My Private Pectus (5 page)

‘Heavier,' Dad says.

I push against Cuppas' weight then collapse. My cheek cracks against the concrete. I cough and spit. Water seeps between my lips.

‘Next time I see one of you try anything like this it will be two hundred,' Dad says.

The guys look at their feet.

‘What's going on, Brian?'

I get to my elbows. It's Maloney.

Dad waves his hands about as he explains the scene and how I was laying into Cuppas.

‘I can't believe it,' Maloney says and tries to give everyone a stern look. ‘This will go to Mr Hassold,' he says, referring to the school principal.

Dad scoffs. ‘No need,' he says, half grinning. ‘I've sorted it out, haven't I, boys?' which is followed by grunts of agreement.

Backing away to the exit, Maloney says, ‘We need to talk for a moment, Brian.'

‘Shoot,' Dad says, hands on hips.

‘Outside.'

Dad looks slowly at the whole team before following Maloney out of the toilets.

Then, as I get up to my feet, Gez walks in. He pauses, looks around. ‘What happened to you?' he asks as I wipe mud off my cheek.

‘Nothing. Where were you?' I ask. He's still wearing his footy gear.

‘Left my bag on the other side of the oval. It's satched,' he says and dumps it on the concrete. ‘And what about him?' he asks, pointing to Cuppas, who's gently touching his stomach. He's got welts all over like hives.

Some of the boys start gathering around him again. The P even picks up the towel. Cuppas cowers, arms over his face. Then he bursts into a full-on bawl. He ploughs his way through the group, runs to the cubicles, slams the door and yells, ‘Stuff youse all!'

‘What's going on?' Gez asks as Steve, on the aluminium seat, peers over the cubicle wall.

‘Hey, Cuppas,' he says. ‘I can see you.' Cuppas' shirt flies out and wraps around his face. It falls to the floor, where The P picks it up and takes it to the urinal.

‘Give it back,' Gez yells. He stands with authority, his hand held out.

And with that I can feel everything change. Gez has the floor. And as if sensing this, The P shifts his attention from the urinal and back to Gez. But then The P grins and lets go.

There're hoots of laughter and cries of disgust. Steve races over, but before he can pull down his fly, Gez hurls him against the wall. Gez picks up the shirt and carries it, dripping, to the basin, where I join him and turn on the tap.

The P is the only one still laughing.

Greg, one of the smaller guys on the team, says, ‘Now what? You're not gonna put your hands in there and wring it out are you?'

Leaving the tap on, Gez goes to the seat where Cuppas left his stuff, grabs his filthy wet jersey and passes it over the cubicle wall.

It's dead silent in there.

‘You're a moron,' I say to The P.

He hits his chest. ‘You wanna say that again?'

But I feel awful and pathetic. I turn away. He laughs.

I follow Gez outside. Through the rain I see Dad at the sports shed, arms crossed, still talking to Maloney. One of the boys comes out and says, ‘Good on ya, Gez.'

Gez looks back. Cuppas wanders out, head down. He's wearing his filthy jersey, gulping back sobs. I can't look at him.

Seeing Dad walking to the car, I say to Gez, ‘We better go.' We're supposed to give him a ride home. As we walk across the oval Gez stops and says, ‘Thanks, Sticks.'

‘What for?'

‘For helping out.'

I shake my head, confused, but then I realise he still has no idea of the part I played. ‘That's okay,' I tell him. The car lights flash and there's a long toot of the horn. ‘C'mon, let's go.'

But he doesn't move. He's watching Cuppas who's walking away, pulling at the bottom of his jersey. ‘I'll walk,' Gez says. ‘See you tomorrow.'

‘You sure?'

‘Yeah. See you tomorrow,' he says again and walks off.

Once inside the car, I look out the window. A group of boys stands under the shelter of the loos, looking hopefully at the car park for their lift. Gez runs up to Cuppas and joins him at the bus stop on the street.

‘I can't believe that man!' Dad fumes and crunches the car into reverse. ‘The nerve of him!' He thumps the steering wheel and looks at Maloney by the sports shed. Then he turns to me. ‘And you!' he bellows.

I look out at the rain. The wipers flick. I want to melt away. I want to be like the water on the window and just run away and soak into the ground.

•

When we get home, I go to the bathroom and take off my jersey. I run my fingers over the indent in the middle of my chest, turn side-on and look in the mirror. My ribs stick out on either side like a malnourished child. With straight fingers I touch the centre of the indent as a way of measurement. Is it still getting bigger? They disappear to the second joint. I have
pectus excavatum
, a deformity of the chest. It's caused by the inward growth of cartilage in the sternum. It's genetic, apparently, but I don't know any relatives who have it. When I was young, it was barely noticeable. My parents weren't worried enough to take me to the specialist for a diagnosis. No one cared about it, I didn't care about it—that's until I hit thirteen. I sprouted upwards, my chest went inwards.

I diagnosed myself by reading stuff on the internet, seeing pictures, comparing them to me. When Dad saw it, he hauled me off to the doctor and sure enough I was right.
Pectus excavatum
, but it's not severe—at least it wasn't then. I didn't feel it. It didn't push on my heart or restrict my lungs. It just looked weird. But after thirteen it started to freak me out. It seemed to grow deeper by the day. That's when I started hiding myself, even from Dad. The year between fifteen and sixteen was the worst but then it slowed and now I think it might have stopped, but I keep checking just in case.

After my shower, I go to my room and turn on the computer. There's a blog I sometimes go to: Pectus Boyz. I scroll through and read a bunch of posts, even though I've read them all before. The thing I like about Pectus Boyz is that I'm not alone. Every blogger has a depression like mine, or used to before they got it surgically fixed with a metal bar. One in five hundred has it, at least that's what they say. That means there're over three thousand people with it in Brisbane alone. But what difference does it make? Three thousand and I've not met one of them. I think about Cuppas and wonder if it's worse for him being obese. I doubt it. We're all born fat.

I read a new post:

There's a reply from Lionel, a regular contributor:

I stop thinking about my chest and look at my crotch. What hope have I got? I turn off the computer and lie on my bed. The image of Cuppas screaming and crying as I hit him is on high-rotation. I can see the welts, his tits; see the look on his face, pleading with me to stop. I can't believe what I did. I had a chance to walk away, but then The P put that towel in my hand. What else could I do?

I feel the crevice in my chest and think, but if I was fat, I'd do something about it. Anything. There's nothing I can do about what I've got. I think of Cuppas' warm saliva on my neck, how he drove his elbow into my back during that tackle.

Screw him, I think.

We're at Westfields, waiting for Lisa to rock up. Gez isn't saying much because he's pissed off with me. I asked Ryan to join us because I don't want to end up being the third wheel, or the meat in the sandwich, or something worse.

‘I thought you wouldn't mind,' I say to Gez as Ryan approaches.

‘He's my brother. Why would I want my brother around when I'm with my girl?'

‘What about me?' I say.

‘You're different. You know when to split.'

He's right about that. Last time I was at Westies with Gez and his ex, I split after about ten minutes. I wouldn't come at all if the other option wasn't being at home with Dad.

Gez scuffs the floor as Ryan wanders towards us, waving. We buy Maccas and wait for Lisa.

‘Is that her?' Ryan keeps asking when a girl to his liking walks by. He stuffs chips into his mouth as he scans, points to girls with big tits in tight singlets, skinny ones in hipster jeans.

‘No,' Gez keeps saying, sounding more annoyed each time.

It's not until Lisa approaches and Gez gets up that Ryan realises she's the one. ‘Nice work, bro, what a catch,' he says as if we're trailing lines over a jetty.

Gez greets Lisa with a kiss and rests his hand on her hip. Lisa says ‘Hi,' and smiles at us boys who stare in return. She sums up the situation, clearly surprised that her man has a couple of hangers-on.

Ryan steps forward, but before he can introduce himself, Lisa goes, ‘Oh.' She points to Gez and then at Ryan and says, ‘Brothers.' Lisa can come across as ditsy, but she's not. Not by a long shot. She's the dux of English and Art. If she wasn't Gez's girl, I'd be in love. Maybe I am, just in denial.

She has long, thick, brown hair and soft blue eyes. Her skin is tanned—evidence of summers spent yachting in Pumicestone Passage at Caloundra. Lisa's family has money, and they spend it well.

‘You must be the best brother in the world,' she says to Ryan.

Eyebrows raised, Ryan looks at her. He's obviously got no idea where that came from. Me neither.

‘Gerald's told me all about the car. I can't wait to see it. I hope you get it going.' Now she looks at me. ‘You're helping too, aren't you, Sticks?'

‘Sure am,' I say, unable to believe the hottest girl in Year 12 has just spoken to me.

Then she scans all three of us and says, ‘You don't mind if I come over sometime and help out?'

I shove my hands in my pockets to fix things up. Ryan does too. Gez puts his arm around Lisa's shoulders and says, ‘How ‘bout this arvo?'

They head off, leaving me and Ryan standing there. We look at each other. What are we supposed to do? Follow or do our own thing? We follow. Lisa looks great from behind.

‘Do you think you'll have the car going soon?' I overhear her ask as we catch up. ‘We could go up to the Passage,' she says. ‘I could take you out on the yacht. That's if you want to, of course.'

Man, he's lucky.

We go into HMV, start checking out the labels. Lisa takes Gez straight to the top ten section and I chuckle because he hates commercial music. I go looking for the latest Hives album. Ryan follows because we're into the same kind of stuff. But as I search, a voice says, ‘Hey, I like them, too.' Thinking it's Lisa, I turn around, but it's not Lisa at all. It's Samantha Dean and she's looking at me in a way that suggests she already knows what I'm going to say back, so I don't say anything. ‘They're cool, eh?' she says.

Ryan is still next to me, so I introduce him.

‘Hi,' they say in unison.

‘Sam's from school,' I say.

Ryan nods at me. He must remember her name from our conversation in the surf. ‘What are you looking for?' he asks her.

‘Not much,' she says. ‘I usually download, but I like to look.'

‘Me too,' Ryan says.

Sam goes back to searching for something nearby and tucks her black hair behind her ears. I try to see what she's looking at, but she keeps catching my gaze, or do I catch hers? Sometimes it's hard to tell. Ryan heads her way and before long they're talking about their favourite bands and get into an argument over their best festival experience. Ryan tells her how he, Gez and I got sunburnt and lost each other in the mosh pit at the Big Day Out.

‘You should've seen Sticks afterwards,' he says. ‘His skin peeled for weeks. Didn't it, Sticks?'

I nod, but Sam only glances at me before giving her attention back to Ryan.

‘I peeled too,' he says. ‘I even got a scar to show.'

She tilts her head in disbelief. ‘You don't scar from sunburn.'

‘Want to bet?' He squats down in front of her and shows her a pale patch of skin on the back of his neck. ‘Here,' he says, rubbing a finger over it. He looks over his shoulder at her. ‘Do you believe me now?'

She laughs. ‘Thanks, I really wanted to see that.'

‘It's just as I told you,' he says.

‘I got one too,' I say. Sam looks at me and laughs into her hand. She turns back to Ryan. ‘Is that where the story ends?'

‘Nah, heaps more,' he says, then begins to recount the whole day.

I wander off as they talk. ‘I've got one too?' I say to myself. Then I say it out louder, mocking myself.

‘Got what?' I spin around. It's Gez.

‘Nothing.'

He looks at me weird then says, ‘Lisa wants to see Ryan's joint. You wanna come?'

I can't believe it. Imagine Lisa in the unit. What about the bongs, the mouldy loaves of bread, the wetsuits on the floor, and Mike, who's probably comatose on the couch.

‘Gez,' I say.

‘What?'

‘You sure?'

‘C'mon, man, it'll be all right. I want to show her the car.' He goes off to join Lisa who's now outside the store, waving to us to hurry up. Ryan's still talking to Sam, so I go over to let him know what's going on.

‘You want to come too?' he says to her.

The unit has lost its free and casual feel with the girls in it. Ryan ducked in first and cleared his bong from the coffee table, but the place still smells of beer and boys. To make matters worse, Mike's home. He's sitting on the couch, watching a kid's afternoon TV show. Gez introduces the girls.

Mike looks lustily at Lisa, starts asking her questions about school as if Sam doesn't exist.

‘C'mon,' Gez says to the girls, ‘I'll show you around.'

Lisa doesn't seem to mind being taken away from Mike, whose eyes follow her to the hallway.

‘Hey, Mike, can I show ‘em your room, too?' Gez yells.

‘Yeah, whatever,' Mike says.

Mike sits up and says a bit too loud, ‘That fat one. Is she the footy chick?'

I nod.

He lets out a breath. ‘You can do better,' he says. I nod in agreement, but then he says, ‘Still, I'd do her.'

When Gez comes back with the girls, he says, ‘I reckon me and Sticks will rent a unit next year.'

The girls look at me.

‘Eh, Sticks?' he says.

‘You bet.' I really like the idea even though we've never talked about it before.

‘I thought you were going to join the army,' Mike says.

‘Yeah, maybe,' I say trying to avoid the conversation.

‘What do you want to do that for?' Lisa asks.

I've rehearsed this. I have to say it to relatives when Dad's nearby. ‘Heaps of reasons,' I say. ‘You can get a degree or a trade, go overseas, see things no one else gets to see. You can make a real difference, like in Timor or something. And if you stay long enough, you get a pension for life.' Even to me that sounds good.

‘Yeah, but do you know what guys really get up to in the army?'

‘What?' Sam asks.

‘You don't want to know,' Lisa says. ‘But you only have to look it up on the internet. They drink too much, they hate women, hate gays.'

‘Hate gays!' Mike laughs. He comes over to me and rubs my head with his fist. ‘You better watch out, then, Sticks.'

‘Rack off, I'm not gay.'

He hisses with laughter and puts both hands out like scales. ‘Not gay,' he says, raising one hand, ‘can't get laid,' and raises the other.

Ryan and Lisa burst into laughter. Sam half smirks.

‘Something doesn't sound right!' Mike goes on. Then he looks at me. ‘Come on, Sticks,' he says. ‘Just joking.'

Then Gez steps in. ‘Does anyone want to see the car?' he asks. I'm relieved when they say they do.

We head downstairs to the garage. When Gez gets to the car he waves his arms at it like a game-show host.

‘Are you serious?' Lisa blurts. ‘It's a piece of junk.' But the moment she sees his wounded face, she gasps, wraps her arms around him, pecks him on the cheek and says, ‘I'm kidding, it looks fine. Can't wait till it's going.'

He forces a smile.

‘How much work does it need?' she asks.

‘Heaps,' I say.

‘Nah, not really,' he says. But considering the wheels are propped against the wall, the door seals are hanging from the frames and it's missing a front fender, it's a bit hard to believe. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the scene.

‘Not as much as it looks,' I say, coming to his rescue. ‘We've fixed most of it up already. We'll have it going in no time.'

‘Yeah,' he says. ‘Two weeks, three at the most.'

Lisa tries to hide a smirk with her hand. She walks around the garage, taking a closer inspection of things: the posters of beach breaks on the walls, girls in swimsuits. Ryan follows and asks about yachting at Pumicestone, which sends Lisa off on stories about Christmas holidays with her family. I listen, fascinated. I've never owned a Beamer, a yacht or a flashy unit in a Kings Beach high-rise.

Then I look at the boys. They hang off her—her friendly smile, tight waist, and her jeans that fit like a glove. It's as if Sam isn't even here. She stands not far from me, shuffling her feet in silence. I watch her, thinking she's not attractive, hardly worth a second glance. But at the same time I think, I bet I know how you feel. She catches my gaze and gives me a smile.