The Way You Are (6 page)

Leon sighed. “What is it with men and your jealousies?”

“What? You’re the one who’s saying I’m not good enough for you.”

“I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Rookford. I was just trying to imply that I’m still not certain you’re not straight, and I’m not really looking to get my heart broken here.”

“Neither am I,” Rook said. “But how can you know unless you try?”

“Try? Since when was sexuality something you tried?”

“Doesn’t everyone do that?” Rook asked, surprised. “Besides, I should point out that as far as I know, I’m still a virgin—in memory, if not in actuality. Don’t you think you should help relieve me of at least part of that burden?”

“Part?”

“Well, I’d still like that kiss,” Rook said hopefully.

“Since when was virginity a burden?”

Rook sighed. “I’m trying to get a kiss here. Can we just go with it?”

Leon looked down at the other man, his expression severe. “All right. One kiss. That’s it. And only to shut you up about all this already.”

“Well, isn’t a kiss the perfect way to—”

Leon shut him up with a kiss.

In most stories, the first recorded kiss is magical, breathtaking, and imbued with great meaning, like the start of a love won or lost, destinies realized, or the last mocking gesture before a doom is pronounced. They often forget the bumped noses, teeth scraping against each other, not only because such minor trivialities are typically lost in the passion of the moment, but also because great romances are not of bumped noses made, both of which figured rather prominently in Leon and Rook’s first kiss, along with a long pause before they separated, staring at each other.

Then Leon leaned back into the poo-brown chair and stared up at the television screen, which was showing an episode of some cooking show involving tomato and capsicum mascots with large cartoon eyes.

“So,” he said after the screen had faded to an overenthusiastic middle-aged male host in a pink T-shirt.

“Yeah, okay. I’m really not gay,” Rook said.

“Yeah,” Leon said. “Hey look, they’re making hors d’oeuvres
{15}
.”

“I don’t like those,” Rook said. “They’re way too fiddly. Huh. I know a new thing about me.”

“Two new things.”

“Yeah,” Rook said pensively. “So why do I feel like I love you so much?”

“Because I’m one of the only people who came and spoke to you for the last few weeks?” Leon suggested.

Rook shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. I keep remembering you, back… home?”

“Rook, we’ve never met before Newy. I told you that.”

“True,” Rook said. “Maybe my mind’s just being stupid.”

“Stupid,” Leon said. “Is that a technical term?”

Rook grinned. “Yeah. That’s medical jargon at its finest.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, watching a lady in a red apron cutting up parboiled potatoes on TV. Just as the camera cut to a man in a green apron blanching broccolini, Leon’s phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he let it go to voice mail.

“Warrick,” he explained at Rook’s inquiring gaze. “He calls every few days.”

“Shouldn’t you answer it?”

“I’m not ready to talk to him yet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything.”

Rook blushed. “I should have realized you wouldn’t have been ready to—moving on takes time.”

Leon shrugged. “Maybe, but it was a nice distraction.”

Rook smiled. “Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was.”

“You know, if I was—if I could be—I’d completely want to date you. I still kind of wish I was dating you.”

“Just as well you aren’t,” Leon said, pouring himself some water from the nearby jug. “I’m nowhere ready to date anyone.”

“Okay, well I’m sorry for being a massive cocktease in any case.”

Leon chuckled. “You don’t have to apologize for being who you are. Or not being who you thought you were. I think you get off on account of massive head trauma.”

Rook sighed. “Did I tell you they’re kicking me out?”

“What?”

“Well, not kicking me out as such, but the doctors say there’s no remaining physical damage they can help with. Either my memory comes back by itself or it doesn’t.”

“Rook, you’re not really in any condition to look after yourself,” Leon objected.

“It’s just a broken leg. I’ll manage,” Rook said firmly. “I have to go back eventually, and it might help jog my memory. At least, I hope so—there’s the court hearing coming up soon.”

“Krissy told me everyone was talking about that. I’m surprised it’s going to trial so quickly.”

Rook grimaced. “I think someone pulled some strings.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know where you live?”

“I do now. My housemates stopped by and told me. Plus whoever did all this to me left me my wallet, and it lists my home address as the same place.”

“Did you like them?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Do you need help moving back in?”

“No. I don’t have anything to bring back, and Paul dropped off some clean clothes for me. But, um, I’d appreciate the moral support.”

“That I can do,” Leon said. “I suppose I can also push the wheelchair.”

“Wheelchair?”

“You have a broken leg, Rook. They’re not going to make you limp out on crutches. Wheelchairs are hospital policy. I learnt that from
House
.”

“What’s that?”

“Hospital drama. It’s awesome because it has Hugh Laurie playing an American.”

“Who?”

Leon grinned. “British comedian. I’ll bring over some episodes for you.”

“Can there be popcorn?” Rook asked hopefully. “I can’t remember what it tastes like, but I think I miss it.”

“Yes, there can be popcorn,” Leon said. “As long as you have something to make it in.”

“I have no idea about that.”

“It’s okay. We’ll check your kitchen,” Leon said. “I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t have a microwave.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Rook said, although this time his smile did not reach his eyes.

T
HE
day of Rook’s discharge was warm and almost summery, and Leon was glad for the breeze that was blowing in off the sea. It rustled through the leaves of the white gums and banksias and gusted under the wings of the seagulls, raising their raucous chorus up and down the beaches and open-air food courts as they searched for small fish from the sea and hot chips from takeout discards. The blast of air conditioning as Leon walked into the hospital was a welcome relief from the subtropical heat, and Leon folded up his Dot Dash sunglasses and slipped them into the pocket of his light cotton shirt. Taking the lift up to Rook’s floor, he ventured past the antiseptic-smelling nurses’ station,
sans
Warrick, and headed to what was soon to no longer be Rook’s room.

Rook was dressed in trackie-daks that had the right pants leg cut along the outside, allowing him to get them over his cast.

“Leon, you made it,” Rook said, his face breaking into a relieved grin.

Leon shrugged. “Of course. I said I’d come.”

“I know.”

A tall, bespectacled doctor cleared his throat. “Travis, it’s been a pleasure having you here. If you need anything, I’m just a phone call away, and we’ll see you in December for a checkup, all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Rook said, swinging his good leg to and fro as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Travis, it’s perfectly normal to be scared of heading into a new environment, even if logically we both know your home isn’t technically new. You’ll be experiencing it for the first time, and that will be unsettling, but I believe you’re ready to face this.”

Rook nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Patel. I’ll try to remember that.”

A clanking in the corridor announced the arrival of the promised wheelchair, pushed by the same dark-haired nurse who had sent Warrick to the ICU the last time Leon had been at the hospital.

“All set? Ready to get out of here?” she asked.

“Yes,” Rook said, nodding. “And no.”

The nurse smiled. “You’ll be fine, Travis. Come on, give me your hand.”

“Huh?”

“Your favorite bracelet?” she said, holding up a pair of scissors.

Rook laughed then and held out his right hand. “Thank you, Sharon.”

The petite woman smiled and cut the hospital tag off with one clip of her shears. “Come on, tough guy. Let’s get you home.”

When Leon drove around to the front of the hospital, Rook had a quizzical expression on his face. “I didn’t think you drove.”

“I don’t usually,” Leon said, killing the engine and stepping out. “But I figured today was a special occasion.”

“Thanks,” Rook said, as Leon stowed their backpacks and Rook’s crutches in the old Yaris.

“Don’t mention it. What are friends for, if not to help out and be man-crushed on?”

“I have no idea,” Rook said, as Sharon helped him into the front seat of the car. “But if I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

R
OOK
’
S
student flat turned out to be as tiny and poky as the term usually implied. It had probably once been a large family dwelling, but it was now shared by four guys and bore the accumulation of student life with a quiet dignity that was one Coke can short of a nervous breakdown. The front lawn had been mowed back sometime in the last month, given that it only came up to Leon’s ankles, but the garden beds were overflowing with tangles of fuschias, daffodils, and morning glory trailing up some hard-leaved bushes that Leon could not identify. The brick house was clad in weathered weatherboard, the paint outside gray and cracking over the wooden slats that covered the brick interior. As they approached the front door, Rook stopped and dug out a bottle-opener key ring, heavy with keys.

“This could take a while,” he said with a sigh.

“Or we could knock,” Leon suggested. “You said you have housemates, right?”

“Yes. Yes I do,” Rook said, grinning, and rapped smartly on the door, causing a few flakes of blue paint to break off and fall to the ground. They waited for a while, but there was no sound from the house.

“Or maybe not,” Leon said. “Sorry.”

Rook shrugged and started trying keys in the lock, going through four before finding the right one. Inside, the house was quiet, and the two young men walked into a slightly dusty living area with red couches, black cushions, and an old boxy television in the corner. There was also a note on an old wooden coffee table from Paul, informing Rook that Bobby and Jonno had gone back to their families for Christmas and wouldn’t be around, and that Paul had ducked out to have dinner at his mum’s.

“So much for housemates,” Rook said. “Which room do you think mine is?”

They explored the kitchen, with its linoleum floor and collection of beer bottles for recycling, and while the place was cleaner than Leon had expected, there was still enough grunge in the brown carpet, spattered on the walls, and collected in cracks in the floorboards to show that four straight boys lived there—or more precisely, four straight boys who weren’t very good at cleaning
{16}
.

“How about this one?” Leon asked, opening the door to a good-sized bedroom facing out into the backyard.

“I don’t know,” Rook said. “None of this looks familiar.”

“Well, there’s a photo of you and a girl on the bedside table,” Leon pointed out.

Rook crutched himself closer and stared down at the faded image in its rough wooden frame—a class project for woodworking, Leon later found out. “I wonder who she is.”

“Well, unless you have a thing for older women who have the same cheekbones as you do, I’d say that’s your mum.”

Turning himself around, Rook fell backward onto the double bed, bouncing a few times before coming to a rest. “I suppose it’s nice to be able to put a face to the voice.”

“Suppose?” Leon asked, dropping Rook’s backpack and pulling over the wheeled office chair to sit on.

“I always thought it would come back,” Rook said. “You know, like seeing her would bring back something but… no. I have no clue who she is.”

“She looks nice.”

“She sounds nice,” Rook agreed. “She said she’ll fly over to get me for Christmas.”

Leon smiled. “And that scares the pants off you, doesn’t it?”

Rook nodded sheepishly. “How did you know?”

“I was present this morning?” Leon suggested with a smile. “Anyway, I saw a microwave in your kitchen so… popcorn?” he asked, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bag of microwavable kernels and a stack of DVDs.

“Sounds good,” Rook said, pushing himself in a sitting position and adjusting his grip on the crutches. “Wait—what if I don’t like popcorn?”

Leon rolled his eyes. “Then we raid your fridge until we find something you do like.”

Rook paused, his head cocked to one side as he stared up at Leon. “You like carrot sticks.”

“What?”

“You like carrot sticks.”

“Well, yes, but why are you saying it like it’s some great big revelation?”

“Because I remember it,” Rook said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It was a trip to Sydney, and we were a lot younger. We were at Taronga Zoo, and it was a sunny day. You were holding a carrot stick in your left hand and patting a kangaroo with your right when it went for the carrot stick and freaked you out.”

“Rook, I’ve never been to Taronga other than on a school trip,” Leon said. “And never with you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think I’d remember if I met you before uni.”

Rook groaned and forced himself up from the bed. “Can the brain manufacture memories?” he asked.

“According to Hollywood, yes,” Leon said with a grin. “But if you’re talking real life, you’re the one studying medicine, not me.”

“Great,” Rook said, crutching his way after Leon. “You know, you think the doctors could have said I’d be getting someone else’s memories back instead of my own.”

“I’d hardly call made-up memories ‘someone else’s’; they’re still yours.”

“Sure, just not the me I was before I got whacked,” Rook grumbled, following Leon into the kitchen.