FOOTPRINTS
~A Collection Of Stories~
By Rosie Chee
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Copyright © 2010 Rosie Chee
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PUBLISHED BY
Yung Wah Publications on Smashwords
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of Footprints may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form whatsoever, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage or retrieval system, without expressed, written and signed permission from the author, copyright owner and the above publisher of this eBook.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
You do not have the right to reprint, resell, auction, or redistribute the Footprints eBook. You may not give away, sell, share, or circulate the Footprints eBook or any of its content in any form. The copy of the Footprints eBook you have purchased is licensed for your own personal use and enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you have received a copy of the Footprints eBook without purchasing it from one of the official websites where it is sold, including http://www.smashwords.com/, then you have an illegal or pirated copy in violation of international copyright law. Please visit Smashwords.com to purchase your own personal copy.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any semblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design and Image by Rosie Chee
Author Image by Dan Ray
Formatted for Smashwords by Rosie Chee
ISBN 978-1-4524-2968-7
Acknowledgements
To my best friend, Ana Pallesen, my kindred spirit and with whom I share everything. Thank you for the years when you were the only one who I would let into that deep, dark side of me. Thank you for sharing your writing in return; you are still one of the best, most evocative writers that I know, and I love your work.
To my mother, who taught me to read and write at an early age; you kindled within me the love of and relationship with literature that is going to last me a lifetime. Thank you for introducing me to the world that became my haven, the one place that makes sense in a senseless world, and where I have the ability to fully express myself.
To my teachers, especially Susan Robinson and Malcolm Pittuck, who believed in my writing, the praise that I was “one of the best writers that they had seen”, encouraging me to submit my work for publication.
And last, but not least, to all those who were my muses through each part of the journey of this anthology. It is true that everyone is in your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Each of you have been one of those things and because of each one of you, I have lived, loved, lost, and learnt, my life all the more rich and full.
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FOOTPRINTS
Life is a never ending experience of peaks and valleys, celebration and regret, each experience guiding us, moulding us into what we will become. FOOTPRINTS includes a collection of stories that explore and discover what it really means to live: To love without reserve, even when we lose what we hold dear; to accept that we would rather deny, and learn to see the light in the darkness; to embrace the unconditional bonds of friendship, and experience the greatest gifts of all.
CONTENTS
It’s hard being a teenager. Shevaun is shattered by the news that the boy she loves is dying. When Damon dies, she tries to find solace in Emma’s God, all the while trying to deal with Eddie’s shocking revelation, issues with her best friend, and the conflict aroused in her by Kian’s attentions. A camping trip at the end of the summer brings Shevaun, Emma, Eddie and Kian together; and Shevaun learns that acceptance of what has happened does not mean letting go, that moving on is not a betrayal.
The woman on the beach is heartbroken. The beach is desolate, like she is. She wades into the sea, as if being in the water will take away the pain, the fleeting thought to allow it crossing her mind. Not realizing how far she has ventured out, she is caught by the undercurrent and struggles back to the beach. The effort leaves her drained and she closes her eyes to rest for a moment. But a moment is too much.
Saavedra has never really gotten over the death of her first love. One night she thinks that she sees him in a bar and her world spins into shock. At the expense of her current relationship and personal wellbeing, she becomes obsessed with finding him, to discover the truth. Dayan did not die, but lives on, and he wants her back. In a final heartbreaking meeting, Saavedra realizes where her future must lead.
FOREVER IS ONLY AS LONG AS IT LASTS
Peyton has changed. Her best friend Dmitri notices. They spend some time on the beach before returning to the house, where she explains to him what has happened to her over the years to change her. After dinner, back at the beach, because Peyton wants to capture a few happy memories, they are both startled by the words of an old man who takes their photograph. Just over a week later, Dmitri receives a letter: It is Peyton’s last letter ever to him, where she reveals her truths.
THE ICE MAIDEN AND THE SUN PRINCE
Jordan is engaged to be married. The problem is, she is in love with another man: A man from her past, who is himself married. In her need for closure, Jordan returns to the city where she met him, loved him, left him. She does not know that David has never forgotten her, that he tells the story of the Ice Maiden and the Sun Prince every night to his daughter. A chance encounter on the beach leads to an emotionally charged meeting, and one last night with him.
Some people enter our lives, only to make a quick exit.
Some leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never ever the same.
Monday 11 October, 1999
It’s a funny thing, is life. It gives you things: Things that you treasure and love. Then without warning, it snatches them away; leaving you empty. Sometimes it takes those cherished things away from you gradually; tries to wean you off them. And sometimes it works. But mostly it doesn’t.
Monica was the one who told me. “Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” I looked up with interest at her tone.
“Damon’s dying! Can you believe it?”
“He’s not!” Caroline exclaimed.
“It’s true. Billy said so.” It was just another piece of gossip. But unlike other gossip, this hit me hard. I felt like someone had run over me with a steamroller. Flat. Drained. Crushed. Battered. Bruised. Breathless.
Monica was studying me. “Are you okay, Vaun?” Her eyes darkened as realization flickered through them.
“I’m fine,” I smiled weakly, even though I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide myself away in a dark corner.
Caroline didn’t help. “Of course she’s okay. It’s not as if she still likes him or anything.”
She was wrong. So very wrong.
“Well, I’d best be off. See you later.” Caroline sauntered away.
A sudden wave of hatred washed through the sadness, as I watched my once best friend depart.
But that was many years ago. We will never be close again. Not after what she did.
Tuesday 12 October, 1999
I can’t remember when I first met Damon. His dad said that they came to Levin while Damon was in J2. Mum said that when I was in J2, I used to come home and go on about a Damon; that I used to talk about him a lot over the years. I only remember that from standard three on, he was in my life.
When do you realize that you love someone? How do you know that you love them?
It became public that I ‘liked’ Damon when I was eleven. Even now, I don’t remember how it came out; but it did. And even now, I wonder if it wasn’t love then, if the deep adoration I feel for him began when I was younger.
Wednesday 13 October, 1999
Damon and I each went our separate ways at the beginning of college, but I’ve often randomly run into his dad in town. I remember him saying once, that Damon had some disease; I can’t remember the name, only that the disease is incurable and often fatal in adolescents.
That was almost a year and a half ago. Although I was in a daze for a few days afterwards, I don’t really think about it now. Every now and then it will cross my mind, and I see an image of Damon, and when I do, I feel an inexplicable awkwardness towards the boy who unwittingly stole my heart.
So, in a way, I already knew that Damon was going to die.
Friday 15 October, 1999
There’s a new girl at school; she’s in some of my classes. Emma seems different, more mature than the other girls. She’s always smiling or laughing, and her eyes seem to shine. Yet sometimes the sparkle will be replaced by a desperate yearning, as if she wants to tell us something important, and then she just shakes her head and smiles . . . But it is a sad smile.
Like my smiles now.
Thursday 21 October, 1999
Life is full of unpleasant things. Things you don’t want to know, but that you know anyway. Things you would rather forget, but that you keep reminiscing over. Things you wished would never happen, but that you have no control over.
Twilight soccer has started up for the season, on Thursday nights. I’m playing in Platoon. It should be fun and provide some laughs, allow me to forget reality for a while, and give me something to look forward to. I haven’t done that much – looked forward to something. Not since I found out about Damon.
Tuesday 26 October, 1999
“They’re at it again, Vaun.” Monica was pretty upset when she rang.
“Your parents?”
“Yeah. It’s worse than usual . . .” Her voice caught and broke. “Dad . . . He threw a chair at Mum - one of those dining ones. He just picked it up and flung it at her like it was a stick.”
“Was she hurt?” I was concerned. “He didn’t hurt you or Jamie, did he?”
“No, we’re ok. The only casualty was that ugly antique vase Mum got at the gypsy fair last year.”
“Is Jamie all right?”
“I don’t know.” Monica sounded weary. “At one stage he looked like he was going to cry, but he just stood there and watched. When Dad started yelling, he ran out. I can’t find him; he’s probably gone to Adam’s.”
I’ve never been good at consoling people. I get embarrassed at displays of emotion, so I’m sorry if Monica feels that I’m unresponsive or silent at times like this. It’s not that I don’t care; I just don’t know what to say; I don’t want to pretend that everything’s all right, when it’s obviously not; I don’t want to upset her more. I hate that I am so powerless to stop anything, and I wish with all my heart that there is some way I can help. “Do you want to stay over tonight?” I offered, the only thing I can do. “Mum won’t mind.”
“Thanks, but I’d better stay here - in case Dad tries to hurt Mum again.”
Almost straight after I hung up, Eddie - my most favourite cousin in the entire world, Eds is also my closest and dearest friend - rang. “I have something to tell you, Vaun.”
I sensed the ‘but’. “But what?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone.” His voice sounded slightly strange, odd and off-key, as if something was bothering him.
“Why not?” I asked curiously. Eds has never hesitated to tell me anything over the phone before.
“Because I can’t.” He gave a sigh. “I’m catching a bus down on the weekend.”
“You’re what?” I was surprised - happy, but surprised.
“Aunt Cleo won’t mind, will she?” He sounded worried, as if he hadn’t really thought his plan completely through, and that he might not be welcome.
“Of course not,” I assured him. “She’ll love seeing you.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.” He sounded desperate, in a hurry, and was terribly abrupt, something else he’s never been with me before.
Speaking of phone calls, Dad hasn’t rung for simply ages; which suits me - I’m not ready to talk to him yet. Mum says to write him a letter, saying how I feel about what he’s doing. State the facts and be unemotional. But how do you be unemotional over such an emotional issue?
Wednesday 27 October, 1999
I keep staring at Damon’s number on my cell phone. Should I ring, or should I not? It’s like plucking petals off a flower. So simple, and yet the prospect frightens me.
Friday 29 October, 1999
There was a drama at assembly today. It was a pretty powerful drama - scary, if you believe in all that stuff about Heaven and Hell. The woman who seemed to be the leader didn’t say much; just one succinct sentence at the end: “If you were to die today, where would you go?”
If you were to die . . . Unbidden, Damon’s face flooded my mind, and I got out of there fast, before anyone saw the tears knocking at the doors of my eyes.
Emerging from the ladies’ room - where I’d wiped the tears away - I saw Emma talking to the woman who’d spoken.
“That was Margaret Fallon,” she said, when I asked her about it later. “She’s the Youth Leader at my church.”
“Church? You go to church? As in Jesus Christ stuff, with religious hypocrites who ought to get a life?”
Emma’s eyes hardened. “Not all Christians are hypocrites.”
“The ones I know are.” I could not keep the contempt from my voice.
“Then you don’t know many.” She paused. “Perhaps you might want to come along to a Youth Service sometime, to see that we’re not all like that.”
“I’d rather not,” I spoke hastily, remembering the Sunday school I’d had to attend as a child, whenever I’d gone to church with Eds and his parents.
Emma accepted my answer with a shrug. “I thought you were different from the others,” she commented, before she walked away.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Saturday 30 October, 1999
Eds looked at me earnestly, his eyes serious and slightly desperate. “Vaun, do you think I’m normal?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘normal’.” I raised my eyebrows.
“I mean, you don’t think I’m different, do you?” It was more obvious than ever that something was bothering him.
“Everyone’s different,” I stated.
“But not like this.” Eds looked ashamed.
“What have you done?” I sighed.
“It’s not what I’ve done . . .” He became agitated, clenching his hands into fists in his lap. “It’s what I think.”
“And what do you think?”
He took a deep breath and blurted out with a whoosh, “I think I’m gay!”
I stared at him. “That’s not funny, Eds.” In my shock, my voice fell flat. Blank.
Eds’ face took on the most hurt expression I’ve ever seen. “I’m not trying to be funny, Vaun.”
“Eds, listen to me.” I reached out and took his hands in mine, clasping them tightly. “I know you, and you are not gay. Just because you had a bad experience with a girl – did you? - doesn’t mean you’re gay. ”
“Even if she’s the hottest girl I know?” His eyes were stricken with confusion. “And she likes me? And I have no attraction to her whatsoever?”
“Look, we all get confused, Eds. Sometimes things happen that we don’t expect.” My thoughts were racing. “Do you know why you’re not attracted to her? I mean, there must be a reason.”
“What other reason could there be?”
“Just think about it, Eds,” I said reasonably. “Maybe she just wasn’t the one for you.”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it, Vaun. I’m not attracted to any girl. I haven’t been . . .” He stopped, looking away. “Not since Claire.”
“Who’s Claire?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “You never told me about a Claire.”
“I haven’t told anyone.” He refused to look back at me as he spoke.
“Who is she?”
“Matt’s mum.” His voice was low, his reply so quiet that I barely heard it.
“As in your best friend Matt?” I was sure I hadn’t heard him right. Eds was not like that. He was not careless. He might not always play it safe, but he wasn’t a fool.
“Yeah.” He turned back to me, lifting his eyes, looking slightly abashed. “Weird, I know.”
“Don’t tell me something happened! Eds, how could you be so stupid?!”
“I love her.” He made it sound like the simplest and most natural thing in the world.
“That doesn’t make it right.” I was still shocked that something had happened; that Claire had let it happen. “She should have known better!”
“She ended it a year ago; she said that she shouldn’t have let it happen.” He tensed. “She was my first, you know.”
And you never told me? “It’s natural to hurt afterwards, Eds. It’s natural to want closure after a break-up. It doesn’t mean that you’re gay.”
“Do you think that’s really it?” Eds looked slightly relieved, as if he hoped that was the answer.
“You just need more time to heal,” I reassured him. “Focus on something else. Like Andy’s party tonight. Everyone will be there. It’ll be fun.”
Sunday 31 October, 1999
Eds fitted in like a dream. He’s very attractive, so it was amusing to watch girls flirt with him, to see him be so polite, flirting back with this cheesy grin on his face. He certainly didn’t act gay.
When I woke, my head felt thick and heavy, my mouth as dry as sandpaper. “What’s this?” I peered suspiciously into the glass Eds handed me.
“It’ll help with the hangover.” His expression was innocent, but there was a small gleam in his eyes, and he had a hard time keeping a straight face as I managed to empty the glass.
“That’s disgusting, Eds. My head feels like it’s about to explode.”
“I’m not surprised, with the amount you drank last night,” he replied dryly. “I thought you weren’t much of a drinker.”
“I’m not.” How much did I have? “I just got upset, that’s all.”
“So you got hammered. For someone with all the answers, you didn’t do so well there, Vaun.” He shook a finger disapprovingly.
“Ok, no need to rub it in,” I grouched; I was not in the mood for a lecture. “I’m going to have a shower.”
As the water warmed up, the initial shock of being pricked all over by tiny needles faded . . . Leaving the shock at seeing Damon still fresh.
Monday 1 November, 1999
Emma was upset today. She wasn’t her usual unruffled and composed self, staring blankly at me when I said hi, and even the antics of Evan and Ryan - the class clowns - didn’t even bring a smile.
I didn’t feel much like smiling either.
Monica seemed to be the only one in a good mood. She hooked up with Sy Daniels at Andy’s, and now they are a couple. I’m happy for her; she deserves some happiness after all the hell she goes through at home.
Tuesday 2 November, 1999
Dad rang. I was the only one home, so naturally, I answered, but if I’d known it was him, I would have let the phone ring and go to voicemail. The issue was a job. Apparently, he found me one. I don’t know what response he expected: Bubbly enthusiasm or eternal gratitude; he got neither. “Nah, it’s okay.”
The questions began. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want a job; I’m busy enough as it is.”
“Doing what?” he probed.
“The usual,” I replied vaguely, not wanting to tell him about my life.
“Do you know how long it took me to get you that job?” He sounded exasperated, as if I should be grateful for his effort.
“You should have asked me then, if I wanted one, beforehand.” I was just as exasperated.
“What are you playing at?” I could tell that his exasperation was fast turning into something else.
“Nothing.” The more abrupt I was, the faster I hoped he would give up.
“What are you going to do for money?”
“I’ll manage.” My voice was clipped.
“You’d better not ask me for any, if you’re going to throw this away.”
Like that’ll ever happen. “I won’t.”
“Don’t get snobby with me.” He was starting to get angry.
“I’m not getting snobby,” I managed through gritted teeth, his manner feeding my own annoyance. “You’re getting shitty.”
That did it. “I’ll call back tomorrow,” he snapped. “Think about it.”
“I don’t need to think about it. I already told you. I don’t want it!” I didn’t bother with a ‘good-bye’ before hanging up on him. Once upon a time, I would have been too scared to be so rude to Dad, but I’ve grown up since then. I know things now.
When my parents divorced, I was nine. I blamed both of them, going through stages of loving one and hating the other. Because Dad was the one who left, Mum bore the brunt of my anger and tears; Dad never saw any of it.
I walked on eggshells around Dad, but even though I was scared of him, I remember living for the times when he would ring. When he rang it was rare - once a month, or less - but those calls made my day, and I could never understand why Mum was so antipathetic towards him.
I was twelve when I began to realize. Dad had rung for me. He was supposed to pick me up in half an hour. Half an hour turned into an hour, the hour into another hour, then another. Worried that something had happened, I rang him up. “Dad, when are you going to pick me up? I’ve been waiting for ages.”
“I’m not.”
“Why not? Do you want me to bike around? Or I can get Mum to drop me off.”
“I changed my mind. I don’t want to see you today.” He said it casually, as if he had been going to rent a movie, and suddenly decided that he’d rather do something else instead.
Mum was livid when I told her. From then on, I began to see Dad in a new light. As I grew older, and was used as a pawn in his many games of manipulation, I began to hate him for what he was doing to me, for the way he made me feel. Unable to love someone like that, I have long lost all respect for him – if I ever had any; fear is not the same respect.
Wednesday 3 November, 1999
Caroline was in a huddle with her friends, and whether it was intentional or not, I heard every word she said. “You remember when we went to Picton that time, on the ferry?”
“We hardly saw you . . .”
“I was with Damon. We were in this cubbyhole somewhere on the top deck.” She sounded smug, as if it had been some great achievement. “We talked for most of the time, holding hands. The rest we spent kissing - he is such a good kisser.” At this, she looked directly at me.
I wasn’t sure if I believed her, since I hadn’t gone to Picton, but it hurt - true or not. I turned away quickly, trying to act as if I didn’t care - like I had when I’d found out that Damon was dying – and made my way out to the field, where I sat down beneath one of the trees. I stared out at the hills, at the green expanse, so large and open and empty. And that’s how I felt: Empty; a great big space with nothing to fill it.
I don’t know how long I sat there. I didn’t even notice Emma’s arrival.
“You like Damon, don’t you?” She said it softly as she lowered herself down beside me.
I didn’t say anything.
“It hurts.” Emma sounded sad for a moment, as if she was remembering something. “You can’t help the hurt, but you shouldn’t nurture it. Don’t let Caroline get to you. Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
Still, I said nothing.
“It happened to me too, once.”
I didn’t even look at her; couldn’t she tell that I wanted to be alone?
She must have sensed my unwillingness to talk, because she started to rise. “If you want to talk, I’ll be around.”
That’s when I looked at her. I hate it when people pity me, but it wasn’t pity I saw in her eyes. “Who was it?” I asked.
She leant back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. “His name was Alexander Hardy. He was the most wonderful guy I’d ever met. He was perfect - or as close to perfect as one can get. We were friends. I didn’t like him, as in ‘like’ like him, at first.” She gave a small smile. “Actually, it was the other way around - he liked me. Anyway, I wanted to be just friends; I didn’t want to ruin the beautiful friendship we had. But then a girl in our class asked him out, and he said yes . . . That’s when I knew.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t want to tell him how I felt, and make it seem like I was jealous, after everything I’d said - even though I was; I had my pride after all. So I suffered in silence.” Her eyes tightened, as if she still felt pain, even talking about it. “One day I must have let it slip, and she found out. She did everything in her power to keep him away from me, because she was scared that he’d dump her for me if he knew the truth. When she dumped him at the end of the year, I thought I’d never forgive her. Yet, in the end I just felt sorry for her; she was so insecure. But Alex and I . . . It’s never been the same. She ruined our friendship . . . We’re like strangers now.” She wiped away a silent tear, opening her eyes to look at me. “I know it’s not the same, but hurt has only one face.” She began picking at the grass. “I don’t mean to pry, but was Caroline talking about Damon Farrant?”
I nodded. “You know him?”
“His dad goes to my church. Damon’s come with him a few times.”
This was news to me.
“I wanted to ask you – again – if you’d like to come to the Youth Service on Friday night.”
“What’s that?” I was still leery of anything to do with church and religion.
“It’s kind of like a church service, only it caters for the youth - no adults.”
“What do you do?” Despite myself, I was slightly curious.
“It starts with praise and worship, followed by a short sermon - which usually incorporates an altar call – and then there’s prayer and a praise party before supper.”
“What’s a praise party?” Against my determination not to get involved in religion, I was intrigued.
“It’s just a time to praise God through dancing and song - breakdancing and all. It’s loads of fun.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke, as if she got genuine enjoyment out of it.
“I might come,” I began noncommittally.
“Ring me if you do.” Emma rummaged in her bag for a piece of paper, scribbling her number on it, before handing it to me. “I’ll pick you up.”
So, our friendship began.
Friday 5 November, 1999
I did go to the Youth Service. I felt very self-conscious throughout the praise and worship, like everyone was staring at me; especially since Emma – next to me - was dancing and raising her hands and clapping. But when I looked, no one was; they were all too busy doing what Emma was doing - even the little kids at the front, who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.
I felt left out. These people shared something special. Something I did not have.
“Does Damon come to this?” I’d looked for him eagerly - knowing that he had been before - but he wasn’t there.
“He’s come twice.”
That doesn’t sound encouraging. I don’t know if I’ll go again.
Saturday 6 November, 1999
Eds rang. He mentioned that he’s considering going to a specific group for his ‘problem’ - as he calls it - to see if they can give him some answers.
“Eds,” I started slowly. Delicately, like I was a doctor conducting a flimsy operation.
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever, you know . . . Been with a guy?” I felt weird asking the question.
“No!” He sounded horrified.
“Do you want to?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.” He paused, as if contemplating the thought. Then, “That’s disgusting, Vaun! Can you see me with a guy?”
“No.” I don’t want to think about two guys together, let alone one of them being Eds. “But shouldn’t you want to, to think you’re gay? After all, that’s what it’s about. Are you absolutely sure that you haven’t just ‘gone off’ women because of Claire?”
“I’m just considering my options.” His voice was strange. Strangled. “You never know; it could be more than just Claire.”
Eds never told me not to tell anyone - although it was kind of unspoken and taken for granted, that in confiding in me, I wouldn’t – and because I am uneasy about it, I’m going to talk to Emma. Maybe her God has an answer.
Sunday 7 November, 1999
When Emma asked me last night, if I want to go to a church service, I said yes, hoping that Damon will be there, and that I’ll have the courage to talk to him. But I didn’t see him when we entered the hall, nor when I looked for him throughout the praise and worship, and he never turned up – him or his dad.
I felt defensive; I don’t know this Jesus being worshipped. By the fifth song, my legs felt like buckling, as if some unseen force determined to bring me to my knees, and I gripped the seat in front of me to keep from falling. I was leaning back a lot - if I straightened up the force would push me back. Finally, I sat down. Looking around at the singing congregation, I felt like crying, and I hated then for making me feel like this.
But the tears that wanted to be let out weren’t for me. I felt uncomfortable. It was like the Youth Service all over again. At the end, during a song where most of the congregation danced and marched around the hall, when Emma asked me to join her, I shook my head no. Afterwards, I couldn’t bring myself to smile at anyone, leaving quickly.
“Are you all right, Vaun,” Mum asked when I got home.
“I’m fine,” I lied. I made sure I locked my door before the first tear fell.
Monday 8 November, 1999
Since that day on the field, Emma and I have been spending a lot of time together at school. Almost as if she has taken the place of Monica - who spends all of her time with Sy, now that they are a couple. Despite the new friendship I have, I feel as though I’ve lost something.
Tuesday 9 November, 1999
It’s been four weeks since Monica told me about Damon. So much has happened, yet barely a day passes when I don’t think of him. I told Eddie when he rang. “Eds, you know Damon . . .”
“The guy you’ve been in love with since forever . . .”
“He’s dying.” I said it quickly, as if being brief could take away the reality of it.
“No!” He sounded deeply shocked.
“First Josh, and now Damon,” I sighed.
“Don’t talk like that,” Eds commanded fiercely. “There was nothing you could do then, and there’s nothing you can do now.”
When I turned the conversation around to his drama, Eds was quiet and almost withdrawn, reluctant to say anything. “I’ve been thinking,” was all he said.
I was a bit depressed when I hung up, more so as Eds’ words came back to me. There was nothing you could do then, and there’s nothing you can do now. I can’t just stand by and watch . . . Yet, it’s all I can do.
Wednesday 10 November, 1999
Before? Yes, my heart’s been broken before. His name was Josh White. We grew up together, as close as siblings; even closer than Eds and I, best friends from the start. I never saw that as strange - having a guy for my best friend - but when we got to college it was seen as weird, and people thought that we were a couple. Maybe that’s what put the idea into his head, what made him confess to loving me and wanting more than friendship? But I wasn’t interested.
It was one evening in late July when I knew that, although he understood, he would continue loving me, no matter what. We were up at the Trig Station, on the foothills behind the town, and to be more accurate, it was night. And winter, which one assumes meant it was cold and windy, perhaps even raining. Surprisingly, there was no wind and it was relatively warm, and we were still wearing t-shirts and shorts. There were four of us: Josh and I, Jayden and Lacey.
Having tagged along at the last minute, Lacey was Jayden’s girl. All the way up, she complained, moaned, and whined, panting, “Wait up, you guys . . . My legs are soooo sore . . . How can you do this three times a week? . . . Jayden, honey, tell the others to stop. I need a rest.” Somehow she got to talking - no idea how; that girl was all over the place - about her ex: How he was such a bastard for cheating on her with her sister, and breaking her heart; how lucky she was that Jayden had come along and mended it; how wonderful he was, and what would she do without him? “You’d never break my heart, would you, Jay?”
“No, babe,” was the dry reply.
At the top - it couldn’t come sooner; how did Lacey not drive Jayden crazy? – Josh and I wandered off the track to get a better view of the town, its thousands of lights glowing like fireflies below. I was searching for Orion’s Belt when Josh came up beside me and whispered, “I’d never break your heart, Vaun.”
“What?” I went still.
“I’d never break your heart. I’d never hurt you.”
“What makes you say that?” Wary, I wondered if he was going to ask me out again, despite our understanding.
“Lacey’s rambling on the way up.” He broke off to imitate her shrill whine, and I couldn’t help laughing.
I’ve never forgotten that night. Or those words. Because Josh did break my heart. And he hurt me. More than he’ll ever know.
It was on a kayaking expedition on a grade three river up north. Josh was showing off: Doing a fairy glide across a strainer. Only something went wrong: One minute he was gliding across the tree trunk, and the next he was underwater, pushed into the tree’s branches. He couldn’t roll, because his stern was stuck firmly in the strainer, and he couldn’t bail out, because he’d be pulled into the strainer and trapped. There was no way to dislodge his kayak, no matter how we tried. His dad and his dad’s mate tried to lift the bow, so that Josh could grasp the toggles of one of their kayaks and get out, but because they could also get caught, they were too careful with their rescue attempt.
Josh drowned.
And you know what doesn’t fit? The anger that came with the betrayal of the words, of his broken promise, as if his death were deliberate - somehow his fault - even though I know it wasn’t.
Anger is a strange emotion: It’s as unpredictable as love, and just as tumultuous. Hurt and pain arrived almost simultaneously when Josh died. The anger I felt later. How could he be so stupid? It was such a stupid way to die! And inexcusable that he’d do this to me after all his words.
I don’t feel anger now . . . Just an unending sadness that seeps into my soul whenever I think of him.
Thursday 11 November, 1999
Since twilight soccer started up, we’ve only played one game. Everyone’s a little unfit and we had to work hard - there was some pressure on midfield to really play the ball - but we won, 5-4, so it’s all good. Playing twilight soccer is the one time when I can let myself go, channel all my emotion and fuel everything I’ve got into something other than thinking about Damon.
I managed to convince Emma to join the team.
In return, tomorrow I’m going to go to the Youth Service.
Friday 12 November, 1999
“He died for every one of us here, so that we might be free from the yoke of sin.”
At those words, an involuntary sadness - tinged with guilt - descended upon me. The feeling stayed throughout the service, only adding to my discomfort. All I got out of it was disappointment . . . For allowing myself to be vulnerable . . . And a strange glow in my heart . . .
Monday 15 November, 1999
I didn’t go to the Sunday service; I wasn’t going to torture myself with more discomfort and the need to cry. Besides, Damon hasn’t been at the last three church things I’ve been to; he probably wouldn’t have even been there.
All day I’ve had a dull throbbing in my temples, and my eyelids feel heavy, as if I need sleep. My limbs have been leaden, and it’s an effort to motivate myself to move.
Emma told me at lunch that Damon was there yesterday.
Tuesday 16 November, 1999
I rang Eds today, just to see how he was. Like old times . . . Except it wasn’t like old times. I tried to keep my voice light, tried to pretend that it was like old times. He did, too. We didn’t speak about his supposed sexuality, but it hung there, in all the pauses and hesitations . . . I can’t help him by doing anything but be here for him.
Thursday 18 November, 1999
There is something calm about stargazing; like there’s a soothing presence that wraps around me, luring me into a false sense of security and ease. After a satisfying win of 14-2 over the Harriers, I stayed at the turf, even after all the lights were extinguished and the last engine purr long faded, sitting in the flying fox, looking up at the sky. The night was clear, the stars sparkling like little gems in their holes in the sky, the moon full and untouched.
In The Lion King, Mufasa tells Simba that the great kings of the past look down on us from those stars. He tells Simba, that whenever he feels alone, to remember that they will always be there to guide him, and that he will be there too, when he passes from this world.
When Damon dies, will his spirit look down at me from on high?
Friday 19 November, 1999
Dad rang today - I haven’t really thought too much about him, as he hasn’t called since I refused the job, which is not unusual; weeks can go by before I hear from him, while other times he can ring almost every day - with news. Something else that has added to the cacophony of my life: He’s getting married. To his girlfriend - the one who coincidentally has the same name as Mum.
“How’s school?” If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was almost uncomfortable.
“Fine.” I couldn’t muster anything but the flat, emotionless voice that always comes out of my mouth whenever I speak to him.
“Anything interesting happen lately?” He was making an effort.
Not that I care. “Just the usual: School, study, soccer . . .”
“Is that all? Surely a kid your age juggles more than that.”
“If they want to.” The less he knows about my life, the better.
To try to forget Dad’s news, I decided to give the Youth Service another go.
Saturday 20 November, 1999
Right now, it feels like I’m standing in front of a train bearing down on me at top speed. I’m frozen in place, and it’s too late for it to stop. Some intrepid being needs to shove me out of the way and save me. Maybe this Jesus will help me?
Sunday 21 November, 1999
Fear is the ripple caused by the winds of confusion on the pool of the mind. Shallow. Superficial . . . In a desperate bid for peace, I accepted Emma’s God into my heart.
Monday 22 November, 1999
I can’t believe that in two weeks it will be Christmas. Will Damon be here for Christmas?
Wednesday 24 November, 1999
“They’re fighting again.” Monica sounded near tears. “Can I come over?”
Her face was streaked with smudged make-up when she arrived, but she didn’t seem to care. When she brushed her hair back from her face, I noticed a red welt - it was beginning to turn white - on her right cheek.
“Dad hit me.” She saw the direction of my gaze. “Right after he threw a china vase at Mum. He missed, and it hit the window behind her - she’s gone to the hospital to get stitches. Jamie was screaming at him to stop, but he didn’t.” Her eyes filled. “He’s turned into a monster . . . Ever since he found out . . .”
I handed her a box of tissues, waiting until she finished wiping her face before asking, “Found out what?”
When she looked at me, I got the feeling that she didn’t really see me. “We didn’t mean to . . .”
“We?” I was puzzled.
“Sy and I . . .” She broke off. “ . . . It was only once . . . We were drunk . . .”
I clicked. “Your dad went ape because you had sex?”
“Not just because we had sex; because we had unprotected sex.”
It took a moment for Monica’s revelation to sink in, and when it did, my eyes widened.
She nodded, her eyes expressionless, daring me to accuse. “He called me a slut . . . He was so angry . . . Mum tried to defend me - that’s when he threw the vase . . . He said that I was turning out ‘just like her’, raging on about that night, how he regretted the whole thing . . . How he hated being a father, hated being tied down, hated the responsibility, hated her . . . In front of me . . . In front of Jamie.”
My heart went out to Monica’s eight-year-old brother.
“Dad’s exploding like a pent up volcano. It’s like he’s been simmering for years, and now he’s erupting.”
I hugged her without saying anything. There is nothing to say.
Thursday 25 November, 1999
I felt bad about leaving Monica when I had to go to soccer, especially since school today was unpleasant for her. She told Sy that somehow her parents had found out about their indiscretion. Sy told her that he felt pretty bad about it, that he didn’t mean to take advantage of her. She said it wasn’t like that; they were both drunk and didn’t know what they were doing. Someone overheard them, and by the end of the day everyone knew.
“Promise me, Vaun, that you’ll never do what I did.”
We were sitting in my room after I got back from soccer, studying. I looked up from my books. “I promise, Monica.”
She smiled through her tears.
“When are you going to tell Sy?” I asked quietly.
Monica paled. “How can I?”
“He needs to take responsibility too.”
“I’m afraid of how he’ll react,” Monica admitted. “I don’t want him to hate me too, Vaun.”
“Your dad doesn’t hate you.”
“Yes, he does.” The flicker of sadness through Monica’s eyes was brief.
“He’s probably just scared - the same as you. His little girl is growing up.”
“I’ve heard that the earlier you have an abortion the better.” She said it casually, as if she was discussing the weather.
“You’ll be destroying a life,” I protested.
“It’s my life that’ll be destroyed if I have it!” Her voice and eyes flashed bitterness.
The idea repulsed me. I was strongly against it, and we argued - evenly matched - until she asked, “What would you do, Vaun, if it was you?”
That stopped me.
“See!” she exclaimed triumphantly.
“There must be other ways,” I persisted.
“I could miscarry,” Monica retorted sardonically.
“How can you kill a part of you so easily? And part of Sy, too? What will he say?”
“He doesn’t have a say. It’s my body, not his . . . I’m not going to tell him.”
“But -”
“It might scare him away, Vaun, and I don’t want that.” Her eyes became big and sad. “You see, I really do believe I love him . . .”
Friday 26 November, 1999
“How’s your study going?” Emma asked me after the Youth Service.
“Ok, I guess.” Not much study had been done after Monica’s revelation.
“I have to study hard to get anywhere.” Emma became wistful. “I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I wish I was like my older brother Paul. He never studies for anything. He doesn’t have to - he has a photographic memory; all he does is read the revision book for his exam on the morning of that exam, and it’s enough for him to pass in the nineties!” She smiled fondly. “He’s doing a linguistics degree at Massey. Then he wants to go to Med School to become a doctor, so that he can go overseas with missionary groups. He wants to be able to save souls as well as lives.”
Her last sentence reminded me of Monica’s predicament, the solution towards which she was bending. “Emma, would you ever have an abortion?”
She looked surprised at the question. “Never!” was the emphatic reply. “By having an abortion you open yourself up to demons.”
“So you’d have the baby? Even if you were only eighteen?”
“Most definitely.”
“What would you do afterwards? Keep it?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it. There’s adoption, but I don’t know whether I’d be able to give it away; especially if it was a love child. Why?”
“I have a friend.”
She did not pry.
Damon was there, with his dad. He is just like I remember him; you can’t tell that he’s dying by looking at him. I wanted to talk to him, but I can’t yet get past the awkwardness left after Caroline. Instead, I just watched him, and smiled, when he looked – surprised - at me.
Saturday 27 November, 1999
I have to think of a way to tell Damon that I still love him; I can’t let him die without knowing how I feel.
And if I have my way, he won’t be dying at all - I’ve been praying to God to heal him. God won’t let me down . . . Will He?
Sunday 28 November, 1999
Life is a chess game. For some, the game has just begun; for others, the grand finale looms. Damon’s reached his last move. Monica’s just lost her queen; maybe only a knight or a bishop, if she’s lucky. Emma plays safely. Eds is just plain reckless. And I’m too distracted to really be paying attention.
Tuesday 30 November, 1999
Bitterness is a candle. Melted wax drips down the sides and settles at the base, gathering in a lump: A ball of wax, that gets bigger and bigger as the candle diminishes; until it’s all that’s left. I can never forget what Caroline did, although I have forgiven her. So how come I still feel such strong dislike and disdain, how can her words still stir up such passion and intensity of hate and bitterness, if I have really forgiven?
Thursday 2 December, 1999
Tonight we played the Mohawks. It was a tough game, but we won - just: A spectacular header by Pete in the last minute!
I wasn’t completely focused on the game, distracted by the uncomfortable sensation of being watched - like I feel in the Youth Services. When it affected a pass, I looked around and noticed him: A guy on the sidelines. He was dressed in the Mohawks strip, and was with their managers and subs, but he didn’t play. He just stood there, watching the game. Naturally, I wondered who he was . . . I still wonder.
Eds is coming down tomorrow, for the Youth Service. I hope that once he meets Emma, he’ll see that there are girls who don’t screw with your head and break your heart – not intentionally, anyway. I hope that it’ll bring him to his senses, make him admit that he is just ‘off’ girls.
Friday 3 December, 1999
“Eddie’s the one who thinks he’s gay, right?” Emma watched Eds thoughtfully as he played gridiron with the guys after the Youth Service.
“Yep.”
“Is he sure? He doesn’t give that impression.”
I looked at her closely. Her voice was almost wistful, her eyes shining with the same light that was in them when I first met her.
“You like Eddie.” It was not a question.
“He’s very likeable.”
“No, I mean you like him.”
She looked startled. Surprised.
Then Eds came over. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Just stuff,” I replied easily.
“What stuff?”
“Girl stuff,” I said lamely. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
Eds gave me a funny look. “You’re right; I wouldn’t be interested.” He turned to Emma. “What happens now?”
“We wait until the car pool arrives.”
“Right. Let me know when to go.” And he was off, the gridiron ball tucked beneath his arm.
“So, what did you think?” I asked Eds, when we got home.
“It was pretty cool.” He started to say something else, but stopped.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“You’ll think I’m a fool,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” I grinned. “What is it?”
Eds shook his head. “It’s personal.”
“Eds, we tell each other the most personal of personal stuff,” I pointed out. “Why stop now?”
“I’ll tell you, Vaun. Just not now. I need to figure it out for myself first.”
Monday 6 December, 1999
“What made you choose this message?” I was curious as I read the bookmark Mum gave me.
She shrugged. “I thought you might like it.”
“So, no reason?” I looked at her suspiciously.
“No reason.”
If you love something, set it free . . . But how do I set Damon free? By accepting his death?
Tuesday 7 December, 1999
I saw the mystery Mohawk today; he was loitering outside the college. I knew it was him, even before he turned around. I glanced at him briefly as I went out the gates, wondering who he was waiting for.
I was passing the neighbouring primary school when he fell in step beside me. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey, yourself.” I looked at him askance. Light brown hair fell across his forehead into chocolate brown eyes. A black glasses case was in the breast pocket of his Hawaiian shirt, baggy cargo shorts hanging well below his knees, inches above Van shoes.
“I’m Kian,” he offered with a smile.
“Shevaun.”
“Pretty name.” He smiled again. “Mind if I walk you home, Shevaun?”
“And if I do?” I couldn’t help smiling back.
He shrugged and grinned. “Haven’t you finished school yet?”
“I’m been trying to finish my Photography portfolio. What about you?”
“It’s my summer semester break,” he explained.
He must be at university, because the colleges still have another week or so to go. “Why are you doing this?” I asked suddenly. “Random guys don’t exactly walk me home every day.”
“I saw you at the game the other night.” His chocolate eyes smiled at me. “I want to know if there’s a chance of us getting together sometime; get to know each other.”
“I don’t see why not,” I shrugged. “But just warning you in advance, it’ll only be as friends; I can’t handle anything else right now.”
“That’s cool.” His voice did not change, but I thought I saw a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “I’ll see you Thursday.”
There is nothing wrong with friends. So long as it stays as friends.
Wednesday 8 December, 1999
“I’m going overseas after exams,” Monica announced. “I need to figure out what to do.”
“Can’t you do that here?” Where she will have the support of her friends and mum at least.
She shook her head. “I need to get away. Levin’s too small. You know how it is.”
I do. “Where are you going?”
“I have family in Holland.”
Thursday 9 December, 1999
“Hey.” Kian had stayed to watch my game, after playing in the one before.
“Hey, yourself.”
“You’ve got a pretty good team,” he commented, nodding at the tall, dark-haired player chugging back water. “Who’s left striker?”
“Martin Crouscher.”
“He’s really good.” There was a hint of admiration in Kian’s tone.
“He should be - he’s been playing since he could kick a ball,” I laughed. “He’s part of the All Whites Development Squad.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” He gave me a smile.
“Not bad, but you’ll have to do better than that,” I grinned. What happened to not flirting with him?
He walked me over to the car, where Mum was waiting for me. “Who’s this handsome gentleman?” she asked teasingly.
“Mum,” I warned.
“It’s ok.” Kian held out his hand. “I’m Kian Russell.”
“Are you a friend of Vaun’s?” Mum looked sideways at me as she shook his offered hand.
He smiled at me before saying, “Kind of.”
“He seems like a nice boy,” Mum commented as we were driving away.
“I guess,” I shrugged.
“You’ve never mentioned him before.” She gave me that sideways glance again.
“No.” I kept my eyes on the road.
“Does he go to the college?”
“No.” Will she stop prying already?
“He’s a soccer friend, then?”
“Something like that.”
Friday 10 December, 1999
Eds wants to go to another Youth Service, so instead of him taking the bus, Uncle Mark brought him down. When Mum invited Uncle Mark in for a cup of coffee, Eds and I avoided the kitchen and dining room. It’s not that I don’t like Uncle Mark; it’s just that he’s one of the ‘religious hypocrites’ I’d referred to with Emma, and every time I see him he likes to throw religion in my face. “You’ve either got it, or you haven’t,” he says; he must memorize that speech and spout it at everyone he meets.
Except Mum. The first time I remember him trying, she got angry. “Give it up, Mark. I don’t need you projecting your beliefs onto me. I don’t need religion. I’ve managed so far without it. What can God do that I haven’t?” He tried a lot for a while after that - to make her see how she’s been deceived - but now he doesn’t bother. He still tries on me though, when Mum isn’t around. What will I say now that I ‘have religion’?
Pastor Mike noted one Sunday that, “The world sees Christianity as a religion. But it isn’t a religion. It’s a relationship with God.” Uncle Mark wouldn’t understand that; he’s one of those to whom Christianity is a religion.
Eds was quite excited about the Youth Service. “This is for God?” he exclaimed during the praise and worship. “This is nothing like my church. I can’t believe both places worship the same God!” Later - at home - he confided, “I feel more alive than I’ve been in years. It’s like I’m drunk in the Spirit or something.”
When we were comfortable in our sleeping bags on mattresses on the deck, I turned over on my side to face him. “Eds, what do you think of Emma?”
“She’s ok.”
“Just ok?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know her. What do you expect me to say?”
“You know that chick you told me about?”
“Which one?”
“The hot one - the one you weren’t interested in.”
“Kylie? What about her?”
“Have you ever considered the possibility that you’re still in love with Claire, and that’s why you’re not attracted to someone else?”
“I try not to think about her.” He shrugged again. “She’s moved on. I’ll move on too, eventually.”
I tried a different approach. “Did you get any answers at your group?”
“I didn’t go. It didn’t feel right.”
“Well, have you considered that it could be as simple as you’ve just ‘gone off’ women because of Claire?”
“Maybe.” Eds changed the topic. “Hey, you’re still coming to stay next week, aye?”
I nodded. I’ll have to try again some other time.
Monday 13 December, 1999
Another face haunts my dreams now. Another pair of eyes: Soft, brown eyes, like liquid chocolate; a deep contrast to the topaz blue eyes - the purest, bluest eyes I’ve ever seen – that have always been in my mind. I’m angry with myself; that face and those eyes have no place here. Not now. I don’t even know Kian . . .
Still, the memory of him lingers, like an unwanted halo.
Thursday 16 December, 1999
Kian rang today - Mum told him that I was at Eds’ place and gave him the number.
“How’d you get my home number?” I demanded. “It’s unlisted.”
“There are ways.” He tried to sound mysterious, but I heard the smile in his voice.
“Yeah, ok. What did you ring for?”
“I miss you,” he admitted honestly. “If you were here, I’d be seeing you at soccer tonight. When do you get back?”
I didn’t expect that. “Monday.”
“That long, huh?”
“Are you going away at all?”
“Nothing planned yet.” He sounded bored. “My folks are in Europe on their second honeymoon, so it’s just me and Grandpa Snooks.”
“Give me a ring when I’m back,” I told him. “We can organize something then.”