Will (23 page)

The cellos continued. My thoughts responded to the music, weaving, releasing, spilling. I fought hard to get the bubble on for guaranteed protection. But somehow I knew this time it wasn’t
going to work. There was too much erupting its way to the surface, other images that had been censored, prohibited for the well-being of Will Armstrong.

The pain of recognition ripped through me. I had forgotten what he looked like. He became movie-theater big, looking down at me, shaking his head, disappointed. He was speaking, but all I could hear was distorted sound.

I tried to push the delete button, but I had uncovered a private stash of do-not-remembers and, once unleashed, there was no stopping them. I looked to the door ready to make an escape, but I couldn’t move.

The presentation was set to automatic slide show.

Photos of Dad and me flashed one by one on the screen.

Click: Dad and me just born.

Click: Dad and me, first birthday.

Click: Dad and me and my first bike.

Click: Dad and me and my first guitar.

Click: Dad and me and my first soccer boots.

Click: Dad and me and my first soccer jersey.

Click: Dad and me and his soccer jersey, his beer and his ball.

Click: no more Dad.

Hundreds of images and with each flash an electric bolt. The music intensified the enormity of my pain. Ripping at the bandages that had been caked on for so long.

Will?

Ms. Sefton was beside me, her voice calling a halt to the images.

Will, are you OK?

What, miss?

She was crouched beside me, whispering, eyes concerned. I frowned, disorientated.

Aren’t you feeling well?

It was only then I became conscious of my head in my hands. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Will, are you all right? You look upset
.

I looked around to see if anyone else was watching. Chris. I looked down.

Will?

I spat out each word.

Yeah, all right, miss. I’m all right. Just leave it
.

Flight.

I reached around and grabbed my stuff. I was out the door before she could say anything else.

Will!

That was all I needed. He must have still been helping Brother Pat move the gear back after the rehearsal. I kept on toward the gates. Exit was the only thing on my mind.

Will! Wait for me!

I heard his footsteps behind me break into a run.

Will, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave school before Admin
.

For fuck’s sake, Zach! Do you ever shut up!

Exposed. Ready to attack, destroy.

But that’s the problem with you, isn’t it? You can’t shut up, you have to tell the world everything
.

No, Will, that’s not true. My dad says—

Shut up about your fucking father. I’m so sick of hearing about him. Do you think you’re the only person in the world to have a fucking father?

No, Will … I’m just—

Jesus, he sounds like a king freak anyway. No wonder you are
such a geek when you’ve got the father of all geeks showing you the way
.

That’s not very nice, Will
.

Nice? I’ll tell you what’s not
nice!
What’s not
nice
is opening your mouth about stuff that is none of your fucking business
.

By this time Zach’s normally ancient, innocent eyes had filled with tears. It should have been enough to shut me up. But I couldn’t stop. All I wanted to do was to hurt and I didn’t care who or what I hurt as long as I didn’t have to feel the pain myself.

Don’t give me that look, pretending to be Mr. Fucking Innocent
.

What?

You couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to go around pretending that you had friends. That’s it, isn’t it. You couldn’t keep your trap shut. You had to show off that you knew Mark was gay. Well, now the school knows about it. Good on you, Zach, you’re a real fucking hero
.

But Will … I really—

Don’t bother, you reject! And you know what else? Don’t hang around me anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you
.

By this time I had found my way to the gates.

Do you hear me?

I looked up to see him standing in the middle of the playground, bag by his side, face crumpled. For one second I felt the urge to make him better again.

Do you hear me?

He called out a very husky
OK
.

I disappeared around the gates.

He was left in the middle of the playground. Alone.

That night I shut myself in my room and didn’t go anywhere all weekend. Mum kept asking if everything was all right. I told her I was feeling crook. Chris rang. Elizabeth rang. Mark didn’t ring. Zach didn’t ring. I wanted to be left alone in complete blackness, in a void where I didn’t have to think, where I didn’t have to remember, where there were no more images. I lay in bed in fear of the slide show starting again. But it didn’t. Eventually, under the doona, in the blackness, things became blank again.

I convinced Mum I was too sick to go to rehearsals. I could tell she was concerned but she didn’t say much. I knew Brother Pat would be expecting me, but I couldn’t front this time. Mum rang him and said I was in bed.

I wrapped the doona firmly around me and tried to sleep. I was vaguely aware of different voices outside my door, but each time I would roll over and eventually fall back to sleep.

Sunday night I got up, had a shower and made it to the lounge just to try to decrease the Patricia Armstrong stress. She’d been trying to get me to eat all weekend. Sunday’s attempt was some sort of soup for
beating the winter blues
. It was healthy and full of vegetables and I couldn’t touch it. But I didn’t tell her that. So I sat and watched the telly and pretended to eat.

One good thing was I didn’t have to worry about school. Mum already had that covered.

Well, if you’ve been sleeping all weekend and can’t eat, you can’t go to school tomorrow. Musical or no musical! I’ll ring Helen and let her know that you’ll definitely be off tomorrow. If you’re not any better by the end of the day, we’ll make a doctor’s appointment for Tuesday
.

I left the doctor’s surgery with a certificate that declared I had a virus and was off for the rest of the week. It was one small victory because it meant, to Mum and the rest of the world, that I was legitimately sick.

I didn’t know what I was. All I knew was that the world felt a hell of a lot better when I was asleep.

On Thursday afternoon I heard something being slid under my door. I pulled on the doona even tighter and turned to the wall. I made up scenarios in my head about what the note contained: Elizabeth telling me how much she missed me. Zach saying he didn’t hate my guts. Mark telling me he understood why I’d acted like a dickhead again. And for a flicker of a second it was Dad, saying I hadn’t disappointed him, that he was back and everything would return to normal. It was only because I couldn’t deal with any more scenarios that I pushed myself out of bed and picked up the envelope. I found myself staring at my name written in swirly, old-fashioned writing.

I sat there for a good ten minutes on the side of my bed looking at the letter. At times it blurred. I was an emotional cripple, that much was pretty obvious. Who would have thought? I’d always assumed I had Brother Pat fooled into thinking I was in the musical for the love of it. I knew what this meant. As much as I would have loved to have pulled the doona over my head I knew I couldn’t ignore it. The slides started again but this time it was a different show: Brother Pat, the geeks, Elizabeth, Andrews, the chorus girls, the Freak and Mark. The last two slides kept repeating.

The old bugger had worked his mysterious ways again and I bet he bloody knew it too.

The next morning I pried the doona off and pushed myself out of bed. I could picture Chris telling me how much I looked like shit. The way Mum was carrying on in the kitchen she would’ve obviously agreed with him. I managed to delude her into thinking I was on some heroic mission to save the musical and Brother Patrick couldn’t survive without me. The more she zapped me with her beams of pride the more I shrank into a very tiny hypocrite. Man, did I have her fooled. I only just succeeded in getting her to let me ride my bike to school. I told her I needed to clear my head. At least that part was true.

I arrived just after homeroom and hid in the hall. I figured if I stayed out of people’s way, did my job and went home then I couldn’t hurt anyone else. Part of my gut kept nagging me about the unresolved stuff with the Freak and Mark. But there was only so much facing-up a guy could do in one day. Today was about keeping Brother Pat happy and me from having some sort of breakdown.

Good to see you here, Will
.

I nearly fell off the stage. Brother Pat had appeared and was standing behind me.

You don’t look too good, Will, maybe—

I cut him off.

No, I’m fine, Brother, really. You just gave me a bit of a shock
.

I stopped.
And thanks for the note
.

Nothing but the truth, Will. Sometimes we all need a bit of encouragement to keep going
.

He began to arrange the music stands as we talked, and I automatically fell into helping.

I said as much to your mother when I rang to find out how you were. I told her the young ones wouldn’t know what to do without you. Especially young Zach
.

He looked directly at me when he said it.

He’s looked quite lost over the past couple of days
.

I busied myself with the stands, shrinking with each word.

No doubt he will pick up when he sees you
.

I reduced even farther in size. The incredible shrinking hypocrite.

Brother stood facing the hall doors and sighed appreciatively.

Here they come, right on cue. Come on, boys, set yourselves up. Look who’s back!

I looked in the direction of the Freak. I was sure he’d seen me because he was making it so obvious he hadn’t that he must have. He was either going through his bag or cleaning out his mouthpiece or looking the other way. His awkwardness was killing me. I had just decided to go over and tell him what an arsehole I was when Brother started with the school song for the St. Andrew’s Day service. Considering I was the guy who was leading them I figured I’d better not stuff up that job as well. I faced the band, made sure I didn’t look at the Freak and started. It was good to have an excuse to stop thinking and have something to do, even if I did have to wave a little stick at some geeks in front of the entire school. All my energy was going
into getting the job done. I was too tired to worry about anyone and the potential for anything. Let them go for it.

We didn’t have time for a break after the service. The band stayed onstage practicing for the run of the musical. I liked my state of unthinking and unfeeling and was determined for it to stay that way. I led the geeks through all the numbers and we sounded good. If I hadn’t been feeling so wiped out I might actually have felt proud.

I sensed the change in atmosphere before I saw the girls arrive. Excitement and hormones buffeted the air. It wasn’t often girls found their way onto St. Andrew’s turf. I was aware that maybe I should be a little concerned about how the boys would react to Elizabeth, but I figured that she and the other girls were more than capable of looking after themselves. After all, they were only performing to Years 7 and 8 and they would have been snuck in the back way to avoid testosterone-driven groupies.