| Home Page | Links | ||||
|
Five Minutes a Day by Alex Hogan (c) 2008 Alex Hogan |
|||||
|
Five minutes a day, that was about all I ever saw of him. Then he started coming to school late, so I didn't see him walking past the bus stop as much. At first it was just occasionally he’d be late, then it was just occasionally that he’d come past, then he stopped altogether. I still saw him at school at times, so at first I assumed he had moved, but one of my mates said he’d seen him coming to school at 11 o'clock. Then I started picking up on rumours of him wagging school, and being in the Principal's office, and mouthing off at teachers and drinking behind the toilets and all of that stuff. I saw him again one day at school, in-between classes, he was coming down the steps while I was going up. We passed each other so closely that I could have reached out and touched him. He nodded at me, same as always. It was about a month after he'd been expelled that he knocked on my front door at home. How'd he known where I lived? I'd never spoken to him. But in a country town you know where people live, and you know people's names. Mum had answered the door and brought him to my room. "A friend of yours has come to visit, Daniel. It's Josh." Mum gave me a concerned look; Josh appeared unwashed, and as if he hadn't slept for ages and his eyes were black; bunged up. "Hey, Josh, come in, mate." I nodded to mum that all was ok, pretending I knew what was going on. She left us alone. Josh sat on the bed. He said nothing, just looked at me. I could feel his warmth emanating out to me. I could smell his maleness, his uniqueness. I remembered all those times nodding to each other; and me sitting on the bus remembering his walk, his movements, the look on his face. I coughed, and made myself talk. "What's been happening? You been in a fight with some guys?" "The bastard! I gotta get away from him. I'm not gonna put up with it anymore. I can't. Shit!" He kept looking at me, as if holding my gaze kept him together and if he broke it he'd shatter into pieces. I asked him quietly, almost whispering, “Get away from who?" He took a deep breath, and finally turned his eyes away. "My so-called father." The room was silent. I could hear the clicking away of my mother on her computer, but nothing else. Josh was still, rock-like, as if he'd put all his effort into walking out of his home, and there was nothing left in him. My father was at work. When he’d come home we'd watch the news and sport report together. We'd talk about the football and who should be dropped from the teams and which coach should be sacked. If anything was happening at school I'd tell him and we'd chat about it. Then we'd have tea, and afterwards he and mum would sit around the table having a glass of wine and chatting, while my sister and I got ready for bed. I stood up from my desk and sat on the bed next to Josh. My weight caused the bed to sag, and my body rocked over close to his and I brushed against him. I quickly tried to regain my balance, but before I had a chance to right myself, Josh wrapped his arms around me, hung his head against me and held me in a tight hug, his face buried deeply in my shoulder. We sat there, rocking gently, with the quiet sound of mum's tapping on the computer keyboard in the background. |
|||||
|