When Michael Met Mina (13 page)

Michael

The promo ad for
Don't Jump the Queue
starts in the last week of the holidays. Mum and Dad are thrilled, shouting out at Nathan and me whenever it comes on TV.

The shots of Dad made me cringe. Lots of arms folded across the chest, staring down the camera with an I-mean-business look on his face. He's described as
the man who wouldn't mind a return of the White Australia Policy
. My parents are unhappy about it. Andrew sends Dad a text to congratulate him.

I ask Dad if he really wants the White Australia Policy again and he's appalled by the suggestion.

‘Of course not, Michael. I celebrate our diversity – so long as people assimilate to our values. I don't have a problem with different foods and festivals. That enriches our country. But people need to fit in with the majority instead of trying to mark themselves as different. That's why multiculturalism as a policy has been such a disaster. It sends a message that all cultures and religions are equal so you don't have to assimilate into our society. Well I disagree. You're welcome into this wonderful country so long as you respect Judeo-Christian values. And believe me, Michael, blending in makes life easier for migrants and their children too.'

Mum's stirring a pot on the stove as we speak. She interrupts. ‘Michael, it's like this soup I'm cooking. The dominant flavour is asparagus. I've got other spices and flavours in here too because that's what makes the soup so rich and flavoursome. But they
complement
the asparagus, rather than take over.'

I lie awake in bed tonight trying to make sense of the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not only do I not want to follow in Dad's career footsteps but I'm starting to think that maybe my parents have things drastically wrong.

It makes me realise that I need to tell Dad about my uni plans. But if I'm going to crush him, I'll have to do it in stages.

*

Dad's taken Nathan to see the latest kids' movie at the cinema. Mum's getting ready to go out for a walk. I tell her I'm going to speak to Dad.

She sighs. ‘Not yet, Michael. Wait for the right moment. It's been very busy since he got back.'

I'm not buying it. Pursing my lips together, I watch her pulling her shoes on.

‘It's never going to be the right moment, Mum.'

‘Are you still . . .' she stalls and then meets my eye. ‘Are you still adamant you won't at least consider –'

‘Mum,' I say softly. ‘Please don't.'

*

I retreat to my room.

I read the latest updates on the Oculus VR Forum.

But I can't stop thinking about Mina.

I finish my Design and Technology essay on the pros and cons of self-driving robotic cars.

But I can't stop thinking about Mina.

I do a mind map for my Visual Arts essay on the influence of modernity on the practice of artists.

But I can't stop thinking about Mina.

*

I spend some days at Dee Why Beach, listening to music, watching the water, sketching in my Visual Arts diary. I let Nathan string along with me. He sits beside me quietly, reading, only occasionally saying something. The silence between us is comfortable and pure. Other days I go to the basketball court at the park around the corner from our house to shoot some hoops. Terrence joins me a couple of times but I don't make much effort to see him or Fred.

On the last Friday of the holidays I decide to detour to Auburn on my way back from Dee Why. Nathan, who's with me, notices as soon as we take a different route home.

‘Where are we going?'

‘Nowhere.'

‘Impossible. We're somewhere now and we're heading somewhere else and when we get there you'll say we're
here
which is
not
nowhere. So where are we going?'

‘Auburn.'

‘Okay.'

I crank up the volume on my stereo.

‘Why?'

‘Because.'

‘Does it have anything to do with your angry music?'

‘Yes.'

‘Okay.'

‘Any more questions?'

‘Yes. Can you get me a Big Mac with the pickles and lettuce in a separate bag?'

‘Sure. I always do, don't I?'

‘Yes.'

*

‘There are a lot of women wearing hijab at this McDonald's,' Nathan says as we sit in the outdoor area. We're at McDonald's on Parramatta Road in Auburn.

‘Yep.'

He looks around, a hungry, curious we're-not-in-Kansas-any-more expression on his face.

‘I think they look nice,' he says. ‘Actually, that's not true,' he says, dissatisfied with the apparent imprecision of his statement. ‘Some –
most
– look nice. But not
all
of them.' He takes a bite of his burger, chews slowly and swallows. ‘See that woman over there? She shouldn't be here. She's inviting an obesity condition.'

I raise an eyebrow at him, but I can't help but laugh.

‘Lower your voice, mate,' I say softly.

When we're done, we follow the navigator's instructions and approach a large intersection. I see the minarets of a big white mosque nearby. When the lights change, I take a sharp left and find myself in a leafy residential street. The mosque is on the corner, in front of the railway tracks. I park in front of it.

It's the first time I've seen a mosque up close.

‘The minaret and dome isn't a Muslim invention, you know,' Nathan says casually.

I look at him. ‘What's that?'

‘I watched a BBC documentary on the rise of the Ottoman Empire.'

‘Oh.'

‘Only it was on the ABC, not the BBC.'

‘Yep, that happens.'

‘I'm watching a documentary on Ancient Greece now. I'm thinking I might become a historian one day. Work on plane engines on weekends.'

I nod. ‘Good choice. You be what you want to be.'

‘Dad said the Ottoman documentary was
verging on propaganda
.'

‘Mmm.'

There's a stillness to the place, a tranquillity I can sense even from my car. The only person around is a gardener tending to the front flowerbeds.

‘I need the toilet,' Nathan suddenly says.

‘Oh, man. Why didn't you go at Maccas?'

‘I didn't need to then,' he says matter-of-factly.

‘Fine, I'll drive us back there.'

‘I need to go
now
.' And then he opens the passenger door, jumps out and enters the mosque gates. ‘Come on,' he yells out at me, not even bothering to look back.

‘Christ,' I mutter (probably inappropriately in hindsight). I park the car and run after him, into a quiet courtyard. We search for a toilet sign. I hope we can slip in without being noticed. Nathan is holding his crotch at this point, a look of desperation on his face.

I run through some doors and find myself in the mosque. I'm taken aback by its simplicity. It's just a huge expanse of carpet. Then I look up to a beautiful stained-glass dome. There are some men up front, bobbing up and down in prayer, and some women in the back rows, praying or sitting down, quietly reading. I wave to a man who's doing neither. He hurries over to me.

‘Please take off your shoes,' he says gently but firmly.

‘Oh, sorry. Um, my little brother needs the toilet. Where are they?'

He shows me the way outside the mosque to the toilets and then leaves us there. Nathan soon emerges, giving me a thumbs-up.

‘Let's take a look inside the mosque,' he says.

‘
No
,' I say, feeling like we've already intruded enough.

But Nathan has already thrown off his shoes and walks into the mosque like he owns the place. I'm mortified and quickly follow after him, hoping to catch him before he speaks to anybody, but it's too late. He's gone right up to the front and is in conversation with a man wearing a suit and one brown and one black sock.

I approach cautiously. ‘This man's name is Ahmet,' Nathan says to me. ‘He's going to give us a tour. I've explained that we have no interest in conversion.' He turns to face the man again. ‘Andrew says that all Muslims want to convert people, and that being friendly is just a cover.'

I moan softly. ‘I'm sorry,' I quickly say to the man.

He looks slightly bewildered. ‘It is no problem.'

‘We better get going.' I grab Nathan's hand firmly. ‘Come on.'

‘But I want a tour,' he complains.

‘It is no problem,' the man says. ‘I'll give you a tour.'

‘We really need to get going,' I insist. ‘Some other time. Thanks very much.'

I drag Nathan out of the mosque. He mopes behind me to the car.

‘I don't understand you,' he says when we are back in the car. The ignition is running but I haven't moved yet. ‘Why did you want to leave?'

I can't explain myself. I feel like a fraud. What am I hoping to achieve, being here in Auburn? Do I really think that being in a mosque will help me understand Mina more?

I drive to Auburn Road, hustle my way for a car space on the main road. We get out, walk up and down. Mina's right. There's a different kind of life pulse here. It's vibrant, chaotic and rundown in places, thick with people, colours, smells. There are way more kids around too. That's really obvious. Mums and dads walking surrounded by three, four, five kids or more. There are discount shops selling all kinds of cheap shit, next to tacky clothing stores, rundown barber shops, and all kinds of restaurants and cafés. God is available for everyone here too. We pass a Chinese church just up the road from an Islamic school. There are mixed business stores selling toilet paper, frames with hologram pictures of Jesus at the Last Supper, phone cards and kitsch dinnerware. There are coffee shops filled with old men wearing tweed suits. Women wearing long colourful headscarves that come down to their knees walk in front of pubs displaying happy hour signs. There are travel agencies, foreign exchange kiosks, signs in different languages.

Some of the food smells incredible. Toasting spices, roasting meat, fresh bread. It's like every part of the world is here, dressed up in all their garb. Long white robes and black sandals, saris, turbans, tight jeans and muscle shirts, girls in headscarves and Havaiana thongs.

I even see a woman all dressed up in black, only her eyes showing. It makes me uncomfortable, pisses me off a little too. There's a man with her, holding her hand. They're deep in conversation. He's in a T-shirt and shorts. Yeah, that annoys me.

We walk by a group of guys my age. They have an imposing presence about them. Their hair is shaved in different zigzag patterns. Some of them have thick, bushy beards. They wear tight muscle tops and trackpants. I catch snatches of Arabic in their conversation.

I feel myself tense up a little, unconsciously inch Nathan closer to my side. It's not as though I actually think they're undercover terrorist operatives or part of some gang. It's like my body reacts before my brain. Because as soon as I realise, I feel like an idiot.

I feel like a tourist. Which is just so stupid and inexcusable, really. But to the people I've known all my life, Western Sydney is tacky and unsophisticated. It's gangland and ghetto, underclass and trouble.

I look above at all the flats in the high-density apartment blocks that overlook us and I wonder whether Mina lived in one of them.

That's when it hits me that I've crossed the line from thinking about Mina to crushing hard. I'm in that tragic stage where I'll take any scraps on offer: the sound of her name; a visit to a suburb she once lived in, and misses.

Jesus. I've become Jane.

The thought sobers me.

‘I'm hungry,' Nathan whines.

‘We just had McDonald's.'

‘So?'

We end up going to a restaurant on the main street for a mixed plate. We can eat all day long, no problem.

Mina

I sleep restlessly, fading in and out of dreams and wakefulness. It's past two when I hear footsteps shuffling in the kitchen. I get up and find Baba boiling a pot of tea on the stove.

‘What's wrong?' I ask him.

‘I can't sleep,' he says. ‘Tea?'

‘Sure. Here, I'll do it. Go sit down.'

He thanks me and walks slowly over to the couch. He's only thirty-nine but he walks like an old man. Like a man hurting. A man trying to live with a body that has been broken and never quite healed properly.

‘Did you take medicine?' I ask when we're sitting across from each other, drinking our sweet tea.

‘Yeah,' he says. I detect shame in his voice. He's always been like this, exuded a sense of guilt at having been a victim, at feeling pain. ‘I'll see the doctor tomorrow for something stronger.'

‘What can I do?'

‘Not tell your mother.'

‘Okay.'

‘I don't want her to worry. Not with the baby.'

It's kind of cute, him wanting to protect Mum given all she's been through.

‘Are you happy here, Baba?' I ask after some moments of silence.

He continues smoking, takes a little while to answer. Eventually he speaks up: ‘When you don't have what you want, you have to want what you have.'

‘What do you want that you don't have?'

‘A peaceful Afghanistan I can return to, of course.'

‘Isn't this home now?'

He sucks on his cigarette. ‘When I die I want to be buried here,' he says suddenly. ‘That surprises me but, well, look I suppose that is something.'

We get lost in our own thoughts. At one point I notice his face twist into a grimace. I know he is riding a wave of pain.

‘Why is it worse all of a sudden? Because of this stupid business with the media?'

He nods slowly. ‘The pain's always there,' he says matter-of-factly. ‘But yes, I'm worried this media business will affect the restaurant.'

‘I wouldn't worry,' I say cheerfully. ‘Most people don't take that show seriously.' Paula's advice comes back to me and I marvel at how easily I put on an act. ‘It's all over now. Attention will turn to the next
bad guy
and things will go back to normal.'

‘Normal? I gave up on normal many years ago, Mina.'

We sip our tea in silence, both of us burdened by memories that continue to haunt us, no matter how much we pretend.

*

Paula's over and we're stalking the public profiles of some of the guys and girls in school as we bake cupcakes. Mum's sprawled on the couch, having a power nap.

‘Let's check out Michael's page,' I suggest as we stand in front of the laptop, polishing off the chocolate left in the mixing bowl.

She eyes me, a mischievous smile on her face. ‘That's kind of random. Missing him in the holidays, are we?'

‘Why would I miss him? He's a jerk.'

She takes another swipe of batter out of the bowl.

‘I'm just morbidly curious,' I explain. ‘It's like when people are fascinated with the lives of serial killers. You want to know more.'

She smiles briefly. ‘Michael may be a racist jerk, but as far as I know, he's not hiding dismembered bodies in his locker.'

We look up his page. We can't see much, but from what I can tell from our last visit to his page, it's had a major makeover.

His ‘likes' have been cleaned up, leaving only bands, books and movies. No more Aussie Values; no more offensive memes. I search down the thread of public conversations too, but there's nothing there.

‘Wow,' I say. ‘He went from being a white supremacist to a
Hunger Games
fan.'

‘Aren't you the drama queen today?' Paula chuckles.

I wouldn't go that far, I think to myself, but he's definitely changed his online persona. And something about that intrigues me.

*

Public service announcement from Bus Route 419:

Two male senior citizens on the bus here today. I spoke to them and they've been friends for sixty years. I hope we're still friends in sixty years, when we're sitting in our hover-wheelchairs.

*

It's the first time I've seen Michael since the party. I walk into home room on our first day back from the holidays. Mr Morello hasn't arrived yet. Michael is talking to Terrence and Fred. He notices me walk in and I can practically see the muscles in his neck stiffen. The awkwardness and tension between us is thick and heavy. I hold my head high, don't acknowledge him, and walk straight past his desk.

Terrence, who's sitting beside him, stops me. ‘Hey, Mina,' he says cheerfully.

I pause and consider him.

‘How was your holiday?'

I roll my eyes at him.

He pretends to look wounded. ‘What did I say wrong? It was a polite question.'

‘Yeah, you're
really
interested in how I spent my holidays.'

‘I don't get it. I'm just trying to be friendly.' He looks back and forth between Michael and Fred for support. Fred isn't really interested, too busy sorting through his bag.

‘Okay, let
me
ask,' Michael says, meeting my eye. ‘How was your holiday?'

My eyes narrow. ‘Fabulous,' I say in an exaggerated tone.

‘Why are girls
so
sensitive?' Terrence asks, all wide-eyed and innocent.

‘I don't know what that is stuck between your teeth, Terrence, but I assume you're saving it for later.'

He quickly cleans between his teeth with his finger. I laugh at him and, realising the joke, he looks momentarily duped. ‘Yeah, okay, good one,' he admits begrudgingly.

I flash him a triumphant look and walk to my desk. But not before I notice the hint of a smile on Michael's face.

*

Paula and I are goofing around in the café, both of us in a laughing mood. Paula shows me a ridiculous dance move, sending me into a fit of giggles. I love these moments. The laughter takes over your body, you don't know why but you're having too much of a good time to care.

We spot Jane and Leica and wave them over.

‘Too much red cordial?' Leica says, laughing.

We shrug and then start giggling again.

Jane sits down next to us and takes out her lunch. Five cherry tomatoes and a green apple.

‘You serious?' I ask.

‘I need to lose some weight,' she says, mournfully popping a tomato into her mouth.

‘Please don't do this, Jane,' Paula says quietly.

‘You don't need to lose weight!' I wail.

‘She thinks Terrence thinks she's fat,' Leica says, rolling her eyes.

Paula and I groan.

‘No, it's not that,' she says defensively. ‘He's never said that.'

‘But I know exactly what you're thinking,' Leica says. ‘You're thinking,
Maybe if I shrink, he'll notice me more
. Do you not see the irony?'

‘Come on,' Paula says, standing and grabbing Jane's hand. ‘Dance with me.'

‘Are you mental?' Jane says. ‘Terrence and his group are over there. They can see you, you know.' She pauses. ‘You know he won't let you live it down.'

‘Oh well, we better stop then,' Paula says, but she just keeps on dancing.

Jane looks embarrassed, picks up another cherry tomato and pops it into her mouth.