are such losers.” That’s what he’d said, and now I walked up our steps and pointed a finger at him as he leaned on the railing and stretched.
I pointed at him and said, “If you ever call me a loser again, I’m gonna smash your face in.” I meant it, and I could see from the lookhe knew I meant it. He even smiled, like he knew something. “I’m a fighter,” I concluded, “not a loser. There’s a difference.”
My eyes stayed in his for barely another moment. I meant it all right. I meant every word. Steve enjoyed it. I enjoyed it more.
Phone box.
I took off again, obsessed.
The only problem now with the phone box plan was that I couldn’t exactly find one. I thought there was one at a particular spot on Elizabeth Street but it had been taken away. I could only keep running, this time in the direction of the Conlon place, until about three kilometers later, I found one. Had I run another two kilometers I could have talked to her in person after all.
“Oh, mate.” I stuck my hands on my knees when I made it to the phone. “Mate,” and I knew very abruptly that running there had been the easy part. Now I had to dial the number and talk.
My fingers were claws on the ancient dialer as I called up the number, and …
Waited.
“…ing.”
It was ringing. “Noth–ing.”
“Noth–ing.”
“Noth–ing.”
She didn’t answer and I had to explain to the person who did exactly who I was. “Cameron.”
“Cameron?”
“Cameron Wolfe, y’ silly old cow!” I felt like screaming, but I kept myself back. Instead, I said with quiet dignity, “Cameron Wolfe. I work with the plumber.” I realized after speaking those words that I was still very much out of breath. I was panting into the telephone, even when Rebecca Conlon was finally on the other end.
“Rebecca?”
“Yeah?”
The voice, her voice. Hers.
I stuttered things out, but not dumbstruck. I concentrated, and it was all done with purpose, with desire, almost with a severe, serene pride. My voice crawled to her. It asked. Squashing the phone. Go on. Do it. Ask.
“Yeah, I was wonderin’ …”
My throat hurt.
“Wonderin’ if …”
Saturday.
That would be the day.
No.
No?
Yes, no — you hear
Although, Rebecca Conlon didn’t say the word no when she rejected me for some kind of meeting between us on Saturday. She said, “I can’t,” and I look back now and wonder if the disappointment in her voice was genuine.
Of course I wonder, because she went on to tell me that she couldn’t do anything on Sunday or the next weekend either because of some kind of family thing, or another thing of some description. No point pretending. She was giving herself some good safe ground to keep me at bay. See, I hadn’t even asked her about Sunday yet. Or the next weekend! The pain in my ear counted at me. The black sky above me seemed to come down. I felt like I was sucking in the gray clouds that stood above, and very slowly, the phone call faded out.
“Well, maybe some other time.” I smiled viciously inside the dirty phone box. My voice was still nice, though, and dignified.
“Yeah, that’d be great, ay.” Nice, great voice. The last time I would hear it? Probably, unless she was dumb enough to be at her house on the upcoming weekend when Dad and I would finish the job.
Yes, her voice, and somehow, I couldn’t be sure if it was so real to me anymore. It was too far out of reach now to be real.
“Okay, I’ll see y’ later,” I finished, but I wasn’t seeing anyone later.
“Okay, bye-ee,” adding insult to injury.
Hearing her hang up then was brutal. I listened hard and the sound was something ripping apart my head. Slowly, slowly I dropped the receiver down to leave it hanging there, half-dead.
Caught.
Tried.
Hanged.
I left it hanging there and walked away, home.
The way back wasn’t as bad as you might think, because thoughts fighting in my head made the time go past quickly. Every step left an invisible print on the footpath, which only I could smell on my way past in the future. Good luck.
Halfway there I noticed another phone box in a side street, sitting there joking me and laughing.
“Huh” was all I said to myself, as I kept walking and eased an itch on my shoulder blade with a tired hand stretching at the end of a bent, twisting elbow.
This time, I staggered into the front gate, stayed around a