Bro Page 13

  ‘What do you want me to do? Party?’ I snap. I feel horrible being so mean to her, but my mood sucks. I get pissed off at the smallest thing. My sore head doesn’t help.

  Teta slips her fingers under her glasses and rubs her eyes. She’s tired, worn out. I know she’s suffering with me. I see it every day. She cries when I cry. And at night she stays awake, waiting for me to go to bed, which is usually around two, sometimes three, in the morning.

  I offer her the remote.

  ‘Good boy,’ she says, taking it. ‘Come. Do you want tea with your eggs?’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t want anything,’ I say, pulling myself off the lounge and heading to my room.

  I have three messages on my phone. One from Chris, two from Stef. I sit on the corner of my bed to read them.

  I get into bed and crawl under the covers. It’s lucky I’m still suspended, because I don’t think I could handle school right now. If anyone said anything to me about Diz or the fight, I reckon I’d lose it and go crazy at them. I open Stef’s messages.

  I like reading the poems Stef sends. They’re all about dying or losing someone. It sounds sad, I know, but they’re kind of cool. They make me think about things differently – even Mum’s death. It feels good to know some poet gets what I’m feeling. I open Stef’s second message.

  I text back.

  To my surprise she replies immediately. I check the clock. Recess.

  But if I don’t blame me then who can I blame?

  Then I reply to Chris.

  •

  I walk into the kitchen for a glass of water just as Dad hangs up the phone.

  He watches me drag my feet to the sink and turn on the tap.

  ‘I’ll get that for you,’ he says, coming over. ‘Go sit down, I need to talk to you.’

  I pull out the dining chair and ease into the seat.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yeah, just a headache. What’s up?’

  ‘That was Brother David on the phone.’

  ‘Again?’

  Dad nods as he places the glass of water in front of me and sits opposite. ‘A couple conditions, for when you return to school.’

  ‘Conditions? Like what?’

  ‘First, he wants you to sign a contract. He emailed me a copy this morning. I’ve read it and it’s fair – very fair. The school has been good to you, Romeo.’

  ‘I know, Dad.’

  ‘Good, because it basically says you can’t get involved in any more fighting at school. If you do, you’ll be expelled on the spot. No more chances.’

  I nod. I don’t need a contract to tell me that. I’d be an idiot if I got into another fight. Ever.

  ‘Second,’ Dad continues, ‘he wants you to see the school counsellor. Weekly.’

  I roll my eyes and sigh.

  ‘These conditions aren’t negotiable, Romeo. Anyway, it’ll do you good to talk with someone professional. I’m not the best person with this sort of stuff,’ Dad says, clearing his throat and rising from his chair. ‘So that’s it. Sign it when you go to school on Monday? I have to go now. I’ve got a job to quote.’

  ‘Dad?’

  He stops, waits.

  ‘You’re not that bad with this stuff … truly. You’ve been really good with it all. I was stupid and … I’m sorry for everything, Dad. You were right. I should’ve walked away the first time. And I definitely shouldn’t have fought him again.’ I’m sniffing back tears.

  Dad comes around the table and slides into the chair next to me.

  ‘I just didn’t want them to think I was a wuss, Dad,’ I say, my voice cracking.

  ‘You shouldn’t care what other people think about you, Romeo. You can’t please everyone.’

  ‘Diz would be alive if I hadn’t –’

  ‘No, no, no. Listen, don’t go there, all right? This riot could’ve still happened. You know why? Because these groups you have at school are stupid. You’re all Australian. No-one’s saying forget your heritage, but look around you. You live here, in Australia. Anyone tells you different is an idiot. You’ve got to be smart, Romeo. Don’t be a sheep.’

  I nod.

  He squeezes my shoulder as he stands to leave.

  ‘Dad, wait,’ I say, catching him before he walks out of the kitchen.

  He steps back to the table and sits down again, looking at me thoughtfully.

  ‘Dad, at the hospital … I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

  ‘It’s all right. You were upset.’

  ‘It’s just … have you forgotten Mum, Dad?’

  ‘What? No. How can I forget my wife?’

  ‘You never talk about her.’

  Dad takes a deep breath. His shoulders visibly rise then fall when he releases the air. ‘It hurts. That’s all I can say. It hurts.’

  ‘It hurts me too, Dad.’

  ‘I know. It’s just, when your mum died … well … I couldn’t imagine my life without her.’

  He shifts in his seat, rubs his eyes. ‘It was hard, Romeo,’ he continues. ‘It’s still hard. Thinking about her makes my throat close up. So talking about her, it’s … it’s …’

  ‘Too hard?’ I say, finishing his sentence for him. ‘It’s okay, Dad.’

  It’s the most I’ve ever heard Dad say about Mum. And I get his pain. I get it because I felt it too, when Mum died. The hollow feeling, the fear. It paralyses you. And I’m feeling it all over again now.

  ‘I can’t imagine my life without Diz, Dad.’

  ‘I know, mate, I’m hearing you. And I’m going to do my best to be here for you. I don’t know if everything I do or say will be right, but I’m going to try. All right?’

  I nod.

  He kisses the top of my head as he rises from his chair. ‘I’ve got to go meet this builder, but I’ll be back as soon as I’m done, okay?’

  ‘Before you go … have you heard from the police?’

  ‘Only that they found video footage of the early part of the brawl, which might help their investigation. But listen, Romeo, it was an all-in brawl. There were at least seventy, maybe eighty boys involved. They may never get the real story on Diz. You know that, don’t you?’

  The words stab me in the heart. It makes his death even more painful.

  •

  I go back to my room and sit on the edge of my bed. My life is quiet without Diz. In three days, I’ll be walking across the schoolyard … alone. The thought of school without Diz makes me hurt all over. I can’t get my head around it. Who’ll take his seat in class? Who’ll have his locker?

  My phone vibrates. It’s Robbie. He hasn’t texted me in over a week.

  I’m doing crap, I want to say. My best friend’s dead. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I can’t get his face out of my mind. I hate how depressed I’ve become. I hate the dull pain in my chest, the gaping hole in my life. That’s what I want to blurt out. But I stay cool.

  I cringe at the thought of explaining everything to the counsellor. Our stupid groups, our stupid rules, everything sounds so lame now.

  Minutes pass before I get another text from him.

  I knew about the mass. Brother David told Dad that he’d lift my suspension if I wanted to attend the memorial mass. But there’s no way I could sit through prayers, tributes and hymns. It’s too much.

  Then I get another text.

  My shoulders slump. Two weeks later and it hasn’t stopped.

  I turn my phone off and toss it on my bed. A flash of heat rips through my body. My headache intensifies. I grip my head with the palms of my hands, willing it to disappear. The fight won’t leave my mind. Diz won’t leave my mind. There has to be something in all this. Otherwise Diz died for nothing. There’s a desperate need for release building inside me. It’s so strong I think I might explode.

  I sit at my computer and log into Facebook. Thoughts come and go. My fingers hover over the letters, waiting for direction. Then they move fast across the board.

  UNITE FOR DIZ

  I hit the ‘About’ tab on
the page I’m creating.

  This is for my bro, Diz. He died a few weeks ago after a stupid racial brawl at school. His death proved that fighting doesn’t solve anything, it makes it worse. Diz’s life mattered. Let’s make a change. Who cares if we have different backgrounds? We are all equal. And we are all Australian! We should all be mates!

  Enter.

  I upload a picture of Diz. It’s a fairly new one. He wouldn’t stop bragging about it. Not only did he think his hair was perfect, but he’s sitting on the bonnet of his brother Tony’s WRX. Diz reckoned it was going to be his car some day, somehow, when his brother had had enough of it. Underneath I write:

  RIP in car heaven, bro.

  Enter.

  I think about the first status update. It has to be something that stands for change, for acceptance and respect. I post:

  We are people first. No-one should be judged by their race

  Enter.

  I finish by tagging everyone I know.

  Enter.

  Done.

  Sliding down my chair to the floor, I settle, calmed by my small tribute to Diz. My mind seems to have quieted.

  A long half-hour passes before I get up and check my Facebook page. There are fourteen likes already, and a comment from Stef.

  Diz, I will never forget your happy face. Your death will always remind us of what happens when we hate. You will live on in our hearts always xx

  I smile with sadness.

  39

  I meet Stef on Sunday morning at the station’s takeaway shop. It’s quiet. No schoolkids, only half-asleep adults ordering coffee and buying the newspaper. The odd customer treats themselves to a pastry.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, approaching her table.

  She lifts her head and smiles as I drag out the metal chair and sit opposite her. She slides a cup of hot chocolate over to me. ‘How are you?’

  ‘All right,’ I say, taking a sip.

  ‘Have your headaches gone?’

  ‘I’m seeing the doctor next week about ’em. It’s just gonna take a bit of time.’

  ‘Did you catch the train?’

  ‘Nah, I walked.’

  ‘Serious? You live, like, seven blocks away. And it’s cold.’

  ‘I needed the fresh air.’

  ‘Why’d you want to meet here?’

  ‘So we can walk to school.’

  ‘Today? Why?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know. So I can get used to it, I suppose. Without Diz. I just need to see it while no-one’s there.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay home another week?’

  ‘Nah. Two weeks is heaps. I’m going crazy at home. I gotta do this now.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do the boys know you’re going back tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, twisting on my seat as I prepare for the corny words that are about to exit my mouth. ‘Listen, Stef. You’ve been great with all this … I think these last two weeks would’ve been even harder without you. You’re the best … seriously.’

  Stef smiles. I stretch over the table and kiss her lips. She grabs the back of my neck and holds our lips in place, kissing me longer.

  ‘I saw your Facebook page,’ she says, releasing me.

  ‘Yeah. You were the first to comment.’

  ‘It’s a top idea, you know. Diz would’ve loved it. How many likes have you got so far?’

  ‘About four hundred.’

  Her mouth drops open. ‘Serious? In two days? Romeo, that’s fantastic.’

  ‘I guess. I didn’t think anyone would be that interested. I just did it because it felt right.’

  ‘I know what you’re saying. And it’s exactly what we need. We’ve gotta stop this racial stuff. I mean, Diz died because of it. What if it happens again, to someone else? I think it’s awesome.’

  I’m shy about the idea. I’ve never stood up and taken the lead in anything. Stef is right, though. This can’t happen again. And I know Diz would love the attention, as long as his hair looks good in all the photos.

  ‘I’m getting comments all the time. Have a look,’ I say, passing her my phone.

  She reads them out loud.

  We are all different but we all bleed the same colour

  ‘That’s a good one,’ Stef says.

  Miss your jokes Diz. RIP

  I’ve got Irish in my family and I DON’T have leprechauns in my backyard!

  I will never forget you Diz xx

  God only takes the cool people, that’s why he took Diz

  My best friend is Chinese and she’s allergic to rice LOL

  Spread the love people

  Not all FOBS are ‘fresh off the boat’ – I came here by plane … FOP! Hahaha

  ‘Some of them are funny.’ She smiles, loosening the scarf around her neck.

  ‘I know, right? Read this conversation.’

  I take the phone from her and scroll down to a post written by a year-eight kid that Robbie joins in on.

  ‘It’s typical Robbie stuff,’ I say, passing it back, ‘but keep reading, everyone gives it to him.’

  I’ve got Italian, Russian, Hungarian and British in my family, and I was born here! So what does that make me?

  Ha ha that makes you a mongrel bro

  Then we’re all mongrels, Robbie, coz we all have a heritage – even if you’re born here

  I’m pure Leb

  Google ancient Lebanon dude – you could be Roman.

  Google convict bro – everyone comes from somewhere.

  •

  We leave the shop, holding hands. The streets are eerie without schoolkids around. No loud chatter, no laughing. The odd car whizzes by but not a single bus appears. I’ve only heard two trains pull up the whole time we’ve been here. Usually there’s one every few minutes.

  We reach the school gates. A sharp pain shoots across my chest. I unzip my jacket and take it off, sucking in a deep breath.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. I just need to sit with this for a sec,’ I say.

  I stare at the buildings, the native gardens, the gravelled grounds. Nothing’s changed, it’s all the same, and yet everything is different. It’s like I’m standing in front of another school that’s identical to Christian Boys High.

  ‘It’s gonna be okay,’ Stef says, curling her arm around my waist and laying her head against my shoulder.

  ‘It will … it’ll be okay.’

  ‘Do you want me to meet you early at the station tomorrow?’ Stef says.

  ‘Nah, it’s all right. I’m going straight to school. Dad’s dropping me off.’

  She squeezes my arm.

  ‘I want to come tomorrow, Stef,’ I say, trying to sound confident even though I’m nervous. The truth is, I could easily stay in my room forever and let the world disappear. But what a waste that would be.

  40

  ‘Thanks for the ride,’ I say to Dad as we pull up in front of school.

  ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  I nod.

  ‘Listen, I was going to tell you tonight but I’m just going to come out with it now,’ Dad says, clearing his throat. ‘I’ve contacted Aunty Trish. She’s invited us to visit if you’re keen.’

  I pause. ‘You called her?’

  ‘If you’re not up for it –’

  ‘I am. Definitely.’

  ‘Okay, good … I guess I’ll let her know.’

  I sit silently, thinking how hard it must have been for Dad to call Aunty Trish after all these years. And her voice probably sounds a lot like Mum’s. I wonder if it’ll be hard for me when I see her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right today?’ Dad asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  The noise of school life hits me when I step out of Dad’s ute. I take a deep breath as I walk through the school gates but my chest tightens again and I stop. I feel strangled suddenly by my tie. I tug at it to loosen the knot.

  ‘Hey,’
Dad calls, tooting the horn. ‘You right?’

  I nod, wave him away. The last thing I need is to draw more attention to myself. I walk fast across the playground towards the lockers.

  My phone rings. It’s Zac.

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence.

  ‘Zac?’ I prompt.

  ‘Hey, Romes.’

  ‘How are ya, bro?’

  More silence.

  ‘Zac? You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, bro,’ he says, but his voice is quiet, different. ‘You back at school?’

  ‘Yeah, just today. You still suspended?’

  ‘Nah, that’s why I’m calling. I’m not coming back.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t handle it, Romes. It’s too hard.’

  ‘Bro …’

  ‘Doctor reckons I’ve got depression or something. He put me on some tablets. But listen, there’s something else.’

  The silence is longer. I can hear him breathing on the other end. I wait.

  ‘Me and Nat broke up.’ There’s a crack in his voice I’ve never heard before. He clears his throat. ‘Thought I’d let you know.’

  ‘That sucks, bro.’

  ‘Yeah, well … what can you do? Anyway, I gotta go. Good luck with school, yeah?’

  ‘Hey, wait a sec.’

  He doesn’t answer.

  ‘Zac? I was thinking, I might come round and see you on Saturday. Maybe we can go get a feed?’

  He sniffs once, then twice. I hear quiet crying.

  ‘Zac? I’ll text you before I come.’

  I hear a final sniff before the phone clicks off. He’s gone. It’s weird talking to him now. He’s only texted me once since the funeral. Even then it was short, asking me how I was going. I texted back, asking how he was doing but he never replied. I get the feeling he’s doing even worse than me.

  In the corridor, boys whisper when I near them. Everything is strange, different. Some offer a sympathetic smile if I make eye contact. But most turn away. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t know what to say to me either.