Inside the Tiger

by Hayley Lawrence

  He looks up at me from his spot on the tiled bathroom floor, his eyes glazed.

  ‘You wanted to know …’ he slurs.

  ‘Wanted to know what?’

  ‘What Micah said to me. He said you mean … the world to him.’ His breathing is laboured, like he could throw up again. ‘I said “You and me both.” But he doesn’t mean it like I do, Bel.’

  ‘Eli …’ I press my hands to my lips. My heart is breaking. ‘Tell me how I can make this better. Please tell me.’

  ‘I can’t keep doing this to myself. I don’t want half of you.’

  ‘All of me is here, Eli. With you. In our hotel. Come on, let me help you off the floor.’

  I haul him up and guide him to his bed, where he drops down face first on the mattress. I roll him over, drag back the sheets beneath his weight. Take off his flip flops and let my eyes roam the length of his body. The body I was pressed against only two nights ago.

  ‘You really freaked me out,’ I whisper.

  I pull the crisp white sheet over Eli, kiss him lightly on the forehead.

  ‘I’m not that guy,’ he mumbles.

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘The one you run to when that turns to shit.’

  And there it is. Eli needs me to choose. I was stupid to think I wouldn’t have to.

  If I don’t choose him, I could lose him forever. But Micah’s in my heart too. And the whole world has already cut Micah loose. How can I join them?

  Eli doesn’t speak to me much all morning, besides telling me his head is pounding. I give him some Panadol from my first-aid kit and buy him a bottle of water at the airport. When we board the flight, I let him have the window seat.

  He slumps against the window with his eyes closed and stays that way through take off. I can’t tell if he’s asleep when we level out or just resting.

  When the lunch trolley starts rattling down the aisle, he doesn’t stir. Even with the smell of Thai curry filling economy. When the flight attendant reaches us, I order for us both, but Eli shoos me away with his hand, eyes closed. He doesn’t want to eat.

  ‘Actually, we’re okay,’ I say.

  Seeing Eli like this is tearing me apart.

  He opens his eyes then. ‘You should have something.’

  The attendant gives me a tray and I offer half of it to Eli. He refuses, so I pick at it, feeling guilty for eating when it’s my fault he feels this bad.

  ‘Eli …’

  ‘Don’t.’

  The guilt claws at me.

  I watch his face. Looking so peaceful even though he’s not. His fingers are locked across his lap.

  I reach for his hand, but he shakes me off.

  His rejection burns.

  We don’t talk the rest of the flight home, and I don’t try to touch him again.

  It seems the choice has been made for me.

  I’ve lost Eli.

  We reach the carousel to collect our bags. Eli’s comes out first. I expect him to grab it and leave, but he waits to one side until mine comes out.

  I grab my bag and walk towards him. He turns and heads for customs.

  While we’re waiting for our bags to be checked, I think about the world that waits for us on the other side.

  Marcella and Dad. Eli’s mum. If we walk out and we’re not talking, what will they think?

  ‘I know you’re upset,’ I say, ‘but can we just pretend –’

  ‘Sure, Bel, whatever you want.’ He yanks down the straps on his bag.

  I can’t help thinking of our arrival through customs into Thailand. Eli taking a selfie of us. Both of us smiling.

  He doesn’t look at me once as we walk down the Arrivals corridor.

  I practise the things I’ll say when I’m bombarded with questions. What will Eli say about the trip?

  It’s not Marcella I see first, not my father. It’s Tash. Holding a fluoro-pink sign saying WELCOME HOME, BEL AND ELI!

  Her smile is the exact medicine I need. I almost drop my bag and run to her, but there’s a line of people behind me who wouldn’t be too impressed with that, so I hustle over as fast as I can.

  She drops the sign and squeezes me tight.

  ‘I missed you soooo much,’ she says.

  Then I hear an unmistakeable voice. ‘My darling!’

  Marcella rushes forward, and I turn to her. Bend down to hug her, which even though I’m taller than her somehow makes me feel like a little kid again.

  Dad’s alongside her, looking awkward, like he doesn’t know what to do.

  ‘Look at me, doing all the hogging!’ Marcella says, passing me to my father.

  He hugs me firmly.

  I catch a glimpse of Eli with his mother. She’s touching his face, checking him over. He’s letting her. Tash is there too, chatting and smiling at Eli, and I see them laugh about something.

  He’s pretending for me. And it hurts more than I ever thought possible.

  A week later at school, my mind is still stuck in Thailand.

  Mr Robb’s arms are folded across his thick chest as the ceiling fan groans lazily above us. The impact of his booming presence is lost on me. School is lost on me.

  ‘I assume you’ve worked to the benefit of your causes over the summer break,’ Mr Robb says. ‘And that you’ve done your research. So it’s time to get down to the nitty gritty of demonstrating how you personally have made a difference.’

  Everyone scrawls notes in their folders.

  My own mind is a scrambled mess of panic. I can hardly submit my ‘research’. My letters to Micah. Our secrets, our deepest scars. I can’t turn meeting him, talking to him back into an assignment.

  His hand on the glass. My hand on the glass. Micah is real. He’s not just some cause.

  Shit. I need to come up with something else. Refugees? Abortion? Animal rights? Too political. It’s all too political. My breathing is shallow.

  ‘How have you contributed?’ Mr Robb says. ‘I want you to compile a report, write an essay, make a short film … how you choose to communicate is entirely up to you.’

  He points his whiteboard marker to the St Margaret’s plaque adorning the front of every classroom. ‘Broaden and Contribute.’ The guiding principles drummed into us since day one.

  ‘How has your knowledge of your cause and the world been broadened?’ he asks. ‘And more importantly, what have you given to the world in response to that knowledge? If we hark back to biblical principles and the words of Matthew, When I was hungry, did you feed me? When I was thirsty, give me drink? When I was a stranger, did you welcome me, was I naked and you clothed me?’

  Jacinta sniggers from the third row.

  Mr Robb ignores her, clears his throat like thunder.

  All I can see is Micah. I have fed him, clothed him. He was a stranger and I opened my world to him. In return, he opened so much more than just his world. Micah has unlocked something inside me.

  The classroom is silent, except for the fan, which groans rebelliously. Mr Robb turns his attention to me.

  ‘Bel,’ he says. ‘You’re not writing this down.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Which cause have you chosen?’

  All the eyes swivel in my direction. Blood pounds in my cheeks.

  ‘It’s, uh …’

  There’s one very obvious bandwagon I could jump on. I never thought I’d be desperate enough. I could vomit at the thought of stepping back into that world. But maybe for the first time, I can use it instead of it always using me: victim’s rights.

  ‘Amnesty International type stuff,’ Tash says, handing me a pen.

  There goes that idea.

  Mr Robb nods, the corners of his mouth turning down. ‘Big fish, that one.’

  The buzzer goes, and Tash locks arms with me, pulling me into the corridor.

  ‘Thanks for the save,’ I say under my breath. ‘Only problem is there’s no Amnesty for my international.’

  She shrugs. ‘I said “type stuff”. Amnesty works against the death penalty
, right?’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Bel, you should know this stuff!’

  We head for our dorm, where Tash opens her laptop. I flop down on my bed to sift through my thoughts.

  Tash is tapping madly at her keyboard. She’s doing her assignment on Project Compassion and is almost finished her essay, but by the way she’s smashing away at those keys …

  ‘You having a stroke of genius over there?’ I say.

  ‘No.’ She flushes red. ‘I’m just chatting, to Eli actually.’

  ‘Eli?’ The mention of his name tilts me off balance.

  ‘Yeah. Did I mention we’ve been messaging?’

  The blood drains from my face. I remember him laughing with Tash at the Arrivals gate. There’s been no response to my message asking if he’s okay, if we’re okay. And now he’s messaging Tash?

  ‘Uh, no, you didn’t mention it.’

  She twists round to face me. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  But before I can answer, she smothers a smile with her hand at whatever just popped up on her screen. ‘He’s just …’ She stifles a laugh. ‘He’s really cool. I can’t believe you travelled through Thailand with him. What was that like?’

  I turn away from her. Her question is laced with nervous energy. Should I tell her about what happened? My stomach pangs at the sound of his name. I keep having flashbacks of his body against mine, the feel of him beneath my hands.

  I haven’t told Tash about what we did, the silent flight home or how he hasn’t spoken a word to me since. Evidently, he’s saving all his words for her now. I wonder if he’ll tell her what happened?

  ‘Tash, if you’re crushing on him, there’s something I should probably tell you –’

  ‘I asked him out. Like literally just a few seconds ago. Oh, hang on.’ She types something, followed by a winking face.

  ‘Oh.’ A wave of nausea hits me full in the stomach.

  ‘Wait, do you mind? I just figured you wouldn’t.’

  She’s right, I don’t.

  ‘I don’t care, Tash. Date whoever you want.’ It comes out as a snap.

  ‘If you don’t want me to, I won’t,’ she says quickly. ‘You don’t have a thing for him, do you? You always said you were just friends.’

  ‘Yeah, but it just weirds me out a little. I mean, Eli, really?’

  ‘Yes,’ she beams. ‘Really.’

  Her face is shining, so I force out the realest version of a smile I can manage.

  Eli and I were together nine nights ago. The same night he said he was in love with me once. What the hell is he doing?

  Tash goes back to her screen and I watch her out of the corner of my eye, chatting online. She’s probably planning dinner with him, a future maybe, in her mind. Something inside me aches. Eli seems as far away as Micah now. And Micah is almost as far away as my mother. Unreachable. Untouchable.

  I think of my mother in the recycled photographs. We can’t take any more. The lone family portrait we have because she assumed there’d be more time, more life.

  I turn towards the window and look out over the lush green hockey field. Eli is wrong about needing to deserve mercy. Shouldn’t life be the most inviolable of all human rights? Shouldn’t it belong equally to the rich and the poor, to the innocent and the guilty? Isn’t it sacred – human life? Whether the killing is committed by a man, woman or a government, doesn’t it go against the natural order? How can we ever justify ending the existence of another person?

  My grandfather once told me never to grow old. It hurts in so many ways. And every birthday brings you closer to the end. But dying young is worse. Dying unfinished. Every year that I grow older, I catch up to Mum. One day, I will turn twenty-seven. And I’ll be older than she’ll ever be. I can’t ask her what it’s like to be a woman at thirty, or what it’s like to have a baby. The natural course of history was altered the day she was killed. My possible siblings died with her, so did her own aspirations. My mother will never be middle-aged like Tash’s mum. Twenty six years, seven months and three days. That was her allotment.

  My mother didn’t know death was coming as she pulled up to the bank. It snuck up. All around the world, every day, it happens. Random assaults, planned attacks, violent partners … and justice systems.

  My mother was killed by a man; Micah will be killed by the state. The moment my mum died, we became the victims of her murder too. So what about Micah’s family? Micah’s mother has done nothing wrong, but if the Thai justice system executes him, she’ll have to live without her son. And what will it do to his brother, Sammy? It’s the families left behind who suffer the most.

  Dying is quick, but living with a hole in your family? That’s a life sentence.

  An idea curls its way to the front of my mind. It’s kind of big and bold. I can’t do it alone, but I know what I have to do. And it involves breaking every rule I’ve ever made.

  Just before midnight, my phone bings.

  Eli: What’s up?

  Bel: Hark! He speaks.

  Eli: You said we need to talk.

  Bel: Yeah, I wanted to say sorry.

  Eli: Whatever. I’m over it.

  His words sting. I think he means he’s over me.

  Bel: Okay … Then can I talk to you about something urgent?

  Eli: Talk.

  Bel: But first, rumour has it you’ve got yourself a date.

  I think it’s common courtesy to tell a girl if you’re going to hook up with her best friend. Especially if you’ve almost slept with said girl.

  Eli: You call that urgent?

  Bel: I call it clearing the air.

  Eli: Not that it’s your business, but Tash has been messaging me since Thailand. She asked me out. So why not? She’s a cool chick. And she’s hot.

  Hot. I can’t believe he’s thinking of her like that. It’s been nine days. Nine.

  Bel: Well, I hope you have somewhere fancy to take her. None of your usual spots will cut it.

  Eli: Thanks, smartarse. I have somewhere in mind.

  Bel: Sounds so mysterious …

  Eli: I’m a mysterious guy.

  Bel: Eli, I can read you in my sleep.

  Eli: That’s why I’m not asking you out.

  Bel: Really? I thought it was because I’d say no.

  Eli: Yeah, you only say yes to drug mules.

  I meant to jag him. He’s playing hardball so he can take a bit back. But his response still cuts.

  And to you, I type. But it seems you’ve forgotten about that.

  Take that and swallow it. I wait two full minutes for a response.

  Eli: Your idea of urgent is obvs different to mine. I’m going.

  Bel: Wait.

  Eli: What.

  Bel: I’m not sorry about what we did. I don’t regret it … unless you do. But I am sorry for hurting you with Micah. If that’s what I’ve done.

  Eli: Look, I can pretend it never happened. We’ve been doing that since we were fourteen. Just don’t be pissed that I’m moving on.

  Bel: Okay.

  It’s not okay, nowhere near, but when he puts it like that …

  Bel: Hey, Eli.

  Eli: What?

  Bel: Can we go back to being us?

  Eli: I’ll think about it.

  Bel: Okay. But while you’re thinking, I have an idea. I need you to keep an open mind about it.

  Eli: I’m not going to Thailand again.

  Bel: It’s not that. It’s for my school assignment.

  Eli: Yeah, so was Thailand. Just tell me what you want.

  Bel: Oh. Don’t worry if you’re too busy.

  Eli: Not too busy. Just tired.

  Bel: I’ll keep it quick then.

  I’m glad he can’t pick up that it hurts to be brushed off like that. But I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.

  Bel: So it’s about the death penalty. I want to organise a protest against it.

  Eli: Isn’t politics a no-go?

  Bel: It was. But this is different. Th
is is personal.

  Eli: So keep it personal. Send the guy food and money.

  Bel: It’s not enough. I don’t care if a person’s innocent or guilty. Life is one of the basics. Food, water, shelter, life. You kill someone, it’s murder. Full stop. No one has the right to kill, not even the state.

  There’s no movement on the screen. No dots flashing to show he’s writing back. I wait a full minute before he responds.

  Eli: Why are you telling me this?

  Bel: Will you help me get the word out?

  Eli: You’re asking me to spread a protest for your boyfriend across my social media? Do you have the memory of a fish? I don’t give a shit about Micah.

  Bel: This protest isn’t just about Micah. It’s about his family. What if it was your mum or dad on Death Row?

  I exhale deeply, emptying my lungs of all the years my voice has been silent. I’ve fence-sat for as long as I can remember because I refused to be a political pawn. But in the process, I’ve stood for nothing. Contributed nothing.

  Bel: Dad’s motto is evil triumphs when good people do nothing. I’m sick of being silent.

  There’s a pause before he writes back.

  Eli: This is NOT what your father had in mind.

  Bel: Please, Eli?’

  There’s no response.

  But there’s no denying I give a shit now. That apathy is gone. It’s a farce to pretend I can put Micah in one box and the death penalty in another.

  Besides, I was born into politics.

  Bel: Eli?

  Nothing. I wait twenty more minutes before heading for bed.

  All friendships have limits. Even the ones you thought were different.

  It’s surely no coincidence. Tonight is the 6th of February. Will Micah remember we’re meeting in our dreams? He told me he would.

  I climb back out of bed, pull Micah’s photo off my dorm wall and study it in the moonlight spilling in through the window. I smile, looking at his grin. And I ache deep inside.

  Sliding under my bed sheets, I kiss Micah’s lips that can’t kiss me back. Hold his photo against my chest till it grows warm. Then I turn onto my tummy and slide the photo beneath my pillow, keeping one hand on it.

  I close my eyes and focus on Micah’s face. His smiley, carefree eyes. He said we can do everything we want in our dreams, but when I think of kissing Micah, I feel Eli’s lips. Eli’s arm wrapped around me while we sleep. Eli’s body on top of mine.