Head of the River (13 page)

The number thing was champion runner Cathy Freeman's idea. She wrote her dream 400-metre time down
before
the 2000 Sydney Olympics. Put it up everywhere to remind her. On 25 September 2000, Cathy snatched the 400 metres in a time of 49.11 seconds. She was the first Aboriginal athlete to win gold. I'm not old enough to remember it, but I've seen the YouTube clip. The entire country went nuts.

Mum reckons if I write the number down, my body will follow.

‘If you want something, you have to see it in your mind first,' she said as we peeled potatoes elbow to elbow one night before dinner.

She waved her hand at the framed photo from the Seoul Games that hangs above the TV. It's a little faded and dusty, but there she is. An Olympic champion. Young and strong, her face lit up with joy and relief. A gold medal hangs around her neck, an Australian flag draped around her shoulders. She stands next to her pair partner, Veronica. The Han River is hazy in the background.

‘I thought about winning that gold medal in Seoul every day for four years,' she said. ‘When I finally did it, I was fulfilling a promise to myself and to Veronica.'

I'm preparing to fulfill my own promise as I spring from my toes, down the leafy wide streets of East Melbourne, past the Punt Road footy field and Melbourne Park. Over Swan Street Bridge to Adam's side of the river. I take my cap off and tuck it into the back of my shorts, letting the breeze hit my wet hair.

I look down at the fancy Garmin watch Adam bought me for my seventeenth birthday. It's telling me how fast my heart is beating, how many ks I'm eating up, where I'm going on a map and whether the ground is rising or falling. What it can't measure are the thoughts racing through my head. Why can't I stop thinking about Sam when I should still be cut up about Adam?

A thin strip of path curls by the river, down to the boatsheds. The Sunday scullers and veteran crews are out. I don't want to stop when I reach the sheds, so I turn left to the Tan's sandy running track. I cruise past the mums pushing prams and the fun runners in training. Counting them as I pass.
One little Indian, two little Indians, three little Indians.
I hurt. All over pain that begs me to stop. To sit down. To drink at the air. But I don't. I can't. I'm not there yet. If I stopped now, everything would be ruined. Besides, when I push into the pain zone, I'm the best version of myself.

As I head down the steep slope of the Anderson Street hill I really let myself fly. I feel strong and fearless now, digging deep into my reserves to find more heart, more courage, more strength. It's like mining for gold in a vein that's been scraped dry. I scrabble in the darkness for my precious nugget and take it up to the surface. The metal is bright and hard, and finding it makes me more determined not to stop.

‘How far down you can dig when you're really suffering makes the difference,' says Laura, ‘between losers and winners.'

Winners find gold, every time, no matter how dark it gets underground.

At the sheds I run up the stairs to the gym. I ignore the searing pain in my thighs and chest. When I hit the top, I'll fall to the ground and lie still, listening to my heart slow down. I reach the final step and beep my watch to signal I'm done. Thirteen point two ks. Later, I'll sync the numbers into my laptop. Compare them to my last run. As I gasp for air, hands at my hips, I see there's a lone rower hunched over an ergo, dripping fat drops of sweat onto the wooden floor.

Sam.

He's got headphones on and can't hear me. He's totally lost in his own tunnel of pain. He drops the erg handle and swigs at a water bottle behind him. He has to turn around to reach it, and as he does, he sees me. We look at each other – both red faced, wet, exhausted and unable to speak from lack of oxygen. He takes his headphones out, the music still blaring from the little buds.

He seems dazed and clears his throat, wiping down his arms and face with a towel.

‘Leni, hi. I was doing a quick 10 k.'

Nobody does a quick 10 k. It's a thankless slog and we both know it.

‘You're in better shape today than most of the rowing squad,' I say, assuming Sam was out drinking last night too.

‘You mean Adam's party? I wasn't invited. Besides, I don't drink alcohol. I was at home by myself this morning. Thought I'd come down to the river and, y'know, hang out with the boats. Did you go? I guess so, you're Adam's girl, right?'

‘We broke up last night.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry.'

I watch for a change in his face. Any indication he feels the same way about me. There's not much to go on.

‘I was going to do an erg too,' I say, changing the subject. ‘But I might have killed myself on the run down here.'

He waves me over to the ergs and I sit on the one next to him. Rolling up and down on the slide.

‘I'm sorry I was a bitch last night. You'll be a good captain. I was disappointed for Cristian.'

Sam holds up his hand for me to stop talking. One of them has a big blister that's raw and infected.

‘Don't worry about it. Last night was always going to be weird. Mercury was in retrograde.'

‘Mercury in what?'

‘The stars.'

I go to laugh, but he's deadly serious. Sam's into astrology. Another shiny thing for my nest.

‘Is it just me or is there a weird vibe between us?' he says. ‘I like you, you know that, right? Actually it's more than that. I admire you. I'm looking forward to being co-captains together.'

We're still breathing heavily, looking at each other with the same intensity of the library. Except today it's a romantic moment that can't be denied. It hangs in the air – hot and urgent. I know for sure if Sam decides to kiss me, I won't pull away. I shiver as the sweat cools on my skin.

‘Are you cold?' Sam asks.

‘A bit.'

If I get up from the ergo, the moment will shatter. Sam knows it too.

He leans in closer, his lips touching mine. I taste his sweat and he tastes mine, and there's a hunger between us that I've never felt before. He kneels down in front of me and brings me into him.

Radiating heat from the training and from each other, we, close up the shed and walk together towards the city. Past the club insignias and balconies with rowers enjoying a beer after a light row. Sam tries to hold my hand but I shake it off, worried one of my parents' mates might spot us. The river is a hotbed of gossip.

‘Not here,' I tell him.

We walk towards the Swanston Street tram stop, looking up the skirts of the Arts Centre. The 86 clacks down the road towards us as if to break things up. I want to hold on a bit longer. Like a kid who hasn't finished playing with their toys, being dragged off to bed. Sam holds my hand again, and this time I let him. I squeeze it and he winces. He swaps sides and offers me his non-turning hand. It's smooth and blister free. I trace my finger in a circle on his palm.

‘This is my tram.' I say, regret in my voice. I have enough money to get back home, tucked into a pocket in my shoe.

‘Don't get on it.
Please
,' Sam says as the tram stops in front of us. ‘Come to my place. We can watch a movie.'

I'm still in my running kit. It's damp and turning festy.

‘I should go home and change.'

With Adam I would've made an excuse, slipped away. With Sam, I was caught. I was thrashing in his net.

The driver dings the bell twice and the doors close violently.

‘I think I missed it,' I say, knowing this is much more than a missed tram.

Sam opens the door to his apartment. It's so empty it practically echoes. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out to a point blank view of Docklands, boats bobbing on their leashes. A white leather couch and a glass coffee table are the only
furniture in the room. Garish paintings overcompensate
for the grey sea outside. The only sign a teenage boy lives here is the gaming console on the floor and Sam's running shoes kicked off next to it.

‘You live here by yourself?'

‘My parents are down every month and I have a housekeeper who leaves me food to eat and checks on me. My sisters come by. Sometimes.'

‘So you, like, look after yourself? Is that even legal?'

‘Yeah. You can leave home at sixteen. Besides I don't need looking after.'

He motions to the white granite kitchen.

‘Would you like a drink?' he says formally.

This whole play date suddenly feels like a bad idea. There's no buffer between us. No one to stop things going too far.

‘Can I have a shower?' I ask. I can smell myself, sweat drying in the folds of my skin.

His eyes widen. With what – surprise? Excitement?

‘Don't get any ideas.'

‘Of course, let me show you,' Sam says.

He pulls a clean towel from a cupboard and disappears into a room I assume is his bedroom. I linger outside the door, shy now. The room gives nothing away. No photos, no posters. His bed is a thin camping mat on the floor and a sleeping bag. He doesn't seem to use the king-size bed, studded with dozens of fancy Asian silk cushions. A mountain bike is propped in one corner, a small silver statue of Buddha beside it.

‘Where's your stuff?' I think of Cristian's room with its mess and boy stench. This room smells like incense.

‘No point getting too comfortable here,' Sam says. ‘I'll be gone at the end of next year. Besides, my parents expect it to look like a showroom when they visit. It's their stuff. They decorated it. I'm staying here temporarily.'

He throws me a pair of tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. ‘Too big, but they're clean.'

He leads me to a bathroom so white it hurts my eyes.

‘You'd better go now,' I say, gently pushing him out and shutting the door. Maybe because I don't trust myself, I use the lock.

I turn the shower to the highest temperature I can stand. Too hot for most people, it feels right to me. My skin turns pink and I trace the glass shower screen with a bar of soap. Twirly, dreamy letters. Leni loves Sam and a heart. I look at it for a moment, then wipe away the evidence with a soapy sweep of my hand.

Something Sam said nags at me.

I'll be gone by the end of next year.
Gone where?

Sam is lying on the floor when I come out of the shower. As I get closer I see he's asleep, his head resting on the crook of his elbow. I should leave. It's the perfect opportunity to slip out of the apartment and back to my normal Sunday. Help Mum with some gardening or get a jump on my holiday reading. I wander around the living room, quietly looking at things. I run my hand along the sleek silver line of a music player and pick up a CD case from the shelf.

It's a mix tape. Old school. Someone has written
Sammy's Birthday Mix
on the cover. I pull out the paper tracklist tucked inside like a love letter. I look back at Sam, he's still out cold. I once searched Adam's phone when he was out of the room and this feels the same. Forbidden. There's a line I'm crossing.

The music is my taste, indie, but not particularly cool. It's the writing that bothers me. Flowy purple letters with hearts instead of dots. Girl's writing. Whoever she is, she's taken a lot of effort to search for the exact right mix of music. It's familiar, full of in-jokes, sunny summer anthems and triple j hottest 100 contenders. I feel a flash of jealousy and then remember Sam has sisters. Sisters who could easily be music lovers. Sisters who probably call him Sammy.

Feeling silly I slip the CD case back. I look at the front door, and then at Sam lying peacefully on the floor and make a decision that surprises me.

I walk over to Sam's slack body, lie down behind him on the soft carpet and put my arm over him. My tummy fits in the arch of his back, breasts pressed between his shoulder blades. I stare into the curls at the back of his head and a small mole on his neck. His hair smells damp and woody. I can hardly believe Sam is right here for me to touch. How did this happen? So fast? All of a sudden we smacked into each other, like cars colliding on a road. I press my lips to the raised brown circle on his skin and he stirs, but doesn't wake.

My breath finds the rhythm of his, a calm, deep rise and fall. His heartbeat is so slow it's barely there at all. I've
never fallen asleep with a boy before. Even though I've done
things that other people might think were more intimate, to me, it's the closest I've ever felt to another human being. Even as I fall asleep, I don't want to wake up.

Sam wakes up first. The light outside is fading, lights blinking across the bay. I feel his breath on my face, my thoughts rising to the surface of a long, black unconsciousness. I open my eyes halfway. We are looking at each other at close range. Only a few centimetres separate my mouth from his.

‘Thank you,' he says, his voice a few tones lower from sleep, his breath sour.

‘What for?'

‘For staying.'

‘I wanted to.'

He stretches, breaks away from our eye contact and puts his arms behind his head.

‘Sundays are the worst day.'

‘For what?'

‘Being alone. Being … lonely.'

He reaches down and holds my hand. We kiss again. Then we do other things. Things I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. And I don't want to.

Cristian

After my failed flower drop, I go home and try to reach Penny by text.

I seriously can't stop thinking about you.

I feel happy when I see your beautiful smile

Forgive me? Please?

Do you even know how amazing you are?

I wait for something in return, but there's only cold silence. I miss our flirty messages. The possibilities. By the end of the day Penny has culled me from her Facebook friends list and blocked me from social media. It makes me even more desperate to reach her. Mum just left for work, Dad is potting herbs in the garden and Leni has been gone all day.