The Full Ridiculous

by Mark Lamprell

  The phone rings again and you scoop it up.

  ‘Is Rosie there?’ the woman asks again.

  ‘Yes, who can I say is calling?’ you repeat without letting the chill you are feeling enter your voice.

  ‘I’m sorry I hung up before. There was someone on my other line.’

  It’s Mrs Pessites, Eva’s mother, and there’s no way you’re going to let her speak to Rosie because:

  (a) Although you can’t prove it, you know she just lied to you.

  (b) She is already attempting to transgress law 2a of teen conflict resolution—parent addresses parent, child addresses child.

  (c) She has already proved herself capable of extreme vindictiveness by having her daughter’s ex-best friend excluded from the French tour.

  (d) Even in the dim, distant world of daddyhood you have heard of Eva Pessites’ mastery of manipulation. She must have learned this from someone, quite possibly her mummy.

  You know you are facing a deadly foe at a critical moment. You race through a catalogue of strategies and decide on empathetic engagement followed by unreserved apology.

  ‘You must be feeling very upset,’ you say and the floodgates open. Mrs Pessites launches into a tirade on the outrageousness of Rosie’s behaviour, peppered with non-sequiturs about the manners of young people these days. It’s hard to believe this woman is of your own generation.

  You put on your jolly-hockey-sticks voice. Your architect friend, Felipe, once told you that if he met you at a party using this voice, he would think you were a pretentious fuckwit. Nevertheless, you have a hunch that it may make Mrs Pessites feel that you belong to some sort of club that she might wish to join some day and that therefore it would be prudent to behave prudently with you.

  You feel your empathy disarming your opponent. Brilliantly, you do not mention the fact that this whole incident is her own stupid fucking fault in the first place. She wanders into this territory of her own accord, offering a précis of the photo frame incident and referring to Ursula O’Brien as a ‘girl of low morals’.

  A girl of low morals. You tell yourself not to be seduced by the archaic absurdity of this statement; this woman is stupid but not harmless. She is capable of causing great damage.

  Damage to Rosie. Who is no position to sustain further damage.

  Months earlier, Rosie and the rest of her class took part in a study called Understanding Body Image Concerns and Eating Problems run by the psychology department of a local university. You were shocked when the school contacted you because the researchers had felt it necessary to pass on the following report:

  Rose Marie O’Dell: elevated scores on scales measuring unhealthy body image concerns and dieting behaviours; elevated scores in measures of negative affect, depression and anxiety; low score on the self-esteem scale indicating poor self-esteem.

  Brief but devastating. You knew Rosie wasn’t the happiest banana in the bunch but she had a boyfriend and a barbed retort on hand when needed, so you didn’t really worry about her. Teenagers are supposed to be miserable, aren’t they?

  Every week you take Rosie to one of the clinics nominated by the psychology department. After each hour-long session Rosie appears with a pretty young psychologist who smiles bravely and says ‘she’s doing fine’ with no conviction whatsoever.

  You’ve lost your way down this train of thought when you realise there is a pause in the conversation. You’re supposed to respond to a pearl from Mrs Pessites but you have no idea what she was rabbiting on about. This pisses her off. So to make sure she has your full attention, she says that her husband wants to report the assault to the police and take out an Apprehended Violence Order against Rosie.

  In that instant you channel all your psychic energy down the line, hoping to smite her dead. But it doesn’t work; you can hear her breathing. You assure her that Eva is perfectly safe and that Rosie is deeply remorseful. This last bit is, of course, a lie but lying to liars doesn’t count. Then you tell her that Rosie is being treated for depression; she is extremely fragile right now, and although that is no excuse for violence, it may partly explain why she behaved inappropriately.

  You conclude by begging for mercy. You actually say, ‘I beg you to have mercy on Rosie.’

  There is a pause before Mrs Pessites answers.

  ‘We’re all good Christian people here,’ she says.

  8

  Dear Ms Bowden,

  We felt it was important to write to you about this matter concerning our daughter Rose prior to our meeting tomorrow, essentially because there are things we want to say to you that we would prefer not to discuss in front of her.

  Firstly, we want to be clear with you that we do not condone violence—physical or verbal—and we believe it is inappropriate and inadequate behaviour, no matter what the context for it. We have had intense discussions with Rose about the use of physical force to resolve conflicts, and she acknowledges that it is unacceptable.

  As you know, Rose is depressed and emotionally unstable at the moment, and not always able to employ the intellectual tools she should use in a situation like yesterday’s. She is suffering from depression, which began about six months ago and has manifested itself in a variety of behaviours. You may recall that the study on Eating Concerns and Body Image in which she participated late last year alerted us to the fact that her problems were more significant than we had originally thought. She is currently being treated by the St Jude’s Hospital Adolescent Unit. We are most grateful for the school’s contribution to the effort to help her and we believe that her improvement, in particular her willingness to face and resolve her problems, is directly related to the tremendous support Rose has received from everyone involved in her care at Boomerang.

  We are deeply concerned that expulsion will equate in Rose’s mind to abandonment, particularly because she perceives that the issues of injustice which underpinned the argument, and which were the provocation for her to act violently, will have gone unnoticed.

  Those issues include: the exclusion of another student (Ursula O’Brien) from the French tour because of complaints about her ‘moral character’ by Mrs Pessites to Miss Crowden Clark (Mrs Pessites confirmed to us that she believes Ursula O’Brien to ‘have low morals’); and the racial and sexual nature of Eva Pessites’ comment to Rose during the argument that Rose should, ‘Go and suck your boyfriend’s black c—.’ Rose’s boyfriend is African–South American. She has encountered a great deal of racial prejudice while going out with him, and is deeply distressed by it. Furthermore, she is disturbed by the implication that she is in an active sexual relationship with this boy, which she is not.

  These are issues which Rose feels strongly about, and to which she responded during the argument, albeit highly inappropriately. These are also the issues that will be raised in court if we need to defend Rose from an application for an Apprehended Violence Order, which Mrs Pessites has indicated she will seek.

  We understand that you have a responsibility to ensure a safe environment for all students and that Rose’s actions have compromised your ability to provide that guarantee. We promise you that Rose will never again use violence against another student.

  We are praying that the compassion and caring which is the reason we chose Boomerang for Rose, and which recently has been so much a part of her healing process, can be offered in response to this situation. We are the desperate parents of a girl in danger. We have always believed that if you give a child enough time and unconditional love, you can get them through anything. However we appear to have lost our way with Rose. We beg you, and the school, not to forsake our girl.

  Kind regards,

  Wendy Weinstein and Michael O’Dell

  9

  Two days after the accident, you slide into the chair opposite the headmistress’s desk. As your leather belt makes farting noises against the padded vinyl seat, everyone pretends not to have heard it. But you flush with embarrassment anyway. ‘That wasn’t me,’ you want to say, except you re
alise how pathetic it is to apologise for something you didn’t do. You hate yourself for your unmanly coyness.

  And even if you did do it, who cares? It’s not like you could help it, like you were being intentionally disrespectful. Flatulence doesn’t come with an on/off switch. It just comes. Get over it, your internal voice shouts as Wendy hands you back your crutches.

  Christina Bowden settles in her leather seat and asks how you are feeling. It takes a moment to realise that she is not privy to the sad details of your inner imbroglio; she is enquiring after your battered body. You can sense a cavalry of pain crashing against the rampart of drugs you have ingested but all you feel is a distant throbbing.

  ‘Thank God for drugs,’ you quip.

  Wendy smiles a smile at you that says: taking the name of the Lord in vain plus condoning drugs. What do you do for a trifecta, Responsible Father?

  Christina Bowden smiles enigmatically. You’ve been trying to read her intentions for the last hour or so. She’s spoken to you and Wendy and Rosie, then Rosie alone, and now it’s you and Wendy without Rosie. She’s been fair and thorough. She’s compiled a report of the incident from the testimony of more than twenty eyewitnesses. A picture of the conflict has emerged that is neither as benign as Rosie’s version nor as harrowing as Eva’s. Clearly both girls are at fault but as Christina, call me Christina, has reminded you twice now, Rosie initiated an assault and assault is an expellable offence. Christina has listened to Rosie’s ire about Mrs Pessites’ behaviour and Eva’s response. She has spoken to Rosie kindly and at length about anger management and the application of emotional intelligence. She has been meticulous in her handling of the whole affair.

  And suddenly you realise why. She’s going to expel Rosie. If she were going to suspend her, this meeting would have been short and sweet. It’s obvious that the appropriate response to Rosie’s behaviour is a short suspension. But there is no way Christina Bowden can turn her back on the Pessites money. You see now that this woman before you has no choice. It’s not that she wants to expel Rosie. She has to. And she has to be seen to be doing it for all the right reasons. This inquiry is a means of convincing everyone—even herself—that justice is being done. But the instant Rosie O’Dell hit Eva Pessites, her fate was sealed.

  ‘Your letter made quite an impression,’ begins Christina.

  You brace yourself for the systematic dismissal of all of Wendy’s finely penned arguments and think not without a fight, Honey Bunch, you’re not getting rid of us that easy. You shift in your seat and a fabricated fart rips through the room. But this time you’re glad. You only wish it came with a smell.

  ‘The letter made an impression, did it?’ you ask, edging your disdain with a tint of anger.

  Wendy turns, startled by your tone. The headmistress draws herself up in her chair and presses on. ‘I took the liberty of sharing it with the deputy and the school board.’ Here she pauses for dramatic effect but you’re not putting up with any of that shit.

  ‘And?’ you say, sounding incredibly bored.

  Wendy places her hand on yours. To the casual observer, it would appear she is resting it there as a sign of support and affection but underneath there is a vice-like grip that warns: one more word and I’ll snap your fingers off.

  Call-me-Christina smiles. ‘We all agree that expulsion would be an excessive response to these particular circumstances.’

  Rosie is recalled to the room and informed that she will be suspended for two and a half weeks until the holidays. She may resume classes and make a fresh start in the new term. She sags with relief and her little face crumples into tears. Wendy hugs her and you rub her back as she sobs her gratitude to the headmistress.

  10

  You have no idea why, but on the way home your robust good humour withers. You feel like the drugs are no longer doing their trick. The rampart corrodes. Pain leaks in through the cracks and fissures. You stagger into bed and sleep. Time becomes liquid. Your mind and body float, absorbed in an orchestration of healing. You wake regularly—every hour or so—because of the Dream.

  The Dream—with minor variations—goes like this: you’re running down a road, not the road, not Hastings Road, just some generic street. The ground cracks open at your feet. Sometimes some kind of furry little marsupial scurries out of the crack. Sometimes it’s not a road, it’s a forest path, or a beach track, or a city sidewalk. But the ground always cracks open and that’s when you leap. Sometimes you leap over the crack and/or marsupial and sometimes you leap backwards, stopping just before you plummet into the abyss.

  But you always leap, jerking your legs in a reflex that sends hot spurs of pain spearing through your swollen left thigh. You wake in agony, writhing on the bed. After the initial horror, you almost like it. Your waking hours are unequivocally occupied; there is no room in your schedule to angst over your book or panic over your impending financial doom or worry about your children. There is only pain.

  Four and a half days after you are run down by Frannie Prager’s blue Toyota and two days after the Victory at Boomerang, you wake from the Dream to realise that your sister Tess is sitting in the room. She frowns, says, ‘Hello,’ and lifts the sweaty fringe of hair plastered onto your forehead. She is right next to you, touching you, but so far away you cannot speak to her. Ingrid’s daughter, Mel, hovers in the doorway, frowning. You drift back into the darkness.

  Across town, parents and pupils applaud as a burgundy velvet curtain lowers on the Boomerang school choir. The girls have completed another successful annual recital, centre stage of the city’s town hall, a late-nineteenth-century sandstone stab at colonial grandeur.

  Rosie is not present, of course, because of her suspension. Also because she would ‘rather gargle cat vomit than join a choir’. Some of Rosie’s friends, however, are choristers and they huddle together to discuss the latest turn of events in the Eva–Rosie scandal. Later they report every detail of the evening to Rosie who reports it to Wendy who tells you.

  Eva has made her first appearance since her big ordeal, sitting in the audience looking pale and brave, too weak to applaud with any vigour. The class is divided: half in support of Rosie and half in support of Eva.

  Rosie’s little gang have discussed it and decided to be nice to Eva, but only to her face. Maddie Peacock has already been on a reconnaissance mission to check out Eva’s new diamond pendant (‘Hey Eva, hope you’re feeling better’) and is midway through a report on the number, size and shape of the diamonds when a young man approaches. He is impeccably groomed, with gold skin and floppy hair. The girls recognise him as Eva’s sixteen-year-old brother, Perry.

  Perry pops his head into the circle of girls as if he has a special secret to share. ‘If any of you bitches does anything to my sister, you’ll pay. You might be standing on the station and a hand will push you in front of the train. Or waiting at the lights and end up under a truck. Or coming out of the movies and have your brains bashed in. You won’t see anyone coming but we’ll get you.’

  A shaken Ursula O’Brien immediately reports the incident to her parents. Having experienced the full force of the Pessites’ displeasure during the photo frame debacle, the O’Briens barely raised a voice in protest over Mrs Pessites’ abortive attempt to exclude Ursula from the French tour. Back home over a cup of tea, they convince themselves that appalling Perry is merely making idle threats. They remind Ursula how painful things can get when blown out of proportion. Concluding that the best course of action is to do nothing, they pack Ursula off to bed. She brushes her teeth with her stomach churning, feeling like she wants to cry.

  On her way to school, Maddie Peacock waits for the train with her friends. Chatting happily, she notices Eva Pessites standing on the opposite platform, surrounded by her acolytes. Eva is laughing and pointing in Maddie’s direction. Maddie looks around to see what the joke is. Then she looks down. She can’t believe it. She’s wearing her pyjama pants and suddenly everyone on the crowded platform notices. Maddie feels a hand
shove her from behind. She stumbles forward, trips over her school bag and tumbles onto the cold steel tracks just as the train roars into the station.

  Screaming in terror, Maddie wakes and writhes inconsolably in her stepmother’s arms. Maddie had decided to withhold the Perry Pessites story as a punishment for not being allowed to have a Big Mac before the recital, but now it spews out with terrifying velocity.

  In the morning, Maddie’s stepmother calls Maddie’s father, who is on a business trip in New York. Maddie’s father briefs his lawyer. The lawyer fires off an email to the school.

  The email arrives at 11pm and is opened the next morning by Christina Bowden’s devoted secretary, Judy, who prints it out and rushes it to the teachers’ lounge wearing her here’s trouble smile-frown. The headmistress has almost finished a touch-base breakfast with the science teachers when a hard copy of the email slips onto her lap. She scans it, finishes her gently risqué anecdote about frictionless pucks, and reschedules her morning. By recess she has questioned all the girls involved and by lunch George Pessites is sitting in her office, apoplectic with rage.

  How dare they threaten him with legal action when it was his daughter who was beaten up! How dare they!

  Christina Bowden allows him to spin around her office like an exploding Catherine wheel. When he is spent, the headmistress explains that the Peacocks are not threatening to sue Mr Pessites—they are threatening to sue the school for failing to protect their daughter from assault.

  ‘But Perry didn’t touch them. And anyway he’s just sticking up for his sister,’ he replies, abandoning rage to experiment with hurt and bewilderment.

  Christina is about to launch into an exploration of the ethics of his son’s behaviour but thinks better of it. Instead she explains that Perry’s threats can indeed be legally interpreted as a form of assault but that, regardless of this, Mr Pessites must see that this atmosphere of hatred and revenge cannot be tolerated in a school professing to embrace Christian values. George Pessites is appropriately chastened by the mention of Our Lord and after inspecting a model of the new gymnasium he heads off, promising to ‘lay down the law’ to his kids.