Flying. Near enough, anyway. Michael Jordan in the air, basketball in hand, looking like he’d never come down.
Richard
stared at the poster: MJ in motion, whereas he had stalled. Sitting in
his room on his bed and holding the phone, a piece of paper in front of
him, seven digits written in blue ballpoint pen. Written in her
handwriting. He had the phone in his hand, ready for him to dial.
They’d
have a conversation. What did he have to talk about? His boring life,
the basketball trials, how NZ compared to back home... No, that was all
useless. The conversation needed to be good. He didn’t want to screw
this up.
He
should call her right now, no more hesitation. Doing stuff, making it
all happen, that’s what he did. So what was this, cowardice? What would
the others think, if they saw him like this?
Okay. Call her. This could be the beginning of something.
Richard
took a deep breath and dialled. He put the phone to his ear and closed
his eyes, and he heard the pip as the connection came through, and then
the first ring –
– and there was a knock on his bedroom door.
Richard clicked the phone off, exhaling. He took a second to compose himself. ‘Yeah?’
The
door opened and Richard’s father came in. Daniel King was tall like
Richard, his beard grey and his face caught in a frown. ‘Oh, were you on
the phone?’
‘It’s okay,’ Richard said.
Daniel nodded. ‘I’m afraid your mother and I need to talk with you.’
Richard felt a sudden, awful vertigo.
The
clock on the living room wall ticked off the seconds. Around it was a
collection of framed photographs: Gran and Grandpa at the old house, the
whole family at Thanksgiving, Richard’s uncles and aunts. Home.
Also
a photograph of here, their adopted home. An aerial shot of Wellington
harbour with the sun shining brightly and the sea a spectacular blue.
Richard remembered seeing that view five years ago, pressing his nose to
the window as the plane circled in to land, bumping and rocking in the
Wellington wind. The city had looked like it could be kept in a bottle.
Boats on the harbour and houses on the hills and tiny cars rushing along
the motorway. The view had been so fascinating he’d forgotten how
unhappy he was supposed to be.
Naomi
was waiting for them. Her smile was wrinkling the wrong lines on her
face. Daniel sat on his favourite chair, and Richard sat on the couch.
He didn’t want them to start speaking. His father’s frown, his mother’s
smile, he knew exactly what they meant, deep down in his gut he knew. He
didn’t want to hear.
‘We’re being sent back home,’ Daniel said.
Richard
remembered getting off the plane for the first time, out in the
Wellington air, the wind pushing him around as if it didn’t want him
there. He hadn’t wanted to be there either. Someone from the embassy had
been there to meet them, and they’d climbed into a car and driven away.
All the colours were different, all the houses looked wrong.
Naomi
was shaking her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Richie. This isn’t the best time
for you, we know, in the middle of your last year at school. But we
don’t really have any say in the matter. Your father has already tried.’
He
remembered getting on the plane, watching out the window as it took
off, seeing D.C. recede. He remembered what it felt like to watch it go.
‘Your
mother’s right. When they pull the string, I have to jump. However, you
have options. I’ve spoken to some colleges and they’re open to you
starting this year. You can get right on with everything, if you want.’
He
remembered saying goodbye to his friends at school. They’d laughed at
him. They had all just been kids. He remembered joking that he’d be
standing on the bottom of the world when he got off the plane, so he
hoped he didn’t fall off.
‘There
is another alternative,’ Daniel continued. ‘There’s no need for you to
come with us immediately. If you want to finish your school year here,
then we can arrange that.’
‘You
could board somewhere,’ Naomi said, ‘and see things through, and then
follow us over at Christmastime. That’s if you want to. The option is
there, isn’t it. We don’t want you to feel like you’re cornered.’
Daniel gave a sad little laugh. ‘I’m cornered. You don’t have to be.’
Richard looked at him. ‘You’ve known about this for a while?’
‘Nothing was certain until today. I’m sorry. We didn’t want to trouble you until we knew for sure.’
This was how it felt, up in the air. Suspended over the future.
Richard
shut himself in his room, sat back down on his bed. He felt sick and
restless. This was no surprise. None of them had expected to stay this
long.
He
hadn’t wanted to come. Hated leaving his friends, his street, his
school. He used to daydream about going back, just finding a way to go
back. A few days after they’d arrived there had been a small party to
welcome them. His father’s new colleagues, their wives and husbands.
He’d sat in his room and watched the houselights shining in ragged
hillside rows. His mother had brought him a plate of crackers and
chocolate and sat beside him as the stars came out. They were upside
down.
He felt stopped. Freeze-framed like Michael Jordan was in that poster. Untouched by gravity.
Don’t think. Just keep moving.
He looked out the window and dialled her number.
