Page 99 of Something to Believe In

My stomach swirls around the double meaning behind his words. “Yeah, you did.” I squeeze his waist and try to shove the thoughts from my head.

As we sit in the stands with JD and Ashley, Oliver leans forward in his seat, his Lions baseball cap pulled low. He rests his chin in his hands as the Lions and Bears players line up with their coaches, each of them wearing a yellow armband in support of suicide awareness. Joel’s number 30 football jumper has been laid out on the ground between the two teams.

I rest my head on Oliver’s shoulder, and he presses his lips to my temple. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, but his body is tense.

The president of the Bridgeport football club steps up to the microphone, which crackles as he turns it on.

“Mental health is a serious issue,” he begins. “It can affect how we think, feel and act. As men, sometimes we think that talking about our emotions can be embarrassing, that no one wants to hear it. It’s time we break the stigma by sharing our experiences; our stories. Knowing we can share free of judgement. Joel and his family would want us to encourage anyone who is struggling to make sure you speak up. Talk to your mates, a trusted adult, or contact an organisation like Kids Helpline or Beyond Blue. You’re not alone.”

He clears his throat and adjusts his tie. “Before the National Anthem plays today, we would like you all to stand and join us in a minute silence for a talented footballer whose life was cut short. Thank you.”

There’s a quiet buzz in the crowd as everyone gets to their feet. Oliver pulls his cap off his head and runs a hand through his hair. Blinking back tears, I lace my fingers through his.

As the National Anthem comes to an end, the siren sounds, and we take our seats. Joel’s parents walk out to the middle of the ground with the umpires. They shake hands with Macca and the Bears vice-captain who has stepped up in Joel’s absence. Mrs West takes a deep breath as she tosses the coin. Macca grins, pointing down field. He won the toss, and they will kick into the slight breeze for the first quarter.

The siren sounds again as Macca joins his teammates in the huddle and they listen to him intently. One of the umpires blows his whistle, and the teams line up in their positions. Oliver fidgets next to me.

“We don’t have to stay,” I say to him.

“Thanks, Han.” He presses his lips to mine. “But it’s okay. I’m just going to go get a drink. You want one?”

I shake my head. The whistle blows again, and the game starts. Oliver avoids looking out at the field as he makes his way up the stairs to the concession stand. The crowd let’s out a collective “ooh”, and I turn back to the game to watch Macca pull off an impressive tackle. The ball spills forward, and he scoops it up booting it down the field. Two more kicks, and the Lions have the first score on the board. Ashley and I cheer along with the crowd. JD lets out a loud whistle.

The Lions score two more goals by the time Oliver returns, carrying a beer. I raise my eyebrows. “Oli, it’s only ten a.m. Don’t you think it’s a bit early to be drinking?”

“It’s just one,” he says with a shrug. “It’s no big deal.”

I glance at JD, but he just gives a slight shake of his head. I sigh and turn my attention back to the game.

47

After three quarter time, the Lions are up by thirty-five points. JD and Oliver are both on the beers now, starting their celebrations early. I’m trying hard not to judge them, despite the fact it’s only eleven thirty and Oliver is already on his third beer. I share a look with Ashley, and she gives my hand a quick squeeze. We both know it’s not easy for him to go from captaining the team to watching them run around without him in the Grand Final.

I try to relax and enjoy the end of the game. Oliver wraps his arm around me. He cheers along with the crowd as Macca wins a free kick. I have to admit, I’m enjoying seeing him start to unwind. It gives me a glimpse of the old carefree Oliver.

There are a few senior footy players sitting around us, and one of them leans forward to talk to Oliver.

“It’s a shame you’re not out there with them, little Johnno,” he says, tapping the bill of Oliver’s cap so it falls over his eyes. “You deserve to be out there.”

Oliver scowls as he fixes his cap. “It is what it is, Kiffa,” he says, not even turning around. He takes a long skull of beer from the plastic cup. It’s nearly empty.

“That West kid made a real mess of things, didn’t he?” Kiffa laughs. “Screwed up both ya careers with that crazy bump. No wonder he–”

Oliver spins around in his seat. “Are you serious right now, man? Show a bit of respect.”

Kiffa raised his hands, a remorseful look covering his face. “Sorry. Yeah, you’re right. Poor choice of words. No foul.”

I place my hand on Oliver’s arm, and he looks down at his clenched fist. He passes his nearly empty beer to JD and stands up. “I’m going to get some food,” he growls.

I stand up and follow him out of the grandstand. He stalks past the concession stand and makes his way over to a bench where he sits down, his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice muffled by his hands. “I had to get out of there or I was going to deck that asshole.”

I don’t say anything, I just rub my hand over his back.

“This bloody sucks. I should’ve been out there with the boys today. I want to be out there with them. It was hard enough coming here today; I don’t need losers like Kiffa reminding me of what I’ve lost.”

“I know.”

---