That's Why I Wrote This Song

by Susanne Gervay

  Irina hits the drums. Angie gets her guitar and the music starts. I take the lead.

  You lied to get your way

  And I’m not listening to what you say

  Try tomorrow, but not today

  I hate feeling this way

  I thought everything was okay

  I thought everything was okay

  Karen sings with me. Irina crashes in with a solo that leaves us breathless. We head into ‘Psycho Dad’.

  All of the times I cried

  I wished you’d just die

  Shouting and all the rest

  But now I have learned best

  What you did was wrong

  That’s why I wrote this song

  So maybe you would see

  Just what you have done to me

  Cause I don’t want you

  And I don’t need you

  You were so bad

  You were my psycho dad

  Cause I don’t want you

  And I don’t need you

  You were so bad

  You were my psycho dad

  The chorus rocks through the basement as we play and replay it. Suddenly Eddie arrives with his guitar. He swings into the beat and starts strumming along. Karen shouts at him, ‘You’re hopeless.’ Eddie laughs, but doesn’t stop of course. Irina hits a drum roll. Angie dances up to him, helping him keep the rhythm.

  Mum arrives with drinks and leftover spring rolls, rocking in time with the music.

  ‘Break time,’ I call out. I take the tray of drinks from Mum’s hands. She’s still rocking even though the music has stopped. I can’t hold a grudge against Mum, and elbow her teasingly. ‘Dark side, Mum.’

  ‘Everyone needs one.’

  She rocks her hips as she heads upstairs. ‘I need a post-party rest. I’m a bit tired. That’s my Mum side.’

  She’s gone. We have to get organised. ‘So everyone. The Breakers Festival.’ I look at Karen. Time for the Eddie chauffeur plan to be put into action. ‘Insomniac Road, the Black Bullets, the Living End, the Futures. Two days camping with bands playing all day. It’s going to be a great festival, Eddie. And we’re going.’ Eddie’s eyes light up. He’s an easy target, but I need to reel him in carefully. I smile at him innocently. ‘Not Perfect’s going to Breakers. We just need a driver. Someone responsible to take us. Someone mature, intelligent, handsome…’ Not that handsome has anything to do with it, but I throw it in anyway. ‘Someone the parents trust. Someone…’ I pause, ‘called Eddie.’

  Eddie throws a cushion at me. ‘That has to be the worst con job I have ever heard.’

  ‘So are you driving us or what?’

  ‘Am I playing with Not Perfect or what?’

  I throw the cushion back at him. Angie copies me with another cushion. Then Karen and Irina. ‘Not Perfect’s not playing at Breakers.’

  Eddie avoids the cushion attack. ‘I know that, but when you play I’m backup guitar.’

  ‘No way.’ More cushions zip through the air.

  Eddie catches two of them, smiling. ‘That’s a great way to persuade me.’ There’s a winner look on his face. He’s not budging. Eddie, the rock. He lies back on the pile of cushions with his arms crossed. ‘If you need a driver,’ he points to himself, ‘it’s me. The fourth guitarist.’

  We can’t move him. Looking at each other, we have to accept defeat. ‘All right, Eddie. We give up. You win.’ Eddie gives the victory sign, making us all laugh. So Eddie’s the driver with a tiny backup spot in Not Perfect. Angie, the saint, volunteers to practise with him. ‘He’s yours, Angie.’ She thinks that’s funny. ‘He needs help. A lot of help. Now we really are Not Perfect.’

  Eddie ignores the comment. He’s centre stage again and loves it.

  The Breakers Festival is suddenly real. But now there’s the next step. Lying to the parents to get there. Karen’s good at that. I’m not so sure about Irina and Angie. I’m just going to tell Mum nearly the truth. Since Dad doesn’t live with us it’ll be easier. I grin, thinking of Mum’s dark side.

  Angie’s already practising ‘Psycho Dad’ with Eddie. Irina taps the beat on her thigh. ‘“Psycho Dad” is sounding good.’

  Karen taps with Irina and flicks a look at Eddie and Angie, then at me. ‘My father is the psycho.’ The taps become hits. ‘He’ll try to stop me going to Breakers. But no one’s stopping me. He can kill me first. I don’t care. If I’m alive, I’m going. If I’m dead, well, I’m dead.’

  ‘He won’t kill you.’ Angie strums her guitar and Eddie follows.

  Karen’s reacts instinctively. ‘What do you know, Angie? Your father’s perfect.’

  I put my hand up to stop Angie from answering. If there’s a shark story Karen will attack her. I don’t have to. There’s no shark story. She’s told me she knows now that her father’s not perfect, but that he’s still her dad. She stops playing. ‘I just want everything to be all right for you, Karen.’ Karen says nothing. ‘I want you to be okay.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Angie raises her guitar. ‘We’re going to the Breakers Festival. That’s what matters.’

  Angie speaks softly. Karen stands still, looking at her. Slowly she nods. ‘The Breakers Festival, Angie.’ She smiles. ‘We’re going too.’

  ‘The Breakers Festival,’ we call out. Eddie is the loudest.

  Next day. Eddie’s left already for early morning training. Mum’s driving me to school today, since I didn’t have much sleep at my birthday party. As Mum squeezes some oranges, I mention our charity fundraising day at school. We’re allowed to wear what we like to school on Friday, if we give a donation to the Children’s Hospital. ‘I’m going to buy some new jeans with my birthday clothes voucher.’

  ‘The one your father gave you?’ Mum sounds casual. Too casual. She hands me a glass of juice. My antennae are up. Where is this heading? As if I don’t know. It’s about Dad, for certain.

  ‘The counselling sessions are making a difference to your father and me.’

  I’m right. Dad, Dad, Dad. It’s the counselling topic. So what’s their counselling got to do with me? I take a gulp of my drink. ‘The oranges are sweet, Mum.’

  ‘Have you thought about talking to someone? Just you and Eddie. No pressure from me or Dad.’ This is pressure. ‘You’ll be able to talk at counselling.’ ‘You can work things out.’ ‘The counsellor has helped your father and me.’ ‘Your dad’s much less stressed.’ ‘Counselling…counselling…counselling…’ Mum’s ruining the great time I had at my birthday. Can she stop? ‘Those postcards your father sends you are lovely, Pip.’

  He’s always sent me those postcards. Nothing’s different. Nothing. I say as unenthusiastically as I can, ‘The postcards are great, Mum. Yep, they’re great.’ My orange juice is turning into acid. I put the glass down, fingering the rim. Mum, where has your dark side gone? Is it shut up with KISS in that shoebox? Under your bed? Is that what happens when you get married? Do you lose yourself? Life is better now with Dad visiting, not living here. Yes, I like the postcards. I’m even getting used to the milkshake afternoons. Maybe we’ll talk one day. Maybe I’ll forgive him one day. I just wish Mum would stop pushing me.

  My head’s exploding. I leave the kitchen without washing my glass, without looking at Mum. I lock my bedroom door and get out my guitar. The words come easily.

  Everything is blurred

  Between what’s real and in your head

  Will I wake from this nightmare

  Or continue to be dead?

  Why do I feel so alone

  Like I’m standing here all by myself

  When there are people all around

  I am lost but I wanna be found

  Concert days. This is the final week of insanity, with music preparations disturbing every classroom.

  Disturbing is the right word for my life. Mum is still pressuring Eddie and me to go to counselling.

  Disturbing is the right word for Karen. She’s decided to make her father totally psycho by stay
ing overnight—or rather overnights—at Josh’s place. He’s not just a friend any more. But Karen still won’t introduce him to me. The only thing I know about him is that he plays the saxophone. He’s not the captain of the A basketball team, which is one good thing. Karen’s father has finally realised that she has had sex and is having sex and will continue to have sex, and he can’t do a thing about it.

  As Karen and I walk towards the hall for another concert practice, Angie joins us. She’s talking about Eddie. ‘Eddie’s playing is really improving. He’s great.’ She goes on and on. Eddie this and Eddie that. ‘Eddie’s really nice.’

  Suddenly I notice it in Angie’s eyes. It’s not Christopher any more, it’s Eddie. I can’t believe it. What a good way to wreck a friendship, and Not Perfect. ‘Angie we’ve got to talk.’ My head is splitting. ‘But later.’

  Irina calls me over. If there’s another problem, I’m bailing out. She spurts out, ‘Can you go with me to a memorial service on Saturday?’ What is she talking about? ‘It’d mean a lot to me if you could come.’

  Life is crowding in on me. I’ve got no time to think. Irina waits for my answer. ‘Saturday? Sure, I’ll come.’ Like I have a choice.

  ‘Could we go for walk this afternoon? To the cemetery? I’ll explain about the service then.’

  ‘Okay.’ We hurry to our practice.

  My phone rings. Dad. What’s he calling for? It’s school time. I don’t answer. The phone rings again. I switch it off. He’s left three messages since this morning. I don’t want to know.

  Mr Connelly waves me over. Coming. Coming. This concert is driving me insane.

  Finally, the last school bell of the day. Karen packs her bag as soon as it rings. Recently she’s been bypassing the wire-mesh fence. She’s heading for Josh’s place. ‘So when will we meet this Josh?’

  ‘Soon.’ Karen races off with her hair blowing in the wind and her bag strapped onto her back. ‘Soon’ echoes across the playground.

  ‘He must be a four-legged monster,’ I say to Irina. ‘Or another disaster. Otherwise why would she keep him so secret?’

  ‘He must be a four-legged monster.’ Irina winks. I can’t think about Karen right now. She’s too much.

  Irina and I start walking towards the cemetery. We talk about work. I like my music shop job. Irina’s not that impressed with the supermarket. ‘But it’s my own money. I don’t have to ask my father for any.’ She smiles. ‘At least I can pay for the Breakers Festival myself. Then I just have to get him to let me go.’

  ‘You will. The Festival will be incredible. It’ll be music all day and night.’ I sigh. Wish I was there now. ‘Have you noticed Angie and our driver?’

  ‘You mean Eddie?’ Irina nods her head. ‘That’s going to be trouble.’

  ‘Eddie has no idea. I’ll have to talk to Angie. It’s going to be hard.’

  ‘When Angie’s in love…’ Irina raises her eyebrows. She knows what Angie ‘in love’ means.

  ‘She likes the romance, having a boyfriend. That’s fine, as long as it’s not Eddie. It’ll ruin everything.’

  Irina agrees. ‘I can’t think about boys. I’ve got enough pressure without that.’

  ‘Relationships…’ We walk more quickly as the cemetery comes into view. ‘When you have a boyfriend, you speak to the guy every day, and do things together all the time. It’s like having the best friend in the world. Then when it breaks up, you can’t even be friends.’

  ‘It’s not always like that.’

  ‘It is for me, but Angie and Christopher are okay. They’re friendly, but not friends, even though Christopher was the great love of her life. For a few months, anyway.’ Oliver? I don’t even speak to him now.

  ‘Do you want another boyfriend, Pip?’

  ‘I guess. But my music comes before a boyfriend.’ Irina understands that. We climb over the sandstone fence circling the graves of souls from other generations. ‘Do you want a boyfriend, Irina?’

  ‘Yes. Not now, but yes.’ Irina slips her arm through mine. ‘I don’t want to live my life alone. There’s a journey to share. Like my parents do—even their problems.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t need a boyfriend, like Angie, like Karen. But one day.’

  Silently we sit on a gravestone, heralded by our angel, looking out to sea. The blueness is compelling. I think of Karen and the day we lay edging over the cliffs, looking at mermaids. The day she didn’t love herself.

  As the afternoon sun warms us, we lie down on the grave, closing our eyes. The rays soften the day. Irina starts to talk about the memorial. ‘It’s this Saturday afternoon, for my grandfather.’ She hesitates. ‘In the synagogue.’

  ‘I’ve never been to a synagogue, Irina.’

  ‘Me neither, Pip.’ Irina speaks quietly. ‘My father has changed since coming here. He misses Russia but he loves this country, more than you could ever know. My mother doesn’t. She’s frightened here.’

  ‘Do you love it here?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sits up. ‘I do.’

  Before Irina, I hardly ever thought about Jews. I saw those films like Schindler’s List and The Pianist, about the Holocaust. Millions were murdered. I couldn’t understand why.

  ‘My father is reconnecting with something that we haven’t known for generations. Our Jewishness. Communist Russia said there wasn’t a God. Even though my grandfather practised Judaism, we were secular. No God, no religion. But people still called us Jews, whatever that meant. At night, my father has nightmares. It’s from what happened in Russia. My mother comforts him. My grandfather died in Russia last month.’ Tears well in her eyes. ‘Alone, without us. My father used to send him money to live on. He always said that he’d bring him out here, when he could. But he never did.’

  ‘Did you know your grandfather?’

  ‘Yes.’ Irina’s eyes become teary. ‘I’m so ashamed.’ She whispers. ‘I did something terrible.’

  I take her hand. ‘You never do anything terrible, Irina.’

  Suddenly her eyes seem darker. ‘Can I tell you a story? I’ve never told anyone else.’

  I nod. She speaks quietly, slowly. ‘My parents couldn’t take me to school because they both worked long hours. My grandfather spoke Yiddish.’ I look questioningly at her. She grimaces. ‘It’s a Jewish language. He spoke half Russian, half Yiddish. I could always understand him. He’d tell me stories as we walked through the streets. Some of them were funny. I remember giggling. In winter he’d take off his scarf and wrap it around me so I’d be warm. I never thought about how cold it was for him. I should have known…’ She shakes her head. ‘When I got near the school, I’d make him stop at the corner. I’d pull my hand out of his and turn away from him, so that no one could see the old Jew holding my hand.’ Irina sobs and I put my arms around her. ‘And he’s dead now.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mum is waiting for me in the lounge room when I get back from my walk. College work is spread over the table. ‘Pip, can I talk to you?’

  ‘So when are you going back to finish your teaching degree?’ I point to the papers.

  Her voice has an edge to it. ‘Soon.’ Never. Mum always promises. It’s become a ritual. I harass her and she defends herself. Now Dad isn’t here, I keep hoping that she might actually do it. She puts down her pen. ‘Dad’s been trying to phone you.’ I know. ‘Can you call him back? Please, Pip.’

  No, I can’t. Mum gives me a you-have-to stare. ‘Sure.’ I change the subject. ‘Can Angie come over tonight? We want to get ready for tomorrow. It’s the wear-anything-you-want day at school to raise money for charity.’

  ‘It’s for the Children’s Hospital, isn’t it?’

  ‘Kids with leukaemia. As well as wearing clothes we like, we can colour our hair or wear ribbons.’

  ‘If it’s coloured hair, make sure it washes out. And yes, Angie can come over.’ Mum always says yes.

  As I walk towards my room I turn my phone back on. It rings straight away. Dad, as expected. He’ll call a hundred
times if I don’t answer. And I promised Mum. ‘Hi, Dad.’

  Blah, blah, blah. He wants to take me out for a milkshake again. Pressure. I’m not going without Eddie. Blah, blah, blah. I’ll ask Eddie when he gets home, make a date then.

  Now to the real point of Dad’s phone call. Surprise, surprise. It’s the counselling. Mum must have spoken to him. My skin prickles. Doormat Mum is back. ‘It’ll be good if you and Eddie go.’ Guilt. Guilt. ‘Hey I know you’re pulling a face at me.’ I laugh, because I am. He talks and talks and I guess I have to give him a chance. ‘So you’ll go, Pip?’

  I cave in. ‘Yes, Dad.’ I really, really, don’t want to.

  Only one more week—the concert, the last day of school—then it’s holidays and Breakers. We’ve all agreed that tomorrow is the night we’re telling the parents about Breakers. Angie’s parents still have to pay for her ticket. That’ll give them a week to get used to the idea. It’s a long enough time, but not too long, in case they have second thoughts.

  Where’s Angie? We haven’t had a girls’ night for ages. I can’t wait…except I guess I have to talk to her about Eddie. At least he’s out with his mates at the movies tonight. Mum’s not cooking. Too busy marking projects. So it’s takeaway pizza for dinner. Pizza? I check out my bum in the hallway mirror. It’s looking better.

  ‘I’m sure Angie likes pizza.’ I smile. Maybe that’s why Angie likes Eddie. Two pizza lovers.

  The pizza boy arrives just as Angie is ringing the doorbell. After Mum pays for the pizzas she and Angie’s father chat at the front door. He makes the same bad jokes as usual, and we all laugh as usual. He kisses Angie goodbye. ‘Have a great time.’ The door closes and it’s just Angie, Mum and me.

  Dinner is happy. I take a slice of ham and pineapple pizza. I’m not worried about my bum tonight. I’m in a good mood. I don’t have to study until next term. The holidays will be here soon and it’s girl time. There’s so much to talk about. I mention the Breakers Festival at least ten times. It’s part of my plan of action: softening up Mum, forewarning her.