by Darren Groth
Except me.
No thoughts. No feelings. Just heartache. And a stone in my throat that won’t budge. The couch looks good. I ditch my bag. As I lie down, I feel pain in my right hand. I hold it up to my face. It’s cut, bleeding. It could do with a bandage, but that wouldn’t make it better.
All I want to do is sleep.
AWAY
Sunlight pours through the broken window. I rub my eyes and peek at my watch. Just after eight. In the morning. The day after. I look down to find my hand bandaged. The person responsible is packing up to leave.
“Perry?”
“Hello, Munro. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“It’s, um, fine. What…what are you doing here?”
“Kelvin sent me here. He said I needed to stop you bleeding to death. That’s not a very good joke, because you were never in danger of bleeding to death. The wound is superficial. Jackie Chan has had much worse making his movies.” He turns his head to the side and squints. “You are probably wondering why I bandaged you while you were unconscious. It’s not good social skills to be in your personal space like that without you knowing, but I thought it might be easier and less painful that way because you were sleeping so deeply. I hope you are okay with that.”
I hold up my dressed arm. “Didn’t feel a thing. Thank you.”
Perry wipes his hands on his thighs. “You’re welcome. Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Is it why did I break into House 4 for the night?”
“Good guess! Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to be alone.”
“Do you still want to be alone?”
I think for a moment. “No. I don’t.”
“That’s good. We all need to be alone sometimes, but we also cannot live in a world of one. No lie.” Perry looks at his watch. “I have to go and babysit my nephew now. I hope to see you this afternoon, Munro. Kelvin mentioned you might be staying here for a little while.”
“Actually, I’ll be out of here today. Then heading back to Vancouver, probably in the next day or two.”
“I think your mum and dad will be very pleased to see you.”
“For sure. Take care of your sister, eh.”
Perry nods, then winks. “Take care of yourself.”
He exits House 4.
I stare at my phone for ten minutes. Old texts from Caro. Lou’s Facebook page. A post he shared about the E-LIFE button campaign leads me to the Foundation’s site. It looks unchanged from a week ago. Strange, I think. New content has been the standard since it went live, whether it’s a blog entry or a video or a media release.
There are eleven missed calls on FaceTime, the last at six o’clock this morning. I sigh and look around the living room for a suitable place to surrender. The small table where Shah and I played checkess draws me over. I sit down and, making sure my bandaged hand is out of the picture, thumb the green icon.
The answer is almost immediate, two buzzes and connection. My parents fill the screen. They don’t speak, don’t even move. They’re like wallpaper. I start talking.
“Mom, Dad…I’m sorry. I should have told you what I’d planned to do these last few weeks. A bunch of times I ditched school and headed out to Fair Go. I felt like I had to do it. I had to do more. For my team of residents. For me.
“It hasn’t worked out—in fact, everything’s gone to shit. I take full responsibility for that. And I know what the consequences are. I’m not ready to say goodbye, but…I guess no one ever is.”
My parents turn to each other, brows lifted, sharing some mutual thought that won’t be said. After a few seconds Dad removes his glasses and stares down the camera like a judge about to pass sentence.
“You done?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing else you want to say?”
“I could say sorry again.”
Dad holds up a hand. “Not necessary.”
He looks to the side, as if off-camera a stranger has arrived and wants in on the discussion.
“Munro, do you ever talk to Evelyn?” he asks.
I glance at my bandaged hand. “Yeah. I do. Sometimes. She never answers.”
Dad finds a thin smile that quickly shape-shifts into a grimace. “You know what? I talk to her too. Quite often. I talk about stuff that’s happening now, good times from the past. About Mom, the Foundation. You. Every time I speak to her, I end up apologizing. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you at the end, my sweet. I’m sorry I wasn’t with you. I should’ve been with you. Then a few weeks ago, I stopped mid-apology. A thought was in my head. I don’t know if it just appeared on its own or if it had been there all along and finally found a way out. Maybe Evie put it there. However it happened, it socked me right in the jaw. The thought was, If my daughter had known when she was going to die, who would she have wanted there with her? Who would she have wanted by her side at the end?
“The answer was obvious—it was you, son. Of course it was you. Her big brother. The person who let her win at computer games and painted her bedroom every time she wanted to change the color. The person who showed her how to skate backward, and read Treasure Island to her. Her favorite person in the world. I realized after all this time that my apologies to Evelyn were selfish. I was wishing I’d been there for her when, truthfully, I was wishing I’d been there for me.”
Dad’s voice cracks on the final phrase. I try to swallow and fail. The heartbeats in my ears are weak and thin, like small sighs. I tell him there’s no need to keep going. If there’s more to say, he can tell me in person soon enough. He pulls himself together with another sideways look. Mom dabs her nose with a tissue and grasps his hand.
“We’re here for you, son,” he says. “Whenever you return.”
I side-eye my phone, then give it a little shake. “Whenever?”
Mom nods. “That fellow from YOLO recommended that you come home, and we agreed. You should come home.” She points. “You. The real you. Like we said last time, we can’t bring you back. Only you can.”
“And when you do,” adds Dad, “there’s a little Foundation idea we’d like your help with.” He takes a photo out of his pocket and holds it up to the camera. It’s a selfie. He and Mom standing in a vacant plot of land. There’s a FOR SALE! sign between them.
“Five acres in Chilliwack,” says Mom. “Future site of Evelyn Maddux Community Village.”
“We’re looking into it,” corrects Dad.
I lean in, studying every detail of the image. “Is this for real?”
“Yes.”
“You’re thinking of buying this?”
“Like I said, we’re looking into it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll work with us to make it happen one day.”
“Are you kidding, Dad? I’ll start working with you as soon as I step off the plane.”
“Well, right now, focus on bringing Munro Maddux back.” He grabs Mom’s hand and kisses it. “Whenever.”
I shut my eyes. In the absence of sight, House 4 speaks to my other senses. The air is stale, despite the broken window. The thin film of dust on the table coats my fingertips. The fridge whirrs away in the kitchen, dutifully keeping the tray of ice cubes cold. My mind shifts to Blake’s house at Fair Go. Is it like this already? Is there any trace of her left? Any sign that she had a full, rich, loving life under its roof? I open my eyes.
“Mom, Dad, thank you for letting me stay,” I reply. “But I think it’s time to say goodbye to Fair Go.”
“During Morning Connections I showed the team the text you sent me about quitting,” says Kelvin, holding a sheet of plastic against the damaged window. I hand him a strip of duct tape. “They refused.”
“Refused?”
“With extreme prejudice.”
“What about Dale?”
“I didn’t ask him. He’s not in your team.”
“Maybe not formally, but he is though. And his opinion—it’s the one that really counts.”
> “More than the others?”
“The others have to accept my decision, Kelvin. It’s my decision.”
“They know it’s your decision. They’re just adamant it’s the wrong one.”
“Aw, man. It’s not like I want to go. It’s just…you know…I need to put their photos in the drawer.”
“They don’t agree, Munro. They believe there’s still work to be done together. They want to finish the Straya Tour too.”
“Haven’t we seen everything in South East Queensland?”
“Apparently not.”
I cut another strip of tape and hand it over. “Maybe I should just take off. I could do that.”
He fastens the bottom edge of the plastic sheet. “It’d be hard on them. They’re tough buggers though. They’ll get over it. Eventually.”
“How do I make them get over it now?” I watch him press against the plastic cover, testing its strength. I snap my fingers. “We’ll put it to a vote, Dale included.”
Kelvin wipes his hands, steps back and surveys his handiwork.
“I had a feeling you might say that.”
The panel is done.
The votes are in.
Unlike my interview a lifetime ago, there’s no Streets Ice Cream tub as ballot box. The residents agreed that the results didn’t have to be kept secret. I think it was a show of respect to Dale. Everyone understands that if there’s going to be a No, it’ll be from him, and nobody will hold it against him. Me least of all.
Kelvin claps his hands. “Okay, looks like the people have spoken. Let’s see what they said. As discussed, the question was, do you want Munro to stay? You needed to write your response down so it’s on record. Each person will have a chance to share their response. You can show what you wrote too, if you like. You can add a brief comment, say why you voted the way you did. Keep it short…Bernie, I’m looking at you.”
Kelvin pauses, fixing his gaze on me for a few seconds. I barely notice. My focus is on Dale. He’s on his iPad, as he has been since he arrived. He hasn’t spoken or made eye contact. From the bleeps and bloops coming from the device, I think he’s playing a game. Kelvin continues.
“If there is a No vote cast this morning, Munro has assured me he will allow enough time to say goodbye. Righto, that’s it for the gasbagging. Flo, how about you go first.”
Florence holds up her paper and shows the group what she scribbled. It sort of looks like a little anchor and hook.
“You think Munro should go fishing?”
She looks at Kelvin like he could be used as bait. “This is Japanese. It says hai, which means yes in English. Munro should stay so I can keep usin’ him in my class demos.”
“Thanks for that, Flo. I’m sure he’s looking forward to the next one. Iggy, you’re up.”
Iggy pulls his shoulders back and flips his card. He’s done a drawing—a from-behind view of a superhero standing legs apart, one hand on his hip, the other giving a raised thumb. On his cape is the word YES, surrounded by stars.
“Infecto will reveal himself to the world soon. Munro, you have to be here for it!”
“Nice piccie, Ig. Two Yes votes. Bernadette?”
Bernie blinks twice and snaps her fingers. “I vote Yes, mostly because Munro is a great Living Partner and a very good friend and I want to see his face many more times before his exchange is finished and he truly has to leave. I also want him to help me design some more caps, ones that might appeal to Canadians.”
Kelvin does a double take. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Wow, regardless of the outcome, we’ve achieved a little history this morning. Bernie ended a speech before our ears fell off.”
“You’re such a goose, Kelvin.”
“You can put that on a cap for me. Well, that just leaves…Dale. Over to you, pal.”
Dale rises. Though he is the center of attention, he keeps his head down, continues his scrutiny of the iPad. I can’t tell what he’s feeling right now. It better not be guilt. No guilt allowed, bud. You’ve got nothing to feel bad about. He presses down on the volume button, increasing it to somewhere near max. His fingers begin to skitter along the screen.
This vote, it’s a combined one. From me and Blake.
There’s a gasp from the panel. I’m not sure who coughed it up. Dale, gaze still averted, waits for any hint of dissent. We’re all too stunned to process, let alone protest. Kelvin steps forward, thumbs hooked into his belt loops.
“Mate, you’re saying this is how Blake would’ve voted if she were here?”
Fingers dance.
She is here.
I pivot toward the Rec Refuge entrance, genuinely hoping to see a dramatic, movie-like reveal. The door stays shut.
After Morning Connections I messaged Blake on Facebook. Told her about the vote. She wanted in. She’s snuck on to a computer at her house. She’s waiting for me to let her know what happened.
Kelvin shrugs. “I guess if nobody has any objections…”
Dale comes around the table, stopping an arm’s length in front of me. He’s wearing a new shirt, a yellow polo with the Billabong wave on the pocket. Fitting—a wave for a goodbye. Still no eye contact. Maybe it’s for the best.
He taps the screen and the iPad voice says, Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today at the Rec Refuge to decide if Munro Maddux—Canadian citizen, high school exchange student, Living Partner and the dude responsible for the Boggo Road wedding—should never come back to Fair Go. If anyone knows why Munro should be allowed to stay without this vote being shown, speak now or forever shut your gob.
Bernie shoots her hand into the air. Kelvin scurries over, has a quiet word in her ear. She lowers her hand.
Munro, do you take Fair Go to still be your home away from home? Do you promise to keep assisting with our projects and finish the Straya Tour and help us get better at floor hockey? Do you promise to be the best “brother” to us you can be, even though you will return to Vancouver for real at the end of August? Do you promise to bring Caro back here before you go, because we really like her and we think you would make an excellent couple? And, most of all, do you promise to never, ever, EVER feel bad about giving Blake and Dale their once-in-a-lifetime chance to be together, now and forever?
He lifts his head and stares at me, bushy eyebrows arched, tongue buried in his cheek. His hand “yaps”—a gesture for me to respond.
“I…do?”
By the power vested in me, I now pronounce the vote of Blake and Dale to be Yes. You may now shake my hand.
I hesitate, unsure what’s happening. Dale ups the ante and pulls me into a bear hug. The others cheer and applaud and bang on the table. He releases me while I splutter the only words in my jumbled brain that haven’t been mown down by light-speed shock.
“Dale, you…you and Blake…you aren’t together.”
He scoffs.
Of course we are! Okay, my girl doesn’t live here anymore, and that makes me sad sometimes. But that doesn’t change what we said to each other at Boggo Road. It doesn’t change us.
“But her dad…he doesn’t want Blake to see you anymore.”
Fuck that guy.
A new round of cheers and table banging. Dale turns to them and raises the roof.
He can’t stop us being together forever. Dale points to his chest. He can’t stop this.
“No, he can’t.”
Word. By the way, do you have something in your eye, Munro Maddux?
“It’s a bit dusty in here.”
Dale shows me the iPad screen. Blake’s Facebook DM is up. There are more raised thumbs and happy faces and love hearts than I can count.
“Righto then,” announces Kelvin. “It appears we have a unanimous verdict. Now, finish this sentence, Kid Canuck. Sometimes life—”
“Takes on a life of its own,” I reply, the words rolling off my tongue.
Caro is sitting on the curb by the Fair Go front-entrance sign.
As I approach her
, questions pile on top of one another like cards in a game of Snap. What are you doing here? How did you know I was still here? Do you not believe in goodbyes? Did you somehow figure out I’m staying? No doubt she’s got a few queries too, not the least of which is probably What’s with the bandage on your hand? All of them go unasked. I drop my bag on the dry grass and sit next to her as the sun slips behind a bank of dark clouds in the west. A flash of far-off sheet lightning triggers a low, lazy grumble of thunder. It prompts a memory. There was a downpour the night we rode together in the taxi. Stormy weather at the beginning and at the end.
Only this isn’t the end.
“Just before Evie died, I was teaching her to ride a bike,” I begin. “I always made sure she didn’t fall. I’d put my left hand over hers on the handlebars and my right on the back of her seat. She’d push on the pedals and I’d run beside her, keeping a firm grip, ready to squeeze the brake if she went too fast. Evie always complained, I can do this! I can stay up by myself! Stop holding on to me, Munro! Let go!”
“Soon, I’d say. Just a little more time. And I’d grip the handlebars and the seat a bit tighter. I suspect she was right. She could’ve ridden on her own. But she never did.”
I stop for a second, trying to get some saliva back in my mouth. Then I lie back on the grass, bringing my hands to my head. A wide black blanket of fruit bats squeaks and squabbles as it arcs through the dusky sky. Caro stays seated, cross-legged, facing me.
“When Evie collapsed, I let go of her. She was walking beside me, holding my right hand, then boom! She dropped like a stack of bricks. I held on for a second, maybe two. I was afraid of falling on top of her, hurting her. That’s the lie I told myself afterward. For a while anyway. Later, I wondered if letting go meant I couldn’t revive her. Did I break some crucial connection we had? If I’d stayed with her the whole way down, would that connection have been saved? Would her life have been saved? I’ve told Evie I’m sorry so many times. I’m sorry I let you go. She never answers.”
