When Michael Met Mina (22 page)

Michael

It's the semifinals tonight and as badly as I want to be with Mina, I'm not going to let the team down. I'm not sure what's going to happen, playing alongside Terrence. We haven't spoken all day. Some things you can't come back from. It's taken our fight to make me realise we grew apart a long time ago.

I arrive a little late to practice. He's on the court already, doing drills with the rest of the team.

I throw my bag under the bench, pull off my top and put on my singlet. I take a swig from my water bottle and jog out to the court. He sees me but doesn't acknowledge me.

Coach trains us hard before the game. By the time the siren sounds for the game to begin, I'm pumped up, ready to play hard.

But Terrence is taking our fight to the court, ignoring me when I call for a pass, dropping comments when I miss a shot. The referee calls the first time-out and the coach storms over to us.

‘What the hell is going on, Terrence? Michael was open and you passed to Hamish!'

‘Oops.'

‘Wipe that smirk off your face. Whatever's going on, keep it off the court or I'll bench you for the rest of the game. Got it?'

Terrence mutters a yes.

Coach fixes his eyes on me next. ‘Michael?'

‘Yeah, of course.'

We run back onto the court. Terrence scowls at me. I ignore him.

At least he's gotten the message. We play like normal but there's none of the usual backslapping and joking between us. Things are tense between us, and everyone knows it.

We win by one point. Finally, a high point in the day.

Usually I'd drop Terrence home, but tonight I don't offer. I pull on my top, collect my stuff, say bye to the rest of the team, and walk to the car park. He follows me outside.

‘What? So that's it?' he demands.

I throw my bag in the front seat and turn to face him. ‘You think you can treat people like that and get away with it?'

‘I'm the same guy. I haven't changed.'

‘Yeah, well I have.'

I can see a flicker of hurt in his eyes. Then it's gone and the anger returns.

‘It never bothered you before.'

‘Yeah it did. Only I was too lazy to do anything.'

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Are you going out with Mina?'

I knew it was only a matter of time before he asked. I want to show Mina off to the world but I respect her too much to betray her.

‘We're friends now. I defended her because you crossed a line. With Paula, with Jane and with her.'

‘Bullshit. I don't believe you.'

‘Honestly, Terrence, I couldn't care less what you believe.'

‘I've known you since year seven. You've known her one term. Are you going to shit on our friendship for someone like her?'

I feel the veins in my neck bulge out. I crack it. ‘What do you mean,
someone like her
?'

‘Are you fucking kidding me?' He's incredulous, and throws his hands up in disbelief. ‘Your dad's leader of Aussie Values, for God's sake. What the hell's happened to you? You suddenly got some wog-chick fetish?'

I almost lunge at him but the thought of Mina stops me. How do I explain to him that I went along with everything my parents said because it never occurred to me that they could be wrong? I never dared to think I could question them until I met Mina. She's turned my life inside out and nothing's been the same since.

‘Well?' he presses me.

I shrug. ‘At some point in your life you have to decide what you believe in. I don't want to be that guy who figures it out when it's too late.'

‘That's such new-age bullshit, man.'

He looks so confused and betrayed that the anger drains out of me, leaving nothing inside me but pity for him.

‘We've got nothing to say to each other any more,' I say, and get into my car and drive away.

*

Dad texts me to say he's with Mum and Nathan at Andrew and Carolina's place. I send a text back asking if he's spoken to the others about backing off. He responds:
Yes. It's under control. Don't worry.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and let Mina know.

Mina

Maha texts me.

Maha:

It's been ages. Sorry. I've been meaning to ask. What's happening with you and Gandalf? The chemistry in that theatre room was science-class worthy.

Me:

We are kind of . . . seeing each other.

She calls within seconds.

She's screaming like I just aced the HSC. She demands details. It's a long conversation.

*

I find Adnan out back having a cigarette on his break. I empty the rubbish into the garbage bin and sit on an upside-down crate across from him. There's a stench coming from the bin, but I try to ignore it.

He's skinny and lanky, thick jet-black hair swept to the side, locked into position with Brylcreem judging from the scent. His face is riddled with acne scars but you hardly notice because when he smiles his face lights up.

‘Did I tell you we're getting more people raving about your food?' I say, grinning at him.

He smiles. ‘Yes.'

‘Where'd you learn to cook like that? You're only a couple of years older than me. Eighteen, right?'

He nods. ‘My father was a chef back home. I helped in his restaurant there.'

‘Ahh, that explains it.'

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, stares at the floor.

‘Dad mentioned you quit school,' I say.

He shrugs. ‘When I turned eighteen, immigration told me I had to leave.'

‘
Why?
'

‘They wouldn't fund it any more. The people at the school encouraged me to stay. I tried for a while but they didn't realise how short of money I was. I wasn't paying for my train fares to come to school. One day I nearly got caught on the train without a ticket. They would have sent me back to Villawood. So I left school. Not worth the risk in the end.'

‘I'm so sorry,' I say, biting down on my lip with anger. But he just shrugs, stands up, flicks the cigarette onto the floor and presses down on it with his foot.

‘It's okay. I have a job now. Thanks to your father and Irfan. I've got to go back, marinate the chicken. See you inside.'

I sit there for a while longer, lost in my thoughts.

We came so close to losing Adnan, Mustafa and Mariam. It shouldn't be like this.

Soon I realise I've become desensitised to the smell of the garbage bins. That's life, I guess. Stick around shit long enough and pretty soon you can't smell it.

I don't want that to ever happen to me. I want to feel, to be affected, to get angry. Nobody changed the world by being polite. I'm going to fight with all I've got.

*

‘Baba? Is that you?'

‘Yes, Mina.'

He's shuffling around the kitchen, making himself some tea.

‘Want some?'

‘Thanks.'

It's just past one in the morning. We go out to the verandah, careful not to make too much noise as we open the sliding door. Baba sits down slowly, grimacing with pain. He lights up a cigarette, inhales deeply. I see how his body relaxes, how his face loses some of its edge.

I know it's his personal pain relief, his numbing agent, but I hate the fact he chain-smokes.

‘Did you take your pills?'

He nods slowly.

A silence settles between us. It's cold but we're both wearing lots of layers and I've wrapped myself in a shawl. The inky night sky is like a blanket above us. The last quarter moon dazzles me, and I sit staring up at it, cradling the steaming cup of tea in my hands.

‘Baba, don't stress,' I tell him eventually. ‘It'll be okay. It's over now. I told you there's a guy in my school who knows someone in the organisation. They're leaving it alone.'

‘I don't worry about them,' he says with scorn. ‘Do they know what I have seen? Do they think they can scare me after what I've been through?'

‘No, Baba.'

‘When we arrived in this country we had to learn the differences of this new place and we had to also learn that for everybody
we
are the
difference. I think, Mina, there is something the majority wants us to do in order to be fully accepted, but they never tell us what it is.'

Michael

‘Michael?'

Dad's hovering at my door, peering in nervously.

‘Hmm?' I'm bent over my desk, working.

‘I picked these brochures up for you,' he says hesitantly.

I look up from my essay.

‘There's a graphic design expo in the city in a couple of months,' he says. ‘Thought you might like to go.'

I don't even bother to disguise the shocked expression on my face. ‘Mum spoke to you?'

He sits on the edge of my bed.

‘Yes, your mum spoke to me.' He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. ‘I feel like we've grown apart these past few months, Michael. It hurts that you would feel unable to talk to me about changing your mind about architecture.'

‘You've had your heart set on me following in your footsteps for as long as I can remember.' I soften my voice. ‘I didn't know how to break it to you.'

He nods slowly, and takes a long calming breath. ‘To be honest, I tossed and turned all last night. And accepting your decision is not the same as feeling happy about it. You get to my age, Michael, you see the instability around you, and you know that more than half the battle is a good, solid job. And then your straight-As son says he wants to design games. Tell me how I should feel about that.'

‘I don't just want to design games, Dad.'

‘Well, then, tell me what you want to do.'

So I tell him, and he hears me out without interruption. We look through the UTS Design School website, and he listens to me carefully as I take him through the different subjects and career paths.

‘Tell me how your mother and I should feel about this?' Dad eventually asks me.

‘How about feeling happy that I know what I want to do with my life?'

Dad's jaw is tense but he doesn't reply. He just nods slowly. It's a start.

*

Terrence and Fred ignore me throughout all our classes, which suits me fine. It's not as though I don't have other friends, and I have no problem sitting alone when I feel like it either.

I go to the basketball courts at recess and join the guys who are already shooting hoops. I see Terrence and Fred approach the court, laughing together as they bounce a ball. Terrence notices me and makes a point of turning around and joining the guys assembled at the other end of the court.

When the bell rings, I walk off the court with Cameron and Adrian. I notice Jane walking alone. She looks miserable.

I tell the guys I need to go to the bathroom and they continue on without me. I jog over to Jane, who's clearly in no rush to get to class. I startle her when I say hi and she looks at me quizzically.

‘Take it from me,' I say to her. ‘He's not worth it.'

I can tell she's trying to figure out if I can be trusted.

‘We're not friends any more,' I tell her.

‘It's like a drug,' she eventually says, her voice shaky. ‘I feel like I'm going through withdrawal. I was so close to going up to him just to say hi so I'd get a small hit of his attention.' Her voice stalls. ‘I'm pathetic. I hate myself.'

‘Don't say that. We've all been there before.'

Suddenly her eyes flash with anger. ‘I betrayed my cousin for him. Mina's only known Paula since the start of the year, and yet she stood up for her. Even
Zoe
spoke up. I'm family and I stabbed her in the back.'

‘You'll find a way to make up with her. But Terrence you have to quit. Cold turkey. He talks to you and you ignore him. That's the only way to get him out of your system.'

‘Yeah, but how do I get the strength to do that?'

I grin at her. ‘You stay angry, that's how. Not because you're not together. But because you nearly were.'

Mina

We're standing at the bus stop outside of school when Paula's voice drops to a whisper. ‘Oh. My. God.'

I look over to where she's staring. Her mum has just parked the car and is getting out. She's wearing a suit and big black sunglasses. She seems to be searching Paula out; she scans the bus queues and groups of students pouring out of the gates, and then takes out her phone.

‘She never picks me up,' Paula says. ‘I can't even remember the last time.'

Paula's phone rings.

‘You better go to her. Text me to let me know everything's okay.'

‘Yep.' She waves at her mum, trying to get her attention, and then runs across the road. Her mum sees her and practically flings herself forward, embracing her in a tight hug. They then get in the car and drive away.

Immediately I send her a text.

Please tell me everything's okay?

I get a response five minutes later.

K4's sick.

*

Paula's away from school the next day. I text her and she says K4 may have cancer. They're at the vet. She'll speak to me at school tomorrow.

Baba is working late tonight and Mum and I make grilled cheese sandwiches and watch an Iranian movie while I summarise an article on the League of Nations for Modern History.

I can't stop thinking about Paula though. I don't want K4 to die, not when he's her anchor at home, her get-out-of-bed reason. I don't want Paula to confront death yet. Grief, especially when it's still raw, is like having a thirst that no amount of water quenches. It can't be consoled, it can't be alleviated. It's unrelenting and constant. I wish I could tell her that it will get easier with time.

But if I told her that I'd also have to tell her that easier doesn't mean it ever goes away.

*

There's no chance to talk during home room the next day and I have a double period of Modern History so we aren't in class together. Finally, the bell rings for recess and I meet Paula in a quiet section behind the library.

‘We spoke to Nancy last night,' she says. ‘She's a mess.'

‘I'm so sorry, Paula.' I grab her hand. ‘How bad is it?'

‘He's got a skin tumour. He'll need surgery to remove it and to do tests to see if it's spread.' Her voice cracks and she starts to cry. ‘I don't want to lose him, Mina.'

I hold her close to me.

*

Nothing happens at the restaurant tonight. Baba advised Adnan, Mustafa and Mariam not to come to work just in case. But it seems Michael's dad has come through after all. There's no big rejoicing among us, though; just a weary sense that we've been saved from a disaster.

It's like we never left the boat. Ten years on and we're still on deck, being rocked and swayed, coming closer to the rocks and then pulling back, smashing against waves.

Mum's phone rings on our way home. I see Emily's name on the screen. Mum lets it ring out.

‘I'll call her back,' she says.

I press Mum to reschedule her lunch with Emily and Rojin but she makes up an excuse to get me off her back.

I have a feeling that, like me, she falls into bed tonight, exhausted.

*

‘K4's booked in for surgery.' Paula fiddles with the zip of her pencil case. Her face is racked with grief but I can tell there's something else going on too. ‘I'm sorry, Mina,' she says softly.

‘Sorry?' I stare at her, confused.

Paula scrunches her nose. ‘Here I am falling apart because my dog is going into surgery and you've lost your dad, your baby brother. You've been through war, you've –'

‘You've got nothing to apologise for,' I say firmly.

She shakes her head. ‘My pain can't compare with –'

I cut her off again. ‘It's not a competition.' I force her to look me in the eye. ‘Okay?'

Eventually she gives in and nods.

‘Okay,' I say matter-of-factly. ‘Vent.'

‘I never expected Mum and Dad would take it so badly,' she says quietly.

‘He's part of your family, Paula. Of course they would.'

‘What's the point of loving someone if the fact that you do takes them by surprise?'

‘At least they love,' I offer.

‘But isn't that the minimum? It shouldn't be enough. When was the last time they spent time with K4? Why do people always wait for something bad to happen before they show they care?'

‘Because that's life, Paula. And your parents aren't alone in that.'

‘I hope I don't sound ungrateful,' she says. ‘I know I'm lucky and that from the outside we seem to have it all. And, Mina, honestly, I hope I don't sound like a pretentious snob. Not with all you've been through.'

I shake my head at her. ‘You are a solar system away from pretentious snob, okay? Everyone has the right to grieve. Just let it out. I'm not judging you.'

‘I know,' she says shyly. ‘From where I'm looking I have a big gorgeous house that's lonely and empty and a best friend that's a dog who might die. I'd live in a shack if it meant I had a full-time family . . .'

I feel terrible that there's no answer that will fix things for her.

‘You know, I really respect what Mum and Dad do, I know it doesn't sound that way but I honestly do. I really do get that they've got important jobs. That they're ambitious and smart and doing jobs that can never be nine to five.' She groans, puts her head in her hand. ‘It's so confusing. I get mad at them, but especially my mum, and I feel like I'm shitting all over every feminist principle I believe in.'

‘Your vent is equal opportunity,' I say, playfully nudging her in the side. ‘You're upset with your mum and dad. Anyway, you're not saying you want them to quit their jobs, make you gourmet dinners and be here at three-thirty to pick you up.'

She bites on a nail. ‘Not at all. I just want them to get the balance right.'

She pauses, thinks for a moment. ‘Shouldn't parents be able to figure out when they're needed?'

‘I think parents make it up as they go along, to be honest.'

She smiles. Just a little. ‘I think you're probably right.'