The weeks trundle by as we plunge deeper into winter. The cold comes. The greyness of the days reflects how the world’s come to look to me, the anxiousness like the static on a radio between stations, every now and then blaring to remind me of what it can do. Sleep disintegrates into restless splotches and I amble through school and home and those two days working with my parents, always trying to say and do the right things so nobody knows what’s going on but feeling that my mask is shredding.
Homework becomes hard, although I can still lose myself in the creative aspects of it. When I write, there’s somewhere my mind retreats that is immune to this. But the more practical homework – like Mathematics and quizzes that need definite answers – becomes scrambled.
One day after school, I come home and find a car I don’t recognise – a blue Subaru – parked in our drive. The windows are tinted, although the driver’s window is rolled down. The interior of the car is immaculate, and the stereo system is this complicated thing. A packet of cigarettes and a fancy silver lighter sits in the change compartment.
In the lounge room, Mum and Dad sit with Steph and a guy with wavy blond hair who looks like he was dragged through a wringer by the nose and came out all sinewy. He holds Steph’s hand – something Mum periodically frowns at. On the coffee table are cups of tea and plates of chocolate biscuits.
‘Hey,’ Steph says. She pats the guy’s hand. ‘This is Todd, my boyfriend.’
‘Hey,’ Todd says, with a nod of his head. ‘How’re you doing?’
Steph’s introduced two boyfriends previously, and only when the relationships have gotten serious. Those guys had also been Greek and this guy obviously isn’t. He’s Australian. If you took a snapshot, you might see a set of parents meeting their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time. It would happen frequently in families everywhere. But poor Todd doesn’t know what he’s got himself in for. I excuse myself and retreat to my bedroom.
I close the door and lie on my bed, practicing the progressive muscle relaxation exercises that have become more like exercises in futility. This isn’t going to be the quick-fix I’d hoped. As I try, tremors pulse through my body – little hits that threaten to become big hits.
I hear somebody knock at the kitchen window. Then, ‘Hello!’
Olivia.
Footsteps through the hallway – not just Olivia’s. Somebody cloddy. The kitchen door slides open. A round of greetings. Now I hear Mario’s voice rumbling through the kitchen. I listen and piece things together: Olivia and Mario have come for Steph and Todd. They walk through the kitchen. The goodbyes from Mum and Dad are terse. Footsteps back down the hallway. The screen door at the back opens and closes. Olivia, Mario, Steph and Todd are gone. They must be going to dinner or a movie or something together. So, Olivia must’ve already known about Steph and Todd. Mum and Dad traipse back into the kitchen. I expect arguing about Steph’s choice of boyfriends, but nothing.
Already, I feel calmer because I was able to focus on something else. Then I resume the progressive muscle relaxation: my feet, my calves, my thighs, my butt, my stomach and my chest. I tense each too tight, trying to will this anxiety from my body.
The door opens and the light comes on, shattering it all.
‘What’re you doing sleeping at this time?’ Mum says.
‘I’m not sleeping. I’m lying down.’
‘Why’re you lying down? Are you sick?’
‘No…’
‘Steph isn’t going to be here for dinner. She went out with her boyfriend. Did you see him, with that big nose of his?’
‘I’m sure he’s nice.’
‘He’s not one of ours.’
And Steph will pay for that. He’s not Greek. He’s not a member of the tribe. Mum and Dad will ride her over it. The shouting will resume. As if things hadn’t been bad enough.
‘So, what do you want to eat?’ Mum says.
‘Anything. I don’t care. Can you…?’
She closes the door.
I can’t recapture any feeling of peacefulness and after dinner – a plate of spaghetti that could’ve fed four of us – I excuse myself and slip out into the night. It’s cold enough that I draw the zip up on my jacket and flip my collar. I think I’m walking aimlessly, just to have something to do, but I end up at Ash’s. I ring the doorbell and his mum answers. She tells me Marcus – in terms of age, he’s the next down from Ash – has a basketball game and Ash’s dad has taken them all to watch. I thank her and walk on, not wanting to go home, not really wanting to do anything.
I end up at Riley’s and walk up to the veranda through his unkempt yard. He answers the door with that sullen look which is his trademark. He beckons me in, and I follow him down the hallway into the lounge. The place is a mess – clothes lie everywhere, the sink’s filled with dishes, and there’s a faint odour of something damp. His mum sits at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. Her blonde hair is like straw and she wears a pink bathrobe drawn tight.
‘Hi, Miss Seger,’ I say as Riley plonks himself down on the couch.
‘Hello.’ She blinks at me, the way you do when you’re not sure who you’re seeing. Either she doesn’t know who I am, or she’s got a problem with her eyesight and can’t tell from that distance.
Riley opens a pack of cigarettes and offers them to me. I look nervously at his mum. He waves her presence away.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says.
So, we have a smoke, sit on his couch and watch TV. It’s not long before Riley’s mum gets up and disappears into one of the other rooms.
‘Where’s your dad?’ I ask.
‘Gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘He’s got somebody else.’
‘He’s got somebody else?’
‘What’re you – a parrot?’
‘Want a drink?’
‘Sure.’
I expect Riley will come back with Coke, but he brings two beers back from the fridge. He opens them, hands one to me and then toasts.
‘Dad’s had somebody on the side for five years. Mum’s shattered.’
I look around the house. There are pictures of Riley’s parents’ wedding – both so young and hopeful – hanging from the wall, along with pictures of Riley and his older brother Ray. Other family pictures sit on the mantel. They all beam with a happiness that’s empty now.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I ask.
‘What would you have done?’
A good question. So many people insert themselves into situations they can have no influence over because they want to feel useful, or they’re self-important enough that they believe they can fix somebody else’s problem. But the truth is, most of the time, what can you offer but the appearance that you want to help?
‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Dad’s a dick. That’s all there is to it.’
My issues seem so trivial given Riley’s announcement. What would Riley say if I told him? If I said I had a panic attack and felt anxious? How much is he going through? It plays out in my head, his dad telling them he’s going off with somebody else, somebody younger and prettier than Riley’s mum. There’d be shock. Shouting. And here’s Riley, stoic.
The truth might be that I need to toughen up.