That's Why I Wrote This Song

by Susanne Gervay

  The netball coach is waving to us to get moving. Everyone is already running around the court doing a warm-up.

  Angie and I have been playing netball together for years. Angie is wing defence and I’m goal defence. We know when to run, catch the ball, throw to each other, how to stop the other team getting their goal. I love netball. The tactics, the teamwork, concentrating on the game, thinking about nothing else. And there’s always an answer at the end: win, lose or draw. Then there are new strategies and plans. It’s complicated but uncomplicated. There are boundaries. Safe boundaries, not like home and life.

  Usually Angie’s mum and dad come to watch the Saturday games. My mum comes every second game. It’s one week my netball, one week Eddie’s football game. Mum brings cut-up oranges for the team.

  Dad comes to netball on odd occasions. He goes to Eddie’s games on odd occasions too. Not often though. It matters to Eddie, but not to me. Dad’s bored watching netball. He says he isn’t, but I see his eyes wandering. Worse than netball is when he forces himself to attend one of my musical events. He looks at his watch constantly, trying to make the time go faster. He’s not interested in the music or me. Mum can’t change that.

  The coach gives us some pointers. ‘Make sure you mark your opponent. Support each other. Know your systems.’ She nods her head. ‘You’re doing well.’ Yes, we are. We’ve won every game so far this season. Saturday will be a good match.

  Wednesday lunchtime. Irina’s helping set up equipment in the science lab. Angie thumps into the Music Home Room. She’s angry and drops her guitar case beside her with a thump. ‘All this time. He’s lied.’ Karen looks up.

  ‘Your boyfriend? The great neck-biting Christopher?’ I tease.

  Karen laughs. Angie doesn’t. ‘Not funny. He doesn’t bite my neck.’

  ‘So he bites in other places?’ Karen winks.

  Angie isn’t in the mood for jokes. ‘I’m talking about my father.’

  Karen looks at me. ‘Your father?’

  Angie’s dad? The dad we all want? Head of the support team, who collects us from netball or music festivals or whatever else is on? The dad who buys us milkshakes and calls out, ‘Those boys had better watch out, gorgeous girls coming’? The dad who used to swing five-year-old Angie around like an aeroplane, then swing us around too?

  ‘So what has your terrible father done?’ Karen mocks.

  ‘Do you remember the drawings we did at school about the Great Shark Attack?’ Angie’s voice shakes.

  What is she talking about? We were nine when we did those drawings for the school art competition. Shark Attack? I shake my head. I don’t believe in fathers. Don’t need them. But Angie’s dad is different.

  ‘The Shark Attack. Dad’s shark attack.’

  ‘Okay, so what?’ Karen grabs her books from her locker. All of us remember the Shark Attack. It’s folklore. The story of Angie’s father and his amazing escape. The scars across his chest and his left arm prove it. He’d been surfing when the dark fin appeared. Like Jaws, the white pointer launched itself at him, ripping into his body, tearing flesh from his arm. With his blood reddening the blue water, he used super human strength to pound the shark. Fists and thrashing and blood. Then there was a moment. Just a moment. The break.

  Angie catches a sob. ‘The collage.’

  Karen flashes a look at Angie. ‘We have start.’ She picks up her guitar.

  It was such great fun making that collage at school, with Karen and Angie. The award-winning picture – journey of the Great Shark Attack. It took a month. There were drawings of Angie’s father swimming out on his surfboard, the ferocious shark, the attack, the wild battle and finally the escape. We’d ask him, ‘Can you show us your scars?’ He always would, then he’d wink.

  ‘He lied.’ Angie looks bewildered. ‘Now he admits that it was only a story.’ She stops. ‘I believed him. All those times I told everyone about my so-called brave dad and the shark attack,’ she whispers, ‘it was a joke. A lie.’ She pushes back her long black hair. ‘He was laughing at me. All that time.’

  ‘He wasn’t laughing, Angie. Men tease.’

  Karen shrugs. ‘That’s what dads do. Lie.’

  There never was a shark. He was seventeen. Had just got his driver’s licence. Had been drinking and was driving home with his sister. He swerved, lost control of the car, smashed into a tree. Broke three ribs, slashed his arm to the bone. He could have lost his arm. Could have killed his sister. The car was wrecked, but at least he never drank and drove after that.

  ‘Why did he tell you now?’ I’m interested.

  ‘He doesn’t want me to drink and drive now I’m sixteen.’ Angie’s green eyes water. ‘It wasn’t a shark. He let me tell my friends. My mother knew too.’

  ‘Get over it.’ Karen taps her teeth. ‘Shark bite. It’s funny.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  They argue, until Karen shrugs. ‘Fine. Sorry. Your father is a liar.’ Her sarcasm cuts the air. ‘Do you hate him now?’

  Angie storms off. I want to follow her, but Karen grabs my arm. ‘Come on. She’ll get over it, Pip.’

  ‘She’s upset, Karen.’

  ‘Maybe she should wait till she gets some real problems.’

  ‘It is a real problem for her. It’s a big thing. She knows her father isn’t perfect now.’

  ‘No one’s perfect. It’s about time she learnt that. You and I know it.’ Karen shakes her head. ‘Don’t you find Angie ridiculous? Who cares that her dad made up a story?’ She smiles. ‘It’s a funny story.’ She starts to giggle. ‘And remember when we bought jelly shark teeth for him once? What about the Jaws shark music we used to play?’ Karen starts humming the song. When she puts her hand on her head to make a fin, I start giggling too.

  Lately Karen’s tolerance for Angie has been diving. ‘She needs to get over herself,’ Karen complains. I must admit that since Christopher, Angie’s egoism has reached serious proportions. Karen can’t take it. Sometimes I can’t either. ‘Angie’s in love.’ Karen mimics Angie’s high-pitched voice: ‘Don’t you think he has a cute smile? Christopher plays football like a star. He’s taking me to the beach so I can show off my beautiful body.’ Karen pretends to hit her head with a flute. ‘Knock me out if I ever become like that.’

  If I had a beautiful body, maybe I’d show off about it too. I shake my head. I wouldn’t. It’s just Angie being Angie. ‘Christopher is her first real boyfriend. I guess she’s lost her mind.’

  ‘Well, you haven’t lost your mind over Oliver.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know about Oliver any more. He talks about football, the work he’s doing on his panel van.’

  ‘I like panel vans.’ Karen laughs.

  ‘I do too. But he hardly asks about me except to check on where I am.’ He smokes. I don’t mention that to Karen, who smokes too. I didn’t care at first, but now I do. His kisses taste bitter. I have to brush my teeth afterwards.

  The Superman movie speeds into my head. It was awful. It wasn’t just the pressure for sex. Oliver didn’t listen to me, care what I was feeling. I felt like nothing. That was frightening.

  ‘There are lots of fish in the sea.’ Karen puts her hands together, making them swim.

  Fish. Boys. They change everything. It’s not just Angie. I’ve seen it with most of my friends. There are always dramas. Someone is cheating on someone. There are control issues. You can’t go out here or there. They tell you you’re beautiful and you feel great, then they call you fat and you feel like dying. Some girls seem to disappear when their guy is there. Even Karen isn’t Karen when one of her guys is around. Flirting, playing dangerous games. Before Dad, my mum burnt her bra. Mum’s no bra-burner these days. Is that what a relationship does? Stops you burning your bra? Being yourself? Relationships leave no room for you. Mum says she’s changing. I heard her speak to Dad on the phone, but when I see her enrol in college, become a real teacher, then I’ll start to believe her.

  ‘There are lots of Olivers out there.�
�� Karen twirls her blonde hair, then releases it in a waterfall of gold. ‘Life is a boy—girl game.’

  Karen’s love life is getting more and more insane. Guys sniff around her like dogs. I hate it. ‘I don’t want to play that game.’

  Karen laughs. ‘I do.’

  We turn on the computer and bring out our writing. I strum a few chords and sing the lyrics: ‘You made me feel always scared.’

  Karen adds, ‘I knew you never cared.’

  I play around with various tempos. We hum, compose, experiment.

  Boy—girl games. How far are you supposed to go before you’re a slut? Boys chase you. You give in, then they tell their mates. Girlfriends get bitchy, jealous, competitive. Boyfriends change things.

  ‘So is it over between you and Oliver?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ I press my lips together. ‘And what about you? Who is it now?’

  ‘I love guys.’ She flicks her hair. ‘All guys.’

  I feel sick inside.

  Mr Connelly sticks his head in. ‘Where are Angie and Irina?’

  Angie arrives just at that moment. She’s calmed down. She’d also like to pass Music. Anyway, she can’t keep being angry for too long.

  ‘Irina’s coming,’ I say. I don’t know if she is, but Mr Connelly doesn’t really worry about her. Irina always does her work.

  ‘If you need any help, I’m in my office. I know you’ll be great.’

  I hate hearing Mr Connelly say that. It’s too much pressure.

  Angie avoids Karen and doesn’t mention the shark story. She’s worked out that Karen has zero tolerance for the shark attack. We get out our guitars. It’s not a bad session and finishes when the bell rings. Karen races off to the bathroom to meet the other between-class smokers.

  Angie and I walk to our next class. It’s the shark story. The next stage. It’s sort of funny and sad. ‘Dad laughed about the shark story, then he said, “Sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.” I’m giving Dad the silent treatment. He told Mum that I’ll get over it. I won’t.’

  I just listen. Angie’s lucky. Her father apologised. My father never has. Angie’s mother feels guilty that she knew about the story and never discussed it with Angie. She’d tried to stop the joke, but Angie’s father didn’t understand. ‘Men don’t realise that our feelings get hurt,’ I tell Angie.

  ‘Why won’t Dad say any more about it?’

  ‘Men don’t, Angie. That’s why we girls talk to each other.’

  ‘Mum told me that Dad thinks there’s nothing more to talk about now that he’s apologised.’

  ‘Your Mum’s right.’

  Angie forgives her father but decides that Christopher has to make up for the great lie. He has to tell her all his feelings. Poor Christopher. He must be in love with her to stand it. Angie reports all details to me. Christopher says this and he says that.

  Boys. They make girls illogical. I think about Insomniac Road. They sing about life and death. Angie sings about the guy-girl game. She doesn’t get it. It’s not about dating. It’s about control. It’s about how far Christopher can go with her. It’s already way past kissing. I look at her. She had better be careful. There are real sharks in the sea.

  Home. Dad shouts at Mum about some stupidity. So the change hasn’t lasted long—except this time Mum argues back. Eddie runs to his girlfriend’s place. I escape into my room and music.

  Saturday morning. Karen comes to watch our netball game. Angie’s father is hoarse with shouting by the end. Angie hasn’t totally forgiven her father for the shark lie, but she wants him here cheering her on. They’re working it out. ‘Great game, winners,’ he calls out.

  The mothers are talking about the usual subject. Angie and me. Apparently we’re just so talented at music, sport, school. I wish other people realised that too.

  Karen chats to Angie about nothing much. There’s still tension there. Then she hugs me quickly. ‘Got to go.’ She doesn’t tell us where and I don’t ask because I know she’ll lie. Smiling, Karen slides off her mask as she walks away, while the breeze tangles her hair into loose knots.

  After netball, Irina and I go on our cemetery walk. It’s our new routine. Irina has been working on the Saturday morning shift at the supermarket for a month now. She’s finally persuaded her parents that her schoolwork and her mother can survive for the day. They approve of her working. Irina and I meet every Saturday afternoon for a walk to the cemetery and back. It’s six kilometers, at a fast pace. Good for our bodies and for long talks. The walking has made us closer. ‘What are you doing for your birthday, Irina? Can you believe we’ll soon be sixteen?’

  ‘My mother will play the piano. I will too. She’ll make dinner.’ Irina smiles. ‘And pancakes.’

  ‘No drums?’

  Irina shrugs. ‘No drums.’

  ‘You have to come to my party.’

  ‘I’d love that so much.’

  We chatter on about who I’m inviting and how to decorate the basement. ‘Lots of room downstairs for your drums.’

  Irina becomes quiet. She presses her lips together before she says anything more. ‘My father is pressuring me to stop playing my drums.’

  ‘No way. You won’t give in, will you?’

  She stammers. ‘I had a terrible argument with him last night.’ Irina mimics her father’s voice with his Russian accent. It’s his serious voice. “This music is not for you, Irina. You play the piano. That is enough. What is this drums? You must study, not waste your time. You work on the Saturday. It is enough. The nights you study. Irina, Irina, Irina, Irina.”’ Her voice becomes quieter. ‘He doesn’t care about study when I’m looking after my mother and everything else.’ She hesitates. ‘I love my mother. She looks after the house, cleans other people’s houses too. She needs me. I need her too.’ We increase our pace. Suddenly we’re running. ‘I’m not giving up my drums, Pip. I can’t.’

  Panting, we reach the cemetery. Slowly we wander around the crumbling sandstone graves. They are so old. We sit on one with a stone angel spreading its wings. The grave of a little girl who died nearly two hundred years ago. We talk about what it was like being a pioneer, struggling against the elements, making a new home.

  Irina misses Russia. ‘The snow covers the earth in soft whiteness during winter.’

  ‘I’ve never seen snow.’

  ‘It’s cold, Pip. Very cold. A Russian winter is beautiful but harsh. It’s better here in the sun.’

  We lie on our backs under the clear blue sky on the grave, sucking in its warmth. We look out towards the ocean, with its white peaks and rhythmic swells, and the music plays inside us.

  I have a brilliant idea. Irina and I will have our birthday together. A party together. ‘Mum,’ I shout as I race into the house. I tell her my idea. ‘Can we? Can we?’

  Mum’s weepy about it. ‘That’s so beautiful, Pip. It’ll mean a lot to Irina and her mother.’

  ‘Mum.’ I groan. ‘Please don’t. It’ll make me happy. I’m doing it for me.’

  ‘I know. Pip, you’re…’

  That’s the sign for me to leave. I’m not doing anything special asking Irina to share my birthday. It’ll make my sixteenth even better.

  I’m on the phone. Irina is quiet when I ask her. ‘Please. It’ll be fun to have a party together.’

  Irina doesn’t say much at first. ‘I’ve never had a proper birthday party.’

  ‘So it’s yes?’

  Her voice wavers. It makes me catch my breath. ‘Yes, Pip.’

  The party becomes a major topic between us. Something to share. Something sweet like her mother’s cream-cheese pancakes and my mother’s apple crumble.

  We agree that there should be no boys at the party. Not Oliver, not Christopher, not Karen’s army of guys. It’s our last chance to have an all-girl sleepover. Seventeen is too old for an all girl birthday party. Eighteen will be in a pub for sure. So it’ll be music, pizza, DVDs and all-night talking for my sixteenth. No, our sixteenth. Irina’s and mine.

 
; Chapter Seven

  More change on the home front. As part of the new direction in our lives, Dad has requested to be transferred at work and it’s been approved. Mum and Dad have been talking about it for a while, except it’s been kept a secret from Eddie and me. Their decision. Dad will be travelling, but much less. So he’ll be home more.

  Dad just announces it at breakfast. ‘I’ll have more time for you kids.’ He assumes we’ll be thrilled. Thrilled that the father who shouts at us, who tries to control everything we do, who doesn’t even know us, will be around a lot more. Then he finishes his coffee, kisses Mum on the cheek and heads off to work. I want to laugh. It’s a Saturday. He’s not going to make any more time for us. I like it that way.

  But I can’t believe Mum told us nothing about it. It’s like Eddie and I are nothing. Like we’re not part of this family. And we have no choice.

  As Mum clears the dishes I confront her. ‘I don’t want Dad home more.’ I stare at her defiantly. ‘Eddie doesn’t either.’ Eddie says nothing, but I know it’s what he thinks.

  ‘It’ll be good for the family.’ Mum looks at me. ‘I’ve talked about it before. Dad not working so hard. Things can’t improve if your father isn’t here.’

  ‘Well, he’s working today, isn’t he?’ I glare at Mum. ‘You didn’t talk about it with us. And you know how I feel.’

  ‘I know, Pip. But it’s not the way it should be.’ Then Mum drops a bombshell. ‘Your father and I are going to counselling.’

  I can’t believe it. Do we even live here? Counselling and we weren’t worth telling? ‘You didn’t think Eddie and I should know?’

  ‘It’s to make it better for you and Eddie.’ She pauses. ‘And for your father and me.’

  ‘Better?’ I throw the word back sarcastically at Mum.

  I turn away from her. Eddie follows me. Mum watches us leave. She thinks we’ll give in like we always do. She’s wrong.