Mike (6 page)

20
SOMETIMES …

Ros was out at the chemist.

Riny sat in the chair, looking out over the street. But seeing Tony.

Tony, moving the rocks into place before he cemented them for the rockery. Or lying on the front lawn with the kids, or reading a book, or wrestling with Pieter.

No, she didn't miss him. He was never far from her.

Ros didn't understand. But it didn't matter. He was here; and he was waiting for her. He would wait until she was ready.

“I'm not sitting here waiting to die.” She had told the boy that once. Kids had a lot of trouble with growing old. They didn't understand it. They knew it happened to everyone, but they wanted to know why.

Why?

Sometimes there were no answers. Sometimes you just had to accept it.

“But I'm not scared either. There's nothing to be scared about. I was scared when I lost Tony. But I realised. I haven't lost him; he's here.” She had gestured around the room. Then she had pointed at her heart. “And here. And he always will be. Wegive a part ofourselves to everyone we love. And we live on. There's nothing to be scared about.”

The boy hadn't understood, but maybe one day he would. He was due home soon.

She sat and watched the street.

21
ME

Lisdalia invited me over.

It was no big deal. I was having a bit of trouble with my Maths, and she knew a bit more than me.
She
knew a bit more than Ms Radford.

And I began to see what it would have been like for her, too.

I mean, I was an outsider. I was new, and I didn't really want to be there, so I hadn't tried too hard to belong. Then, when I'd wanted to, I couldn't break in.

But I hadn't always been an outsider. Not back home. In some ways, Lisdalia had. It's bad enough being smart, and being a girl. But being smart and being a girl
and
being independent as well …

You see, Lisdalia had never known how to back down. She knew she was right, she told you, even if you didn't want to hear. Trouble was, she was
always
right. That makes most people uncomfortable. For all her smarts, she'd never worked out that sometimes you have to give a little, even when you know the other guy's a klutz. So, Miss Unpopularity.

But I liked her. She was patient with me when I didn't understand — which is more than I can say for Ms Radford, who always wrote just one example on the board, then answered every question with: “Look at the example and work it out for yourself.” I sometimes wondered if she could do it for herself. After all, she got the example out of a book in the first place.

Lisdalia's father was great. He was a short, stocky Italian, and he came in at five o'clock singing opera at the top of his voice. Then he saw me, and smiled a little guiltily. But after a few minutes, I was “family”.

“You stay for dinner?”

I looked across at Lisdalia's mother. She was Spanish, and small, like her daughter, but really quiet. I had the feeling that her husband did this sort of thing to her all the time. I knew if it was my mother that she'd have cooked just enough for us, and she'd be racking her brain, working out how she could make it spread to an extra mouth.

So I saved Mrs Petrantonio the trouble. “Thanks, Mr Petrantonio, but I have to get back home. My mum'll have dinner waiting. And I have to run an errand for Mrs Vandermeer.”

It satisfied him, and I began to pack up my books.

Lisdalia saw me out.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I enjoyed it,” she replied.

And I think she did.

I dropped in at Riny's on the way home, but Ros said she was sleeping, so I crossed the street and went inside.

Mum was cooking. Schnitzel. And not the kind you buy already crumbed, so you don't know what kind of garbage meat they've hidden under the coating. She had three bowls out, with flour, egg and seasoned breadcrumbs (it has to be seasoned crumbs, or it doesn't taste right). I arrived in time to bash the meat with the tenderising hammer. That's the one with all the little points on it, that looks like something out of a medieval torture chamber. If the meat thinks it's tough before you start with it, it certainly isn't by the time you've finished “tenderising” it.

I liked that job. I just pretended that the veal was Shane Thomas's ugly face. We had the tenderest meat in Sydney by the time I was finished.

I quite liked coating it too, except that you end up with a thicker layer of sticky, eggy breadcrumbs on all your fingers, and you find it hard to pick up the next piece of meat. But Mum wouldn't let me near the fry-pan. She reckoned I could burn water.

They'd said something similar (though not quite as polite) at the camp, when it had been my turn to masacrate the evening meal. So, scratch “chef” as a job option.

While we worked, we talked. That may sound like a stupid thing to mention, but we hadn't been doing much of that lately. Talking, I mean. We weren't on bad terms or anything, but for some reason Mum had been … “out of it” for a week or two. I guess I'd been too tied up in my own problems for it to register. Now I thought back, it seemed like she'd had her mind elsewhere for a while.

Not tonight.

“I'm sorry, Mike.”

She came out with it. No reason, no preparation. Just: “I'm sorry.”

I thought, at first, she must have spilled something on me or something, but she was nowhere near me, and she was staring out of the window over the backyard. Have you noticed how many people stare out of windows, when they're trying to work out what to say?

“What for?” I couldn't think of anything she'd done.

“We should have discussed everything with you before we made the decision to leave Melbourne. It was your life too. We just wanted what was best for us all; for the future. We never dreamed it would make you so … unhappy.”

I looked at my mother. This was hard for her. And I didn't know what to say to make it any easier.

“Mum —” I began, but she had already started talking again.

“It's too late now to go back. We've bought this house, I've changed jobs. Your father—”

“Mum, it doesn't matter.” I heard it, but I wasn't sure it was me saying it. “Really. It's not
where
you live. It's who you are.” And I realised. I really believed it. I didn't need to live in Middleton. Right at that moment I wasn't sure I'd even prefer to. Something had happened to me over the last few weeks and days — and I don't mean just Lisdalia.

For the first time in … forever, I had an idea of who
I
was. Me. And it was a terrific feeling.

Mum was looking at me with a puzzled expression. I put down the last piece of meat, moved across to her and hugged her. I left sticky, bread-crumby fingermarks on the back of her dress, but I don't think she really minded.

At least she never mentioned them to me.

22
NOTHING TO LOSE

And then it was D-day.

I had a good breakfast, and mixed one of Lisdalia's special energy drinks, extra large, to have at lunchtime. The race was at about two o'clock; I didn't want anything heavy in my stomach. But I did need the energy.

Have you ever noticed how slowly time can go when you're waiting for something? It was the last day of the program and most of the kids had finished the testing. The instructors were demonstrating a few life-saving techniques, which no one was really watching, and explaining what to do if you found yourself floating in the water, fully clothed, waiting to be rescued — say if your boat sank or something.

For a moment, I thought of Riny.

Looking at most of the kids, I found myself hoping, if it ever happened, that they had life-jackets.

Then it was free-time.

I felt like I needed it. My muscles were tight — nerves, I guess — and I just wanted to get into the water and do a couple of slow laps, to loosen up. I ended up doing four before I felt relaxed. I didn't want to use the energy, but I didn't want to cramp up, either, from being too tense.

As I pulled myself from the water, I noticed Shane Thomas. He was strutting his stuff for anyone who happened to be watching, waiting for his big moment. I wished I had his confidence.

While I was watching him, Lisdalia came up behind me and touched me on the shoulder. I jumped and she smiled.

“How are you feeling?”

“Stupid. Why do we put ourselves through these things?” I glanced across at Macho-Man. He was roughing up Chris Walker and laughing. Sitting over on the grass, complete with sun-umbrella and Esky, was Mrs Thomas, looking as huge and loud as ever. I think she was the only parent in the whole place, except for a couple of mums with toddlers using the paddling-pool.

She was certainly the only one with a stop-watch around her neck.

Lisdalia caught my eye and held it. She looked serious. “Remember, you have nothing to lose. No one's expecting you to do anything, so there's no pressure.” She tossed a glance over at the Pain. “Only
he
has to prove something. To
her.”
I looked across towards Mrs Thomas. She was demolishing a meat pie. Three bites and it was gone.

“What do you mean?”

“You'll see.” She put her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun. “Try to get the lane on his right-hand side.”

I didn't understand. “Why?”

She looked at the water. They were clearing the kids out, ready to unroll the floating lane-dividers. It was almost time.

“You breathe to the right, don't you?” I must have looked confused. She answered her own question. “You do. I've watched you …So does Shane Thomas.”

I still didn't get it. She smiled “If you start off on his right, you'll be swimming the second lap on his left, so you'll be able to see where he is. But you'll be on his blind side. He'll have to break rhythm to see you.”

I looked at her. Did I ever happen to mention she's smart? It was one thing even Riny hadn't thought of.

They swam the girls' challenge first. It was open to the whole school, but in reality only the Year Sixes and the occasional Year Five ever bothered. There were eight starters, and predictably Sonja Ainsworth blitzed them. She was school champion, but she was everything that Shane the Pain wasn't. Small, sweet and likeable. And she swam because she loved it, but when she won, by a quarter of a lap, she stopped to congratulate the girl who came in second, and give her a little hug. Everybody liked Sonja.

I envied her.

There were only six boys standing behind the blocks waiting to start the race. I don't know why there weren't more, but I guess kids get self-conscious about wallowing about in the water so far behind someone like Shane Thomas, with the whole school looking on. I checked out the other swimmers. They all looked pretty nervous — considering it was supposed to be a fun race.

I took my position on Shane's right-side. There was no formality, we just stood there waiting.

Then he looked across at me, as if he hadn't noticed me there before. Maybe he hadn't. He flashed a yellow grin and scratched his nose.

“Mikey!” There was no humour in that smile. I didn't reply; I was breathing deeply, the way Riny had shown me. Fuelling up my muscles. “What are you doing here? Did you forget the way to the
library?
”

He made the word sound like an insult. I forced myself to smile back.

“No, I was just feeling a bit hot. I thought I might get wet.”

“You don't need to. You're all wet already.” And he giggled like an idiot at his weak joke. Mr Palmer was calling us to get ready. “Don't drown, Wimp,” Shane whispered, and climbed onto his starting-block.

No chance.

The thought flashed as I climbed up onto mine. If I'd wanted a better piece of final motivation, I couldn't have planned it.

As the gun cracked, I felt my muscles react, and for a split-second, as I hung in the air, time seemed to slow.

I saw Shane Thomas hit the water, maybe a metre and a half ahead of me. Race practice, I thought. Then I broke the surface, and the race was on.

All those hours in the pool, all the training and the pain. It all came down to this. My arms pounded the water, my legs kept up their driving rhythm, and every stroke took me closer to the end of the pool.

The cheering from the kids in the grandstand was a background drone as I concentrated on every thrust of my arms, every snatched breath. I felt good, the rhythm was right. And though my rival was there,
j
ust a few feet ahead of me, he wasn't pulling away. The advantage he'd gained with the dive was all that separated us. One body-length. I heard his kick just beside my ear, and I knew I was still in the race. I wondered if he realised how close I was, but then I decided it didn't matter.

Lisdalia told me later that when I went into my tumble turn, I was half a length behind, but coming out of it, we were level. Dead level. I could see the back of his head as he lifted his face to breathe.

Nice turn, Michael.

The voice I heard in my mind was Riny's. How often had she said it in training?

Did he realise where I was? I don't know. I never asked him. But for some reason, he accelerated. One moment we were level, the next, he had pulled right away again. Almost a length.

I picked up the stroke-rate. Forced my legs up a gear, until my eyes were level with his back. I was feeling the strain. No matter how many times you swim it in training, the real thing is … the real thing. An ache I hadn't noticed began to swell in my shoulder; my legs were protesting. I forced myself to concentrate on each thrust, each kick. I pulled back a few inches more.

Past the set of chrome steps at the centre of the pool. Twenty-five to go.

The pain was beginning to bite. I could feel my stroke weakening. He was pulling away, and this time I knew I wouldn't be able to catch him. I knew.

… when you think you have nothing left.

I remembered the chair, sliding towards me; the strength my legs had discovered. The smile on Riny's face .

And my head took over.

From somewhere deep inside, deeper than thought, a new strength swelled. The rhythm quickened and I clawed at the water. My feet broke the surface on every kick, and I began my final sprint.

The cheering disappeared, the pain dissolved. There was only the stroke and the kick and the breathing. And with each breath, I dragged myself closer.

One breath,
I
reached his hip. Another breath his straining back. Another, his shoulder. And suddenly I knew.

He knew.

As
I
drew level with his head, suddenly, he broke rhythm and for just a moment his head turned to the left and his eyes met mine. The shortest of instants, but that look was enough.

With ten metres to go, I pulled away. There was no pain, no tiredness. The race was mine. I powered home, hitting my hand so hard on the end of the pool that I had a bruise for a week.

I didn't feel it.

Later, Lisdalia told me that from ten metres out, it was as if Shane had stopped dead in the water. That final burst, she said, was “explosive”.

I just stayed there clutching the end of the pool, sucking in air, feeling my heartbeat slowing down, until a pair of strong hands grabbed my arms and hauled me from the water. And as I looked up, expecting to see Mr Palmer or one of the other teachers, I found myself looking into the face of Shane Thomas.

“Nice swim, Mikey,” he said. But with a new … respect. And he smiled. A real smile which carried all the way up to his eyes. “But it won't be that easy next time.”

I nodded. I couldn't think of anything to say. How do you figure it? The only reaction I didn't expect from him was the one he'd given me.

I went to shake his hand, but he was already turning away towards his huge mother, who was glaring at the face of her stop-watch as if her anger could force the digits to change.

As he approached,
I
could hear her. The whole damned grandstand could probably hear her.

“Three seconds! You let him beat you by almost three seconds. All that training and you swim like a cow. You're hopeless …”

I turned away. I should have enjoyed it, but it was just embarrassing. And sad. For the first time, I think I really understood Shane the Pain. And I couldn't hate him. I just felt sorry for him.

As usual, Mrs Stimpson got the good job. And I got the certificate — which wasn't so usual.

She sounded genuinely pleased as she said: “The winner of the boys' challenge race, in a new school record time of one minute, four point … two seconds is Michael Harrison.”

Everyone clapped, except Mrs Thomas. Mr Rowley, standing at the Principal's right shoulder like a dutiful deputy gave me a look which told me he probably still knew of a couple of papers I should be picking up. Some people never change.

Lisdalia just smiled at me from the crowd and winked.

After I got changed, I called Riny from the pay-phone near the kiosk.

“I did it, Riny. A minute four. Five seconds off my previous best.”

“Are you surprised?” There was a smile in her voice.

“I guess I am.” Of course I was.

“I'm not.” She paused for a moment. “Drop in on your way home. I have something for you.” She always liked to keep me guessing. I wondered what it might be.

I wouldn't have to wait long to find out. The buses were leaving, and the teachers were trying to turn the chaos into “two straight lines”.

Lisdalia was saving me a place near the front.