My Life As an Alphabet

by Barry Jonsberg

  I was going to ask about Aeolian harps, but his last words gave me pause.

  ‘Suns?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. Two of them. They set within half an hour of each other. It’s the biggest difference between this world and mine.’

  I couldn’t think what to say, but something was expected.

  ‘Who’d have thought?’ I said.

  ‘Well, me for one,’ replied Douglas. ‘The thing is, Candice, I’m going to miss you so much. I can’t tell you.’

  ‘You can,’ I said.

  ‘No. I mean it’s difficult to find the words. I love you, Candice. It breaks my heart to think I’ll be leaving you. But I can’t think of a way to take you along. When I get back I’ll talk it over with Mum. She might have some ideas. And if it’s at all possible, I’ll be back. Promise you’ll wait for me.’

  I couldn’t think of anything to say, but something was expected.

  ‘Righty ho,’ I said.

  After that, we said little. Douglas Benson From Another Dimension stared into the distance and I hummed, but it was just time-filling. Eventually, we wandered back to the house. It was six-fifteen.

  I gathered around the tree-portal/passport. It is possible for one person to gather because I did it. Douglas shinned up the tree-passport’s trunk and settled on a branch about five metres from the ground. He shifted his feet to maintain balance and glanced at his watch. I glanced at mine. He glanced at his. I glanced at mine. We were good at this. One minute to go. I thought maybe I should make a speech, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Bon voyage seemed rather weak.

  ‘Forty-five seconds, Douglas,’ I said in place of a speech.

  ‘Forty-two,’ he replied.

  We counted down together. When we got to five, he put his hands above his head, like an Olympic high-diver. At zero, he jumped.

  He hit his head on the way down. I heard the thunk of head on branch. He landed off balance, tottered, and fell to the ground. I rushed over. He lay on his side and his eyelids fluttered. A broad gash ran from his right eyebrow to his right ear. It oozed blood. I cradled his head in my arm before I realised that I shouldn’t have. I’d done a first-aid course last year. I should have left him and gone for help. But I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  ‘Douglas?’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’

  He moved his tongue over his lips and his eyelids fluttered some more.

  ‘Douglas?’

  He opened his eyes. They didn’t quite focus. It was like he was looking through me.

  ‘What the . . .?’ he muttered.

  ‘You’re okay,’ I said, though I had no idea if that was true. In fact, I opened my mouth to correct myself, but didn’t get the chance. His eyes roamed my face.

  ‘Who are you?’ he croaked.

  What happened next was a blur. Douglas’s eyes rolled back in his head. Facsimile Penelope came rushing out. There was crying and yelling. There was bustle. There was a phone call. An ambulance arrived ten minutes later in a blaze of flashing lights. Douglas was stretchered into it. His facsimile parents scrambled into the back. The ambulance left in the same blaze of flashing lights. I watched it disappear down the track.

  After a minute I couldn’t even hear the siren. The silence was . . . oppressive.

  I rode home very slowly and didn’t fall off once. Or twice. There had been too much falling today. The trip gave me the opportunity to go over in my head what I had witnessed. I ran the scene over and over and I still wasn’t sure. You see, for a moment there, as Douglas was plummeting to earth, I thought I saw him flicker. Or shimmer. It was the tiniest fraction of a second. Maybe I blinked.

  Or maybe I’d seen Douglas Benson From Another Dimension going home.

  Mum rang Douglas’s facsimile mother later that day [I’m no good on the phone to people I don’t know well]. The news was good. Douglas had recovered consciousness and seemed fine. He’d had x-rays and other tests and they’d come out normal. The hospital was keeping him in for a few days for observation, but the general opinion was that he’d just have a bad headache for a day or two. Mum sent our best wishes.

  The next few days were strange. School felt lonely and home was very different. Dad spent lots of time with Rich Uncle Brian and he’d come home from these meetings in a very good mood. Once or twice we went to the park and flew his plane. He made jokes all the time. Mum wasn’t in her bedroom nearly as much. Once I caught her looking at a book about New Orleans. She had a dreamy smile on her face.

  Dreamy smiles were becoming common in the Phee household.

  Thursday lunchtime. I sat in my specially reserved library chair, ate a sandwich and flicked through a new dictionary that had just arrived. I was impressed with it. It had new words and that is a good thing.

  Douglas tapped me on the knee. He had a bandage round his head and I was impressed with that too. It framed his knobbly bits beautifully.

  ‘Hi Candice,’ he said.

  I struggled with my response. Should I say ‘Hello Douglas Benson From Another Dimension’ or ‘Hello Douglas Benson’? Who was I talking to? I examined his interesting face. His eyes still crowded towards the middle. His nose was still larger than you’d wish if designing it from scratch. His eyebrows remained hairy caterpillars. His knobbly bits appeared unchanged. And then a small light bulb appeared over my head. Actually, it didn’t. I speak metaphorically.

  If Douglas Benson From Another Dimension had gone home then this Douglas Benson wouldn’t know who I was. My logic was sound. I put it down to reading the dictionary and the complete works of Charles Dickens. This undoubtedly hones brain power.

  ‘Hello, Douglas Benson From Another Dimension,’ I said. ‘It didn’t work, then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your portal/passport.’

  He knelt before me and his eyes flashed with excitement. ‘Wrong, Candice,’ he said. ‘It did work. It worked beautifully.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. Maybe my brain wasn’t very honed.

  ‘I’ve come back,’ he continued. ‘I spent a couple of days with Mum and Dad and then I returned to this world.’

  ‘Fancy,’ I said.

  ‘I came back for you,’ he said. ‘I want you to travel with me across dimensions.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said. I thought this was an appropriate remark under the circumstances.

  ‘Will you, Candice? Will you? Mum and Dad are so looking forward to meeting you.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t think of a way.’

  ‘I couldn’t. But Mum did. We worked it out together.’

  ‘Does it involve trees?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I can’t, Douglas,’ I replied.

  His face fell. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I am afraid of heights. I cannot climb the tree-passport. Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to jump from it.’

  He got to his feet and paced. His hands clenched into fists. He even tried to pull at his hair, but it was so short he couldn’t get a grip. Finally, he returned.

  ‘I’ll think of another way, Candice,’ he said. ‘A way that doesn’t involve trees.’

  ‘Or heights of any kind?’

  ‘Or heights of any kind. It will be difficult. It will be very difficult. But I’ll do it. I swear to you, Candice. I will do it. You’ll just have to give me time.’

  ‘Righty ho,’ I said. ‘Consider time to be given.’

  He left after that. Douglas told me he had only come to school to see me and that the doctors had instructed him to take the week off. I watched him walk down the library stairs. To be honest, I wasn’t too sorry to see him leave. The new dictionary was calling to me and I wanted to look up the word delusion again.

  Walking home from school, I heard the sound of a motorbike. I stopped because it sounded like the motorbike was on the pavement. It was. So was I.

  It stopped next to me and the rider lifted up the visor on her helmet. It was a postie and not just any postie. Facsimile Penelope.

  ‘Hello, Candice,’ she sa
id. ‘I thought it was you.’

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘I’m so sorry we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye on Sunday,’ she continued. ‘But what with the ambulance and everything . . .’

  ‘That’s okay.’ I said. ‘I’m glad Douglas is better.’

  ‘Thank you, Candice. I can’t tell you how relieved we are.’

  ‘You can,’ I said.

  Facsimile Penelope looked puzzled, but then delved into her satchel. ‘I nearly forgot. I have a letter for you.’

  ‘For me?’

  She handed it over. It had a blue sticker with ‘Air Mail’ printed on it. And an American stamp. Facsimile Penelope drove off in a thin cloud of blue smoke. I ripped open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet.

  Dear Candice,

  Hey, I am so sorry I haven’t replied to your letters! The thing is, the address was wrong. All your letters were delivered to my neighbor, Mr Singlebaum, who has the apartment above ours. And he’s been in Europe for the last year. He got back yesterday and brought them to our apartment.

  I just about died laughing reading your letters. You are either one cool chick or you’re completely and utterly mad. Who knows? Maybe you’re both. Or maybe you’re deliberately weird. A lot of my friends reckon I’m crazy, so I guess we’ll get along. I have so much catching up to do, but I thought I’d just get this note off to you. Expect heaps of letters over the coming months.

  Thanks for the geography lesson, incidentally. Who’da thought Canada was to the north of us (I’m kidding, by the way)? And, yeah, I’ve got a boyfriend who’s our school’s quarterback. This Douglas dude sounds unbelievably weird.

  Gotta go and catch the post.

  Your penpal,

  Denille

  I looked up at the cloudless sky. I am fairly sure there was a dreamy smile on my face. As I said, you can’t move for dreamy smiles in the Phee household these days.

  I love it when things work out. And it suddenly occurred to me that I had finished the Alphabet Autobiography as well. Hurrah! Miss Bamford would be pleased [and possibly astonished at its length]. But finishing it also made me just a little sad. I’m not a fan of things ending. That’s probably why I just go round and round.

  I’m already thinking of my next chapter. ‘A Is For Aardvark.’

  What do you think?

  BARRY JONSBERG’s young adult novels, The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull and It’s Not All About YOU, Calma! were short-listed for the Children’s Book Council Awards, Book of the Year, Older Readers. It’s Not All About YOU, Calma! also won the Adelaide Festival Award for Children’s Literature, Dreamrider was short-listed in the New South Wales Premier’s Awards for the Ethel Turner prize, and Cassie (Girlfriend Fiction) was short-listed for the Children’s Peace Literature Award. Being Here won the Queensland Premier’s Young Adult Book Award 2011 and was short-listed for the 2012 Prime Minister’s award.

  Barry lives in Darwin with his wife, children and two dogs. His books have been published in the USA, the UK, France, Poland, Germany, China, Hungary and Brazil.