The Ongoing Reformation of Micah Johnson (23 page)

He almost would have laughed at the shock on Will’s face, but he knew it would have damaged the moment.

“You mean that?” Will asked.

The hopeful tone in his voice physically hurt Micah. It was so full of pain and longing. He knew what that felt like. He was still feeling it. He wondered how long it would take to fade or whether it would always be a part of him.

“Of course I do.”

“After everything I did to you?”

“A wise woman once told me,” Micah began, only to hear “
Ha!
” echoing across the field.

Emma was standing only a little distance away, probably making sure Micah wasn’t going to fuck this up.

“Shit,” Micah hissed. “I didn’t want her to hear that.”

Will gave a small smile.

“Anyway, she reminded me that we’ve all done something we’re not proud of in the past, when we felt we had to protect ourselves. And I’m not particularly proud of that day after training either, because there were better ways I could have handled it. Believe me, I have a lot more mistakes on my record, so at least be proud you’re not as bad as me.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been pretty fucking awful. I mean, cyberbullying? That’s not me.”

“This isn’t the Awful Olympics,” Emma said, deciding she could fully join them now. “We’re not competing for medals.”

“I’m sorry,” Will said.

“I’m sorry too.”

And the two boys shook hands again. Maybe they would never be friends, especially now school was over and their paths were going in separate directions. But they had reached an understanding, which was maybe just as good.

“Shall we all sing ‘Shake it Off’ now?” Emma asked.

“No,” Micah and Will said in unison.

“Want to do some handballing?” Micah offered Will. “And no, that isn’t a euphemism for what happened last time.”

“That’d be cool,” Will said. “Proper handballing, I mean.”

Laughing, a football was produced, and they began to punt and pass between each other. Emma even joined in, surprising all of them by being better than they expected, as it wasn’t her sport.

So was it as easy as that? Maybe not, but it was a start. One thing Micah had learned was that reformation was a long process. He was perhaps along a little further than Will, but at least Will had started.

He punted the ball, and Will leaped up to easily catch it. As he flew through the air, Micah saw an unguarded happy smile cross Will’s face.

It was definitely a start.

“ARE YOU
ready for the draft?” Emma asked.

They were back in the stands again, watching as the sun started to disappear behind the city.

Micah always found this the most melancholy time of day. It was neither daylight nor night—just a limbo between two states fraught with uncertainty.

He didn’t fail to see the parallel with his own life right then.

“Nope. Not at all.”

“I won’t even ask how your family are doing. But what about you and Kyle?”

“What about us?”

Emma reached over and rubbed his arm. “Come on, Johnson.”

Micah sighed. “We’re not saying anything about it.”

“What if you end up in Sydney?”

“Sydney isn’t the problem. He’s going back to Canberra. We could still see each other.”

“It’s the other states.”

“Yep. And I like him, Emma, I really like him. But let’s face facts. We’re eighteen. This is not the relationship we’re going to have for the rest of our lives.” It hurt him to say that, and he never would have given voice to that truth if it wasn’t for the fact of their upcoming separation. He would have liked to hold on to the dream of childhood sweethearts, together forever. But that was rare. And Micah Johnson was nothing but a realist.

“Maybe not.”

“What would you do?”

“Honestly?”

“It’s why I’m asking. You’ve never had a problem with honesty with me.”

She gave a small, sad smile. “I guess not.”

“So?”

“Be realistic. Let each other go. Rip off that Band-Aid and put up with the hurt now rather than prolong it.”

The truth hurt. What was the alternative? Pretend that a long-distance relationship would work at their age, suffer for months in loneliness until one inevitably cheated on the other because someone new—and in the same state, which meant they had more going for them—came on the scene? It was best not to prolong it, right?

“But he’s such a good guy. And he could have been good for me.” Micah realised he was crying, and even though he normally would have been horrified by being so emotionally raw in front of someone else, he just gave a big sniff and wiped his eyes.

Emma hugged him, and he was willing to admit it was what he needed.

“You never know,” Emma said. “Maybe he will be again, one day.”

“Maybe,” Micah said.

Down on the oval, Will had slung his bag over his shoulder and was heading off. He looked into the stands for them and waved good-bye. They returned it, and Micah was surprised at how easily he accepted Will after all that had happened. Maybe he was right during that conversation he’d had with Kyle—it was easier to forgive someone their wrongs if the closet was involved. The closet screwed people up, but maybe Will was on his way to escaping it and finally liking himself again.

It had taken Micah a while—although life still threw problems in his way so often he resembled Mario in a particularly troublesome level of Super Mario Bros., it was preferable to what he had before. His method of stumbling out of the closet might not have been the best way to do so, but he was thankful he was here.

And out in the open air.

AND THEN
draft day finally dawned. Everything Micah had worked towards; the day he anticipated and dreaded equally. By the afternoon, his whole life would have changed.

The morning started just like any other, although breakfast was a subdued affair. His mother was on the rarest of tenterhooks, and Alex was even more quiet than usual. His dad, however, was overly jubilant, an act that showed just how nervous and fearful he felt.

The Johnson family had been invited to appear onsite, which was a sign in itself that Micah was going to be drafted to some team. They wouldn’t have bothered extending the invite in order to film his disappointment. The AFL never wanted to show the flip side of the draft—the crushing devastation of those who were never selected. The articles would only reflect the victorious with their already prepared media-friendly stories.

It was almost like being on trial. They were ushered into a room where the panel was seated at the front, cameras and microphones dwarfing them. Micah saw boys from the draft camp dotted here and there with their families.

Jack wasn’t there. Jack’s dream of professional playing seemed to have ended with the final draft camp. There hadn’t been an invite for him, although it was often said that didn’t mean anything. But neither had there been any interest in the media being at his home to film him if he got in. It was the same as saying they already knew. Jack had tried to sound fine when Micah called him, but Micah heard the pain anyway. There were still the local leagues, and maybe if he proved himself, he could get another chance with the pro teams by going up through the ranks.

Micah hoped so. Jack was one of the good guys.

Unlike Boyd Davies, who was sitting farther down the row the Johnsons found themselves in. Micah nodded at him and Boyd returned it, both as cool as cucumbers.

With little preamble the draft began.

The first few rounds, Micah seriously thought he was having heart palpitations. His name wasn’t called out. He hadn’t expected to be number one; he had been relieved when the West Coast Eagles selected someone other than him. He didn’t want to end up on the other side of the country. He prayed his own beloved Saints would choose him, but they went with Heath McAvoy, a boy Micah hadn’t really noticed at the draft camp as he kept to himself. And then Boyd Davies was selected for Hawthorn.

Boyd Davies had been chosen before he had.

He wanted to fool himself that it didn’t matter, but it did. Boyd looked pleased with himself as he was ushered out of the room into the waiting arms of the Hawks coach. He couldn’t resist throwing a look back at Micah, and rather than let Boyd see him rattled, Micah gave him a thumbs-up.

Boyd walked into the doorframe, he seemed to be that surprised.

Micah stifled a laugh. Too bad Boyd hadn’t broken his nose, although that wasn’t a very charitable thought to have.

But Micah Johnson was only trying to reform, not become a bloody saint—unless of the St. Kilda variety.

As the next round started, Micah turned to see Kyle was sitting at the back of the room with his dad. He was happy to see him and waved, but he also dreaded Kyle being there to witness his failure if he wasn’t selected.

Which was looking possible. Another round, and he was starting to lose hope. Yes, it was now only selection seven, but he had thought he would be taken by now. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. His mother noticed his distress and closed her hand over his.

The AFL chief leaned back into the microphone. “Selection Eight: Fremantle Dockers.”

The Fremantle recruiter cleared his throat and took a sip of water. Micah almost groaned aloud at the theatrics of the moment. It wasn’t like the guy hadn’t known he was next.

“Player number 196349. Micah Johnson.”

His mother’s grip tightened on him. Cameras immediately swivelled in his direction to catch his reaction. Micah stayed poker-faced, but there was no denying that the colour had drained out of his mother’s. He knew her worst fear had come true: her boy was moving to the other side of the country. He wasn’t just leaving the nest, he was being pushed out against his will and told to fly.

Micah could hear applause, but it started to zone out and was replaced with a frenetic buzzing in his ear. He looked back at his family—they looked shattered. Beyond them was a pale-looking Kyle.

A part of him was sure he was going to faint, but he managed to get to his feet and follow the AFL suit who took him into the next hall, where his life was about to change forever.

He was met by senior members of the coaching team, and while they spoke warmly to him and pumped his hand in congratulations, their words mashed together and he couldn’t make out what they were saying. His first AFL guernsey was handed to him, the vivid purple contrasting with the stark white of the Dockers’ colours. He knew they wanted him to put it on—there were media waiting for his first official press conference. He tried to smile as he pulled off his shirt and felt the rough material of a never-worn jumper scratch against his skin, but he felt it probably came across as more of a grimace.

He had to get this right; a sports-mad country was watching. Someone took his shirt off him and stuffed it into a Dockers gym bag already filled with his new team’s merchandise.

It still didn’t seem real. He was moving in a dream state, the air around him sluggish, the sound out of sync, the blood in his ears beating out an infernal and uneven rhythm.

And he stepped into a room filled with the blinding flashes of cameras, and it was like he could no longer see either.

He don’t even know how he got through the press conference, but he plastered a happy smile on his face and hoped he was pulling it off believably as he delivered rote answers about how happy he was to have been drafted and how he was sure his parents were happy as well. Did he mention the word “happy”? He was sure he did.

As he was finally let go to see his family again, he was armed with forms to fill out, information booklets, and seemingly every Dockers players’ and board members’ information details entered into his phone. He was told his flight to Perth was booked for the next night. He had one day left in Melbourne, and it would be spent in a flurry of packing and hasty good-byes. Micah had only led himself to believe he would be drafted to a Melbourne team—there had been no preparation taken on his behalf. He hadn’t even let himself talk about it with Kyle, even though Kyle had been desperate to bring it up time and time again. Kyle had been talking about going on to further study with the AIS; Canberra and Melbourne hadn’t seemed so far away from each other, then.

Perth
and Canberra? They might as well have been in different countries.

When he met with his family in an empty room set aside for their privacy, his mum allowed the dam to break. She started crying as soon as she saw him, and she couldn’t even speak. His dad’s hand rested upon her shoulder. Even Alex looked lost.

“We knew this could happen” was all Micah said.

“I don’t want you to go,” Alex said. It was almost a wail.

Micah’s phone buzzed in his hand. He looked to see a call incoming from Declan. He let it go to voice mail. He had to help his family before he could speak to anybody else, whether they were offering congratulations or commiserations.

“This isn’t right,” his mother finally managed to choke out.

“It’s not what I wanted,” Micah agreed.

“It’s not what any of us wanted,” his dad said.

Alex was staring at the ground, unable to look at anybody. “When do you have to go?”

Micah wished with all his heart that he could give them a different answer. “Tomorrow.”

“They couldn’t even give you more than one day?” his dad demanded.

“They want me to start training. Then they want me to go on their end-of-year trip.”

“How lovely.” His mother sounded like it was anything but.

He wanted her to hug him, to tell him he didn’t have to go. That they could stop it somehow. But she didn’t. They were all resigned to his fate.

They had known it all along.

“Let’s go home. We have to get you packed.”

“There’s just something I have to do first,” Micah said.

His parents looked as if they were about to protest, but they nodded. “We’ll meet you at the car.”

In a way, what Micah had to do next was even worse than telling his parents. He knew he had one more day with his parents and Alex, but there
would
be more to come. Holidays, games both interstate and at home—depending on whether he could call Fremantle home by then… he could hold on to that. But Kyle? Deep down they both knew it was impossible.