My Private Pectus

by Shane Thamm

And this time I actually run. I sprint along our street and turn the corner. The cold air bites at my lungs. I get to the lights, and go right towards Norman Creek and the park. The mangrove reek is worse than usual, an ibis scurries away, a guard dog barks from a nearby industrial block. I follow the path beside the creek, and don't let up until I get to Deshon Street. My legs are burning and I start to walk. What a dick. Jack, why the hell did he write Jack? And what kind of alias is The Captain? The Knob more like it. Captain Knob.

  Coming up to Oscar's I see him there unlocking the roller door. I think of what I told Dad when he signed me up for JOES, how he laughed when I said I'd like to be a mechanic. So once the door's up I follow Oscar inside and stop at the counter. He's chewing something. He peers beyond me, as if looking out the door for my car. ‘Watcha want?’

  ‘An apprenticeship,’ I say.

  He scratches at his beard then points to the ad on the counter. ‘It says I want a casual.’

  I look at it more closely. ‘And it says applications closed last week,’ I say.

  He heads off to his office, which is a room made of plywood, a glass sliding door and a poorly fitted airconditioner. I catch the door as he tries to close it.

  He turns to me, still chewing.

  ‘So have you got someone?’ I ask.

  He takes the toothpick out and flicks it at a bin, but he misses and it lands on the floor along with other toothpicks and scraps of paper.

  ‘Have you thought about an apprenticeship?’ I ask him. ‘When I finish school I could work full-time, but you'd pay me hardly any more than a weekend casual.’

  ‘You're crazy,’ he says.

  ‘I'm serious,’ I say.

  He takes a seat, leans back and crosses his arms over his gut. ‘I'm trialling some boys at eight-thirty tomorrow,’ he says. ‘Don't be late.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘You got a problem with tomorrow?’

  JOES is tomorrow. ‘I've got no problem.’

  I go back to the footpath. I can feel something brewing inside of me. It's warm. It's the feeling of doing something I want to do, and I'm not about to ask anyone to let me do it, either. I break into a jog again. There are two ways I can get home: via the steep backstreets, or along the busy Old Cleveland Road and the corner store. I take the road. After making it over a crest and after several sets of lights and the supermarket, I see the store. Then Mike.

  ‘Hey, Sticks, how are ya?’ He's sitting on the gutter of the car park, pulling on a ciggie. He waves me over. ‘Want a smoke?’ He holds a pack up for me. His uniform is dirty, his shirt untucked, even though he hasn't even started his shift. He's done nothing about his bed hair or the stubble on his chin.

  I say nothing. I just look down at him. My fingers tingle with the thought of violence. ‘Are you going to open up?’ I ask him. There's a sign on the automatic doors that says it opens at six-thirty. It's nearly seven.

  He lights a cigarette, and holds it out to me. ‘After this,’ he says.

  I look at the cigarette, the glowing ember. ‘Not today.’

  ‘Why'd you get up so early?’ he asks.

  ‘For a jog.’

  He laughs. ‘The season's over,’ he says. ‘Or are you doin’ it for the army?’

  ‘No.’

  He looks at me weird and draws on his durry. ‘I'll never work you out.’

  A car pulls up and a potbellied middle-aged man in a tracksuit clambers out. He comes up to the door of the store, puts his hands against the glass and peers through. He glances at his watch and swears under his breath. I look at Mike as he pulls smoke into his lungs.

  ‘Did you get a piece of her at the party?’ He says it so smug and sincere, like I don't know what he did.

  I look at the glass behind him and think about ramming his head right through it. Or I could just tackle him where he is, and slam his skull on the concrete. My fingers tingle more. I clench my fists. I imagine his blood.

  ‘Everyone was saying you did,’ he goes on.

  Then tracksuit guy says to us, ‘Do you boys know what time the store opens? Is the sign right?’

  ‘Six-thirty,’ Mike says and grins at me.

  The bloke swears and looks at his watch.

  ‘That Sam,’ Mike tells me, ‘she's all right, you know.’ There's a spark in his eye.

  I close my eyes and clench my teeth, getting ready to lunge. But then the tingling fades. Not instantly, but fast enough for me to feel it. I open my eyes, willing it to return, but it won't. I just don't have it in me.

  ‘You gonna open up?’ I say, loud enough for the tracksuit guy to hear. He stops by the door of his car, turns and points at Mike. ‘Do you work here?’

  Mike stubs both ciggies and unlocks the door. I stand back as the tracksuit guy, still wearing his slippers, follows him inside. I wander in and smile as he gives Mike an earful. He buys orange juice and a paper then demands a discount.

  ‘Thanks a lot, idiot,’ Mike says after he leaves. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘Did you get a piece of her at the party?’

  ‘Oh for crying out loud,’ he says. ‘Is that what this is about? Is that what you think?’ He breaks coins from their packaging and drops them into the till with a clatter.

  ‘Maybe you can tell me what she was like?’ I say.

  He shakes his head. ‘C'mon, Sticks. Have you always been so paranoid?’

  ‘Paranoid? How can you say I'm paranoid when I saw you with her? Admit it, Mike, you were with her after me!’

  ‘If that's what you think, go right ahead. I don't give a damn.’

  We face each other, the counter between us.

  ‘Nothing happened, all right?’ he says.

  I glare at him.

  ‘You freaked her out. One photo and you went ballistic. She told me you're scared of being seen with her.’

  ‘It was about me, not her!’

  ‘If you didn't fess up to me in the car that time, saying you liked her, I would've told her she was right.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told her you think she's a spunk.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She wouldn't believe me.’

  ‘So you didn't—’

  ‘Root her? I'm your bloody mate.’ He slams the till shut. ‘She was upset. I gave her a hug. I helped her calm down.’

  ‘But I saw you go into the bedroom.’

  ‘To get her jacket.’

  ‘But you closed the door.’

  ‘Jeez, Sticks! She was upset. She wanted some quiet so she could calm down.’

  I look at my feet.

  ‘We went looking for you, but you'd pissed off. We wandered about the beach for an hour, but we couldn't find you anywhere. Your car was gone. You didn't answer your phone. Sticks, you took off on her.’

  I stare at him in disbelief. ‘That was when I took Gez to the hospital.’

  He grins. ‘Then it sounds like you might still be able to dig yourself out of this mess.’

  I bolt to the door. I stop. ‘Thanks, Mike,’ I say, then practically sprint the last few blocks home. When I get there, Dad's in the kitchen, cooking up bacon and eggs in the pan. I can tell he's still brooding over our argument. But upon seeing the sweat on my brow, my messed-up hair, I can virtually hear his mind ticking over. There's a sense of fatherly pride in his voice. ‘You trained hard.’ He flips an egg and beams at me. ‘You'll show 'em!’ His voice is warm with excitement.

  But I pull a stool up to the bench. ‘Dad, if you want to know whether I'm good enough to join the army, we can go in the backyard right now and I'll do the physical for you, but I'm not joining. I don't want to. It's not for me.’

  He drops the spatula. The bacon sizzles, fat spits. ‘You can't use your chest as an excuse. It's just not right,’ he says.

  ‘I'm not using it as an excuse. I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm going for a job tomorrow. I'm hoping it'll turn into an apprenticeship.’

  ‘Like hell you are,’ he says.

>   ‘I'm going to Oscar's first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Oscar's?’ he spits. ‘That filthy mechanic?’

  I get up from the stool, go around the bench and stand with him in the kitchen. I move close, determined to show him I'm serious. ‘He wants a weekend casual, and if I like it, I'll apply for TAFE next year.’

  ‘Why on earth would anyone want to do that?’ he explodes. ‘That's a stupid idea!’

  ‘I could get an apprenticeship,’ I say, deliberately not yelling in return. ‘I'll get a trade.’

  He's shaking his head. ‘No. No. No.’

  ‘Maybe one day I'll have my own garage. McDermott Motors.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ he snaps.

  ‘You could do my paperwork,’ I suggest with a smirk.

  ‘Outta my way,’ he commands and goes back to his eggs.

  ‘It's at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.’

  He puts his eggs and bacon on a plate. Both overdone. He sits at the kitchen table and turns on the laptop.

  ‘Dad?’ I walk around the table to face him. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it's dumb and stupid and I'm not going to let you.’

  I sit down, opposite him. ‘In the morning, I could do with a lift,’ I say.

  ‘You can take the ute yourself.’

  ‘Dad—’

  ‘What? You come in here, spring this whole thing on me while I'm having my breakfast then ask me to help out in ways I don't need to. Most kids would be happy if they had open slather on a car like I give you.’

  ‘It's not that open.’

  He slams his cutlery down. ‘Bloody close to it.’

  I press on my eyes, almost ready to give up. ‘Dad, this isn't even about the car.’

  ‘Then what the hell is it about?’ he yells.

  I look at him. ‘I was just hoping you'd like to be involved.’ My voice nearly breaks.

  ‘Involved?’ he grumbles. ‘In what, dumb ideas?’

  ‘In things I choose to do.’

  He fills his mouth and looks at his laptop. ‘Involved,’ he mumbles.

  Leaving him there, I take the kitchen phone and go to my room. If I don't get through to Sam this time, then I won't try again. It takes a while to ring, but when it does, she answers.

  ‘Hi, Sam,’ I say.

  She goes silent, but I can hear her breathing.

  ‘You there?’

  She sighs heavily. ‘What is it, Jack?’

  ‘I need to see you.’ My hands are sweating, my mouth is dry.

  ‘I don't want to see you.’

  But I can't let this go. Not now that I know what happened. ‘Can I see you today?’

  ‘I'm working.’

  ‘How about tomorrow?’

  ‘I'm working then, too.’

  ‘What time?’

  She groans. ‘Nine till four.’

  ‘Then I'll come to town, I'll see you after your shift.’

  ‘What don't you understand?’ There's an edge to her voice. ‘I said I don't want to see you.’

  ‘Sam, please. There's something I need to tell you. It's about the party. And, if you don't like what I say, I'll leave you alone.’ I hold the phone against my ear, silently begging her to agree.

  She breathes heavily into the phone. ‘Is that all?’ she asks.

  ‘And I'm not joining the army. I've got a job interview with the mechanic tomorrow.’

  ‘I'm thrilled to know,’ she says sarcastically.

  ‘I didn't leave you, Sam. There was an emergency.’

  ‘Of course there was, Jack.’

  ‘I'll see you at four.’

  But she has already hung up.

  fixing it

  The next morning Dad bangs on my door. He shoves his head in my room. ‘Right! Up you get!’

  I groan. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It's time to get up, that's what it is. Come on, hands outta your pants.’

  ‘Very funny.’ I pull the sheet up over my face. I hear him leave, fill the kettle, put something on the stove. His feet pound on the floor as he returns. ‘What did I say? No time to hold your sausage hostage. Get up and go!’

  So I clamber out of bed, pack a bag with a notepad and pen, pull on some old jeans and a shirt and head to the kitchen.

  ‘You can't wear that!’

  I pour the coffee Dad's brewed. ‘It's not an interview, more of a practical test,’ I tell him.

  ‘Test?’ He looks at me. ‘Then you'll need tools,’ he says, flustered.

  ‘Oscar will have tools.’

  ‘What about the ute? Am I still driving you?’

  I rub my hair. ‘I didn't think you wanted to.’

  He starts searching the table. ‘I'll take you,’ he says. ‘Can't have you getting there late.’ He faces me. ‘The only way you'll work out I'm right, is to get there and fail.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. You've got me brimming with confidence.’

  ‘You seen the keys?’

  I look at the clock. ‘Dad, we've got half an hour.’

  ‘I'll drop you off up the block,’ he says.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘What if he sees the ute? He'll think that's the pile of rubbish you work on. Talk about ruining your chances.’

  ‘So you do want me to get the job?’

  He points at me. ‘Don't worry about what I want.’

  ‘I don't.’

  He glances at me, but he can't hide the hurt.

  ‘Oscar's worked on the Pissan before, Dad. He knows it's ours.’

  He goes back to turning pages in the search for keys. ‘Still, can't do any harm.’

  And so fifteen minutes later, after a coffee, a slice of toast, and a few pills for Dad, we climb into the Pissan.

  ‘You nervous?’ he asks, pulling out onto the street.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say.

  ‘Me too!’ he says and finally grins.

  He drives slowly. Very slowly. ‘Jack,’ he says, taking his eyes from the road. ‘I just don't like you growing up, that's all.’

  Looking ahead, I put a hand on his arm. Then he puts his hand on mine.

  ‘Hey!’ I say, pulling mine away. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Didn't you want to hold my—’

  ‘No! I'm seventeen. I was going to say pull up ahead.’

  ‘Hey? We're nowhere near it.’

  I grab his arm again. ‘Don't turn the corner. Keep going straight ahead.’

  ‘What for?’ he asks, watching the street we should have taken pass by.

  ‘There's something I need to do first,’ I say.

  I can't wait till after Sam's shift. I need to see her now. If she's working at nine, then she's probably about to leave home to catch the bus. ‘Drop me off on the third street to the left.’

  He looks at me then back to the road.

  ‘There,’ I say, pointing to Sam's street. ‘Slow down. Here. Dad! Just here!’

  He pulls up abruptly, leans forward and looks at the street name through the windscreen. ‘What's this about?’

  I reach for the rear view mirror. My hair's long, messy, so I run my hand through it, trying to give it some life. It gets worse, so I pat it down.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asks.

  ‘Seeing someone.’

  ‘We don't have time!’ he yells, pointing at his watch. ‘Who is it anyway?’

  ‘Sam.’

  ‘Sam?’ he squints. ‘That girl you tried to—’

  ‘Have sex with on the beach?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says, wincing.

  ‘Have you got a problem with that?’

  ‘You're too young.’

  ‘For a girlfriend?’

  ‘For sex!’

  ‘But you just said I'm growing up.’

  ‘I got it wrong. This is immature!’

  ‘Dad, we're not having sex, anyway.’

  ‘Good!’ he says firmly. ‘But you can't see her now, we're gonna be late.’

  I get out of the car, but before closing the door I tell him, �
��I need to sort things out.’

  He holds the steering wheel so tight his knuckles go white. ‘Well if this turns out bad, at least I'll get to read all about it,’ he grumbles.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ I tell him. Then I turn and run down her street.

  I get to the driveway. It's like déjà vu. My mouth is dry. My hands are sweaty. Even before I see her I'm lost for words. I knock on the door. Hurry, hurry, I think.

  The door opens. It's a miracle. It's Sam, dressed in her café uniform. Her hair is pulled back, her face looks heavy, tired, put out. My hopes drain. We face each other. She doesn't look interested in hearing what I've got to say. I fidget with the hem of my shirt.

  ‘I'm leaving,’ she says. ‘I have to catch the bus.’

  ‘I didn't mean to push you away. I didn't want that to happen,’ I blurt.

  She sucks in her cheeks and shakes her head. ‘Why, Jack?’ she asks. ‘Why do you treat me like that?’

  ‘I went looking for you,’ I say. ‘I thought you were on the beach.’

  I wait for her to say something, but she just turns away.

  ‘I was told you were on the beach so I ran out there. I ran down to the surf lifesaving tower and back. I was yelling your name.

  ‘And then when I got back to the house, Gez was drunk. He was unconscious, Sam. He was so pissed there was spew all over him. He was hardly breathing. I took him to the hospital. That's where I ended up, but I wanted to find you.’ The words spill out faster than I can think them.

  She crosses her arms, her eyes accusing. ‘But you didn't call, you did nothing.’

  ‘I lost my phone. I still haven't found it.’

  ‘Then why didn't you visit earlier?’

  ‘I thought you got with Mike!’

  ‘You're sick,’ she says. She puts her face near mine. ‘You're weird and you're sick. And I don't ever want to talk to you again.’ She starts marching back inside.

  That was like a punch in the guts. For a moment I watch her, and then I run after her. I grab her arm.

  ‘You promised!’ she yells, pulling free. ‘You said you would leave me alone if I didn't like what you had to say. I don't like any of it, Jack!’

  I raise a hand and say quietly, ‘I saw you go into the room with him. He had his arm around you. I took it the wrong way.’

  ‘Yes, you took it the wrong way!’

  ‘He makes jokes about you. Jokes about having sex with you. It's his way of making me jealous, and it works. It always works. But when I saw you together I thought maybe he was serious.’