Loving Jay (9 page)

The police showed up and I gave them my version of events. They seemed on the up-and-up so I asked them if I was in trouble.

The older man gave me a hard stare and asked, “Why do you think you would be in trouble, son?”

“For assault. I heard that third guy’s skull crack on the ground. Is he going to be okay?”

The police shared a glance before the younger guy clapped me on the shoulder. “He’s fine. He needs some stitches to the back of his head, but no cracks to the bone. You’re not in any trouble; you were defending your friend from a gay bashing. The offenders will probably be charged with a hate crime over their actions.”

“Gay bashing?” Stupidly I had never thought of Jay being targeted because he was gay. “I thought it was just a random thing?”

“No, son,” the older policeman answered. “There are several witnesses who overheard the offenders saying some homophobic things. It will be charged as a hate crime.” They left me alone then, alone with my pain and alone with my thoughts.

I was floored. In the back of my mind I was scared—if I announced to the world I was gay, was this what I had to look forward to? Potential bashings as I got off the train? Is this what Jay had to put up with all the time?

They called my name and I suffered through the
embarrassment of having a wheelchair brought out for me. Then I submitted myself to an examination while explaining over and over about my old injuries and how I had come to reinjure my leg. The hands of the clock ticked around slowly as I waited for X-rays and asked about Jay. One of the nurses patted the calf on my good leg and told me they couldn’t tell me anything because I wasn’t family.

“But I’m his friend. We came together in the ambulance,” I protested.

She gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I know he’s already been admitted and moved to a ward. His family is with him now. You’ll have to ask them.”

My X-rays came back clear and I was diagnosed with torn muscles. They strapped my thigh, dosed me with a strong painkiller, and told me to call a family member for a lift home. Then I was given a pair of crutches and dismissed.

It was like déjà vu—
bad
déjà vu—being on crutches again. I had spent nearly a whole year on them and never wanted to again. I hobbled on my crutches to the bench outside the ER and fished out my phone.
Shit! Ten o’clock!
It had been a fucked-up day and I was exhausted. For a millisecond I considered calling a taxi, but in the end the comfort of family was calling louder. I opted to call Dale. He was the closest to the hospital and he owed me.

“Liam? What’s wrong?” How comforting that my brother knew there was something wrong the second I called him after nine o’clock at night.

I sighed loudly into the phone. “Can you come and get me? I’m at Royal Perth Hospital in the city. I’ve fucked up my leg. I just need a ride.”

I love family. There was no mucking around. All he said was “I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up and I sighed in relief. I looked at my phone for a second and sighed again before bringing up Jay’s number. I typed in a message and pressed “send.”

Let me know how you are, please? The hosp won’t tell me coz I’m not family. Text me when you can, even if it is the middle of the night.

D
ALE
WAS
true to his word and twelve minutes after he hung up, he pulled his car to a stop in the “No Standing Zone” in front of the ER where I waited. I struggled to my feet—foot!—with the crutches, and limped over to him. He jumped out to open the door for me, and surveyed my appearance.

“Shit, Liam! What the hell happened to you?”

Unsure, I looked down at myself and realized my once pristine light blue shirt was absolutely covered in blood. Jay’s blood.

“It’s not from me,” I muttered as I heaved myself inside the car. Dale stowed my crutches in the back—I hadn’t had to use them for a long time, but my brothers obviously knew the routine well. He started the car and drove off, winding his way through the empty city streets to the freeway.

“What happened, mate?”

I leaned tiredly back against the headrest and closed my eyes. “I stopped a fight. Three fuckheads were messing with a friend of mine. It’s his blood. They smashed him into a wall, the fuckers.”

“Is he okay?”

“I dunno.” I felt like crying. I could feel the pricks of sensation behind my eyelids as I fought the tears. I was so tired and on top of that, I didn’t know a
fuck
about Jay’s condition. “They won’t tell me a fucking thing at the hospital. Because I’m not family. The ambulance lady said he needed stitches and had concussion.”

“Ambulance?”

I opened my eyes to grin at him. “Yeah. I got another swell ride in an ambulance. You missed it this time!” It was Dale who had been driving the car when I was hurt. He’d ridden in the ambulance with me—not that I remembered. I had been unconscious.

Dale shook his head at me in disgust. “So you took on three attackers by yourself?”

“Straight up!” I chuckled, closing my eyes again. “It sounds good, doesn’t it? But it wasn’t that cool. I simply pushed one guy over, who fell and pushed the second guy over. Then I tripped the third guy and it was finished. They were punks who had no idea how to throw a punch. They never even touched me. I fucked my leg up by running to Jay’s aid.”

“Jay?”

“My friend. We catch the train together in the morning.”

I must’ve fallen asleep then, because next thing I knew Dale was standing beside me with the door open and crutches ready, shaking me awake. “Come on, mate. Let’s get you inside and to bed.”

We stumbled together to the lift and into my apartment. Dale helped me off with my pants and shirt and I tumbled face-first onto the pillows with a groan.

“Thanks, Dale.” He pulled the covers up over me.

“Call me tomorrow when you wake up, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

“Mm-hmm.” I was more than half-asleep when a sudden thought occurred to me. “Dale?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell the others, okay?”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want them to know. They’ll fuss. I don’t like that.”

Dale was silent for a moment and I thought he had left. But finally he sighed, “Okay, mate. Your call. Just make sure you ring me tomorrow.”

I didn’t hear him close my front door behind him. I was already asleep.

A
TEXT
woke me the next morning. I fumbled for my alarm, bashing it a couple of times before I realized the sound was my phone. I rolled over and yelled in agony as my leg protested. I froze in mid-roll, breathing hard through the pain as I slowly woke. Thoughts of the night before returned to me and my eyes flew open in alarm. Jay!

Ignoring my throbbing leg, I peered over the side of the bed at my clothes strewn across the floor. My mobile was somewhere in that pile. I reached out with my arm and managed to snag the cuff of my pants and pulled them toward me. The phone chimed again from the depths of the clothing as if to tell me to hurry up.

“I’m coming. I’m coming,” I muttered as I fished for my pants pocket. At last I pulled the phone free and with a groan I flopped back on the pillow. Praying it was Jay on the other end of the message, I swiped at the screen. There were three new messages—all from Jay. Bleary-eyed, I glanced at the time at the top of the screen—it was 7:48 a.m. and Jay’s first message had come through sixteen minutes ago.

OMG! R u okay? I think I remember you in the ambulance but the stupid nurses here don’t know anything about what happened! What happened???

Then two minutes later:
I’m okay. My good looks are totally fucked, though! LOL! I have three stitches in my face and I look like I’ve gone three rounds with Muhammad Ali. I need to wait for the dr to do her rounds this morn.

Then nine minutes after that:
R U OK? If you can, make sure you listen to the radio this morning at 10:00 a.m. I am starting to panic about you. R U OK?

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It seemed as if the old Jay was back, and he was bruised but fine. Nutty and firmly in his panicky banana tree, but fine. I pulled up the text screen and hesitated over what to say. There was too much to say in a text, so I kept it simple.

I’m fine. Stuffed my leg up more. Can I come and see you?

I managed to limp to the bathroom and take care of my pressing needs before Jay replied.
Of course! I have to stay until after lunch. I’m in room 314.

I
MADE
the required call to Dale, who told me to take the day off work, but I didn’t want to, so I showered and ate before swallowing some strong painkillers and limped into work on my crutches. One good thing about the crutches was that I got a seat on the crowded train.

I was at my desk by 9:30 a.m. and weathered my concerned colleagues’ questions by simply saying I had aggravated an old injury. It was just before ten o’clock when I streamed Jay’s radio program on my computer. Jay didn’t say
what
radio station to listen to, but I assumed he meant 95.2 FM.

I listened to the hourly news, shushing Chan as he arrived and asked about the crutches propped up next to my desk. I wondered what Jay wanted me to listen to, but I didn’t have long to wait before I found out. After the news bulletin and two ads, Harry Green introduced the interview part of the program.

Welcome back. You are listening to ninety-five-point-two with Harry Green on this chilly Thursday. In just a minute we will be joined by Police Commissioner Charlie Adamson, but first I wish to send warmest greetings to two particular young men this morning. Many of my faithful listeners will have heard me mention my extraordinary assistant, James, who works extremely hard behind the scenes to bring us all the information we need to hear. Many will have spoken to him on the phone when they ring in to the program. He is a hard-working, brilliant young man who I would be lost without.

It therefore pains me to tell you all that this extraordinary young man is in hospital this morning, recovering from a vicious and unprovoked attack that happened last night. It is deeply disturbing that a person cannot be safe simply traveling home from their workplace. I am appalled to think that some of the people out there, in our society today, think that being different is an excuse to attack and hurt another.

You see, James is just like you and me
—
he works hard, he pays his taxes, he obeys the law, he votes, he loves his family. But James is also proudly and unapologetically gay. And last night three vicious men decided that he should have to pay for that with blood and pain. I therefore send the warmest wishes of this entire radio station to James. We hope you get better soon.

I also extend the warmest gratitude to his rescuer, Liam. James tells me that while others who witnessed the attack were too afraid to take on these young men, Liam took them all on single-handed and protected James from further harm until the authorities arrived. So we thank Liam for his bravery and his disregard for his own safety, in order to protect another. We all need more people like Liam in this world.

After this next song, we will be joined by Police Commissioner Charlie Adamson and I will be asking the hard questions of what exactly are the police doing to keep us all safe from criminals like these, and where has society gone so wrong. Join me after this break.

Joni Mitchell came on singing “Big Yellow Taxi” so I pulled out my earbuds and turned to Chan. He had his own earbuds in and was looking at me with a big grin on his face. I looked at his screen and saw he was streaming 95.2 FM as well. He must’ve seen it on my computer and wondered what I was listening so intently to.

“Effin’ A! Tell me that shit they were talking about on the radio wasn’t you? You took on three attackers? Did you turn them to pulp? What are you? Jackie Fucking Chan?”

I laughed and shrugged it off. “You’re the Chan. I did shit-all, anyway. I just pushed a couple of them over. You should’ve seen it, Chan. This lady comes out of nowhere and starts bashing one of the guys on the ground with her handbag. I look up and see this big tough guy cowering from a lady’s giant handbag.”

Chan laughed and shook his head at me. “So you saved a guy’s life?”

“Nah. Jay was just getting roughed up a little. I’m sure they didn’t want to kill him. I probably just saved him from broken ribs and more bruises.”

“Still, you’re a fucking hero. My brother is gay and I hope that if ever he’s in trouble someone like you will help him.”

“Your brother’s gay?” Huh. Who’d’ve thunk? And here I was thinking Chan would never speak to me again if I came out of the closet.

“Yup. He told us all five years ago and I still can’t believe it. My brother is a screaming, walking, temple of testosterone. Yet he prefers other guys. I don’t get it, but I’m not complaining. More ladies for me and you, huh?”

At midday I told Chan I was taking a long lunch to go and visit Jay in the hospital. The crutches were slow going and I lined up with the rest of the lunch crowd to catch the free bus to the hospital. My arms and wrists were aching by the time I reached Jay’s room, and the skin of my armpits chafed. I stood just outside his door and peered in. There were four beds in the room and Jay was on the far side, near the window. He wasn’t alone.