Imaginary Foe (15 page)

Bruce continues to pace back and forth. ‘Stan, if there was ever going to be a breaking point, this is it. We have to act now. I’m sick of this hypocritical crap.’

I’m exhausted. I watch Bruce walk around the room. I find comfort in his presence, the way I used to; the rhythm of his pacing soon sends me off to sleep.

When I wake, Bruce is no longer there. I look at my alarm clock – it’s 1.27 p.m. and I’ve been sleeping for about three hours. I listen out for sounds in the house. The house is silent; perhaps nobody is home. I cautiously leave my room. I’m famished and make myself a sandwich. I wonder where they’ve all gone. Maybe to church, to pray for my sins. I wolf down my sandwich and call Rhonda.

‘Stan, I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t keep it from Mum any longer. We’re really close, and I couldn’t stand the guilt I felt from not telling her.’

‘That’s OK. I understand.’

‘I couldn’t stop her from going to see your parents. She got it into her head that it was the right thing to do.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Well, anyway, I’ve got some good news.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m not pregnant. Mum bought me a pregnancy test and it’s come up negative!’

‘Oh.’ I’m surprised at my disappointment. The little dream I had of Rhonda and I fighting the universe together is over. We don’t have to go into battle after all.

‘Did you hear what I said? I’m not pregnant!’

‘Yeah, I heard. Good for you.’ I don’t mean to sound like such a spoilt sport, but I’m pissed off. I’ve just had a major fight with my family for no reason at all. It didn’t have to happen this way. If Rhonda hadn’t told her mother, if she’d just left it for us to solve ourselves, everything would be OK. We would have found out that she wasn’t pregnant and we would have just moved on. Instead, my family is pissed off with me and my relationship with them has changed forever. Despite this, I’m supposed to be grateful that my girlfriend isn’t pregnant. Well, I’m sorry for not jumping up and down and cheering like a brain-dead moron.

‘What’s wrong, Stan?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Yeah, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.’

‘Fine.
Be
a pig!’ Rhonda slams down the phone. The sound hurts my ear.

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit!’ I replace the receiver. Great! I’ve pissed off my girlfriend too. Now everyone hates me! What a wonderful world!

I pace around the house, walking from room to room, not really knowing where I’m going or what I’m doing. I’m still wondering where everyone is. I hate not knowing. Where have they gone and why haven’t they asked me to join them? If they’re off somewhere making plans for my future without me, I’ll be furious. I feel like I’ve lost control of everything. The clarity I felt last night is completely gone. Now it feels as though my world is crumbling around me. Is this my punishment for burning the Bible? I try to convince myself that I’m thinking irrationally, but my thoughts are overpowering and my Catholic guilt kicks into overdrive. God is punishing me. I imagine that he is enraged, like the wrathful God from the Old Testament. Where the fuck is everybody? Have they up and left town in order to avoid the shame that will hang over our family?

I go into the lounge room and lie down on the couch. I stare up at the ceiling, immersed in my thoughts. I soon start to lose myself in the pattern on the ceiling.

Suddenly, I hear a car. I recognise its sound but I don’t move. I hear my family enter the house. Dad calls out to me.

‘Yeah, Dad. I’m in here.’ I stay where I am. Dad comes into the lounge room, followed by Mia and Rose and finally Mum, who is obviously suffering greatly. I can tell this from her stoop, which I see in my peripheral vision. She’s slightly hunched over, like an old lady who has endured many family tragedies. I can’t bring myself to look at her. Mia and Rose stand on the other side of Dad. I look at them and they both offer me sympathetic smiles. At least they haven’t condemned me to hell.

‘Where have you all been? Planning your next holiday?’

‘We went to The Old Woodfire and had some lunch. Mum wanted to get out of the house for a bit.’

‘Oh. Sounds nice.’

‘This news has taken us by surprise. That’s all.’

‘Well, you don’t need to be so worried.’

‘Why not?’

‘Rhonda’s not pregnant.’

Mum bursts into tears and leaves the room. They are tears of relief; her reputation as a good Christian mother will be intact. No one in town need know of this episode. Rose follows her out of the room to go and comfort her. The poor girl looks like she’s had a tiring day.

‘When did you find this out?’

‘I called her when I woke up. Why the bloody hell her stupid mother didn’t think of doing the test before coming around here and getting you guys all worked up is beyond me.’

‘Peoples’ initial reactions are often unreasonable. That’s just how it goes.’

At that moment, lightning strikes and the rains come falling from the heavens in a torrent. The downpour is so powerful that it feels like it could wash away all of our useless worry. But that’s just wishful thinking.

It’s still raining. I’ve retreated to my room again. I’m to go without dinner. I don’t mind this so much; I don’t really feel like eating, anyway. As the hours edge by and the day draws to a close, the only noise I hear in the house is the odd muffled cough.

Mia had the decency to come and tell me that she loves me and that she doesn’t think I’m going to burn in hell like Mum said. She’s a good kid. When her eyes open up to the larger world, I think she’ll be quite special. I doubt she’ll stay in Middleton.

I venture out of my room to the kitchen. Although the TV is on, there’s no one in sight. It’s obvious that Dad has gone to bed because his telltale stubby holder isn’t out on the counter, ready to keep his next beer nice and chilled. It must be Mum who’s still up. But where is she? I go to get myself a glass of water, knowing that I would be permitted to drink some water, at least. But I decide to make the most of everyone’s absence and help myself to a can of Kolé Beer from the fridge. It’s the best soft drink in the world. It fizzes up and stings you in the back of your nose as you drink it. Screw you all, I think to myself. I deserve this treat.

I quickly head back to my room. As I’m about to enter my bedroom, I hear a lowered voice. Someone is talking quietly on the phone in the study. I put my drink down near my bedroom door, tiptoe down the hall and pause outside the study door. I can make out the odd word. It’s Mum, of course. My first instinct tells me that she’s on the phone to someone she shouldn’t be on the phone to. She’s making little noises that suggest that she’s quite fond of the person on the other end of the line.

I just can’t understand her. She freaks out over the shame I’m bringing to the family with my actions, and then takes comfort in the arms of a conflicted priest! I tiptoe back to my room, pick up my drink and let myself in. Bruce is there, his arms folded across his chest. There’s loathing plastered thickly across his face.

‘If it’s not now, Stan, it’s never. And I’ve had it up to here with never.’ He indicates an area well above his head.

He’s right. Enough is enough. It’s got to be now or never. I know instinctively that Mum will be going to the presbytery tonight. I grab a light jacket from my cupboard, as well as the .22, the magazine and some bullets. I fill the magazine with the bullets and lock it into position. I don’t have a plan; I’m just following my instincts, which feel spot on. I seem to have a heightened sense of reality. A loud clap of thunder erupts right outside the house. It makes me jump and I feel giddy, like something big is coming down.

I’m taken back to the night of the school social, when I danced with Rhonda for the first time. I remember that night so well. Getting ready to go out, Mum coming into the bathroom to encourage me. I pause, remembering that she had said something about Father Ryan’s sideburns. She had seemed like she was in a dream world that night, but I’d been too self-absorbed to recognise that she was in trouble. That night at the social, I’d told Rhonda that something big was going to happen, but that I didn’t know what it would be. I promised her that when I knew, she’d be the first person I’d tell. But now, after our phone conversation ended the way it did, I feel distant from her. I can’t even imagine what I’d tell her. It’s sad that things have changed so much since that night. When I look back, it seems to represent the beginning of the end. I remember that I wasn’t worried about my nervous twitch surfacing that night and I’m surprised to realise that it’s a thing of the past. It’s gone for good. I’m no longer some idiot who gets nervous. I face up to what’s happening and I do something about it. A lingering rumble of the thunder brings me back to the here and now.

‘It’s raining, so we’ll take the golf buggy’ I say to Bruce. ‘We’ll wait until she leaves the house and then we’ll follow her as quietly as possible. The buggy isn’t noisy, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’ Dad bought the buggy when he got interested in golf a couple of years ago. It was a bit of a novelty purchase. It was nice, though, because Mum would go along with Dad when he played golf. She’d sit in the buggy and read whatever novel she was immersed in at the time. They were outdoors, getting out and about, each doing the thing that they loved while spending time together.

I hear the study door close. Bruce and I sit quietly, waiting for an indication that Mum has left the house. It comes. I
feel
more than hear the seal of the back door as it closes. My heightened sense is finely tuned. Bruce and I rise from our seated positions. We are as one. We stand in the middle of my room, staring at each other. We wait until we can be sure that Mum’s vehicle is heading down the road. At exactly the same time, we move to the bedroom door. I hold the .22 close to my body. We don’t speak. Usually, Bruce is trying to convince me to do something, but he doesn’t have to say anything now. He knows that we are one.

The buggy is a bit reluctant to start and my heart sinks. I don’t want any obstacles to get in my way. I don’t want anything to pop up that may interrupt my train of thought, or disturb my concentration and determination. I don’t want to have to think at all. I just want to be and do.

The buggy comes to life. I engage the gear and we head out into the pouring rain. As we’re moving down our steep street, I look to the flat paddocks spread out in the distance to the west of town. Lightning strikes and the land is lit up. It sparkles from the rain covering its grasses. It’s beautiful. It’s out there that I lost my virginity; the rain was falling then too.

The buggy moves silently through the night. The residents of Middleton are all safely tucked away in their beds, out of the commotion, out of the tempest. What world will they awake to?

We turn at the bottom of the street. Not far to go now. It’s straight ahead and there don’t appear to be any obstacles. It’s smooth sailing from here. I look at Bruce. He looks the calmest I’ve ever seen him, as if his whole purpose is about to be realised. I pull the buggy into the shopping centre car park, in line with the back wall of the presbytery. I step out into the rain and let it bathe me. I feel glorious. I feel free. I’m taking control. I’m making history. It’s my chosen history.

Bruce and I swing ourselves over the fence into the schoolyard. I walk up the mound that acts as a border between the presbytery and the school. We’re so close. The rain intensifies and lightning strikes. I wait for the thunder and relish its power, as the whole earth seems to rumble around me, encouraging me. It’s as though the thunder is here just to cover things up for me, to act as a barrier between my world and everyone else’s. Anything that happens in my world is protected. It can’t be harmed or tainted.

I move up to the window at the back of the house. In order to take aim at the form I can see inside, I have to step back from the window to allow for the length of the rifle that stretches out before me. It’s not ideal, but I try not to let it become an obstacle. I line the figure up, but the rain is hitting the window at an angle and the image I’m getting is like an impressionist painting. On the one hand, it makes it easier to shoot because I can distance myself from the figure. But on the other hand, I can’t be sure that it’s Father Ryan I’d be shooting. The more I look through the streaked glass, straining to line up the sight with the form that’s moving inside, the more I become convinced that it’s not one person but two. They are holding one another and the form is moving. They’ve merged into one. They resemble one of Monet’s haystacks.

I sense Bruce behind me. He’s becoming agitated and impatient. ‘Shoot the bastard! Now!’

‘No, I can’t! He’s too close to Mum!’

‘Shoot that bitch too!’

I turn and look at Bruce. He’s standing in the rain with a crazed, desperate look on his face. Drops of rain fall from his curly hair. His clothes are wet and clinging to his body. I realise that I’ve never seen Bruce’s body before. He’s always worn the same loose-fitting clothes, which left his body undefined. Now, before me, stands a strange person with a slightly rounded stomach and arms that look shorter than they should be. It’s as though he’s been revealed to me. I feel ill at ease.

‘What are you waiting for?’

‘I’m not going to shoot my own mother!’

‘You always were such a pussy! Give me the fucking gun!’ Bruce steps forwards and grabs for it. I wrench it away from him. ‘Stan! Don’t be a prick. I
knew
I’d have to be here to see this through. I
knew
you wouldn’t have the guts to do it yourself. Just like everything else in your life!’ I back away as he approaches. ‘I’ve always had to be there to hold your weedy little hand. What the hell would you do without me? What would your pathetic excuse for a life be like then, Stan?’

What I have to do suddenly becomes clear to me. It’s crystal clear. The cloud lifts, the cloud that I’ve wrapped myself in for years and which has culminated in this: me standing in the pouring rain with a rifle in my hand ready to kill my own mother. Bruce is the burden in my life. Bruce is the one who has made my mind so troubled and fragile.