Page 8 of Something to Believe In

It’s almost midnight when he flops down on the chair next to me, a fresh beer in his hand. I count in my head:is this number five? Six?He flings his arm around me and I crinkle my nose at the bitter smell of beer on his breath as he rests his head on my shoulder.

“Having fun?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He smiles, closing his eyes. “It’s nice to have a distraction for a while, you know?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Five minutes ‘til the New Year,” he mumbles.

“Yep.”

“Can’t be worse than this one, hey?”

I shrug my shoulder he’s resting on so that he looks up at me. “It’s going to be a big year. You’ve got a lot to look forward to with footy and year twelve.”

“Yeah.” He smiles again but his hazel eyes don’t fool me. He tips back his beer, swallowing nearly the whole bottle, and it’s clear he’s not okay. Glancing around at our friends who are spread out in groups around the backyard, he sighs. “Hey, do you care if we go home? I’m not sure I’m in the mood for this after all.”

I nod. We slip out the gate while everyone’s distracted by counting down the time on their phones and watches. Oliver’s shoulder bumps mine as he sways slightly. I snake my arm around his waist to steady him and he wraps his around my shoulder.

“Thanks for being a good friend,” he mumbles.

I roll my eyes with a laugh. “You’re welcome, you goof.”

The chorus of countdowns begin in backyards as we make our way down the street towards home. Somewhere in the distance dogs bark at the fireworks going off down on the foreshore of the bay.

“Happy New Year, Han.” Oliver presses his lips to my temple, his warm breath tingling against my skin.

I smile up at him, giving a friendly squeeze in response. “Happy New Year, Oli.”

4

I should’ve been spending the summer holidays before starting my final year of high school hanging out with mates down the beach or at the pool. I could’ve been playing cricket or getting started on footy pre-season training. Instead, I prefer to chill with Hannah, just the two of us. My doctor prescribes some anti-anxiety meds, which are helping with the nightmares, but they also make me feel bizarre – like my head’s scrambled and my brain’s foggy. He says it’ll pass once my body gets used to the drugs, but until then I don’t really feel like being around my mates. While they’re enjoying their last bit of freedom, I’m struggling to keep up with what’s going on around me. The doc also refers me to a psychologist, which Mum insists upon.

That’s how I find myself in Eric’s office a week before school starts. It’s a small room with two armchairs, a coffee table, a bookshelf and a few certificates hanging up on the wall showing off his fancy degrees. Eric is in his late twenties or early thirties. He sits across from me, his ankle resting on his knee and a notepad in his hands as he asks me one question after another about the accident, my relationship with my dad prior to the accident, and how I get along with my mum and my brothers. It all feels pointless.

“So, you’re in year twelve this year?”

I nod.

“Any ideas about what you’re going to do next year? Any long term plans?”

I shrug.

“What do your brothers do?”

“What’s this got to do with the nightmares?” I ask. I know I’m being petulant, but I don’t really care.

“Humour me,” he replies. “After a near-death experience, it is common for people to reassess what’s important in their lives.”

I sigh. “Football.”

Eric sits there and waits for me to expand on that.

“I’m nominating for the draft this year.”

He nods. “That’s great. And what if football doesn’t work out?”

I shrug. “I dunno, sports management or something. Look I thought you were gonna help me with the nightmares.”

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