lisa looks great from behind.

  ‘Do you think you'll have the car going soon?’ I overhear her ask as we catch up. ‘We could go up to the Passage,’ she says. ‘I could take you out on the yacht. That's if you want to, of course.’

  Man, he's lucky.

  We go into HMV, start checking out the labels. Lisa takes Gez straight to the top ten section and I chuckle because he hates commercial music. I go looking for the latest Hives album. Ryan follows because we're into the same kind of stuff. But as I search, a voice says, ‘Hey, I like them, too.’ Thinking it's Lisa, I turn around, but it's not Lisa at all. It's Samantha Dean and she's looking at me in a way that suggests she already knows what I'm going to say back, so I don't say anything. ‘They're cool, eh?’ she says.

  Ryan is still next to me, so I introduce him.

  ‘Hi,’ they say in unison.

  ‘Sam's from school,’ I say.

  Ryan nods at me. He must remember her name from our conversation in the surf. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asks her.

  ‘Not much,’ she says. ‘I usually download, but I like to look.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ryan says.

  Sam goes back to searching for something nearby and tucks her black hair behind her ears. I try to see what she's looking at, but she keeps catching my gaze, or do I catch hers? Sometimes it's hard to tell. Ryan heads her way and before long they're talking about their favourite bands and get into an argument over their best festival experience. Ryan tells her how he, Gez and I got sunburnt and lost each other in the mosh pit at the Big Day Out.

  ‘You should've seen Sticks afterwards,’ he says. ‘His skin peeled for weeks. Didn't it, Sticks?’

  I nod, but Sam only glances at me before giving her attention back to Ryan.

  ‘I peeled too,’ he says. ‘I even got a scar to show.’

  She tilts her head in disbelief. ‘You don't scar from sunburn.’

  ‘Want to bet?’ He squats down in front of her and shows her a pale patch of skin on the back of his neck. ‘Here,’ he says, rubbing a finger over it. He looks over his shoulder at her. ‘Do you believe me now?’

  She laughs. ‘Thanks, I really wanted to see that.’

  ‘It's just as I told you,’ he says.

  ‘I got one too,’ I say. Sam looks at me and laughs into her hand. She turns back to Ryan. ‘Is that where the story ends?’

  ‘Nah, heaps more,’ he says, then begins to recount the whole day.

  I wander off as they talk. ‘I've got one too?’ I say to myself. Then I say it out louder, mocking myself.

  ‘Got what?’ I spin around. It's Gez.

  ‘Nothing.’

  He looks at me weird then says, ‘Lisa wants to see Ryan's joint. You wanna come?’

  I can't believe it. Imagine Lisa in the unit. What about the bongs, the mouldy loaves of bread, the wetsuits on the floor, and Mike, who's probably comatose on the couch.

  ‘Gez,’ I say.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘C'mon, man, it'll be all right. I want to show her the car.’ He goes off to join Lisa who's now outside the store, waving to us to hurry up. Ryan's still talking to Sam, so I go over to let him know what's going on.

  ‘You want to come too?’ he says to her.

  The unit has lost its free and casual feel with the girls in it. Ryan ducked in first and cleared his bong from the coffee table, but the place still smells of beer and boys. To make matters worse, Mike's home. He's sitting on the couch, watching a kid's afternoon TV show. Gez introduces the girls.

  Mike looks lustily at Lisa, starts asking her questions about school as if Sam doesn't exist.

  ‘C'mon,’ Gez says to the girls, ‘I'll show you around.’

  Lisa doesn't seem to mind being taken away from Mike, whose eyes follow her to the hallway.

  ‘Hey, Mike, can I show ‘em your room, too?’ Gez yells.

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Mike says.

  Mike sits up and says a bit too loud, ‘That fat one. Is she the footy chick?’

  I nod.

  He lets out a breath. ‘You can do better,’ he says. I nod in agreement, but then he says, ‘Still, I'd do her.’

  When Gez comes back with the girls, he says, ‘I reckon me and Sticks will rent a unit next year.’

  The girls look at me.

  ‘Eh, Sticks?’ he says.

  ‘You bet.’ I really like the idea even though we've never talked about it before.

  ‘I thought you were going to join the army,’ Mike says.

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ I say trying to avoid the conversation.

  ‘What do you want to do that for?’ Lisa asks.

  I've rehearsed this. I have to say it to relatives when Dad's nearby. ‘Heaps of reasons,’ I say. ‘You can get a degree or a trade, go overseas, see things no one else gets to see. You can make a real difference, like in Timor or something. And if you stay long enough, you get a pension for life.’ Even to me that sounds good.

  ‘Yeah, but do you know what guys really get up to in the army?’

  ‘What?’ Sam asks.

  ‘You don't want to know,’ Lisa says. ‘But you only have to look it up on the internet. They drink too much, they hate women, hate gays.’

  ‘Hate gays!’ Mike laughs. He comes over to me and rubs my head with his fist. ‘You better watch out, then, Sticks.’

  ‘Rack off, I'm not gay.’

  He hisses with laughter and puts both hands out like scales. ‘Not gay,’ he says, raising one hand, ‘can't get la
id,’ and raises the other.

  Ryan and Lisa burst into laughter. Sam half smirks.

  ‘Something doesn't sound right!’ Mike goes on. Then he looks at me. ‘Come on, Sticks,’ he says. ‘Just joking.’

  Then Gez steps in. ‘Does anyone want to see the car?’ he asks. I'm relieved when they say they do.

  We head downstairs to the garage. When Gez gets to the car he waves his arms at it like a game-show host.

  ‘Are you serious?’ Lisa blurts. ‘It's a piece of junk.’ But the moment she sees his wounded face, she gasps, wraps her arms around him, pecks him on the cheek and says, ‘I'm kidding, it looks fine. Can't wait till it's going.’

  He forces a smile.

  ‘How much work does it need?’ she asks.

  ‘Heaps,’ I say.

  ‘Nah, not really,’ he says. But considering the wheels are propped against the wall, the door seals are hanging from the frames and it's missing a front fender, it's a bit hard to believe. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the scene.

  ‘Not as much as it looks,’ I say, coming to his rescue. ‘We've fixed most of it up already. We'll have it going in no time.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Two weeks, three at the most.’

  Lisa tries to hide a smirk with her hand. She walks around the garage, taking a closer inspection of things: the posters of beach breaks on the walls, girls in swimsuits. Ryan follows and asks about yachting at Pumicestone, which sends Lisa off on stories about Christmas holidays with her family. I listen, fascinated. I've never owned a Beamer, a yacht or a flashy unit in a Kings Beach high-rise.

  Then I look at the boys. They hang off her—her friendly smile, tight waist, and her jeans that fit like a glove. It's as if Sam isn't even here. She stands not far from me, shuffling her feet in silence. I watch her, thinking she's not attractive, hardly worth a second glance. But at the same time I think, I bet I know how you feel. She catches my gaze and gives me a smile.

  taking it to the top

  I sit on the couch as Roger Pask and Dad go through insurance paperwork at the kitchen table. Normally when Roger comes over I retreat to my bedroom because he likes to ask me questions about school and girlfriends. I hate talking about school and never have girlfriends. This time he gets me before I have the chance.

  ‘Jack!’ he calls.

  I look up.

  ‘Got a girlfriend yet?’ he asks.

  I don't move.

  ‘Oh c'mon, mate, you know I'm not serious,’ he says. I let that go by in silence as well. ‘Jeeesus, Brian, that boy of yours,’ he says to Dad. Then he calls out again. ‘Could ya get us something to eat?’

  I gesture at the kitchen, but he says, ‘We're working here. Help us out for a second, would ya?’

  Dad raises his gaze from the paperwork.

  I get up and head into the kitchen. I open a cupboard and stare at the half-empty shelves and out-of-date packages. ‘What do you want?’ I ask and turn around. Roger chews his tongue, considering.

  ‘Crackers and dip. Have you got any cheeses?’ I look at Dad and Roger suggests, ‘Camembert?’

  ‘Beer?’ I say, pretending I don't know better, and pull a six pack of Fourex Gold from the fridge.

  ‘Yeah, that too,’ Roger says. But when I hand him a stubby and nothing else he pulls a face like I've forgotten something. He sucks his lips in momentarily then takes his mobile from his trouser pockets. It's dainty in his huge hands. He uses his pinkie to dial. He gets through, stares out the window and talks, one hand on his hip. After a while he hangs up. ‘Pizza's coming,’ he says much louder than he needs to.

  ‘What do I owe you?’ Dad asks.

  Roger laughs him off then flicks through some more paperwork.

  Dad met Roger in 1977 while they were both in the army. They ended up serving in the same unit—Roger a few ranks above. Going by the bits and pieces Dad has said in the past, Roger liked him right from the start. He was committed, showed loyalty. Years later when Mum and Dad split up, Roger told Dad he admired a soldier who could bring up a boy on his own. Dad wasn't just a good soldier; he was a model for society. I became the Pasks’ surrogate nephew. After Dad's accident and the onset of his migraines, Roger took it on himself to help Dad get through. Roger got him posted to a cushier job. When the army doctors weren't convinced, Roger wrote fitness reports about Dad's bad health. And now he dishes off work for Dad even though he doesn't need to. It's Roger's way to help out. So there are plenty of reasons to like Roger, and no doubt I would—if he wasn't such a knob.

  The pizza takes forever to arrive and I think that's great because we won't have to pay. But when the delivery guy rocks up—dressed in trousers and a button-up shirt, driving a turbo-diesel Volkswagen—Roger slaps him a fifty. I wait for the change. Nothing. These must be some pizzas. Moments later they're on the table—spirals of cheese and sour cream on one, delicately placed mussels in open shells on the other. I look at Dad in disbelief.

  ‘Best grub in town,’ Roger tells us and gives us a slice each. We use scrap paper as plates. I suck out a mussel then flick the shell at Knight Rider.

  ‘Jack belted this kid up at school the other day,’ Dad says all of a sudden with disappointment pasted all over his face. Then he starts re-telling Roger my incident with Cuppas in the dunny.

  Roger, however, holds his lips tight to conceal a grin. ‘How'd it all start?’

  Dad shrugs and looks to me to set things straight. Buoyed by Roger's half-hearted response, I start out with confidence, but when I tell him I was waiting to get into the cubicles, he screws his face and says, ‘Why'd you wanna go in there?’

  ‘ To get changed.’

  ‘Changed?’ he says like it's the dumbest thing he's ever heard.

  ‘I wanted privacy.’

  ‘Privacy?’ He puts his pizza down. ‘What's your problem? You're all blokes. You've all got the same packed lunch!’

  ‘Packed lunch,’ I say and snigger.

  He grins. ‘That's what we called it back in my army days. Packed lunch, isn't that right, Brian?’ and he punches Dad in the bicep.

  Dad gives Roger a stern look. ‘What?’ Roger says. ‘Just saying the facts.’

  ‘Thanks, Rog,’ Dad says, but as he shifts his attention back to me, Roger goes on.

  ‘And I packed more than you!’ he bellows. He bends over and slaps his thighs amid howls of laughter.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Dad says to him.

  ‘Ooooh, touchy,’ Roger says and shoots me a wink.

  ‘Tell Roger what happened next,’ Dad prompts me.

  I look at Roger for support, but the moment's passed. ‘What does it matter?’ I ask.

  Dad puts his beer down.

  I stare momentarily at the pizza, my appetite gone. ‘The boys were cracking Cuppas with the towel and I was trying to leave,’ I lie, ‘but The P grabbed me and put the towel in my hand.’ Dad's eye twitches as he watches me. ‘It's not like I wanted it,’ I say.

  Roger purses his lips, probably trying to imagine the scene. ‘Who's The P?’ he asks.

  I mumble, ‘Dale Petersen.’

  ‘Dale,’ Roger spits. ‘Sounds like a pansy.’

  ‘Oh, no he's not,’ Dad says. ‘Dale's good. Real good. You should see him go.’

  ‘He's a moron,’ I say.

  ‘Watch your lip!’ Dad orders.

  Roger chuckles into his fist.

  ‘Well he is. He's the one who started it.’

  ‘And you're the one who continued it,’ Dad says. ‘You should've seen him, Roger. He went at that kid like a piñata. Imagine fronting up to that kid's parents and telling them it was my boy who covered their son with welts. Imagine that!’

  ‘It wasn't just me!’

  Finally the scene dawns on Roger: ‘There was a heap of you against one kid?’

  ‘He asked for it. He called me a poof,’ I say.

  ‘He didn't?’ Roger says, but then his face changes, like he's suddenly realised the most terrible fact. ‘You're not … are yo
u?’

  ‘No!’

  Roger crosses his arms, his brow furrowed. He turns to Dad. ‘And the teacher, was he there?’

  ‘Maloney?’ Dad pushes his beer away. ‘You know what he said? He said I've no right to go off at the boys like I did. No right. Can you believe it?’

  ‘Why's that?’ Roger asks.

  ‘He reckons when it comes to discipline, that's his job. He's the teacher, he said. Some bloody teacher.’ Dad reaches for his beer again. ‘He said I've got to take it to the principal. Get him to sort it out. I'm not allowed to take things into my own hands.’ Dad sways his head from side to side with sarcasm. ‘What am I meant to do, Rog? How do they expect me to coach a team of feral teenagers without giving them a rev from time to time?’

  ‘Have you told him what you think?’ Roger asks.

  Now that the focus has shifted from me I see it as an opportunity to leave. ‘I'm going to my room,’ I say.

  ‘No you're not!’ Dad yells. ‘I'm not done yet.’

  I sit down heavily.

  ‘What's the school going to do?’ Roger asks.

  ‘Nothing!’ Dad says. ‘I told Maloney he can shove his discipline! I sorted those boys out, let me tell you.’

  Roger takes a bite from his pizza and chews slowly, looking at Dad.

  ‘Maloney said my methods will ruin team spirit,’ Dad goes on.

  Roger spits an olive seed into his palm. ‘Maybe you should take it higher,’ he says. ‘Do what that Maloney says.’

  ‘What?’ Dad cries.

  ‘Think about it, Brian. It's the start of the season, you've got to mould the team how you want them. Right now you've got the boys worried, but not too worried. They think all this punishment is over, am I right?’

  ‘Course they do, but I bet they're still worried. Jack's still hurting from his punishment.’

  Roger looks at me. ‘Push-ups?’ he asks.

  I nod.

  He turns back to Dad. ‘Crikey, Brian, you don't change, do you? You've got no imagination. It was always push-ups.’

  Dad's shoulders dip.