Friendship on Fire

by Danielle Weiler

  ‘Guess what,’ she whispered dangerously. ‘You can’t. I’m pregnant.’

  Her eyes pierced mine with pure sadness and fear. In a split second, her show was on again for the men and they carried her little, ranting body into the house to sober up before a taxi arrived.

  Skye pregnant? And drunk? What was happening to all of us?

  Dad was coming to pick me up from the party soon and my head pounded with exhaustion and worry as my friends tried all sorts of bribery to get me to stay just a little longer. One more hour. Besides, they argued, they weren’t finished forcing Roman and me to interact. I glared at them.

  I couldn’t stay. Not knowing what I had just found out about Skye. Not knowing that I couldn’t have Roman.

  From what I could tell, Skye and I were in a similar situation. Without the baby, of course. We both wanted something we couldn’t have. Something that would make us feel like ourselves again.

  Will I ever find anyone? Will she?

  Will anything ever be smooth, and easy? For her or me?

  I had found her again just before Dad arrived, crying in the corner of a dark room in the front of the house. I rubbed her matted hair as she repeated, over and over, ‘It was never supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be easy.’

  I still had no idea what she was talking about, directly. Who had knocked her up? Who should her life have been easy with?

  Irony swept over me as I remembered thinking around nine months ago that Roman was too ‘easy’ for me. That he wouldn’t put up much of a fight, a challenge. How wrong I was about him. How foolish had I been? He was the biggest challenge of all and now that I couldn’t ‘have’ him, I supposedly wanted him. If I got pregnant by Roman, say, I would be one hundred per cent sure he would support me. Who did Skye have who she was ‘easy’ with?

  I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, or was seeing someone exclusively. Chances are she wasn’t and it was one of the Addison Grammar boy’s babies. Surely not Nate’s?

  My mind began to wander. How far along she was, what her parents would say, what the Brigade or Grammar crew would say, if they didn’t know already. What her plans were after school. Whether she would choose to keep the baby or not. Whether she was equipped to be a good mum at eighteen, drinking and partying as she did.

  I had been to school with her for so many years I lost count and I didn’t know anything about her beyond parties and bitchy snipes in the locker bays.

  How ashamed I felt now. I couldn’t help her because I didn’t bother to find out anything about her.

  One thing I was sure of: she was heartbroken. Whoever had done this to her, turned her into a raving lunatic at her big Formal party, was not worth the kind of love every girl seeks in the bottom of her heart, no matter how tough they appear to be on the outside.

  Dad didn’t talk to me on the way home and I didn’t volunteer any information about the party. I think he was expecting me to stay longer, yet seemed relieved when he heard my voice asking him to take me home.

  Creeping into my dark, silent house, I heard only the swishing of my gown and tapping of my heels as Dad turned on a lamp for us.

  ‘You looked gorgeous tonight,’ Dad said, kissing me on the cheek and patting my mass of curls.

  ‘Funny, Roman said the same thing,’ I murmured, smiling at him wearily.

  ‘He has good taste then.’

  Dad yawned softly and waved as he walked to his room to return to sleep. I watched him leave with a heavy heart, suddenly angry at so-called love. I wanted to slam my door, throw objects around my room, scream at the injustice of love and life. Not only for Skye’s heart, but mine.

  Since realising my feelings for Roman had changed, I felt as if I had been impregnated with the idea and need for him, and because I didn’t have him fully, I felt rejected, left with the scar of a seed that could have grown, and still wanted to.

  The pins holding my curls irritated me. Mixed with hair-spray they were doubly as stubborn, surviving my best efforts to dislodge them from my sore head.

  Throwing a handful of pins at the wall, I began to cry as I rested my face in my hands, seated on the edge of my bed. I cried for the shock of Skye’s news, knowing it could have been me at any time with Nate. I cried for the change in lifestyle I was going to experience after school and especially I cried for the possibility that Roman might move states for uni and I’d never have a chance with him. This may well have been our last party together.

  I had to write. With few edits, I wrote in my diary how I felt in my heart about love; the kind of love I, along with Skye, desperately sought.

  Love

  Love

  Once coined as ‘Friendship on Fire’

  Sits, and smoulders intently

  On the supplies of two welling hearts.

  Every observable aspect

  Recorded and adored,

  Animations and knowing eyes

  Entertain their long-standing history of closeness.

  Who could have ever fathomed,

  They both blissfully wonder,

  That this type of feeling

  Would fall on them as it had,

  Unique, yet oddly universal. Yes, common.

  And they believed,

  Not through ignorance,

  But sheer belief,

  That their love could last through anything.

  Everything was in place —

  Beliefs, interests, and that friendship connection,

  Binding them with such fire

  That even the physical side of their relationship Seemed to be merely a bonus gift

  From the Creator of bonds.

  The outsider watches,

  Though not from outside,

  Observing the imaginary,

  Though not so imaginary, creations,

  While pondering, calculating and negotiating.

  What strange melancholy sweeps; how wretched;

  It wrestles with Zen and overpowers it,

  For now.

  His argument quite logical,

  Yet boringly accurate.

  Is this but a fantasy,

  This type of said love?

  Could it ever be experienced by, say, me?

  The pity party says,

  You haven’t yet.

  The eternal optimist however, believes in

  The One who created love.

  Who should win today?

  Taunts.

  Because as sure as the tide

  Will re-cover the damp sand,

  So will my faith and patience,

  And belief in something truly phenomenal,

  Rise and fall,

  As is true of human nature.

  Perhaps its only consistency

  Rests in the fact that humans aren’t consistent.

  How then, can they love adequately?

  So here lies the eternal predicament

  Of romantic hearts;

  Until the Maker Himself

  Removes His perfect fingers

  From the clay,

  And presents before us

  A trophy, lovingly prepared

  For our happiness.

  To feel that burn

  Of friendship on fire

  At the appointed time

  And know it will be

  Forever more.

  Falling asleep in my ball dress, unruly hair spread wild across my pillow, I clutched the diary and my hope to my chest, knowing that was the class of love I was going to hold out for, no matter how long it would take to find.

  aisy Renae, you’d better smile and look happy in these photos or there will be big trouble,’ Mum warned, as I stood outside the house, almost in the garden, hands clasped in front of me, smiling at the camera in my school uniform. Embarrassment seeped through my skin as cars in the street drove past beeping at me, and yet Mum still insisted we get a few more photos, ‘just in case’ the others didn’t work.

  ‘Mum, it’s a digital camera. You can check the photos after you take
them,’ I said, grinding my teeth in irritation.

  ‘Shush. Smile wider, but don’t fake it,’ and she watched me closely again, frowning with disapproval at my next smile.

  ‘Dad, can you do something about Mum please?’ I pleaded.

  She threw her hands in the air in resignation and walked inside. Dad chuckled.

  My brothers came outside dressed in their finest for my valedictory service and we took more family photos. My cheeks were hurting already and we hadn’t even left the house yet.

  Leaving my family in their assigned seats, I went round the back of Queens Park Hall and lined up with my friends, ready to say a more official goodbye to school.

  Miss Shaw and a few other teachers were mingling with students in the dusk and I began to wonder if teachers would consider me worth saying goodbye to; worth imparting words of wisdom on.

  I watched Miss Shaw out of the corner of my eye as she made her way up the line towards me. Little did I realise all year, she had more than replaced my old history teacher from last year. She wasn’t better or worse than him. She was at my school this year for a purpose; her purpose and mine.

  ‘Daisy. The year has snuck up on us,’ she said casually, smiling her usual warm smile.

  ‘I know, I can’t believe it’s finally over,’ I replied nervously. Reading her face, I waited to hear her advice for the future. I needed to hear it.

  ‘You will do well in everything you seek out to do,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you know why?’

  I found myself shaking my head at her dumbly.

  She laughed. ‘Because you don’t give up. Others make mistakes, fall down, lose heart, and you do too, but you don’t give up. You don’t lose yourself in the process. You keep moving forward and pushing for only the very best. Good luck, and please keep in touch.’ And she disappeared into the crowd of students.

  During the service I was fidgety. My goodbye speech as school captain was in the back of my head and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I looked out into the audience often to watch my parents, sitting with Roman’s parents, and tried to catch their eye for support. A few times Mum smiled at me and Dad put his thumbs up.

  Roman and I hadn’t had a chance (or made time) to go over our speeches together and make sure they didn’t overlap. We had three minutes each to make our mark on the ceremony, as Mr Head had put it.

  While Mr Head introduced us to the audience as school captains of the graduating year, I suddenly felt an over-whelming sense of responsibility and pride. In my haste to have a serious relationship and finish school, had I actually taken my role as captain seriously?

  I remembered my first speech at the start of the year, wearing the turban hat on my wild red hair, and how I let my temper get the better of me. How good Roman was at talking to people. How Roman saved me from myself.

  So I stood, shoulder to shoulder with Roman, listening to his speech and speaking mine, thinking the whole time how nice it was to be so close to him again.

  At the cue of the audience’s clapping, it was time for us to sit down. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be next to Roman again, in a socially constructed way or not.

  As my name was called to collect my official transcript of graduation and cross the stage, my brothers called out as loudly as they could and my parents stood up in an ovation of pride. I blushed beetroot, but I didn’t really care what anyone would think. Who else was as loved as I by my parents?

  Drinks and nibblies were served outside the centre for families, teachers and students to mingle after the service. It was absolutely packed, with elbowroom and personal space non-existent.

  Looking out among the many familiar and non-familiar faces, I saw Rachael’s parents with her, taking photos of her and her group of special Brigade friends. Seeing her parents unchanged, and just as friendly to her friends as they were to me, I wondered if they even knew the real reason I didn’t come over anymore.

  Taking my eyes from that scene, I scanned the room again. Not far from me, I could see Shana. She had brought her dad, who was standing next to a much shorter, dark-haired woman who looked like an older version of Shana. They appeared uneasy, with at least a metre between their bodies. I pushed through the crowd to them.

  ‘Hey,’ Shana squealed. ‘Nice speech.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, ducking my head.

  ‘Daisy, this is my mum,’ Shana said nervously, but with pride. ‘Mum, this is Daisy, my best friend from down the road.’

  Shana’s mum put her hand out to greet me warmly, her dark brown eyes meeting mine.

  ‘Daisy, I’m very pleased to meet you,’ she said in a thick accent. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for making Shana feel welcome and included at school this semester. We would love to have you over to our place sometime to get to know you better.’

  I took a chance to glance at Shana, who raised her eyebrows and grinned at me.

  ‘Sure, I’d be honoured,’ I answered, smiling back warmly.

  Maybe I was wrong to assume Shana’s parents had made up, but I was excited about them being in the same room and desperately wanted to steal Shana away to hear the new goss.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Skye take her graduation hat off and push through the double doors by herself. She didn’t appear to be accompanied by her parents, or anyone related to her. I followed her outside.

  ‘Skye, wait up,’ I called, trotting to meet her on the path.

  ‘Oh hey,’ she said blankly, not slowing her pace.

  ‘About last weekend,’ I began, feeling unprepared for this speech, too. Where would I start? And would she admit she had a mini-break down in front of me at the party?

  She held up her hand and shook her head. ‘Forget it. Like literally, forget it ever happened. I’ll take care of it soon, so no one will know, even if you decide to spill it.’

  Ignoring her jibe at my secret-keeping skills, I said, ‘What? You’re not going to abort it …’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I’ll do what I like if it’s right for me, so mind your own business and don’t concern yourself with me, just like old times.’

  ‘You don’t have to talk to me like this, to keep up this facade of meanness,’ I said. It was naive of me to try to make up for years of bitching in a five-minute conversation. I knew that.

  She glared at me sidelong. ‘Are you trying to say we have something in common and we can be friends? You got hurt by a Grammar boy. I got knocked up by one. It’s all relative, right?’

  Her sarcasm stung.

  ‘Not really, but I can see where you’re coming from all the same. Skye, can you tell me who it was?’ I asked, knowing there was only a slim chance she would be honest.

  ‘You wouldn’t know him. And no, it wasn’t Nate, if that’s what you’re concerned about.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ I replied firmly. ‘Will you be OK?’

  ‘Of course I will be. Go back to your golden life with your perfect family and don’t worry about me.’ She took out her car keys and darted left into the car park.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ I called after her.

  ‘Sure you will.’

  ‘Skye, I will.’

  She hesitated for a moment, intrigued by this alien form of stubbornness. Stubbornness to make sure she was OK.

  ‘We’ll see. Congrats on gradding, tart , ‘ she called, giving me a wide, genuine smile that was new to her face.

  ‘You too,’ I grinned back and hurried into the centre to find my family.

  My brothers, who were bored by this time as all the food had gone, began to film themselves and me randomly with the video camera. They jumped around the outside fountain and scared people as they walked out of the centre by appearing in front of them or accidentally bumping into them. Mum and Dad didn’t say anything. They were busy chatting to Roman’s parents.

  Did this mean Roman hadn’t gone home yet? The thought of him potentially not avoiding me lifted my spirits and I kept my eyes peeled for him in case I
could speak to him alone.

  I couldn’t see him near or apart from his parents. So I gave up.

  I told my parents I was ready to leave and just had to head to the bathroom first. Feeling disappointed instead of elated at graduating, I looked in the mirror and wondered if my eyes had changed much since the start of the year. Did I look friendly still? Did I look used? Did I look older?

  I came out of the bathroom to see Roman leaning against the wall, waiting for me, like he always did in the past. I nearly jumped with surprise and excitement. Instead of letting me launch into my much-anticipated conversation, he handed me a folded piece of paper and walked away.

  It burnt my fingers as I wondered what he was thinking when he gave it to me. This couldn’t wait. I rushed back inside the bathroom for privacy and sat on a toilet seat in the cubicle, hands shaking as I read his neat boy-handwriting:

  Daisy,

  It’s been so long I don’t know where to start with us. I gues firstly I should say how sorry I am for everything that’s happened this year. If the world was ideal, I would have been a good enough friend to support you no matter who you were dating. I would never have let anyone get between us.

  I bet you’re wondering about the real story behind my relationship with Anya. Sorry I didn’t personally tell you, but you know that she and I are completely over — no long distance or anything. She went home almost straight after that damned party when she realised I wouldn’t give myself completely to her. It hurt her that I left her at the beach to get you home. And your kiss bothered her … but not as much as it’s haunted me ever since.

  I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time. I know I’ve been sending out mixed signals and there were many times I could have spoken to you, but chose not to, because I was scared to hear something I didn’t want to hear.

  This leads to my ultimate question I suppose — now that both Nate and Anya are out of the picture, and we both appear to be in a better head space (forgive my as umption), is it too late to talk and sort out what’s been going on between us? I’m willing, if you are.

  Missing your company and friendship,

  x

  Roman

  I let the letter slide between my fingers and down on to the tiles. I couldn’t believe he was finally willing to talk, and without me pushing it for once. I had wanted this for so long, but was it the right time?