Page 110 of Summer, in Between
47
IWAKE in semi-darkness.Shafts of light force their way through the gaps between the blinds and the windows.I move through the house, each space has its own halo.It’s silent and a note on the bench from Mum tells me Dad’s out fishing, she and the boys have gone into town.There’s a smiley face, a love heart and line after line of kisses, followed byP.S.Paulcameto see you.
They knew something was up when I came barrelling through the door.I can only imagine what I looked like, barefoot, stubbed and bleeding toes, puffing and panting, face bright red and sweat-stained, crying uncontrollably.When I left the bathroom, a good half hour later, my parents had taken turns to knock on my door to ask what had happened.I just told them the truth; I’d broken up with Paul for being a giant misogynistic creep, and to leave me alone.I ripped the doona off my bed and buried myself under the sheet, willing sleep to take pity on me and knock me out for the day.My exhaustion from sprinting home and from crying resulted in a horrible restless sleep that was more dozing and confused dreaming than blissful slumber.
I gulp about a litre of water from the tap.It’s almost five and I’m starving.I haven’t eaten anything since this morning’s mango, so I go to pull apart the roast chicken in the fridge.It sits in a layer of orange jelly and my stomach flips.I snap off some chocolate from the block in the fridge and the cliché doesn’t escape me.If I didn’t feel so shit I’d probably laugh at the irony of sad girl finding solace in chocolate.
Back in my room, I survey my feet.My toes are a mess of scabs from stubbing them on every rock from the beach to home.I go through my drawers until I find the thickest, softest, spongiest sports socks I own.I put them on with my runners, lying abandoned at the foot of my wardrobe since the first day of this new year, the day I walked into Paul at Sadie’s, the day he handed me a glass water bottle and I fell completely in love with him then and there, on the spot.My feet cushioned, it’s the most pampered they’ve felt for weeks after a summer of taking a pounding with salt water, rocks, asphalt and gravel.I splash my face and brush my teeth.I think about putting a brush through my hair, but that’s torture I’m just not in the mood for.I pull the back door locked behind me.
It takes me half an hour or so to get to the back beach, ducking in and out of streets, cutting through vacant blocks and then across a paddock to the coastal scrub.As I scale the sand dunes, I see a rocky outcrop, a Dad-shaped being on the point.My runners sink into the soft sand.
‘The first of the Dirty Three!’he says as I sit on the rock beside him.‘How you doing,bella?’
‘Shattered.So tired I could sleep for a week.’That’s not half of it; I’m weathered.Battered.Bruised.I feel older than Nonna and that the world has just tripped me over, kicked me in the head and then sat on me.
‘I wish I could tell you this is the last time you’ll feel like this,’ says Dad.‘I can’t.But I can tell you that feeling like this is temporary, and it’s these arse kickings that turn you into the person you’re meant to be.’
‘You mean stronger?’
‘Yes, but that’s not just it.You’re already strong.You came out strong.Probably too strong.’He chuckles ruefully and shakes his head before his smile drops.‘I saw Paul.’
‘And did he tell you he’s an a-hole and a creep?’
‘He told me that he trusted the wrong person with some information that didn’t need sharing.’
‘There’s an understatement,’ I say.
‘He’s devastated, Cat,’ says Dad.‘He thinks he’s really messed up.It’s your call, but he obviously cares about you and you care about him, so why write him off based on something someone else did to him?If you’re feeling betrayed, so is he.’
‘Totally not interested, Dad.’I shrug and cross my arms around my knees.‘He’s wasted enough of my time and energy as it is.I have far too much I should be thinking about.Anyway, my friends would hate him if they knew what he’s done.Ihate him for what he’s done.’
‘That’s the thing about strength,’ says Dad.‘Sometimes you can be too strong, too hard, too inflexible.You’ve heard that old proverb about an oak tree breaking in the storm?None of us are perfect, Cat.’He walks towards the ocean’s edge, reeling in his line.There’s a giant tangle of seaweed caught on his hook.‘We all have our flaws; we all do and say things we regret.The difference between good people, smart people, the people with real strength, is that they admit when they’re wrong, they work hard to better themselves.That’s Paul.It shouldn’t matter to you what your friends think, it should matter what you think.And if you can’t see someone trying for better, seeing you as a way to help them become better, well then, Cat, I don’t think you should see that as a strength.It’s a weakness.And it’s sad.’
‘So, you think I should just forget that he’s a total deadshit with no respect for women, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Don’t be so dramatic all the time, Cat.You know that’s not what I’m saying.And you know that’s not him.What I’m saying is to take him at face value and how he treats you.I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened, and believe me, I don’t want to, but from what I do know?You’re ending something based on the small-town gossip machine, and that’s on you, kid.You’re not a slave to that.’
‘Is it gossip when it’s my so-called-boyfriend talking about me?About our relationship?’
‘Paul’s not a shit-talker.I know that.You know that.He just made a bad call.’
‘And that’s my responsibility?’
‘Of course not.But do you really want to call it quits?Is it really worth that?That’s all I’m saying.’
‘It’s all so confusing,’ I say.‘Last night, I had it all sorted out in my head, and today I feel like I’m the biggest dipshit on the planet.’
‘I know,’ says Dad.‘But,bella, you’re 17.Expecting perfection from yourself and from other people is unrealistic.More than that, it’s unfair.Of course, Paul’s made mistakes in his life.You’re going to make mistakes in yours too, Cat.You have to so you grow and learn.You’re our baby girl, we’ll always love you.You’re going to make bad decisions, but you’ll make more good than bad.Pass me the pliers,bella.’He crouches down on his haunches to free the hook out of the seaweed.‘Don’t be so hard on yourself and don’t be so hard on everyone else.Paul’s family’s gone through shit that’s the stuff of nightmares.I’m not making excuses for anything but don’t crucify the bloke because of what he may or may not have done long before he was seeing you, or for him opening his gob to the wrong bloke.Paul’s a good one.And he loves you.I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it.’
‘Dad, how am I going to survive without you next year when I go to the city?’I duck under his fishing rod to hug him.
